Cassandra

Cassandra

by Cherysse St. Claire

Part 1

Cassandra is a tease, a flirt, a slut, a girl who lives very much for the moment. Unconcerned with propriety or fashion trends, she dresses in clothes that go right for the jugular of a fetishist's libido. Spandex, leather, latex, spike heels, corsets, overdone hair, make-up and fingernails - these are her stock-in-trade. Cassandra flaunts her outrageous body with wanton abandon. She is soft, sinuous, seductive, an open invitation to sample her treasures. Many have. She craves cock and has had more boys that she can possibly remember - or ever care to. "I can have cock anytime," she muses. "I don't need a boy to make me feel complete." Some might regard her as bizarre, perverse, obscene. Cassandra doesn't. She loves her life, and herself, more now than she ever has before.

Girls like Cassandra are made, not born. Bit by bit, Cassandra was guided, shaped, molded, transformed into everything she is today. It took time, patience, dedication, perseverance, and lots of love. It took Melissa. She is Cassandra's roommate, friend, confidant, fashion advisor, counselor, personal physician - and Mistress. Melissa is also the one, true love of Cassandra's life, forever and ever. Who would know better than I? As I said, she made me everything I am today - and so much more than I ever dreamed I could be.

I had been 'dressing up' as long as I could remember. My early attempts were crude, to be sure. I 'borrowed' things from my mother and sisters and kept practicing, experimenting. I hadn't really developed a feminine persona yet; I just had an 'urge'.

My hobby was a solitary one. In my hometown, such a thing "just wasn't done". I didn't dare reveal myself to anyone. The boys' vulgar jokes and derision of "Faggots" and "Drag Queens" scared me off. I wanted the girls to like me, to accept me, and they did - but only as a friend. They perceived me as "too small", "too thin", "too pretty", and "too swishy" to be boyfriend material. They used to talk around me as though I was one of them, gossiping about hair, makeup, which boys were "real studs" and which girls had "made it" with them. The girls were only teasing me, but I was living for it.

I went to college, studied Computer Science, and played at being "One of the Guys". I went to football games, out to the bars, rode my motorcycle, and dressed very 'butch' - though with stylishly-long hair. It was more difficult to pursue my desires at school. There really wasn't much privacy in the dorms, so dressing was out. I moved off-campus to more private accommodations as soon as university regulations permitted, but even then I had roommates, homework and projects to contend with. I picked up scene magazines; "Cosmopolitan", "Elle", "Vogue", and specialty hairstyle and make-up magazines. I bought makeup, styling gel, hairspray and a set of hot rollers and spent whatever private time I had painting my face and styling my hair, then dressing in some cute little outfit I had pieced together. I spent my precious stolen hours in feminine bliss and dreamed of a day I could dress up without fear of being discovered.

During the spring of my senior year, I saw a promotional flyer for a seminal on 'Alternative Sexual Lifestyles'. I awaited the event with anticipation. At last, I would meet 'kindred spirits', people who saw sexuality as more than "Me Tarzan, you Jane", or "Paradise by the Dashboard Light". The seminar was a complete waste of time. It was an amateurish forum by campus gay and lesbian activists to vent their spleens against social injustice - at least, where it was unjust towards them. Nothing at all was said about the other variations on the 'Alternatives' theme. But there WAS Melissa.

I sat next to her (on purpose) and we began chatting between speakers. I was 'traveling incognito' in jeans and black leather biker jacket and carrying my helmet. She was spectacularly beautiful; long, thick, streaked hair a la Cindy Crawford, big, wide-set blue eyes, full, pouty lips. Melissa was not particularly well-built, but so what? She was engaging, effervescent, smart, sassy, sexy and self-assured. And, she was HERE! That had to mean SOMETHING. She was the kind of woman I could lose myself in - and did. We became lovers almost immediately. I couldn't believe it; she wanted me passionately! I was new to these things, but I sensed something developing, something deep that neither was willing to discuss. There was so much I wanted to tell her, so much I wanted to share, but I was afraid to open up to her. I think she felt the same way; we didn't even discuss why each of us had been at the seminar. In addition, I could sense almost from the start she was involved with someone else. Don't ask me how; call it 'female intuition'. After a while, she just stopped seeing me, stopped returning my calls. I was hurt. I didn't understand. I wished we had had more time together, time for me to summon the courage to say the things I wanted to tell her. I resigned myself to the loss, but she haunted the corridors of my mind for a long time.

I earned my degree, moved to the city, and landed a good job at Barnes and Bidwell. I hit it off well enough with my co-workers, especially Gwen. She worked in Human Resources (they don't call it "Personnel" anymore) and helped me fill out the myriad of forms that goes with a new job. We had lunch together and she introduced me to her girlfriends: Peggy from Human Resources, Beth, and Lisa from Word Processing, Melanie from Payroll, Suzie from Administration, Nancy and Gayle from Accounting. They made me feel so at ease. Before I knew it, I had friends - and girlfriends at that! I found an apartment (my own place at last!), started shopping for my 'special things', hung or put them away in their own places in my closets and dressers, and settled in to practice my own version of The Good Life.

I kind of drifted into the Drag Queen/Transsexual scene. There were some substantial differences between me and them; I had a job, paid my own bills without selling drugs or hooking, wasn't all that interested in the latest music by Des'ree, Pebbles, or Salt n' Peppa, didn't want to compete in any pageants, and wasn't looking for a 'husband'. I didn't even dress at first (after all this time 'in the closet', I was too afraid of looking silly), while most of them were living 24/7. Still, I felt comfortable there. I had finally found others like me who enjoyed being as feminine as they could be.

I was fascinated by the fact they all had femme names and personalities, even if it was all illusion. Well, why not? I had been living the same illusion all my life. It just made sense; it was an entirely different 'me', who deserved her own identity. I certainly didn't want to get all dressed up, go to a club, and introduce myself as "Matt". I spent the rest of the week thinking up a name, thinking up the right SOUND of a name, to compliment the woman within me. I literally woke up in the middle of the night with the answer - and the resolve to make it happen.

That Friday night, I took a long, luxuriant bath and shaved my smooth, supple body. I then carefully, exquisitely painted my pretty face. Next, I dressed in red lace waist cincher, bra, bikini panties and garter belt, sheer black stockings, red spandex tank dress, red patent belt and red patent five-inch spikes. My bra cups were filled out with very realistic (and hideously expensive) silicone breast forms that jiggled as I walked. I donned my flashiest hair and pinned it tightly to my scalp. "If I only have one life, let me live it as a blonde," I mused. I added equally-flashy necklace, earrings, bangles and ankle chain. I added long, crimson press-on nails for drama, then spritzed on a liberal amount of "Obsession". Thus, "Cassandra Santee" was ready to make her debut.

