After he had left, I stripped off and showered to clean up. The smell of his semen was still obvious and my anus continued to twinge as I walked, but I was happy. I couldn't stop thinking about him.
Things had changed, and there was no going back. More importantly, I did not want to go back. At last I felt that my real self had been released and I revelled in the emotional impact of the metamorphosis.
My joy in giving also surprised me. I had to admit that I really enjoyed giving him pleasure. More significantly, I had no resentment that all the physical pleasure was his - it seemed perfectly natural to me give myself entirely to him for his enjoyment. A virile man has very strong sexual desires. This is perfectly natural. I was able to satisfy these desires and gladly gave myself up to him for his satisfaction.
I slept alone that night in a soft, filmy negligee, musing over the events of the last few hours. In spite of a tender pussy I slept well.
The next morning I slowly dressed once my in one of my favorite outfits. Starting off with my tightest girdle and sheer nylons I was determined to look my best. No longer was I dressing just for me - now I was dressing for him. A lacy bra and panties and a pretty slip followed. My blue dress was tight waisted and full skirted, accentuating my figure. A pair of stiletto sandals completed the picture. I took great care over my makeup and hair. Finally I primped in front of the full length mirror, quite pleased with myself.
The sound of the phone intruded into my musings.
"Diane" he began, "I can't stop thinking about you. Tell me it wasn't a dream" he pleaded.
I giggled "Of course it wasn't, my sweet. It was real. And I can't stop thinking about you."
"So you really meant what you said?"
"Of course I did, silly. It was the most overwhelmingly emotional experience of my life. What we did today was something special." I spoke with real conviction.
"Can I come over and see you again now?" He sounded hopeful.
"Of course you can - whenever you like" I replied.
I'm on my way!" he exclaimed and the phone went dead.
Heart thumping, I was excited. He still wanted me. I did not delude myself - sexual gratification was driving his interest in me. But, what was wrong with that? Here I was all dressed up in my sexy clothes - I didn't have to do that, but I wanted to. A virile man has a strong sexual drive. I accepted that and the consequences of it. I could satisfy that drive by giving myself up to him for his pleasure, and that is what I wanted to do.
When he arrived, there was no doubt what he wanted. No words were spoken between us. He simply took me in his arms and began kissing me urgently. I just surrendered to him, responding in kind. His hand held my ass, pulling me closer. I could feel his hard maleness against my thigh.
It was simply overwhelming! Totally in his power I was swept along by his lust. At last I was beginning to experience life as a woman. Life as a sexual object, more to the point.
He pushed me down onto the sofa, his weight crushing into submission with a knee upon my skirts effectively pinning me down as he kissed me voraciously.
"Oh Diane - I want you again!"
"Then take me!" I exclaimed.
His need was urgent as I fumbled to pull down my knickers. He dropped his jeans and jocks, revealing his raging erection. Pushing me down onto the floor he turned me over and I could feel his warm hardness at my rear entry. He began thrusting, driving in, pulling back, advancing a little further. I whimpered at the pressure on my already tender passage.
"Relax, babe" he murmured.
I tried, but he was becoming impatient. Suddenly, with a triumphant growl he penetrated me deeply with a savage thrust. Shocked, I cried out loudly with the pain as his weight fell upon me. He pulled back and plunged again and I cried out more.
"Oh! babe!" he gasped. "This is so good!"
"Oh John!" I cried out with feeling. "Take me and make me yours!"
With that he rode me eagerly as his pleasure increased. With a final guttural groan he orgasmed deep into me and was still, only slight tremors remaining as he relaxed upon me, satiated once more.
"I'm all yours, John." I spoke softly, but with conviction.
"I know, babe, I know. That was just great!"
"I'm glad."
"Even though I hurt you?"
"Hey.... don't worry about that. I'm getting used to it. We just need to stretch me a bit more." I smiled and continued:
"There is the complete authority that you have and even if you hurt me, there was always that feeling of being totally in your power! That thrill of being completely helpless and cared for. I guess I know that because you are not submissive, I'll never be able to explain it to you, but I love it! There really is a joy to be had in giving of oneself, knowing the pleasure that you gain."
As we lay there, spent after a vigorous coupling, he idly played with my suspenders and ran his fingers around my stocking top. I sighed in relaxation, content with my lot. My ass was tender after his latest onslaught and his warm cum was oozing out. And yet I was quietly pleased with myself - I had been thoroughly fucked once again, and I loved it.
Fuck is a strange word, with lots of conotations that I was only now beginning to understand. Sometimes we made love - slow and gentle, a merging of two bodies. And sometimes he fucked me - vigorous, domineering, driven by his insatiable desire to possess me and make me submit. Tonight's experience was a real fuck.
In the past I took scant notice of the phrase: 'what she needs is a good fuck'. Now I understood what it meant. I was the type of person who needed and desired to be fucked. A person who needed to submit - to be completely in the power of a virile man. Tonight I had had a good fuck and I was pleased with myself.
My reverie was broken by his voice:
"Isn't it is interesting how certain clothing is really a turn on?"
"What do you mean?" I replied.
"Well, look at a lot of erotic or pornographic imagery - you don't see naked bodies, but rather lacy underwear, stockings and suspenders, very high heels and other alluring images. Corsets often figure in certain types of pictures as well."
"When you think about it - yes, you are right. So, my dressing like I do is erotic for you?" I asked.
"Absolutely! I always like to see you in lacy slips, stockings and girdles. Much more erotic than the naked body."
"I'm glad you like it." Smiling as I rolled over to face him I snuggled into his shoulder.
"Do you like wearing clothes like these?" he asked.
"Yes I do, very much. It is hard to explain why - I guess it makes me feel very feminine, and sexy." I giggled.
"But don't you find them restrictive and uncomfortable?"
"Yes and no. Yes in that I am constrained but I actually enjoy that sensation. There is nothing quite like the feel of a smooth lacy slip against sheer nylons, or the slippery feeling of nylon clad thighs whispering together when I cross my legs. Delicious!"
"What about tight girdles and the sort of heels that you wear?" he pressed the issue.
"A girdle is a strange thing - an assistant in the art of conjuring up an image - in my case a slimmer and more curvaceous body than I really have. Actually, I don't find a well fitting girdle uncomfortable most of the time, except in very hot weather. It is worth it!"
He continued: "What about your shoes?"
"Well, there is no denying that high heels are very restrictive, and can be quite painful if I have to walk for a long distance. In heels you have to constantly watch your step. And yet.... I still like wearing them. It is hard to explain. A feeling of femininity, and I must admit now, a desire to always be attractive to you. That is important to me."
"So, what you are saying is that you dress up to be sexually attractive to me, and part of this is also to make you restricted and vulnerable?"
"I have not thought of it like that, but, yes I guess there is that as well. Something women have been doing for a long time, as far as I can see." I replied.
"Would you wear a corset if I asked you?" he ventured.
"Of course I would! I have never worn one, but have often wondered about it. Takes being restricted to an entirely new level." I responded with enthusiasm.
"Well.... let's see" he murmured, somewhat to himself. "I'll see if I can track one down.
---- Email: diane@sissy.net