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Message-ID: <28990asstr$982818603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {ASSM} NEW TG: Perfect by Vickie Tern 8/10 M/F F/m femdom
Date: Thu, 22 Feb 2001 00:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

NEW TG: Perfect by Vickie Tern 8/10 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).


                             viii.

Gayle's family lived in a large half-timber parish house across the
street from the Church, and cars had already assembled when we
arrived -- their driveway was crammed, and Gretchen took the last
available space on the street.

A cheerful and garrulous woman met us at the door.  "Well,
Gretchen, it's been a while, you've been such a stranger, but my
dear, you're always very welcome, and aren't you looking just
lovely.  And Allie, you must be Allie!  How wonderful to see you at
last!  I'm Gayle's mother, of course you've guessed that.  Let me
introduce you right away to everybody, so you can feel at home! 
All members of our family, like you!"  She smiled for both of us at
her little joke.  I smiled back.  There were dozens of people
there.  I felt a little dazed.  It was just as well.

She led us both into their living room, a great wood-paneled
reception hall used by different bible-study or church social
groups, she said, fit for serving coffee and cake to hundreds. 
Comfortable chairs and divans were arranged in different
conversational groups.  At one end was a wall of books, and far
away at the other a grand piano, taking up no more space than it
would in a hotel lobby.  

A plump, bald man in a clerical collar was leaning forward in his
chair and holding forth to a fascinated group of eight or ten
people gathered around him, also leaning forward to hear him
better.  He paused in mid gesture as we approached, and with
bird-like attentiveness he waited for his wife to speak.  "Dear,"
she said, "You remember Gretchen.  And this is Allie, Gayle's
friend.  They live together.  We talk by phone.  They've been
looking after each other."  She was cueing a faulty memory, I
realized.

I uttered the appropriate words, and Gayle's father said "My dear,
how good of you.  Any friend of Gayle's.  You're even prettier than
your voice.  A genuine pleasure!"  And he warmly shook my hand and
peered intently at my bosom.  "Genuine!" he repeated as if reaching
a judgement.  

I couldn't correct him about my voice -- we'd never spoken on the
phone -- nor about my breasts.  So I barely uttered an audible
"Thank you," and he returned to his spellbinding anecdote,
something about how St. Paul had agreed, the Fiscal Security Bank's
22% Visa interest was rent people pay for money they borrow, not
usury.  I stood listening politely while he took up gays in the
military, willful sinners who undermine and sap our national moral
fiber.  Then we moved on.

Another short man held sway in the next group, sitting regally as
if on a throne with plump thighs wide apart, surrounded by three
older women in thin pastel chiffon flounce dresses.  Before Gayle's
mother could say anything he looked at me and his eyes narrowed. 
"Yes, Allie, of course.  Gayle's Allie," he said.  She sings your
praises, says you're quick with telephones or computers, a quick
learner, good people skills, always ready to try something new. 
Isn't that so?"  

I nodded.

"I'm Ben.  Of 'Mercantile Enterprises,' you know, the plant here? 
I hear you know marketing and customer service and don't mind
relocating.  Well, I need good people with good ideas who can
expand with the business.  Call me and we'll talk!"

He whipped out a card and handed it to me.  Relocate?  Me?  I'd
done that already, not long ago.  He had the rest right, though. 
I took his card and mindlessly tucked it into my clutch purse.  

"Gretchen, still drawing pictures?" he asked, uninterested in a
reply.  Then he turned his attention back to his three ladies, all
three looking wide eyed at him as women do when they are playing
little girl to attract a man.

We rounded the piano and there was Gayle!  I have never been so
happy to see anyone!  She was so beautiful!  But she glanced at me
as if scarcely noticing!  This time she was the one deeply absorbed
in talk.  A young man sat half-listening across from her, and at
his side a girl who was paying no attention at all, her eyes
wandering the room and passing listlessly over the three of us. 
Gayle finally looked at me, and I stepped forward to give her a
peck on the cheek!

Then I was dumbfounded!  She turned away before I could reach her,
and continued to talk animatedly to the couple before her!
 
