CONCERT MASTER
by Hartford
Barnabas Sword was handsome, self assured, dashing, intimidating, and the way he came on to Hope made me sick to my stomach. My wife's flattered responses made me sicker. It was bad enough at the fund raiser but got worse at Sword's apartment. Much worse. "Oh, let's go, Jack," she had said after Sword, having invited us, went off to take charge of another conversation. "You've had enough wine already," I protested, but I knew we were going.
People connected in various ways to the orchestra, for which the fund raiser was being held. Hope was a second violinist. Sword's role was unclear to me other than it being an association of some kind with Horatio Finley, a major sponsor who had organized the event. I wore a suit and tie. Hope was in a spring dress, looking more like a fashion model than a musician. Sword had on a tuxedo. I watched my wife's gaze follow him as he strode off like a matador.
"It wouldn't be polite not to go. He's an important man, Jack."
"So, what do you think of him, apart from his importance?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. He's fairly good looking, I guess."
"Seems like a take charge guy," I said.
She almost yawned. "I suppose." She showed me her glass. "Jack, I'd like some wine," she said in a way that told me she had forgotten my thirty second old remark on the topic. "Don't fill it. We'll be going soon."
"Half?"
"Half is fine." As I walked off she opened her purse for a mirror to check her lipstick.
"You look glum," a middle age woman said at the bar. I recognized her as the violinist who held the chair before Hope's, and she recognized me. "He enjoys his conquests."
"I bet your pardon."
"Isn't that why you're glum? Because Barnabas is flirting with Hope?"
"That's a long way from a conquest, lady" I replied, testily.
"You're right. I'm sorry."
I nodded and went back with the wine glummer than when I had left. But something was happening to me, hard to describe, an exquisite dread is the best I can do.
Sword's restored Victorian near the center of town was impressive, like the important man himself. You went left from a paneled hallway into a big living room in which the furnishings were expensive and artsy. Hope was struck by several old, large and beautiful Japanese screens that I was told didn't screen much of anything except the areas of the walls they stood before. I supposed they were instead of paintings. Spread around were three cozy arrangements of chairs, one with a sofa, in different styles and sizes, all tasteful. A baby grand piano graced a corner which had a bay window. Shortly after we got there Sword took Hope and me into the library to see his Emily Dickinson first editions which Hope had expressed interest in when Sword mentioned them at the fund raiser. We looked at the books he selected from the shelves and oohed and ached our ignorant appreciation. Back in the living room, where everyone gathered, there was wine, classical music, trays of cookies, a selection of fruit. I made the rounds meeting the other guests: a stout, cheerful woman named Louise Chasterly, about fifty, red dyed hair piled on her head in a bun, Sword's niece, a pretty, sassy seventeen year old named Marcy, a quiet but dangerous looking man around Sword's age (fortyish) named Henry and Horatio Finley himself, intimidating as Sword but in a different way. The small number of us surprised me. I wondered how come. Finley was gracious, which he was known to be at social occasions but not others. Henry turned out to be his bodyguard. This was a night for new experiences and attending a party with someone who had brought a bodyguard was one of them. I was curious to chat with Henry about his profession, but events intervened.
Sword acted the proper host, so much so that, combined with everyone else's good manners, I foolishly began to feel at ease. A little after 9:30 (I know because I had just glanced at Sword's 18th century wall clock), Mrs. Chasterly said to me, with Marcy there, the three of us by one of the draped windows, "Tell me, Jack, have you ever tried making yourself over as a girl?" I felt myself redden. "Of course not," I said, shocked not only by the question but that it was asked in the presence of a kid, having dismissed Marcy's bright lipstick and tight clothes for an innocent attempt to appear older in the company of grownups. Another mistake. Well, no one, not even Hope, knew about my girl outings of which there had been three, one in high school, two in college, prancing about at malls in skirt and blouse, wig and makeup, twice with falsies, once without, each an amazing and exciting experience, but I had put them and it behind me, or so I thought.
