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Message-ID: <28992asstr$982822202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {ASSM} NEW TG: Perfect by VickieTern 6/10 M/F F/m femdom
Date: Thu, 22 Feb 2001 01:10:02 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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NEW TG: Perfect by Vickie Tern 6/10 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).


                               vi.

I was a woman.  I wanted to dress and look pretty for my darling,
always.  I began to favor our "Everstay" line of cosmetics, the
most permanent of them, the foundation that pefected my face with
a tan glow practically a paint, the lipsticks and eyeliners all
dyes.  When I next went back to the beautician's for electrolysis
I asked Dana to put a slight curl in my hairdo, just something to
soften the effect and make my face prettier.  "Of course, Allie,"
she said, and did it.  "It does seem you've fallen altogether off
the deep end.  No going back ever, this time?"

"Whatever for?" I asked her, smiling.  I was so happy!

Connie and Dana could see the difference in me immediately, of
course.  They heard me praise our Everstay line to the associates
whenever it seemed appropriate.  "The foundation never rubs off on
sheets, or pillows, or cheeks, or hairy chests," I told them, "and
not on breasts either.  And the lipstick stays where it belongs. 
No telltale red markings on wine glasses or table napkins or
collars or penises." 

Nor on dildos.  I told Gayle I wanted to suck her cock the way she
sometimes sucked mine, just to know what it was like.  It pleased
her to look down and see me on my knees in front of her as she sat
on the edge of the bed or on one of our soft chairs, or as she 
stood with a hand on her hip while I pleasured the soft rubber
jutting from her with my mouth.  The part of it wedged in her pussy
knew.  And her heart knew.  Maybe because of that, I loved it.

My most ultimate commitment rose up from a seemingly
inconsequential, even racy interchange.  Meg came in one day
wearing the lowest decolletage and the deepest cleft I've seen in
a business office.  Her blouse was so transparent it hid nothing of
her bra.  And her bra was "Seductress," one of our newer models,
imported, uplifting each breast to a sweet curve but so flimsy that
the colors and even the shapes of her nipples showed through,
slightly pointy, haloed by a dark lace star.

"Got a date, Meg?" I asked her.  "A breast man?"  She'd told us how
some of her guys were especially turned on by breasts, or legs, or
shoulders, or necks, or well-turned asses, or shaved pussies.  Once
she knew, she'd know how to drive them to a frenzy through the
earlier part of an evening.  It paid off aferward.

"You know it!" she replied. "You were once a breast man, weren't
you?  How come you're not a breast woman now, enjoying yourself
that way?  You should try it, Allie."

"I lack two essential qualifications," I said.

Meg turned more serious.  "Hasn't Gayle put you on hormones yet? 
Doesn't she want her sweet baby girl to grow up to have pretty
knockers?  Breasts that don't come off?"

"We've never discussed it, Meg."  I felt strange suddenly in the
pit of my stomach.

"Really?  You should, love.  You're enjoying your clothes and your
new ways of feeling I'm sure, but you sure are missing out on the
physical fun."

That evening I told Gayle about Meg's outfit and our conversation.

She thought a moment, then spoke gently, carefully.  "Would you
like to be on hormones, baby?  We could arrange it.  I want you to
have whatever might strengthen your pride in your womanliness." 

"Would you want me to start hormones?" I asked.  This was terribly
dangerous ground.  Decorating my body was one thing, but changing
it from the inside out, altering its shape -- that took careful
thought.  For Gayle I would do it.  But for myself?

"Do you want to know what I think?  And why?"

"Yes, of course."

Her next answer startled me.  I'd traced our relationship back to
its beginnings, and seen the pattern clearly enough.  The little
hints after class or after jogging that my feminine potential might
exceed my masculine and might be preferable, her pleasure when she
heard me attempt a femme voice, her approval of everything I'd done
to qualify as a supervisor of women's sales, how I'd thrown
everything into learning what women need, finally even myself.  I'd
begun to suspect she wouldn't be satisfied until I'd changed my sex
altogether.  That what she wanted from me wasn't a heterosexual
relationship but a purely lesbian relationship.

But Gayle was now as wide-eyed as I'd ever seen her.  And solemn. 
Staring straight at me.  "My answer is 'no,' Allie.  I don't want
to see you on hormones."  

I must have looked surprised.  

She continued, "I know, they'd help you feel a little nicer about
yourself, maybe help you feel even more tender about some things,
sweeter, and they'd change your body for the better, soften your
face maybe, give you slightly wider hips, and of course real
boobs."  She thrust out her chest.  "Maybe even bigger than mine. 
And I know you love mine!"