The city had a number of clubs that welcomed girls like me, not to mention those who admire us. I vowed I would experience every one I could find. That first time, I would have been satisfied with a smile or two; perhaps even an appreciative "nice". I never expected to be as well-received as I was. I don't know how many times someone (usually another cross-dresser or a 'straight' guy who liked "chicks with dicks") stopped me and told me I was beautiful or sexy. Even some of the queens said I looked good - for a "rock" (whatever that meant). It was faint praise, but better than none at all. All in all, my first time was a lot of fun.

In time, I became known around the scene and was welcomed warmly wherever I went. I made some friends, including cross-dressers, Queens, gay boys, even bouncers (always nice to have around when you want to get in without waiting in line or to get rid of some abusive Yuppie jerk). I found out I had more in common with the Queens than I had previously thought. Once they got to know you, they were a lot more fun to be around than the "weekend warriors" who wore opaque pantyhose and long sleeves to hide their hairy legs and arms. We hung out, danced, got a little drunk, and just had a good time. We even ventured to some of the straight clubs when they had special events. The management loved us; we were exotic and controversial, which made us "cool", and their club the "cool place to be". I learned the local idiom and grew comfortable in conversing in it. For instance, I finally found out a 'rock' is a (usually new) girl who has not undergone any kind of physical transformation (hormones, implants, or other cosmetic procedure). My new friends gave me tips on dressing, 'tucking', makeup and hair and other tricks of the trade. They told me they got their curvy bodies through a combination of hormones and "pumping" - silicone injections - and recommended I get myself "done". "We know this great doctor," my friend Naomi told me. "She's fish (genetic female), but she's really into us 'girls'. She gives us all the 'mones we want. Just say the word, Sugar, and I'll fix you up with her. Girlfriend, you would be sen-SA-tional!" I was a bit awed by the fact that a physician - genetically-female at that - would take an active interest in the scene. I made a mental note to inquire about that later.

This Jeckyll/Hyde existence went on for a couple of years. 'Matt' went to work at Barnes and Bidwell five days a week. He worked hard, made a good living, had fun with his friends at work, and went home. From time to time, he went out shopping "for his girlfriend", buying new clothes, shoes, jewelry and makeup. He frequented a wig shop owned by a gay hairdresser who was only too happy to help out. Then 'Cassandra', a creature of the night, prowled the dark, forbidden places where good girls and proper people didn't go.

Gwen and the other girls at work took an almost-motherly interest in my personal life. I think the dears were actually worried I went home and watched television every night. They casually inquired if I was seeing anyone. I just smiled. "No one in particular," I replied.

"Why don't you come out shopping with us sometime, or for Girls' Night

Out? You can be an honorary 'girl' for the evening. It's almost like you

are one of us as it is."

If you only knew.

"Thanks. I just might take you up on that some time."

Halloween is always a special occasion in the scene. Everyone turns out - and really turns it on. All the straight bars were featuring costume contests with cash prizes for the best or most original costume. There was even a contest at work. Gwen chided me for not wearing a costume. "It's only once a year. C'mon, loosen up!" I managed to keep a straight face.

"I have one, but I'm saving it for tonight. It's kind of involved and I don't want to ruin it."

I would have loved to show everyone my 'costume', but thought better of it.

I was at the bars and had just danced a set up on one of the risers. My sleek, shiny, form-fitting latex dress hugged a nipped-in waist and realistic-looking silicone boobies. I danced expertly in five-inch black patent stilettos. One of my bouncer friends had helped me down and I was headed for the Ladies Room to freshen my makeup.

"You looked really HOT up there, Girlfriend. How about a drink?"

I turned around to see the source of the sexy, feline voice that authored the invitation. MELISSA! My heart shot into my throat. After all this time, and now to see her again...LIKE THIS! And this wasn't the Melissa I remembered. This Melissa had BODY! It was all I could do to not stare at her magnificent breasts, tiny waist, and full, flaring hips, all poured into a figure-hugging black calfskin bustier sheath with matching thigh-high, spike-heeled, lace-up boots and armpit-length black kid gloves. A black-and-red Heartwood flogger dangled casually from a clip on her multi-stranded chain-link belt. Her hair and makeup were as severe as her Dominatrix garb - almost as dramatic as my own. And something else - the gleam in her eyes and slight twitch to her broadly-smiling lips told me she was tripping on Ecstasy. If she recognized me, she didn't show it. Finally, I gathered my wits.

"Thanks, but I, uh, was just on my way to the Little Girls' Room to freshen up."

"Sounds like a great idea. I need to take the shine off my nose, too. Mind if I join you,...?"

"Cassandra. Cassandra Santee."

"So YOU are Cassandra! I was hoping we would meet someday. I'm Melissa

Monet. I have heard SO MUCH about you from my friends. They told me you

were breath-taking. Even that doesn't do you justice. You are GORGEOUS!

Come on, Girlfriend. I'm not going to share you with ANYONE tonight!"

She took my arm in hers and led me towards the bathrooms. Her strong, confident mien and the tone in her voice advised she was not one to take "no" for an answer. Dazed, I could but follow her lead.

There is a small, dark alcove just off the main hallway leading to the bathrooms. Anyone standing there, in the shadows, cannot be seen by people passing by. Melissa thrust me into the alcove forcefully, slamming my back against the rear wall with a "thump". She pinned my hands flat against the wall by the wrists, ground her body into mine and kissed me ravenously, burying her tongue deeply into my mouth. I felt the swell of her magnificent breasts, the thrust of her erect nipples and the heat of her body as it pressed against mine. I smelled the muskiness of her exotic perfume. I heard the ripple of her leather dress and boots and the husky rasp of her ragged breathing. I could see nothing. The throbbing bulge she felt pressing against her mound was unmistakable.

"My now, what have we HERE? Tsk, tsk, Little Girl; that's NOT very

ladylike."

My captor forced both of my hands behind my back, then pinned them against the wall by thrusting her body hard against mine. I could have escaped, of course - but why on earth would I want to? She reached down to my hem and slowly, tortuously, unzipped my dress's full-length front zipper to the waist. Then, she deftly freed my raging cock from its pantied prison.