My God!  She knew!  About me and Debbie!  She was punishing me!  I
felt wrenched by guilt.  Yet oddly unconcerned at the same time,
bemused, indifferent.  Gretchen's pills, I didn't doubt it.  It
seemed only fitting that she glanced at me as if I were part of the
furniture, no more.  I mean, I was her beloved, and she meant to
welcome me to the cradle of her girlhood, a home rich with
memories.  But I'd ruined the purity of our dedication to each
other!  There was now a poignancy in the pleasure I took in the way
her hair fell over one eye.  

"Allie, Gretchen, glad you could make it," she said when she saw
that we were still there.  Then she resumed her conversation.  We
were dismissed.

"Gayle, if I may for just for a moment," her mother said.  Gayle
stopped for a moment and waited, impatient.  "Allie, you don't know
Sue, I think, and you haven't met Chris either yet.  They're the
oldest of our family friends, and I must say, I'm as delighted as
they are that it's finally happening. After years and years of
expectations, a wedding!  This very Sunday!"

"How nice," I said to Chris.  "Congratulations!" Chris was one of
those beefy types I'd gotten to know and dislike in college, a frat
boy, self-confident with nothing to justify it.  He looked me over
with more interest than was appropriate for a nearly married man. 
"Best wishes," I said to Sue, who didn't seem to hear.  

"Yeah," he said.  "There's lots to do I guess.  Sue'll fill you in. 
She wants you in the procession, there's a shortage of girls or
something.  Some special thing, she needs to pick some
out-of-towner who won't make the other girls jealous they weren't
picked.  You're it.  Also you're supposed to go to their hen party
tomorrow and scream with the rest of them.  My bachelor party too,
if you're up for it!"  He leered. 

I glanced at Gayle.  She was waiting for him to finish, maybe for
us to go away and stop interrupting her.  But I thought I saw her
watching me with her peripheral vision.  Maybe it was my uneasiness
that gave that impression.  

"I'll be happy to do whatever's wanted," I said.  "Just tell
Gretchen when and where and she'll get me there."

Sue spoke up almost tonelessly, rapid-fire.  "Good, I'm glad,
you'll need to have your gown fitted tomorrow afternoon, we'll meet
here for lunch to go there, and then there's the girls'
get-together at Kirstie's at nine tomorrow evening." 

"We'll be there," Gretchen replied.  I smiled vaguely.

My peculiar detached mood lasted the rest of the day.  The next
room was as large, with a massive dark oak dining room table, and
I saw the turkey was already carved in several huge platters on the
sideboard.  It turned out this hospitality was catered,
institutional, not the family reunion around a family dinner I'd
anticipated.  It was more like eating in a restaurant.  No
drinking, not even wine.  I was seated well away from Gayle, who
made conversation with the half dozen people in her vicinity, Chris
and Sue sat next to her and Chris's father and her mother were
opposite.  The family up there, the guests down here.  Gayle seemed
animated enough, but she didn't glance at me even once.  I smiled
at whoever said anything to me.  Gretchen, several seats away,
looked on amused.

Driving back to the Inn that evening I told her how impersonal it
had all seemed.  How Gayle didn't seem to recognize me.  

"Should she, Allie?  Are you the same person she dropped off here
yesterday?  The boy she made into a girl, her personal fucktoy? 
What'll you do with those boobs now that it looks like she's quit
with you?  Keep them anyhow?  I bet -- you wouldn't want to give up
that pleasure you feel whenever someone touches them, now, would
you?  That means you'll have to keep wearing bras too so they won't
sag.  That means you'll have to keep wearing blouses and dresses
and make-up and getting your hair done, because your chest isn't a
man's any more.  That means now you're a man who'll live like a
girl for the rest of your life, doesn't it?  A queer girl, a
lesbian.  Or maybe a queer guy, a femme gay who lives like a girl,
if you decide you'd like to feel hot meat sliding into you.  Either
way, Allie, from now on you're queer.  Get used to it."

"What's eating you, Gretchen?" I asked.  "Gayle asked me to trust
her.  I trust her.  I don't know why she's behaving like this!"

Gretchen was silent a moment.  Then, "I told her about us, Allie!"

"What?!"  My face suddenly flamed!  Shocked!  My God!  Not that I
wanted any deception between us, I'd have had to tell her, but only
when we got back and into each other's arms again.  "She knows? 
What did she say?"

"She said that I'm welcome to you.  I can have you.  She said I
should feel free to hand you around."