We both smiled, then grinned at each other.  We'd shared so much!

"But you don't need those things, sweetheart.  Most of them.  Your
body's proportions are much like a woman's already, I noticed that
about you almost as soon as we started talking after class, and
they're even moreso with the jogging we've been doing, and the
dieting.  Your disposition couldn't be sweeter.  And we both know
you already have a pretty face, and you know how to enhance it to
best advantage.  You were lucky the way your male hormones came in
-- they show in only one way, really, and that's hidden except when
we're in bed.  I love it, that you're living with me as a girl now. 
I wanted that.  I want to live with you this way for a long, long
time.  But if you were to go on hormones, I doubt we'd last six
months!"

I was shocked!  "But why?"

"Because we'd neither of us want you to merely nibble hormones. 
We'd both want you to seize your womanliness with both hands, if
that was what you wanted.  And if you wanted hormones that's what
we'd do.  Heavy duty shots, estrogen, progesterone, testosterone
suppression drugs.  In six months your breasts would be budding,
and you'd be shaping into a beautifully curved figure."  

That didn't seem too bad, I was thinking.  A little more than I
wanted, but maybe it was like diving into a cold lake.  Not at all
something to look forward to, then shocking, but finally
exhilerating!

"But at what cost, Allie?  No more erections.  No more lovemaking
with that dear, dear dildo, not for me and not for you. 
Eventually, castration and reshaping of a useless penis into a
vagina.  If I wanted to live with a woman, I'd live with one. 
Gretchen's suggested it now and then.  She's tried boy friends, and
she likes them well enough, but for her a cock is no big deal.  She
can't at all see what I see in yours."  

She paused.  I was amazed to see that there were tears in her eyes.
"That's why I don't want you on hormones all out, Allie!  I love
the way we are!  I have plans for us the way we are!  That's why
we're the way we are right now!"

You can't imagine how I felt to hear her say that.  She loves me! 
She has plans!  

She continued then, after a pause, "Of course, if you like you can
always touch up some of your better features, become a little more
of what you are.  Not with massive hormone replacement, but say
only birth control pills.  No more than I take.  Just enough
estrogen to enlarge your nipples and your milk ducts some, to round
you out just a little, for me.  Smoothe your complexion."  She
smiled.  "Maybe enhance your girly feelings just a bit.  But not to
change you altogether!" 

I have never been so moved.  I choked when I tried to speak.  I
didn't know why she'd been encouraging me to take on more and more
feminine characteristics, but I'd assumed after a while that she
wanted to see me end up fully feminine, a complete woman.  "All
right then," I said finally.  "I confess it, I'd been frightened by
the prospect of hormones.  I was afraid you'd want me to have them,
lots.  I'd take them, too, if you'd wanted me to.  But I love the
way we are too, and I'm not at all eager to go anywhere further if
I can't come back.  Certainly not without you alongside me every
inch of the way.  And in me, every inch of you.  And me always in
you too.  I love doing what you do." 
                                                      
Gayle tried to smile, her eyes glistening.  She reached into her
drawer, and took out a plastic compact, the same kind that
contained the wheel of her birth control pills, but a bit larger. 
"Here," she said.  "These are like mine, a bit larger because you
do need to overcome your male hormones.  Just enough to make a
difference here and there, maybe.  This one is yours.   We'll take
our pills together each morning from now on.  It'll be one more
thing we two girls do together."

I opened the compact and looked in.  Twenty-one fat purple pills. 
Four pink ones.  Three white ones.  A complete menstrual cycle. 
They looked double the size of hers.

"All right," I said.

"Take one now," she said, her gray eyes watching me mildly.

I did.

For a moment she said nothing.  Then as often whenever we'd reached
some new plateau of understanding, she growled, "Take off your
clothes, lover.  Here.  Now!"

No questioning that command!  I took off my suit jacket. a short
Chanel style flared at the hips, and my skirt, then my blouse.  And
kicked off my shoes, one of the mid-heel pumps I'd bought with Meg
when she'd started me on my women's wardrobe.  I was wearing a
pretty pink slip that day, with a fitted bodice, though the small
mounds gathered by my bra scarcely justified it.  Gayle watched me
attentively as I adjusted the slip neatly on my body -- it had
twisted when I pulled off my blouse -- and as I reached for the hem
and lifted it over my head.  Now I was wearing only my bra and
matching hi-leg panties, and today not pantyhose but a garter belt
and stockings.  My long-legged look.