"Mmm, not ladylike at ALL. Whatever am I going to do with THIS?"

In answer to her own question, the beautiful Dominatrix lifted one booted leg and impaled her drenched pussy on my cock in one fluid motion. She thrust against me as if her life depended on it. The pretense of captivity was forgotten for the moment. I freed one hand to support her raised leg, then the other to aid her thrusting attack.

Her scream began as a low, guttural moan deep in her belly, rising in pitch and crescendo until it rang in my ears and jarred me right to my soul. I don't think anyone but us could have heard it above the pounding din of the heavy industrial music, but that was enough. She thrashed against me again and again, like some demon machine gone berserk. I came with her, shooting torrents of jism into her with the force of a firehose. Years of pent-up frustration, of desire denied, came gushing out in those few exquisite seconds of tortured bliss.

We stood there, trembling in the dark. Neither made any attempt to disengage from the other. I flexed my cock at irregular intervals, causing it to swell and extend inside her. Each time, she whimpered and spasmed. The music pounded around us. People walked back and forth, laughing and talking, not six feet away. We were as oblivious to their presence as they were to ours. As ludicrous as it seemed, given the situation, it was the first time in my life I really felt like a man. It was also to be the only time.

I don't know how, but Gwen and the others could tell. Perhaps it was a glazed expression on my face when I walked in on Monday morning. Perhaps I was staring dreamily out into space at my desk. Perhaps it really WAS female intuition. They cornered me at lunch.

"Admit it; you got LAID this weekend, didn't you?"

I blushed, looked at the floor and smiled sheepishly.

"I KNEW it! Who IS she? Where did you meet her? TELL US!"

I told them about meeting Melissa in college, how we parted too soon, and that I hadn't seen her in all that time until Friday night. I graphically described our "zipless fuck" in the crowded dance club, leaving out the details of which club it was and how we were attired. Their jaws dropped and their eyes bugged out as I related the story. "My GAWD," Beth intoned. "I thought that only happened in the movies." "You STUD you," Gwen gushed in mock disbelief. "And to think I was worried you were gay or something."

Melissa called me every night that week. We talked dirty for hours, as new lovers do - or, at least, as I have heard they do. I was amazed at how easily I fell into the role of the sexy slut who has just been 'conquered', considering I had no previous experience. But then, I have my soft, breathy, sexy voice to work with, a voice that has been described as anything but masculine. I was also aided by Melissa's own somewhat-imperfect recollection of that night. She had a napkin, on which had been hastily scribbled:

Cassandra

555-2739

CALL ME!

She also had a hazy vision of a latex-clad, blue-eyed, blonde bombshell and an apparently-unencumbered memory of a magnificent, mind-blowing fuck that had launched her into orbit. She invited me to an intimate dinner for two at her place on Saturday night. She promised candlelight, classical guitar, lobster, champagne, and a reprise of the previous weekend. "Wear something glamorous," she purred. "And sexy."

Mere words cannot describe the look on Melissa's face when she finally realized who I was. It happened near the end of dinner, after the lobster but before the champagne was completely gone. It was Tattinger, my favorite, and we were both a little giddy. Andres Segovia on the stereo had only heightened the mood. I had pulled out all the stops. I wore a floor-length, black crepe evening gown with spaghetti straps, gathered bodice, and long, long front slit. My slim, stocking-clad legs were revealed in all their glory as I crossed one leg delicately over the other. My dainty feet were shod in spike-heeled, ankle-strap, black kidskin sandals. My makeup was smoldering, yet tasteful. My lips, fingertips and toes were the same shade of blood red, and my golden hair cascaded softly around my shoulder blades. Long crystal chandelier earrings swayed from my earlobes, while a matching multiple-tiered necklace encircled my throat. A wide crystal bracelet adorned my left wrist, while its more diminutive cousin graced my ankle.

Melissa had not been able to tear her eyes away from me all evening. I had seen it coming; that slightly-puzzled, quizzical expression that declares: "I know you from somewhere. Where was it?" When it hit, it truly was a "Kodak Moment". A chain-association image flashed before her eyes in an instant: from a leather-and-denim-clad college boy to the latex-clad slut she had shamelessly humped in the dance club the week before, to the sleek, sophisticated blonde arrayed before her at that moment.... Her eyes were like saucers. She slipped one delicate hand to her lips.

"Oh...my...GOD!"

I couldn't help it. I tried to be demure, but I couldn't contain myself; out came a rich, melodic laugh. Melissa feigned a fit of pique at my deception and punched me in the shoulder for having the temerity to laugh about it as well. Yet I could tell even the sound of my laughter was having an effect on her. She smiled. The smile turned to a chuckle. The chuckle became a laugh. Her laughter fed mine, and vice versa. Soon, we were both emitting peals of laughter, clutching our sides, tears rolling down our cheeks.

I withdrew a tissue from my purse and dabbed at the tears on her cheeks. She took the tissue from my hand and returned the gesture. She caressed my cheek. I caressed hers. She leaned over and kissed me; softly at first, then with gathering passion and urgency. We stood and pressed our bodies together. She took me in her arms and I yielded, melting against her.

By the time we reached her bed, we were clad only in waist-cinchers, stockings and heels. It felt so natural to worship her voluptuous body with my fingertips and tongue. I explored every inch of her with exquisite care, arousing her, enflaming her, enticing her. Finally, I ate her to one glorious orgasm after another. After she regained her composure, she left the bed and went into the bathroom. She returned minutes later, wearing a huge strap-on dildo. No words were spoken; none were needed. A transfer of power had taken place; yielded by one, assumed by the other. I climbed up on my hands and knees and presented my virgin ass to my lover. She penetrated me slowly, gently, recognizing my inexperience from the resistance she felt. Her demeanor was calm, serene, as though it were second nature. I came as I had never come before. My whole world exploded in a symphony of pain-pleasure.

We snuggled together, my back to her front, her dildo still buried deeply inside me, basking in the afterglow. I felt so safe and protected with Melissa's arms around me. We revealed ourselves to each other as we never had before - as we should have done so long ago. Melissa was very bi, but had given up on serious relationships with men during college. She had wearied of being 'conquered', used up, and ultimately abandoned in favor of some new conquest. Her desire for sex with men was unchanged, but her emotional preference gravitated toward the female gender. The 'someone else' she had been involved with when we met was Jennifer, her roommate and pledge sister. The two had been carrying on a torrid lesbian affair, with Melissa as the dominant partner and Jennifer her submissive. They had been into every kink one could imagine - and then some. Melissa and I had met about this time. At first she had intended me to be just another of her casual flings, a "booty call". But she had developed feelings for me, sensing something different about me than any other man she had ever known. She didn't want to tell me because she felt guilty for "betraying" Jennifer in her heart. Nor did she know how to reveal to me her need for kinky pleasures, her desire to dominate, and her love of exquisitely-feminine playmates. Breaking up with me had been difficult, but something she felt she had to do at the time.