My heart sank.  "She said that?  Bitterly?"  If she felt bitter,
maybe I can woo her back, I was thinking.  It would mean she cares! 
I've hurt her, but all sorts of penitential acts might bring her
back.  What might I do for her I haven't already done?

"No, she scarcely heard me.  I don't think she cared, especially. 
Why should she?  She's putting all sorts of things behind her now."

Dazed, we headed for our room.  "Here," Gretchen said.  "Take this
pill and let's fuck!  That much you're good for.  Being as how
you're still a man, even though Gayle turned you into a fetishist. 
You're so suggestible.  You can't imagine what I want to do with
you tonight!"

I guess I did take the pill.  And I guess we did fuck.  Because I
remembered nothing the next morning, but when I woke up I was
naked, and my face and hair and whole body was covered, sticky and
stiff with cum and pussy juice.  I asked Gretchen what in the world
we'd done.

"What do you think?  You bad thing you!  Touch one of your nipples
and you're flat on your back begging, wriggling your hips as if a
long cock was already deep inside and working in and out of you. 
Should I tell you how insatiable you get?  Should I tell you I
hired a Rent-a-Stud and you wore him out?  Should I tell you I did
no such thing?  Would it matter?  Clean up and put on a pretty
slip.  You have a fitting for your gown today, remember."

I did.  No pill, and gradually I became more and more despondent.
Life with Gayle as I knew it was ending.  She'd distanced herself
from me.  I deserved it, I was having sex with her best friend.  Or
rather, her best friend was having sex with me.  But she'd turned
indifferent before she could possibly have known that!  And she'd
arranged earlier for Gretchen to look after me, she must have
known!  Gretchen was her trusted friend?  What was happening?  Was
this a kissoff?  Was this Gayle's kink?  Make me into a girl and
make me like it, let her girlfriend have a taste, then goodbye,
have a good life, enjoy yourself?  I sat staring through a window
at the bleak late-fall landscape until Gretchen told me it was time
for our ladies' luncheon, then for the bridal party to go for its
final fittings.  That cheered me some.  I wondered what kind of
bridesmaid I might make?

Lunch was really very nice.  Gayle wasn't there, I suppose she was
with her family.  The other girls asked me what I did, and I told
them, and they were fascinated!  Some wanted to know more about our
product lines, was it true that our Goddess panties were so sexy
they could bring a man to his knees, and was our Everstay line as
cock-suck proof as they claimed in the ads?  "Because I do love
cock," this crinkle-haired blonde explained to me.  "But I also
like to look proper when I get home and my husband asks where I've
been."

Some of the girls confessed that in high school they'd belonged to
a Sluts Club in their Junior year, competing to see who could get
laid by more boys in one set month, then to a DomTrixters Club in
their Senior year, competing to see who could humiliate more boys
more completely on a single day.  Gayle came in second in her
Junior year, I learned, a respectable 39 guys had been in her long
enough to cum.  "But the winner was really serious," I was told. 
"Julie, her name was.  She just laid down on the first of the month
and didn't stand up again till midnight on the thirty-first, just
as the 127th guy pulled out of her.  Then she turned pro, and never
did get off her back.  It's nice to find out what you want to do
with your life while you're still young.  She runs her own service
now, hires lots of high school girls and housewives part-time. 
Just like you."

"Who won in your Senior year?" I asked.

"The humiliation contest?  Oh, Gayle," a dark girl with bobbed hair
replied solemnly.  "Easily!  At half-time our last football game,
the whole school was cheering, and these four foxy cheerleaders,
the cutest you've ever seen, they all suddenly danced out on the
field in the skimpiest yellow spangled skirts you've ever seen,
with the most gorgeous figures, and they pranced around together
making the most seductive girly moves you've ever seen in perfect
coordination, they must've practiced them together for weeks!  The
same curly blonde wigs and bright red, pouty lips, they looked
gorgeous!  Then they finished by mooning everybody with the most
luscious rear ends you've ever seen, skirts held high up, they'd
been wearing no panties at all the whole time.  And before the
Principal could get down on the field to stop it they turned around
and flipped up the fronts of their skirts, and lo and behold, they
were guys!  The whole time!  Everybody just roared!  And then they
danced off the field all together sideways, holding hands
crosswise, their penises bobbing up and down." 