Suddenly I realized I was putting on a strip show for Gayle, who
hadn't herself moved.  She was merely sitting there looking
appreciative.  I paused and cocked an eyebrow at her.

"That's such a charming expression, sweetheart, your eyebrows are
so beautifully shaped.  I see you aren't wearing your breast forms. 
Your little breasts are as cute as your ass, sweetie.  And now,
this moment, I love it that you're a woman from the inside out just
like me, those hormones inside you doing wonderful things to your
body.  But your breasts will never be proportional to the rest of
you.  And don't tell me you aren't a breast man.  I'll never
believe it!"

"I wear my breasts at the office, Gayle.  I suppose out of a
feeling of propriety, to feel solidarity with the women I speak to. 
I'm not sure why I take them out when I come home.  Because they
inhibit feeling, and I love feeling my nipples poke out against my
bras and blouses?  Because they aren't 'me' I suspect.  Not the
real me.  Because as Meg said, they come off."

Gayle was silent, studying me.  I stood there looking back at her,
waiting for her response.  To tease her, I rocked my hips sideways
and twisted my torso with its little breasts, and tossed my head
back, until I'd achieved a provocative model's posture, a girl's
"come fuck me" pose.  It felt delicious.  Gayle didn't respond.

"No, you're right," she said suddenly.  "You do need breasts! 
Large ones, proportional.  For a C cup bra, maybe even a D. 
Breasts that don't come off.  Because even though you're thin as a
rail in some ways, your figure isn't quite right.  It's cute but
not ... generous. Every woman should be able to walk into a room
feeling self-assured, proud, her womanliness thrust forward on her
chest.  You need to feel the same kind of assurance.  To feel
completely committed.  Not to some distant hope or shape some day,
maybe, but to what you are right now.  So like every woman you know
that the weight and heft and tenderness of your breasts are as much
a part of you as any other part.  More!  Isn't that right?"

I was baffled.  Where was she going?  Suddenly I remembered.  Meg
had once teased me about getting breasts I could grasp with both
hands.  That was when I still sounded like a woman but wasn't yet
living like one, when I had no idea why a young girl should ever
want to wear a bra.

"You mean implants," I said.  "Something saline or silicone to
reshape my chest into a woman's."

"Yes, exactly," Gayle replied.  She grinned and stretched her body
backward, like a cat, hands clasped high far back over her head. 
"Why should you have all the fun nursing on me whenever I'm fucking
you!  I deserve equal time!"

"If you want me to have breasts, I want them," I said to her.  I
meant it, earnestly.

"Not good enough, Allie.  You need to want them for you!"

"I want them," I repeated.  Then I paused to realize what was meant
here.  My chest reshaped into a woman's.  Not just my hairstyle or
makeup to declare my gender to the world, but breasts to declare
what I am to the world, to me, to everyone, inescapably and
insistently, for every moment of my life from that moment on. 
Quietly I said it again, "That's what I am.  A woman.  I want them
for me!  

She heard me, and in an awed, quiet voice said, "Then you shall
have them, Allie.  Just as soon as we can arrange it.  Come to bed
now."

As I slipped on my satin nightgown and looked down at its shaped
bust draped flat on my flat chest I repeated aloud what Gayle said
-- "just as soon as we can arrange it."  And as we slipped into bed
together and began to hug each other, and began the delicious
preliminaries of our lovemaking, I reached out to touch hers, to
lift up one of her plump breasts with my fingertips, then with my
palm of my hand.  And as I settled into a position to take her
nipple into my mouth I said, "Gayle."

"Yes lover," she replied.  She was stroking my hip, preparing to
reach for my penis, already stiff and waiting.

"I want them," I said.

"I want them for you," she replied.  "But take these meanwhile." 
And there was no more talking that night.

A week later my brassieres were abundantly full, overflowing, and
my heart felt full too.  Two days after our decision Gayle took me
to a plastic surgeon, who was impressed by my lack of development
in the chest and took special pains when correcting it.  He knew
how a full figure improves any woman's morale, he told me.  

It was an office procedure, under local anesthetic.  He made nearly
invisible incisions in the curve underneath where each breast would
crease once I had them, and through those slits he inserted large
shaped implants under my skin, just above the pectoral muscle,
immediately behind each nipple.  Then he injected collagen into the
areola of each of my nipples, so they became pointy, projecting
forward as if awaiting small mouths.