The lovers became the scandal of their sorority and were forced to move out. In the end, Melissa's desire for sex with men was her undoing. Jennifer was insanely jealous of Melissa's frequent male consorts. "She had no reason to be," Melissa protested. "It was just sex. I can get cock anytime, but I was in love with her." Shortly after graduation, it was Jennifer's turn to abandon Melissa - for a woman who was a committed lesbian. Melissa had been completely crushed by Jennifer's abandonment. I could appreciate the irony where she could not. How many philandering males had paid the same price? The realization of having given me up as well had made the loss that much more acute.

Melissa had moved to the city afterwards and engaged in a series of short, meaningless affairs with lovers of both sexes. During this time, the glossy, superficial, transient world of the Drag Queen/Transsexual scene appeared to be ideally-suited to her needs. She adored the beautiful, feminine boy-girls she met. The bisexual in her regarded their soft good looks and non-threatening passivity as rare and attractive qualities in men. The Dominant Bitch in her regarded them as an ultimate fantasy; a pretty bauble she could conquer, transform into a feminized plaything that belonged only to her, and discard when she became bored with it. This was, in part, the reason she had set up her practice as an endocrinologist. Melissa felt supremely powerful as she transformed these delicate, effeminate boys into fabulously-proportioned shemales, destined to live the rest of their lives as beautiful, submissive sex toys. It had also made her more conscious of her own body, to the point where she had had it surgically enhanced to its current spectacular proportions. She wielded her exquisite new physique as a weapon, an instrument of destruction clad in the most revealing, blatantly-erotic clothing she could find. She attracted her intended prey - male, female, and in-between - and consumed them bit by bit; first their resistance, then their will, and finally their soul. Whatever was left after she had taken her pleasure she discarded like an empty husk. Lately, she realized that she had become what she despised most - a user - and hated herself for it. She had had every intention of cutting herself off from the scene entirely, but decided to go out on Halloween for one final fling.

Melissa had been hearing stories about me for months and had wanted to meet me, but had always been in the wrong place at the wrong time. On some occasions, she had missed me by a matter of minutes. That had only served to pique her interest. When she made the decision to quit the scene, she had put that desire out of her mind. Then we met. In that one, brief, explosive encounter, she felt all the old, familiar cravings come flooding back with a vengeance. In the past week, she confessed, she had been completely obsessed with me. I was on her mind every waking moment and haunted her dreams as well. She just HAD to possess me! Now that she knew my identity, she was overcome by a raging storm of intense, conflicting emotions and desires.

My heart pounded as Melissa poured out her story. Her conflicts were so closely-attuned to my own. I desperately sorted through my own turmoil, groping for the right words to express what I felt. Just as before, I wanted to tell her just how much I wanted her, needed her, and always had. More than that, I felt so submissive to her; I would have done anything she asked of me at that point. Once again, the words would not come. Then it occurred to me; THIS time, they wouldn't have to. I gently kissed her lips and snuggled even closer, wiggling my bottom to impale myself even more deeply on her love pole. All of our hopes, dreams, desires, and emotions were exchanged in a single, wordless glance between us. In that moment, the roles were cast; we had only to play out the scene. Melissa cupped my chin in her hand, smiled, and spoke.

"You belong to me now, Cassandra - body and soul. I shall make you my

personal plaything, a bizarre little sex toy that exists for my pleasure.

You will submit without question to whatever demands I make of you. You

have no choice, no will of your own. Do you understand, my pet?"

Tears of joy welled up in my eyes.

"Yes, Mistress."

I don't know where that came from; it just seemed the natural thing to say. It struck the right chord; Melissa smiled, kissed me deeply, as if sealing the accord, then wrapped me in her arms and snuggled up against my tush. We slept with her phallus nestled in the crack between my thighs.

From that moment on, I was Melissa's very willing submissive. As proof of my devotion to her, I acquiesced to her demand that I begin a course of hormone therapy designed to make me "softer, shaplier, and more passive". I began a treatment of thrice-daily pills, supplemented by weekly shots. She introduced me to "body modification" (corseting) as part of my feminine ritual and delighted in compressing my torso as tightly as she could. My new hourglass figure was difficult at first; I felt as though I were being crushed within the jaws of some huge vise and could barely breathe. Even so, my new and very alluring curves were worth the effort. Flesh that had been squeezed from my waist area now spilled over on my chest or filled out my hips. With silicone breast forms and hip pads, I had a very convincing feminine shape. My lover put me on a strict diet and introduced me to daily aerobic dance classes to enhance my womanly figure and muscle tone.

As time progressed, I did feel softer, calmer, and more passive. Melissa was delighted with my increasingly docile, subservient personality. In time I became completely dependent on her and was helpless to resist her dominance in any way, meekly submitting to her bizarre plans for my development. I addressed Melissa as "Mistress" and deferred to her judgement in all things.

Without a doubt, I was also shapelier. My waist was noticibly more slender. The fleshy mounds on my chest, hips, and tush became more pronounced - and sensitive. Corseting had become a way of life - even under my male clothing. Melissa even fitted me with a full-torso 'night corset' which molded my body while I slept. It seemed only natural that I begin wearing feminine lingerie and sheer, filmy stockings as well. My sensitive breasts certainly felt better with the silky support of a padded push-up bra. My delicate little "clitty" remained tucked away without a trace inside my lacy panties, giving me a smooth, flat, feminine appearance. The sleek, snug fit of my stockings made my legs feel SO heavenly!

At first, Melissa continued to ride my cock to orgasm as she had at the club on Halloween. In addition, she trained me in the way she loved to be pleasured orally. In return, she reinforced my own feminine desires by pleasuring me anally with her strap-on phallus until I came to a glorious orgasm. As time passed, my hormonally-altered body and submissively-channeled responses took their toll on our "straight" sex. I had neither the ability nor the desire to penetrate my lover; I wanted only to pleasure her orally and, in turn, be fucked by her into quivering, mindless bliss.