All the girls giggled at the memory.  The dark-haired girl went on. 
"Of course they were expelled immediately.  Which was unfair,
because none of them knew where they were or what they'd done.  All
they remembered was going to an audition for a school production of
'A Chorus Line' a month earlier, and Gayle telling them they'd do
just fine.  It seems Gayle had hired some hypnosis expert to help
them learn their dance steps, a graduate student psych major, a
girl with a sense of humor.  They learned all right."

"Whatever happened to them afterward?" I asked.  It worried me. 

"Oh, they're fine," she said.  "One's a secretary over at ME I
think, and one's managing a Starbuck's downtown.  They're both
still very pretty, very popular.  One was grabbed by his parents
and brainwashed and sent out of town, I hear he's finally a guy
again.  Married a classmate, one of Julie's best girls as a matter
of fact.  They say he's devoted to her, takes care of the house
whenever she's out busy with clients, that he does everything she
asks the instant she asks.  I'm not sure -- whenever we invite them
over she tells us her husband's all tied up.  And then there's
Lacey, she was the team quarterback until that moment.  She never
did get to play in the second half of the game, of course.  But she
got her high-school equivalency anyhow and went on to college and
I hear she was on the Mid-Central Girl's Soccer Team that won the
State championship.  She's finished law school by now I suppose. 
Gayle never mentioned any of this to you?"

"No," I said.  "I suppose she'd put it all behind her by the time
I met her." 

Gretchen had been listening, watching my face and the expressions
that had played across it.  "Well, it's time to move on into the
future," she said.  "Allie, you'll come with me?  Or with one of
the other girls?  I can take two more in my car!"     

The Wedding Gown Boutique had a luxurious pink and pale yellow
reception area and then a series of private fitting rooms, each
equipped with a smooth, suave, impeccably groomed woman to help
with the fittings.  A little the way I'd always imagined brothels
were fitted out.  "Bridesmaids this way" the Madame suddenly
announced.  Gayle hadn't yet arrived, but the other bridesmaids
were all there chattering with each other.  When I attempted to go
with them she stopped me.  "Oh, no," she said.  "You're Allie,
aren't you?  You aren't a bridesmaid.  You're the Maid of Honor! 
We've had your gown made up specially.  This way." 

I waited seated on a slipper chair until a one of those enamelled
women entered bearing high on a hanger an exquisite pale blue satin
gown with a full length full skirt swooping up to a tight waist and
a fitted bodice with a princess neckline, each breast cup's edge
curved around visible cleavage. The sleeves were slightly puffed at
the shoulder and then fitted to snug tight on the forearms.  Grand,
regal, and daring, all at once. It was too gorgeous!

"That's marvellous!" I said, staring at it in awe, breathless. 
"The loveliest gown I've ever seen!"

"Isn't it?" the woman said, smiling, with a glance up at it.  "It's
you I'm sure, very feminine yet self-assured.  I'm told you advise
many other women how to negotiate difficult and intimate places in
their lives.  This is for such a woman.  We need to see about the
hipline, though.  Your measurements as we were given them seem a
bit narrow for your waistline and bust."

She measured. "Yes, that's what you are.  Would you like to try
this dress on now?

I nodded.  She held it high up, and I raised my arms.  It slithered
over my head and settled on my shoulders, and she hooked it upin
back.  The waistline hugged me, and the fabric snugged against my
hips.  I twisted my hips left and then right.  The full, billowing
skirt swung free and then gracefully curving, reversed direction. 

"This is the most comfortable dress I've ever worn," I whispered,
awed.  "And yet so carefully tailored!  So intricate!"  I looked in
the mirror, and swirled the skirt again.  I've never felt so
feminine!  So sexy!

"Comfortable because carefully tailored, dear," said the woman,
pleased.  "The bride specified that this dress should be made like
hers, so the girl who wore it could imagine herself also a bride on
her wedding day.  You'll have a bouquet to carry in the procession,
pale blue to reflect the dress, pale pink to match the bridesmaids'
dresses, and white to harmonize with the bride herself.  You look
lovely, my dear.  And of course you'll continue to look lovely in
this gown for years to come.  It's a classic style, suitable for
all sorts of grand balls.  And after the ceremony this Sunday, it's
yours."  

"Oh?"  I hesitated.  "Please thank Sue for me.  It's a rare
privilege, invited to be  her Maid of...." 