"The collagen will last perhaps six months, Allie," he said.  "If
you become pregnant during that time we'll forego replacing it, but
otherwise, come in and we'll re-inject what's been absorbed."

"Thank you, doctor," I replied, while Gayle kept a perfectly
straight face.  "I don't expect I'll become pregnant, but I'll
remember.  I feel like a new woman."

"Good," he replied, pleased.  "Certainly you'll find that your
nipples have a new sensitivity to stimulus.  The nerve endings are
all concentrated forward now, isolated from other chest sensations,
so now they reinforce each other.  Women usually report greatly
enhanced feeling under these circumstances.  Wear a heavy bra for
the next few days to give the implants an opportunity to heal into
surrounding tissue."

I did.  Connie and Meg noticed the next day that my modest breast
forms were still in my top desk drawer though my chest was now
thrust far forward, additionally swollen by the operation.  They
saw how I sat with my shoulders far back, posture-perfect, to help
my bra straps carry the additional weight now hanging from me.  I'd
had no idea breasts were this heavy.  

Still, they waited a decorous few days before making any comment at
all.  Then when I could quit with the heavy cotton bras, I came in
wearing a translucent silk blouse and underneath it one of our
frothy bras, a delciously tempting confection.  They gathered
around my desk.  "Can we see, can we see?" they both exclaimed like
excited schoolgirls.  

I wordlessly unbuttoned my blouse and unhooked the plump front-hook
bra I was wearing, and then like some Valkyrie or Maenad I sat
bare-breasted before them.  They projected well forward from my
thin chest.  My nipples pointed forward from them proudly.  I
smiled at them.  I really did feel proud.

"Impressive," Connie finally said.  "You were a little undeveloped
earlier, dear.  But now I'd estimate you can produce at least two
quarts a day, maybe three."

"Can I touch?" Meg asked.  She reached out her hand and allowed her
fingertips to graze the tipe of my nipples.

"Ohhhh!" I cried out.  The sensation was excruciatingly joyous! 
Then I caught hold of myself.  "Oh, Meg, I've never felt anything
like that!" I explained.  "It was the most erotic thing!  Electric!
Incredible!"   

"Careful," Connie said to Meg.  "Look at her face.  See what you've
done?  Blow on her nipple and she'll follow you anywhere!"

"We'd better tell her to wrap them up again now," Meg said.  "So
they can stay fresh for Gayle.  That's quite a reaction, from one
little tweak!  I'll bet Gayle can suck Allie's brains out through
those nipples!"

And that night Gayle made up for the months she'd claimed she felt
deprived.  "Now we're women together!" she said.  We lay alongside
each other head to breast and suckled each other for hours.  I was
in ecstasy the whole time.  I felt and tasted heaven.  So
wonderfully a woman!  I loved it!  I loved it!  Gayle had to kiss
me to stop me from saying so over and over.  

Undies and dresses and blouses and suits that had previously looked
fine, neat or fashionable, now looked sensational, smashing when I
wore them!  I had a stunning figure, lean yet ripely curved!  I
woke up each morning overjoyed to see myself. I thought I noticed
a slight softening of my chin line too, from the birth control
pills I was taking.  A slight enlargement in the derriere.  I hoped
so.

As October faded into November we talked our associates through the
new winter fashions, and quite a few into and out of affairs with
both men and women.  I also talked now and then to Gayle's mother. 
She always wanted to know if Gayle was seeing anyone, asking in
several different ways, sometimes mentioning that "Chris" was
concerned.  

I'd reply that whenever Gayle went out of an evening, it was always
with me and perhaps with one or two other girls, never with a man. 
She seemed gratified to hear that, which surprised me, because
mothers I had heard always want their daughters to hook up with a
man and get married as soon as possible.  When she'd ask if there
was some special man I was seeing and I'd tell her 'no' she always
sounded disappointed.  She'd urge me to attend more Church Socials,
to get out into circulation more.  But she'd never urge Gayle.

Lovemaking with Gayle was as wonderful as ever.  We penetrated each
other alternatively as either one of us chose, giggling together
and loving it.  Many nights we practiced the lesbianism of our
earliest happiest days together, Gayle sucking on my cock on or off
through the night while I bathed my face in Gale's pussy juices,
sucking or licking her clit whenever the whim arose.  Or sucking
her cock, if she was wearing it.  

"You're perfect now, Allie!" she told me one morning.  "I love you! 
Thanksgiving's coming, and it's time you met my folks."