Melissa began taking male lovers again. She was very open and honest with me about it, telling me she loved me with all her heart but still had needs which I was now unable to fulfill. She told me in detail about the gorgeous hunks who bedded her, how big they were, how they filled her pussy to overflowing, how they made her feel so - womanly. I wasn't hurt; our sex life was as good as it had ever been and her trust in me and caring about my feelings made me feel closer to her than ever before. If anything, I was envious; not of them - of her.

People at work took note of the changes in me. The guys snickered at me behind my back. My girlfriends began to call me "Sweetie", "Honey", and "Precious". One morning, they dragged me into the Ladies Room with them during break. They made me strip off my suit coat, tie, slacks and shirt, then admired my corseted, feminine curves, pretty lingerie and shapely, stocking-clad legs. Gwen told me they couldn't HELP noticing the thrust of my girlish bustline and the faint outline of bras, panties, and garters under my clothes. They cooed that they just ADORED my slim, sexy figure and the way I now swished as I walked. Once the initial shock wore off, I didn't mind them knowing. They were my girlfriends and I actually felt relieved that they now knew my secret. Under their coaxing, I revealed everything; my history of cross-dressing, how Melissa had taken control of our relationship, how she was slowly, deliberately feminizing me, and my own feelings of wonderment and anticipation over the changes in me, even my new name. My girlfriends were delighted with my incipient womanhood. Gwen hugged me tightly.

"Oh, Sweetie, I'm so happy for you. I knew you were desperately unhappy

before, but I didn't know why. You have always been so sweet and innocent,

just like a girl trying to find her way in the world. You shared and

interacted with us as if it were the most natural thing on earth - which it

just ISN'T for a man. I teased you about being like one of us, but I didn't

understand. You really ARE one of us in your heart. Now, the rest of you is

catching up."

They vowed they would keep it "our little secret" as long as I comported myself in the most feminine manner possible at all times in the office, took my breaks with them, kept them up-to-date on EVERYTHING regarding my relationship and transformation, used ONLY the Ladies Room - and went with them on "Girls Night Out". I found out soon after that they had contacted Melissa, revealed their knowledge of the situation, and promised their support in her efforts. Armed with that knowledge, Melissa informed me there was no reason not to step up my transformation.

Melissa had me give up my apartment and move in with her. I was required to be dressed, made up and coiffed whenever I was home. Each day she tightened my corset laces a little more. Melissa began taking 'Cassandra' to the beauty salon with her. Each visit started with my lover dressing me in some tight, revealing little outfit and skyscraper stiletto-heeled shoes. My double-pierced ears were adorned with studs or buttons over large hoops or long, dangling pendants. Melissa always parked in a garage a block away from the salon, to make sure everyone got an eyeful of me as we strutted down the street. At first, the girls at the salon were beside themselves with glee at my predicament, marveling at the total control Melissa had over me as she calmly explained her desires for her feminized plaything. I was beyond embarrassment and secretly yearned for what lay ahead. Like the girls in the office, the salon staff warmed to Melissa's bizarre plans for me and enthusiastically conspired to make my transformation totally convincing. Each salon visit took me a little farther down the path toward total femininity. My ever-lengthening tresses were lightly-trimmed, styled, lightened another shade, deep-conditioned, then carefully gathered up in back. My eyebrows were plucked and shaped into high, delicate arches. My arms and legs were waxed. A facial rendered my complexion soft and creamy-smooth. My feet were pedicured and my toenails were lacquered a deep red. My lengthening fingernails were delicately shaped and polished with clear, nail-hardening enamel, then affixed with long, lustrous press-on nails in the same crimson hue as my toenails (the press-on nails were only removed when I went to work or was being manicured, and always went right back on afterwards). The cosmetologist made up my face in a flattering, yet always overdone look, showing me how to achieve the effect on my own. Finally, I was crowned with my blonde (or occasionally red) wig, which had been carefully styled in a big, blowsy, bimbo-ish 'do. The stylist then pinned it into place, making it feel like part of me. I was so proud of my totally-feminized appearance as I was spritzed all over with perfume and allowed to admire myself in the full-length mirror. Melissa's eyes glazed over as she beheld every luscious inch of me.

At the office, the social dynamic of my status had changed dramatically. Even with no makeup and my blonde hair tied back in a demure pony tail, my femininity was undeniable. The men now tolerated me with grudging silence. They did not abuse me openly; They didn't dare. Grace Rogers, our polished, attractive, and tres-chic Office Manager, was a zealot on the subject of harassment in the workplace. We had not spoken directly about my changing appearance and comportment, but she had become very friendly lately. She was not condescending or patronizing; just caring and complimentary, in the way she would be to a new girl in the office. At the same time, she issued a memo to all employees, re-affirming the company's total commitment to "a positive, professional, and TOLERANT working environment". In addition, I was protected by an ever-widening circle of girlfriends, a kind of "Mammary Mafia" of women in key positions that could (and would) wreck any man's career, should he disparage me openly.

My relationship and increasingly-feminine appearance were my girlfriends' favorite topic of conversation. They were amazed at Melissa's total dominance over me and touched with my complete devotion to my lover. Suzie wished out loud her own relationship could be as rewarding and several others echoed her sentiment. Our trips to the Ladies Room became impromptu 'makeovers'. The girls insisted on "doing me up" with a little eyeliner and mascara, a hint of eye shadow and blush, and a coat of clear lip gloss. They fawned over my golden-blonde hair, brushing and shaping it into something "more attractive". "I haven't had this much fun since I gave up my Barbie Doll," Beth quipped. They lived for my blossoming figure, tightly-corsetted and adorned in the most feminine of lingerie under my drab, male suits. They longed openly for their girlfriend to "come out" in all her radiant feminine glory.