But the woman was already gone, carrying the dress away for
wrapping.  I now owned a stunning gown.  My heart sang.  I didn't
understand why I should feel so delighted, but I did.  When I
emerged from the dressing room, I saw that Gretchen had returned to
the reception area and was waiting for me.

"Are you also a Maid of Honor?" I asked her?

"No," said Gretchen.  "It's a long time since I was a maid.  You're
the maiden in this scenario, as you are in real life.  You won't be
truly a woman until some man has barrelled down deep inside you and
left his spermy calling card there.  Not until you've wrapped your
legs and arms around him so tightly you hope he can never escape. 
But he does escape.  And then maybe he returns.  That's when you'll
feel the way women feel.  How Gayle feels.  That's why she's doing
this for you!"

"Doing what, Gretchen?  It's Sue who asked me to fill in as her
Maid of Honor."  

"Never mind," Gretchen said.  "Here's your gown coming now, wrapped
and ready for Sunday.  Let's go shopping for matching shoes and
then go home.  I have a single pearl strand I can lend you, and
with a pearl button in each ear you'll be ravishing.  We'll have
your hair done again Sunday morning just before the ceremony.  But
that's not till Sunday.  You aren't ready for Sunday just yet.  You
have a way to go."

The Hen Party that Friday night at Kirstie's wasn't at all what I'd
expected, a sedate girls' night out and gossip before the big
event.  Gretchen told me to dress whorish, the way unmarried girls
in the town did to attract men, so I did.  Heavy eye makeup of
course, and a tight lycra and satin blouse that lifted and aimed my
breasts like a pair of automobile headlights.  

"Use your indelible lipstick, Allie," Gretchen advised. "There's a
good chance those lips of yours'll be wrapped around some man's
tube before the night's out, isn't there, when you're dressed like
that.  You'll want the color to last at least as long as he does." 


"Gretchen, I don't appreciate your mockery.  I don't do men," I
said.

She didn't reply.  I'm not sure she heard.

Kirstie's turned out to be a Gender Club, some nights Lesbian and
some Gay, any of them Transgender, with suitable entertainment for
each.  Tonight was an All-Girl's Hetero Night.  The Stallions, a
five man dance and strip group, was booked to perform, and the
tables closest around the small stage were all reserved for women
of the the bridal party.  There was Sue, and some of the other
women I recognized from lunch.  They smiled and waved at me as we
came in.  I was one of them.  And there was Gayle.  This time she
came over when she saw me.

"Doing OK?"

"Yes, thanks," I replied.  But I felt uneasy, addled.  Guilty that
I'd been unfaithful to her and she knew it, but also a little
resentful that she'd pretended not to know me on Thanksgiving Day.
I started to say something, but choked it off. 

"I hear," she replied with a broad smile.  "Sweetheart, you have a
lot to learn, but you're learning fast!  Enjoy it all!  All of it,
no inhibitions, no regrets!  At home I go by my parents' rules, I
told you!  But in this place there are no rules.  Just do what the
other girls do and go with the flow.  Be as feminine as your heart
desires.  Love it!  OK?"

"OK," I replied doubtfully.

"By Sunday night you'll be a different person, you'll see."  

And she breezed away, stopping to chat animatedly as she went, with
some of the girls I now knew had been her schoolmates.

Gretchen took the chair alongside a little table and I squeezed
into one immediately in front of the stage, the table at my back. 
The room was jammed with perhaps a hundred women, young and
middle-aged, the older ones wearing expensive dresses and jewelry,
the younger ones dressed hot and tight like me.  

Inside of a few minutes I knew I was in trouble.  The lights went
down, a thumping music began, and five bronzed and muscled guys
pranced and slithered into a spotlight on the small stage, each
dressed in a different macho outfit, soldier, fireman, lumberjack,
something like that.  It didn't matter what because ten minutes
later, the music pounding louder than ever and the women crowding
the room now hooting and screaming, they were stripped down to
shiny Speedo jock strops, their muscles prominent and their hips
squirming as obscenely huge bulges thrust and rolled on the front
of their crotches.  They fanned out and moved toward the edge of
the stage, until each was bumping and grinding not a foot from the
face of the woman closest to the stage at each table.  And I was
one of the five.  I stared at the bulge in front of me.  The thin
dayglo green nylon covering that cock and ball package outlined
them like shrink-wrap.  I looked up at a handsome, craggy face and
saw it was looking mildly down at me.  Then I looked again at that
package waving provocatively in front of my nose.  Then up again. 
He raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

"Ladies," shouted a voice over the speakers, just barely audible
over the big beat and the whining guitars.  "Ladies, in honor of
the bridal party with us tonight, if we encourage them, the
Stallions tonight will show all!"  