"You don't mind my asking, do you, Jack?," the woman breezily went on, "it's just that you are such a natural. You're about the prettiest young man I ever saw and you have that gorgeous hair. You hardly need to shave, don't you. You and your scrumptious wife will have beautiful children, if they're girls. I saw you in your bathing suit in the video of the Orchestra picnic so I know whereof I speak. Most women would kill for legs like yours."
Marcy grinned. "I saw it too."
"Yes, I don't know which one of you is prettier, your wife or you," Mrs. Chasterly added, with a meaningful smile I didn't get the meaning of. It wasn't the first time I had dealt with remarks about my wife's looks, comments that typically boiled down to why is she a starving musician when she could be making a fortune as a piece of ass. My stock answer for the first part was she isn't starving; for the second part, I don't know, why don't you ask her. In fact, her piece of ass qualities were the reason for her escape into music as well as her escape a year ago in marrying me, but lately there had been signs of her coming out of the shell she had first entered around age twelve when her attractions suddenly bloomed for horny boys and men alike. It worried me. I knew how hot she could be, and the signs on this night had been like neon lights ever since Barnabas Sword smiled at her. She was twenty-four now, as was I. It also wasn't the first time I had been treated to the pretty boy observation, though seldom were the comments this bold and never when they came from a woman.
I giggled. It struck me as achingly funny that this was happening, my buried secret brought to the edge of light in the midst of Barnabas Sword's after-party. Mrs. Chasterly was fishing, of course, and I was only caught if I chose to be caught, which I did not, all of which was howlingly funny but I merely giggled.
"Why am I laughing?," I giggled.
"He's giggling," Marcy laughed.
"Indeed he is. You're giggling, Jack." Mrs. Chasterly looked pleased.
"I know," I giggled. Then I almost keeled over at the hilarious and rather satisfying idea of Mrs. Chasterly and Marcy taunting me as a counter to Sword's advances at my wife......I feel like I've had grass, I said to myself.
"Mrs. Chasterly, there isn't grass in the cookies, is there?" I had consumed six, and nothing else.
They didn't bat an eye. "Tell Jackie," Mrs. Chasterly said.
"Mrs. Chasterly cooked the cookies with hashish in them," Marcy said. She smirked and stuck out her tongue in the sexual way of sticking out your tongue.
Things were becoming increasingly weird. "I think I'm surprised you would serve marijuana cookies and not tell anyone, Mrs. Chasterly. What is going on?" I suppressed my laughter.
"Why, a lovely party is going on Jackie," Mrs. Chasterly smiled.
Marcy snickered. "You know why she called you Jackie? Because you giggled like a girl."
"Marcy, you know a lot, don't you!," I brilliantly fired back.
"Yup, I do. Barnabas likes your wife. I bet he's going to fuck her."
Mrs. Chasterly gave my shoulder a comforting pat as I gritted my teeth, giggles cured. "Don't fret, Jack," she said. "I'm sure it's a long shot."
I went to get another cookie and my tormentors drifted over to my wife. A few minutes later I noticed that Finley and his bodyguard had left. At the time, Hope and I had re-linked and were conferring about the cookies we both were enjoying, grass being nothing knew to us although the cookies were a novel delivery device.
She finished one and said, "I heard about your little chat with Louise ."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah. She has a point, you know. She thought you were offended. You shouldn't be. It's a cute side of you, Jack, that you could...be attractive that way. It's nothing to be ashamed of." She grinned and repeated, "It's cute."
I stared at her. Since when had she decided it was a cute side of me? We had never discussed it.
It was then that Mrs. Chasterly came and took us each by a hand. "I've just been talking with Barnabas and Marcy. We think it would fun to play a little game, something we can all enjoy. Come on, we'll discuss it." She led us like a pair of pets. Marcy was munching a cookie, not her first, which reminded me I hadn't observed Sword eat one. Why was I not surprised?