By now, I actually felt awkward and uncomfortable as anything but Cassandra. My heavy hormone dosages had had an amazing effect on my body. My hips and tush had become full and rounded, causing me to affect a fluid, natural undulation as I walked. My pert titties had swelled to an overfull B-cup. Their areola were much larger and darker now. The nipples had become super-sensitive and seemed forever erect. The extreme feminization had taken its toll on my psyche as well. I had become a simpering, submissive little playtoy. I yielded willingly to Melissa's insistence that Cassandra, not Matt, accompany her everywhere in public. We shopped, went to museums, aerobics classes, dinner, movies, and clubs as girlfriends. She insisted we accept Gwen's invitation to "Girls Night Out" so she could show me off to the girls from the office. I was as bimbo-ish as my lover could make me, with teased hair, electric-pink spandex minidress, matching purse and spike heels, and wantonly-heavy makeup, with shocking-pink lips and talons. After their initial shocked disbelief at the extent of my feminization, my girlfriends were enthralled with me - and with Melissa, the authoress of my transformation. They told her how much they adored their 'girlfriend', how good I looked, and reiterated their desire to see me "come out all the way". Melissa smiled a Cheshire smile and replied that perhaps she could do something about that. I didn't think much about it at the time. Later, while I was dancing with a really cute boy named Todd (he had asked and Melissa had insisted I accept his invitation), I noticed Melissa had gotten really chummy with my girlfriends. They kept looking my way, smiling, and whispering to each other and nodding enthusiastically. I asked her on the way home what that had been all about. "Oh, nothing," she chirped. "Just girl-talk."

The following day, Melissa woke me at the crack of dawn.

"Come on, Sleepyhead, it's time for you to get ready for work."

"But I don't have to be at the office for three hours."

"Actually, you are going to be late today. VERY late."

I brushed my teeth, showered, then patted myself dry with a big, fluffy towel. As I stepped out of the bathroom, Melissa was waiting for me by the bed, a smile on her lips and an outfit laid out - a very feminine outfit!

"Come along, Cassandra. It's time to get dressed."

I gaped at her in astonishment.

"But, I have to go to work!"

"Don't argue with me, Missy! Start making yourself pretty for me!"

She smacked me hard on my plump asscheeks and I scurried to do as I was told.

Melissa dressed me with loving care. First, she smoothed black satin and lace bikini panties up my legs and over my hips, nestling my tiny clitty between my legs so I would have a nice, smooth pantyline. The matching demi-cup bra came next. The C-cup bra was a full cup size bigger than my breasts, but silicone inserts filled them out nicely and pushed my titties high up on my chest, giving me a deep, luscious cleavage. Melissa then enclosed my torso in my black satin corset. She pulled the laces tighter and tighter. When she finally tied them off, I gasped at what appeared to be a twenty-two-inch waistline. She rolled sheer black stockings up my legs and fastened them to the garters on my corset. I stepped into a slim black satin half-slip that fell just to the knee. I slipped my arms into a gossamer-sheer black chiffon blouse with tailored body and long, poufy sleeves which buttoned snugly at my wrists. Melissa buttoned the blouse only to the top of my bra. She then had me step into a charcoal-gray pencil skirt and zipped it firmly closed. The skirt ended just below the knee and was so tight I could barely walk. Next came the matching tailored jacket with deeply-V'd lapels and a peplum waist that fit snugly over my hips. Melissa arranged the collar of my blouse and spread the parted halves so I showed off ample amounts of cleavage. She draped three gold chains of different lengths around my neck and arranged them in a cascade. She inserted gold ball studs in my upper ear piercings and large gold hoops in the lowers. A gold watch graced my left wrist, while six gold bangles chimed musically on my right. Several of my long, slender fingers bore decorative golden rings. A single slender golden chain skimmed my left ankle.

She had me tie my hair back in a ponytail. "That will do for now," she asserted.

"But I don't have any makeup on and my hair is a mess! How can I go ANYWHERE looking like this?"

Melissa tsk-tsked with mock patience.

"Isn't that just like a woman? Sweetheart, we are going to the only place a woman CAN go 'looking like this'."

She handed me a black patent purse, then had me step into matching ankle-strap sandals. Melissa looped the straps around my trim ankles and fastened each ornate clasp with an audible "click". My lover looked up at me with a triumphant smile. It was then that I realized these were special bondage shoes; they were now securely locked in place and I would be unable to remove them! Their five-inch spike heels arched my legs dramatically, causing me to thrust out my ass and titties at the same time. Then Melissa hurried me out to the car - and directly to the beauty salon. Evidently, the girls at the salon had already been primed for our arrival and the nature of my visit. They wasted no time getting me in the chair...for what, I could only guess. My shoulder-length tresses were tinted once more. Long, lustrous extentions were woven in. Then, the whole of it was permed. The process seemed to take forever, but I sensed it would be worth it. In the meantime, Carmen, the nail technician, had given me a set of ultra-long, gently curving, deep crimson sculptured nails with gold stripes and a little charm on the right pinky. Carmen had opted for the stronger acrylic nails rather than silk wraps, avowing they would hold up better under the rigors of the daily office routine. I gulped at the mention of the office - and what havoc this new 'reality' would wreak - but said nothing. Carmen did my toenails in the same blood-red hue. Dorothy, the cosmetologist, had augmented my natural eyelashes with thick, furry implants, then made up my face. Donna, the hair stylist, finished at last. My heart caught in my throat as I viewed myself - my NEW self - for the first time. My shimmering platinum mane cascaded in loose waves almost to my waist. It swayed hypnotically as I moved my head from side to side. My ivory complexion glowed radiantly. My deep-set azure eyes were shadowed with steel-gray lids and mauve highlights. My thinly-arched eyebrows were contoured with smoke pencil. My upper eyelids were outlined with bold strokes of black liquid liner and my lower lids with black pencil. My cheekbones were contoured with a dark rose blush. My lips were the same crimson shade as my nails. I adored my new look - and so did Melissa! As she spritzed me with "Obsession", she informed me I was now her "little blonde bimbo" - in fact, as well as fantasy - and that she had more changes in store for me. I couldn't imagine what else she could possibly have in mind. I was already more woman than man, with long flowing tresses, feminine curves, a very provocative undulation in my walk which I could no longer control and fingernails so long that I wouldn't even be able to dress myself without help.

We left the salon and returned to the car. Melissa turned out of the garage and headed uptown.

"Where are we going now?"

"I'm taking you to meet Michelle. You are in for a BIG surprise."

Michelle's office is in Lakeview, the predominantly gay/lesbian neighborhood which is the center of the Drag Queen scene, as well as the location of most of the clubs we frequented. Michelle was waiting for us when we arrived. She was seeing us before her normal office hours and we were the only ones in the office. In no time they had me stripped naked and strapped to an examination table by my wrists and ankles. Melissa softly stroked my forehead and smiled beguilingly.