At last! was my first thought.  Not as her roommate of course, but
as a man she'd been seeing for some time now.  I could still
improvise the appearances and sounds of a man, I thought.  Meeting
her parents was a necessary step in the direction I wanted to go
with Gayle.  Marriage.  She'd need to know what they thought of any
prospective husband-to-be.  My Gayle was traditional, after all. 
A minister's daughter.   

I hadn't proposed marriage to Gayle because I wasn't exactly sure
she'd want to be wedded for life to the effeminate man I'd become,
or rather, to the woman with a penis, a warm collapsible dildo. 
But finally I screwed up my courage and told her how pleased I was
that she wanted me to meet her parents.  Then I came out with it. 
I wondered what they'd think of Gayle marrying someone so obviously
effeminate.  This was the first time I'd used the "m" word in any
conversation, and I paused, waiting.

Gayle seemed not to notice!  She ignored my reference to marriage. 
"Oh no, Allie," she replied.  "I don't think they'd want to meet an
effeminate boy friend," she responded.  "That would be too awkward. 
No, I want them to meet the lovely girl I live with!  Their new
daughter, remember?  You'll come home with me this Thanksgiving as
my roommate.  As my dearest girlfriend."

Now there was a problem!  I knew I could do being her girlfriend
flawlessly.  That's what I was!  They'd never suspect I was
anything other than that.  And I loved pretending I was a girl in
new social situations, exploring how it felt -- each time my
femininity blossomed in different ways.  Gayle and I and sometimes
Gretchen or other friends would go out together to shows or movies
or rambles in the park or to parties, and sometimes to bars for
sociability.  I found I loved the freedom a pretty girl enjoys to
say whatever she feels, and to be well-attended by hopeful men.  I
now danced and firted with them, modestly, and it was fun to feel
them trying to feel me up!  I especially enjoyed feeling free of
competitiveness with men, freedom from one-upping tensions, unable
to relax.

But once I met Gayle's parents as a girl, how could they think of
me ever as anything else?  It seemed to foreclose our ever getting
married!  How could they ever accept a son-in-law they'd already
welcomed into their family as a daughter?  My heart sank when Gayle
told me she wanted me to come as I am.!

Near tears, even though we were already in the apartment's hallway
preparing to go out, I turned to Gale and confessed how I felt. 
All of it.  How crushed I felt that she was closing off forever the
possibility of our some day getting married with their blessing.

Curiously, Gayle was as unconcerned as if I'd raised only a minor
technicality.  "Oh, sweetheart," she said, "Don't worry your pretty
little head about that at all!  I have it all figured out, lover. 
We will both live together as long as we both shall live and want
to, and with their blessing.  Don't worry.  And with you my
girlfriend, the more affectionate we seem to be in their presence,
the happier they'll be to see it!  You'll see!  Words uttered over
us aren't essential, are they?"

"No," I had to confess.  "But your parents think so!  And marriage
does have advantages.  It provides each of us assurance that at
least once, at one time, we wanted this relationship to last
forever.  And it does sort of commit us to try, out in public,
where everybody knows!"

She placed her palm on my cheek.  Nowadays I always wore a light
coating of makeup to give me that perfected complexion she loved,
and of course a shadow of blush just under my cheekbones, which
were now rather prominent thanks to our dieting.  I knew I looked
pretty, and I wanted to look pretty.  For her!  Her eyes were as
wide, as large, as open as on that night we first met and talked. 


"My sweet darling," she said slowly, earnestly.  "I could never
feel more loving of you, more appreciative.  We'll live together as
long as you'll have me, and with my parents' full approval, and
we'll be as intimate as we ever have been or might wish to be.  I
promise you!  Because I do love you.  But this is how.  This is the
only way how.  Are you mystified now?  Of course.  But trust me,
Allie.  You'll know soon enough, my lovely baby girl!"

I trusted her.  I had to trust her.  We clutched and fondled, then
kissed each other where we stood, pulling each other's bodies tight
against each other, our lips sealed tight against each other's, our
tongues taking possession of each other's mouths.  I opened my eyes
for a moment, and saw in our full-length hall mirror two pretty
women wearing stylish dresses and fashionably high heels, ready to
go out, deeply affectionate, intimate, wrapped in a passionate
embrace, their bodies pressed as tightly together as two women with
full bosoms could ever squeeze themselves.  

We did feel as committed to each other as two people ever could. 
Seeing was believing.

end 6/10
VickieTern@AOL.COM

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