Mrs. Chasterly told us that at a party recently with "other cultivated friends" she had learned a parlor game called Character Study. The game called for "intelligence, creativity, nerve and a sense of fun", she said, adding that we all shared those qualities. How she knew Hope and I qualified, since she had just met us, she didn't say. What followed would not have happened had it not been for grass and not any grass but grass this good. All the same, I sensed a rat. I elbowed Hope without effect unless it was the opposite intended for she piped,
"Gosh, this sounds interesting!"
We sat in a circle on the polished birch floor. The girls kicked off their shoes and sat with knees showing, plus, in Marcy's case, several inches of what comes above knees. Mrs. Chasterly wore a pants suit and her knees were beside the point anyway. We now had red wine to go with our cookies, in crystal glasses that Mrs. Chasterly placed on the floor beside us. The cookies were on two plates in front of us. The idea of Character Study was that people agreed on a specific characteristic of the person who was "it" and then you "explored" that characteristic until a majority agreed it had been explored enough and you went on to the next person and his or her characteristic. It sounded fishy to me and when Mrs. Chasterly took the first turn, we were going by age, and her characteristic was to be her hair bun, it also sounded ridiculous. I'll spare you the five minutes spent on the hair bun except to report that Hope and Marcy giggled and I giggled; Sword and Mrs. Chasterly did not giggle but Sword grinned twice at Hope and Mrs. Chasterly smiled sympathetically at me after each grin.
Because he was second oldest Sword's turn was next. Mrs. Chasterly called for suggestions.
"How about his rare book collection?," Hope said, brightly.
"Yuk, that's boring," Marcy said. "Don't you think it's boring, Jack?"
"Maybe this game is boring," I said, being not of a mind to discuss Sword's characteristics, boring or not boring.
Marcy frowned at me and grinned for everyone else. "Hey, this wouldn't be boring. Adam Magazine is having a contest for "America's Handsomest Cock". That's the name of it, the contest. I'm not kidding. America's Handsomest Cock. I think Uncle Barnabas should enter and I bet he could win but he doesn't want to. Maybe we can talk him into it. That's my suggestion for a characteristic."
In view of what had already transpired with Marcy this was not a very surprising proposal, only a shocking one. Hope, however, was encountering the teenager's playful side for the first time, and her jaw dropped.
"Not boring, I agree, dear," said Mrs. Chasterly who seemed neither shocked nor surprised. "Barnabas, do you know of this contest?"
"I'm afraid I do. Can't say I share Marcy's enthusiasm for it."
"But would you consider entering?"
"If I thought I stood a chance at winning. Might be amusing."
Mrs. Chasterly surveyed us with a gaze. "Well, I doubt Barnabas Sword has anything to be afraid of in the manhood department, and neither should we be afraid to undertake a friendly evaluation for him. We're not children. So what do you think, Jackie. Boring or interesting?"
I managed not to giggle but it took work because I had a brain doing cartwheels in lieu of thinking. "No comment, Mrs. Chasterly," is what I thought to say so I said it.
"No comment, what a disappointment. You should try not to be shy, Jackie. What's your opinion, Hope, dear? Boring or interesting."
Hope cracked a tight smile, then sipped her wine, to gain time, I thought. She put her glass on the floor. I looked at her but she kept her eyes on Mrs. Chasterly and said in a quiet voice that sounded forced, "Interesting, I suppose."
"Oh, you suppose. She supposes, Barnabas. I guess she needs convincing. Can you convince her, I wonder."
Sword was nonplused. "I can try, Lousie," he said, offhandedly. You would think we were discussing his nose.
Hope laughed and looked around except at me, embarrassed but also titillated, no doubt. "Phew. I need more cookies and wine," she declared and began helping herself. I noticed she wasn't insisting we get up and go. I noticed I wasn't insisting either. I felt drawn, unable to resist, stuck in mixed feelings. My mouth was dry. My heart was pounding. I needed to think but I didn't feel like thinking.
"All right, Barnabas," Mrs. Chasterly said, cheerfully, "your cock it shall be. How do you suggest we go about exploring its doubtless fascinating attributes?"
"Ask, Marcy. Was her idea," Sword deferred.
"Yes, it was. Marcy?"