A huge din came up, women shrieking in an ear-splitting cacophony,
that soon leveled into a repeated war cry syncopated with the
pounding percussion, "Show all!" "Show all!" "Show all!"  I looked
around and saw that the other girls seated in my position at the
other tables were staring at their men eagerly, eyes shining,
transfixed by the sight of all that heavy male meat moving
immediately in front of them.  Moving closer to their faces!  The
rhythms intensified, and I realized that some women were now
shouting "Off! "Off!" "Off!" while the others continued to scream
"Show all!"  I looked up again at the man in front of me.  His eyes
were closed.  I looked at his crotch, which was now shifting and
pitching and rolling and yawing and heaving directly in front of my
nose.

Suddenly it was naked!  No more nylon shielding!  There were his
huge balls, hairless!  A monster-sized prick, now no longer
contained but out in the open, plump, proud, already swollen huge,
awesome, and yet nowhere nearly fully erect.  And now the rhythmic
beat from the music and a hundred women's throats was deafening,
and every woman in the room was chanting a command to the five of
us closest to these hunks, those cocks, "Do it!" "Do it!" "Do it!" 
Unrelenting!  Overwhelming!  I saw in the corner of my eye that two
of the girls had leaned forward, and that their men were now
thrusting their cocks toward their mouths, then away, each time
closer!  Then between the lips of the girl closest to me.  No
hands.  Then into her mouth!  She slid those lips forward and
three, four, five inches of that prick disappeared into her face --
it was now a rampant, stiff tower with this young girl trying to
swallow it at one end, joined to that man at the other!  

I looked at my man's cock, now filling my vision, with an enormous,
swollen pink helmet mounted on its peak and a single short slit in
its center, glstening, now not an inch from my mouth.  All those
women were now screaming a tumultuous, rhythmic "Do it!" "Do it!"
"Do it!" at me, it seemed.  I looked up at that craggy face once
again, almost prayerfully, and saw that his eyes were still closed
but that he was now smiling, as if in anticipation.  Again I looked
at that bulbous cock head.  It looked like a larger version of
Gayle's dildo, the one I loved to feel in my mouth.  But more real. 
A real man's!  I felt a strange urge.

And like the other girls, I leaned forward.  My lips closed over
that warm rubbery globe, and with a gentleness I hadn't thought
possible given all that writhing musculature, it began to move
deeper into my mouth until it pressed against the back of my
throat.  Then out a few inches, and in again, sliding between my
lips.  With tears in my eyes, I began to suck.  Then harder.  Then
to bob my head up and down on it in cadence with the audience's
throbbing chant, now changed to "More!" "More!" "More!"  I was
transfigured, beside myself, a creature of the pulsing sounds that
drowned all my senses, an avid moist mouth and tongue with pursing
lips eager to suck cock forever!  I couldn't have stopped if I'd
wanted.  In and out of me that prick thrust, and down and up I
bobbed, deeper and deeper it went each time, my mouth the
instrument of the will of every woman in that room as I sucked that
man's cock in and out in a frenzy of devotion!  More, more, more,
and I pulled and sucked and lipped and sucked on that fat tube more
and more and over and over until that man's meat swelled up and
expanded to fill my whole mouth and seemed to grow hot, then gushed
and gushed salty sweet slick stuff down my throat while I swallowed
and swallowed, my eyes tight shut, absolutely out of my mind!  

I knew what cum tasted like of course, my own when I sucked it out
of Gayle's cunny, but I didn't know that straight from the tap it
was so much more dense, even ropy.  It coated my mouth like liquid
nylon.  I licked my lips.  The lights went on, the show was over,
and I checked my make-up.  The Everlast lipstick had held up, but
I added more anyhow, and smiled.  I felt girlish, I don't know why.

end 8/10
VickieTern@AOL.COM

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