"Dear, sweet Cassandra. You have made me so very happy these past months. I

have already turned you into a soft, simpering sissy by pickling you with

hormones. You have developed pert titties, a tiny waist, soft, curvy hips

and ass, and I just LOVE your limp little clitty! It's so cute, so cuddly,

so - harmless. You will never be able to function as a man again. I have

had your hair, face, and nails done so you may no longer APPEAR as a man,

either. Now, I'm going to take you even farther down the road to

Femininity. Anyone who knows me knows I like my 'girls' REALLY busty. With

Michelle's help, I am going to transform you into the most magnificent 'Tit

Queen' anyone has ever seen! Everyone in the scene will know that I have

'marked you' as my property, which they may admire but not touch - without

my permission. They will see you and know that you belong to me. Are you

ready, my lovely one?"

Michelle began by making a series of injections with a local anesthetic in a circular pattern around the base of my blossoming breasts to prepare them for this next and most outrageous step in my transformation.

"Just lie still," Melissa cooed. "Everything will be fine. You won't believe what you are about to see."

She stroked my forehead gently with her left hand and held my hand with her right. I watched with apprehension and fascination as Michelle inserted the large hypodermic needle again and again in the same pattern around each of my anesthetized breasts, pumping large quantities of silicone into the soft tissue. I was amazed at the sight of my breasts swelling up like twin pyramids before my eyes.

"That's my good girl," Michelle purred. "You are going to be such a BIG

girl now. Here, let's undo your restraints. It's too late for you to

resist now. Stand up, Sweetie - let's do your hips next."

I obeyed her command without hesitation. Michelle pumped my hips and tush, then cleaned off my lips and cheeks and pumped them for good measure.

When Michelle had completed her treatment, Melissa helped me to get dressed. I discovered I now filled my bra to overflowing without the silicone pads. My skirt had become even more snug in the hips and ass as well, a sign of my augmented curves there. As I slowly, lovingly reapplied my base, blush, and lipstick, I noted my cheekbones had swelled alluringly and my lips were fuller, plusher, poutier. I spritzed on more "Obsession". I was entranced with my new look, as was Melissa. The overall effect was a young, sexy office girl, eager to please and "on the make". "Perrrfect, Sweetheart," Melissa trilled. "My girlfriend is FINALLY ready for her first day at the office." "But how can I go in looking like this?", I pouted. "I'll be fired the moment I walk through the door." "Relax, Sissy-girl," Melissa cooed, kissing me lightly on the cheek. "Everything will be JUST FINE."

My stomach did little flip-flops in the car as Melissa drove me to work. "Stop fidgeting," Melissa admonished. "You are BEAUTIFUL. You have nothing to worry about." She pulled up to the front entrance, kissed me lightly on the cheek, then hustled me out the door. "Have a good day, Sweetie," she chimed musically. Then, she pulled away, leaving me to face my fear alone.

I was acutely aware of every little nuance of my outrageous femininity as I minced up the front walk in my tight skirt and skyscraper stilts. My hair swished around my shoulders and back. My titties bounced. My slip rustled. My hips swiveled seductively. My stockings rasped enticingly. My spike heels clicked smartly on the sidewalk. My perfume swirled around me like a misty veil. I WAS Cassandra. I was completely bound within the trappings of my outrageous femininity. I was unable to manipulate zippers, buttons, and laces with my long, curving talons; even if I tried, I could not get undressed without assistance. My spike-heeled pumps were securely locked in place, and only Melissa had the key. There was no place to hide, no way to escape. I was committed to revealing myself, my TRUE self, to everyone.

I thought I would die as I stepped through the front door - just curl up and die, right there in the foyer. Who was standing there to greet me but Grace Rogers! My mind was racing, trying to string together some coherent pattern of words to offer as an explanation, but nothing would come out. Grace smiled warmly, offered her hand and spoke.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Miss Santee. May I call you

Cassandra? I have heard so much about you, I feel as if I have known you

for years! My name is Grace Rogers. I am the Office Manager here at Barnes

and Bidwell. We had anticipated having to get a temporary replacement for

our receptionist while she is out on maternity leave, but we hadn't

anticipated her having her baby six weeks early. It was an emergency; she

went into labor at eleven o'clock last night. I was beside myself all

night, worrying about who we could possibly find in time to fill in. Then

Gwen in Human Resources suggested we contact you. She touted your easy

familiarity with Centrex, Lotus, and WordPerfect, warm, effusive

personality, and reminded me you were close friends with many of our staff

and were already familiar with our business and procedures. When she hinted

that you might be available right away, my heart skipped a beat! I am SO

glad she was able to lure you away from your previous situation. I promise

we will make it worth your while! Might I add that you are absolutely

lovely as well? Gwen said you were attractive, but I could not have hoped

for better. You will make a stunning first impression of our company to our

guests. Gwen has already taken care of your paperwork, although there will

be some forms for you to sign later today. We will need you for at least

two months, possibly more. With your credentials, I can offer you a

starting salary of $25,000, although I suspect there will be no limit to

your tenure or potential here at Barnes and Bidwell. I hope that is all

right with you. In the meantime, won't you follow me to your work station?"

If I had been at a loss for words before, I was stunned speechless now. I - Cassandra - had been expected...and there was a position waiting for me! As soon as Grace mentioned Gwen's name, I knew who had "greased the wheels". But how had all of this been arranged in a little over an hour, unless Melissa...Wait a Minute! Gwen and Melissa had been thick as thieves last night! I smiled knowingly.

"This will be your station, Cassandra. You will answer phones, receive our

guests, coordinate with the departments they are visiting, schedule

conference rooms, handle some light Word Processing duties, accept

deliveries, contact the persons to whom they are addressed, and so forth.

We already have someone to sub for you while you are on break. Gwen

promised to take you around later and introduce you to anyone you don't

already know. One more thing. You are a VERY attractive young woman, and

'boys will be boys'. Our company has a strict policy regarding sexual

harassment. If you receive any UNWANTED advances, or any comments at all

which you regard as offensive or abusive, let me know IMMEDIATELY and I

will deal with it. Now that that situation is under control, I have one

other crisis to deal with. One of our Senior Systems Analysts also went on

emergency medical leave last night and isn't expected to return for a long

time...but why am I bothering you with all this? Let me or Gwen know if you

need anything, Cassandra, and...may I say it is a PLEASURE to meet you in

person at last."