"Well, we have to see it. I mean that's obvious, right."
"You mean you haven't seen it, dear?"
"Ha, ha. I've seen it like fifty times. But Hope and Jack haven't. And I have to see it again for this, right? I do."
Mrs. Chasterly made a humming noise. "Good. We'll start there. I guess the question is how exactly will the object of our inquiry make its appearance? I hesitate to intrude again, Barnabas, but it's your object of inquiry."
"I shall assist," Sword said. He unzipped. At least two sets of eyes, Hope's and mine, I know because hers I checked, watched Sword take it out. His hand fell away and there it was, half resting against his elegantly attired left leg, neither hard nor soft. You could tell even in mid-state that it was one terrifically handsome chap. "I sincerely appreciate you're doing this," Sword said to Hope and me, actually sounding sincere. "Before I agree to enter that confounded contest I could use an objective opinion. Probably seems asinine."
"It's not asinine," Hope said, softly. She let her gaze settle where it was appreciated. She gazed a good thirty seconds before she dropped her eyes.
"That's like half hard," Marcy advised, as if one couldn't tell. "Wait till you see him all the way. He's great." I assumed the girl referred to Sword when she said "he" but I soon learned she and Sword and even Mrs. Chasterly all used the pronoun equally for the man and his cock.
Marcy sighed. "It's too bad he didn't start off like really soft, Uncle Barnabas. So we could see him go the whole way, you know, from real soft to hard as steel."
"Yeah. Well, I guess there were certain stimulations that got under his skin that he couldn't hold back," Sword offered.
"Yeah, like her, right?"
"Could be, Marcy."
"Yeah."
Hope was pretending to examine one of the straps of her dress and not hear them mention her being the likely cause of Sword's half erection, but if the silliness of her subterfuge didn't give her way, her red cheeks did.
A little back forth went on then between the three of them, Mrs. C., Sword and Marcy about Sword's erection being stalled, also whether it would be entertaining to have a camera. I missed most of it because I was considering against my better judgment the feature attraction, like my wife had done. I wondered if this could have been due to its presentation, the white hero languid against an expanse of glimmering black Marino wool. I had heard someone at the fund raiser say Sword's tux cost $4,000. I didn't doubt it. The cock deserved a background that rich for being judged against. Suddenly, I felt Hope's eyes. I looked away. Too late
"It is handsome, isn't it. And so big!?," she smiled. Her mind had been elsewhere too, I figured, the same elsewhere as mine.
I nodded at the floor. "It's okay, Jack. I don't care if you look. I did and I'm going to again. I mean we're only...looking at him." Well, I thought, what do I make of that? Now she's doing the "him" bit.
The back and forthers paused, waiting for Hope and me to continue. When we didn't, Mrs. Chasterly said, "We want you to do more than look, dear. You and Marcy need to help him get bigger and harder, so we can all give him his due." She emphasized "all".
Hope's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
"Poses," Marcy chirped. "Uncle Barnabas likes me to do poses, you know sexy poses. It makes him hard as anything." She giggled. "I bet he's going to get hard in no time with you doing it. See, like this."
Marcy pushed herself back to make room for her legs. She stretched out. She hoisted her little skirt and folded it over her stomach. Her panties were pink and tiny, edged with pink lace. She closed her eyes and opened her teenage legs.
In our circle if Sword was at twelve o'clock, Marcy was at 12:13, Hope at 12:25, me at 12:35, Mrs. C. at 12:47, all more or less. The circle was now bisected by Marcy's extended legs. We looked at what she was showing. She lifted her head to check our reactions. She grinned, put her head back and raised her right leg. She put it down. The panties hugged her enough to reveal the contours of her cunt. You saw the depression in the silk her slit made. Hope and I had been looking self consciously at Sword and now we looked self consciously at Marcy whose slender shapeliness would have made her a ten on any scale. You could tell she knew it.
Lying flat on the floor, she teased a hand near a side of her panties. She fingered the band suggestively and then she laughed and brought the hand to her waist, put it on top of the folded skirt, slipped it under her red top and up the top came, not fast, until it uncovered the bottoms of her tits at which point Sword stopped her.
"That's enough, Marcy."
"Why?"
"Our next model will go first with that particular display."
"Oh, blah! He wants to see her tits but not mine."
Sword sighed. "Don't pout Marcy. You know he's most fond of your tits."
She laughed and pulled her top down.
A noticeable boost in Hope's excitement showed in her eyes and blushes high in her cheeks. I doubted that I was seeing only the accumulated feelings from her study of Sword's characteristic and possibly from watching Marcy. She was thinking she was going to have to do the same thing, and more. Pose like a camslut, and it was turning her on, hard as she might be fighting it.
Marcy sat up as if cued. Grinning, she chirped, "Your turn." Sword's "Him" hadn't stirred. It remained half erect, awaiting the next hopeful.
Hope pursed her lips. After a moment she cleared her throat and smoothed the back of her hair.
"I'm not sure I want to," she said, crossly.
This girlish or possibly wifely (but I doubt it) reticence was Mrs. Chasterly's to deal with, which she did.
"Well, when do you think you will know, dear?"
Hope glared. "I don't have to do it, Mrs. Chasterly. I'm sorry."
"You don't have to clear your mind to know what it is you want, that's true, but it's also neither here nor there. What you have to do is pose for Barnabas."
"I don't have to!"
"Yes, you do. You do, dear, and we're all waiting. Even Jack is waiting. Most of all, that wonderful manhood you have been admiring is waiting"
My wife's cheeks flushed a brighter red. She flashed her eyes around. Had it challenged her that Marcy's exhibition had gotten nowhere ? I was sure it had."
"Well?," Mrs. Chasterly pressed.
"Oh, all right! Fine!" The eyes zapped us again, and for once my wife looked at me. "Be quiet, Jack. You don't have to watch! "
"Look Hope...," I began.
"I said be quiet!," she snapped, and it was just as well she cut me off since I hadn't figured out what to say beyond those two words. She moved her eyes to herself, the dress she would be modeling in, or not in, probably to decide what she thought of it for this never before considered function. It was a summery cotton thing, light beige with pastel blue and yellow flowers, snug at the waist, billowing to the knees when standing which she was not, and snug again at her breasts. It surprised me that Mrs. Chasterly hadn't embarrassed her by calling attention to the two points pushing against the upper snugness in order to note the example they set for what Sword had yet to achieve. The dress had a shallow scooped neck, no sleeves, straps at the shoulders. It would do.
If it sounds like I was being a picture of calm I couldn't see the picture but I was anything but calm. I was hurt and angry. However, there was a back current to those emotions, Sword's play for my wife and her earlier responses had perversely excited me and the excitement I felt now was much greater. It was off the charts. And then there was Sword's great cock, majestic even when semi erect. I told myself it had to be the grass. I hadn't tried the wine or taken another cookie but the earlier cookies were doing their thing and it was a very nice thing they were doing. The grass of course wasn't the whole answer. I wasn't admitting that to myself but I knew it.
My wife's wine, unlike my own, had had an attentive companion. She drained the last of it and put the glass behind her, out of the way. She had been sitting with her legs under her. The legs came out, feet together. She braced her palms on the floor. I glanced around. She had their undivided attention. When I looked back she was sending her own gaze around. It paused at Sword, his face.
"Do you always have such a hard time becoming hard, Mr. Sword? Maybe you need Viagra, like my father?"
Sword raised a brow. "Aha, with your father, you say. Interesting, Mrs. Branch."
She gave him a fake scowl and turned her bright eyes on me. "He thinks he's so smart. And he is. He is much smarter than me, Jack, so I guess I'm only good for sexual things like helping men's cocks get hard. I mean important men like Mr. Sword who have rare books and big cocks. You don't have those things, Jack, so you better get them don't you think?"
This was her MO. Teasing words delivered in a teasing voice. It could drive me up a wall, make me bone hard, but I saw no rise in Sword's half mast.
"I thought I wasn't supposed to say anything," I said.