Fortune smiles on the foolish. GRACE KNEW ALL ALONG AND SHE COMPLETELY ACCEPTS ME. I expected to be tarred and feathered. Instead, I have a job. As a girl. For two months. Maybe more. I fell into my new role easily. For the rest of the day, there was a musical lilt in my soft, sexy voice as I answered the telephone, a big, beaming smile on my face as I welcomed visitors to our company and an alluring wiggle to my walk as I moved daintily in my bondage outfit. This was like a vacation; no, more like Paradise. No schedules. No heavy workloads. No convoluted program logic. No flaming egos. No impossible deadlines to meet. Just answer the phone, make nice to the people who come in, enjoy my breaks with my girlfriends, and be as pretty and sexy as I can be. The money was a lot less, but with Melissa supporting me, I didn't need more. Is this a great country, or what?

I was in for some good-natured ribbing when the girls and I met for lunch. They gossiped cattily about the new "office bimbo with the big boobs" as if I weren't there, commenting about her heavy makeup, showgirl hair, and long, curving "talons". They clucked at how she shamelessly flashed her boobies through her obscenely-sheer blouse, wondering aloud how she EVER managed to move around so gracefully in that TIGHT skirt and such IMPOSSIBLY-high heels! They opined that a "slut" like that, dressed to kill as she was, was just BEGGING for some hot-blooded stud to pull her into the storeroom and ravish her!

"I hear Grace gave the little trollop the standard spiel about harassment and told her to report any UNWANTED advances."

"Hmpf! That means the little hussy won't be saying a thing - and I SO

wanted to hear all the juicy details!"

I laughed with them, but I was excited by the prospect. Word about the "hot new blonde in Reception" had spread like wildfire and several men had already found some reason to come to the Reception Desk this morning and introduce themselves while they were there. If anyone beside Grace and my girlfriends knew who I was - rather, who I had been - they gave no indication. I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I was free to be as feminine, pretty, and sexy as I could be!

I felt so natural now, sitting here with them. I mused out loud wasn't it convenient that Debbie Bishop's baby picked this precise time to pop out, and that I hadn't heard she was having ANY problems with her pregnancy? "Neither had I," cooed Gwen, "until I called her when I got home last night. When I informed her that she had just gone into labor, that she was leaving for the hospital RIGHT AWAY, that I would clear everything with Grace, and that I was CERTAIN the insurance would cover EVERYTHING, damned if she didn't feel those contractions coming on THAT INSTANT!" We laughed aloud over Gwen's bon mot. She continued, shaking mirthfully. "Actually, I fear she WILL have a problem pregnancy. I'm guessing that these contractions will turn out to be false labor. In fact, I'm betting she will suffer horribly for, oh, another six weeks, sitting at home, scarfing down pickles and ice cream, watching all the talk shows and soap operas, before the baby actually comes. I don't expect her back for AT LEAST three months, if then." We laughed hysterically, tears rolling down our cheeks. When we had all recovered sufficiently, Gwen raised her Pepsi can for a toast. "Welcome to 'The Circle', Cassandra. This time, it's for real. And it's ABOUT time." I blushed as everyone clinked Pepsi cans, amid murmurs of "Hear, Hear".

Melissa was there to pick me up at five o'clock. Butter would have melted in her mouth.

"Well, Sexy, how was your first day on the job?"

"As if you didn't know!"

"Save it for later. Let's go to dinner and celebrate!"

We went to a nice restaurant for dinner. We had champagne to toast my "coming out", got a little tipsy, and didn't return home until after nine. As we pulled up, I noticed an unfamiliar black Corvette parked out front. A tall, good-looking boy stepped out and approached us. It was Todd, the boy I had danced with the night before! Melissa snickered.

"Well well, look who's here. Did I REALLY give him our address and phone

number and tell him you were just DYING to see him again tonight, but were

too shy to say so? I must have been drunk!"

I looked from Melissa to Todd, then back to Melissa, uncertainty in my eyes. Melissa smoothed down the lapels of my jacket, kissed me lightly on the cheek, and cooed in my ear.

"Run along now, Sweetie. Have a good time. I know you want him; we girls can tell. When you get home, you can tell me all about it!"

Todd took me to a different club for drinks and dancing. I had received admiring glances in public before, but I was not yet accustomed to turning every head as I entered a room. After some initial uneasiness, I warmed to the attention, the man, and the moment. As we danced, I felt so small and helpless in Todd's powerful arms, even though my high heels made me nearly as tall as he. He placed one hand on my rounded asscheeks and pulled me against him. I felt the surging swell of his Manhood pulsing against me. He felt so BIG! I felt faint. My nipples hardened into two erect nubs, clearly visible through the sheer fabric of my blouse.

Todd guided me back to our secluded corner table, where a bottle of champagne awaited us. We sipped and made small talk until the bottle was empty. My date casually fondled my breasts, pinching my hyper-sensitive nipples. He was making me so horny! I massaged his hard-on through his pants until he was panting and I could feel his wetness. He kissed me ravenously and I kissed him right back. We couldn't get out of there fast enough. We sped off into the night with him working the car's stick shift - and me working his!

We arrived at Todd's place. I whispered into his ear to go into the bedroom, turn down the covers, and wait for me. I went to the bathroom, freshened my lipstick, spritzed some more perfume, plumped up my boobies, then made my Grand Entrance. I slinked into the bedroom like a prowling tigress, swishing my hips provocatively. I made him undress me slowly, drawing out the sexual tension. When he removed my panties and my tiny shemale clitty sprang into view, I thought he would die. Rather than being repulsed, his cock swelled another inch! I made love dressed in corset, hose, and heels. I couldn't remove the shoes anyway, and the corset felt like part of me after all the months I had been tightly-laced. And oh, how Todd was turned on by my sexy 'trousseau'! I expertly sucked him to one shattering orgasm, only to have him hard again and pumping my shemale 'pussy' shortly after. I must have come a half-dozen times before he gushed his spunk into me like a fire hose. I quivered in rapturous delight as his dong pulsed its heavy load into my nether regions.

Later, I went to the bathroom to touch up my makeup. I inserted a tampon into me to make sure I didn't soil my panties - and to hold Todd's seed within me a while longer. After all, it was my 'first time' - I wanted the feeling to last as long as possible! I returned to the bedroom and had Todd dress me. I was amazed at how quickly he jumped to please me - and how easily I assumed the superior position. This big, strong, macho guy was like putty in my dainty hands as I casually directed his ministrations. He drove me home seemingly at the snap of a finger. I cupped his crotch with my hand, not so much to turn him on as to remind him that he - all of him - was mine to do with as I pleased. I loved this new feeling of power!