"You aren't!" She pivoted, pointed her feet at Sword, and lay back. Her hands, taking their time, went to the bottom of her dress and up it came. Her legs were bare, beautiful, and they were displayed all the way to her white silk panties and above. The layers of the dress piled on her flat tummy did not quite hide her belly button. She propped herself on her elbows. Since I was behind her this impaired my view so I slid my fanny to the left and was now next to Mrs. Chasterly, who gave my knee a pat.
"Isn't this fun?," she whispered.
"Continue," Sword said, meeting my wife's gaze.
"What? You mean my legs being together,?" she purred. "Would your Mr. He like me better this way? I don't know if he would or not." Her legs moved in opposite directions until her left foot was neighborly with Mrs. Chasterly and her right foot was calling on Marcy.
"Yes, better. Thank you," Sword told her. "With your panties stretched like that you almost don't need to take them off."
"He said almost, dear," Mrs. Chasterly said. "You will still have to take them off."
"Hmmmm," Hope hmmmed. She dropped her head back. She closed her eyes and we stared at her spread pose.
"Show us your tits, honey," Marcy blurted.
A smirk crossed Hope's face. It must have been a new experience to hear herself called honey by a seventeen year old.
"Help her with that, Marcy," Sword said, coolly.
Hope's eyes popped wide but her head did not move from the floor. Then Marcy was kneeling over her, grinning. "Let's do this, honey," she said, and slid the shoulder straps onto her arms. Hope lay unresisting, eyes blinking. Marcy yanked the front of the dress and it came down, taking the bra. Hope's tits made their debut for Barnabas Sword.
"Damn!," the important man said after a ten second stare. "Calendar girl tits. Gotta congratulate you, Jack. You definitely have a prize there. Thanks for sharing."
"Forget the thanks, Sword. This was her idea, not mine." I tried to sound tough but it didn't come off that well considering Marcy laughed and Mrs. C. tittered, and especially considering what Sword did which was raise his eyes and bore them into me.
"My remark was gratuitous, Jack. Did not call for a response. Moreover, you are under instruction not to talk. Remember that, please. However, if you do find occasion to speak to me, and you wish to use my last name, preface it with Mr., as in Mr. Sword. All right, buddy?"
"Yeah, right," I mumbled, aiming for muted sarcasm.
"He broke the rules," Marcy told Sword. What was she talking about? I wanted to smack her.
"He'll mind his manners, Marcy."
Marcy eyed me with mock seriousness. "If he does it again we should spank him."
"Sure. Now look, our model could use your assistance. Be a good girl and rub her tits. Those nipples must hurt and her arms seem rather immobilized."
It was true about Hope's arms. The pulled over shoulder straps had tangled with the bra and the top of the dress and turned the whole thing into a makeshift straitjacket beneath her tits, pinning her arms to her sides. Sword's other observation likely also was true. Hope's nipples drive her nuts when they stiffen.
So, on my wife's program for getting Sword erect we had done dress raising with its pantied treat, dress lowering and its two out in the open treats, and next would be sex with a teenage tart. Hope's face was tight. She was blinking like she had soap in her eyes. Otherwise she wasn't reacting. She had the excuse that her arms were stuck but to say she was helpless would be seriously overstating the case. Which brings up the question, what was my excuse? None, but I had a limit. Sword, when he went for her, would be stopped. By me. Admittedly the man had my number and the idea of him getting down on the floor with her and finishing what Marcy had started gave me shivers of excitement, but with those caveats I had a plan.
Marcy got set. She licked her lips, ogling her twin assignments. Then she bent over Hope and kissed her.
"Oh, my," Mrs. Chasterly said. She got up and hurried behind one of the screens, emerging almost immediately with a video camera screwed into a five foot tripod, ready to go for as soon as she set it down and put her face to it, a red light came on. We were on candid camera, or at least Hope and Marcy were since Mrs. C. had it aimed at them. Hope's eyes were closed, her mouth opened by Marcy's mouth and the girls were French kissing.
"Use your hands, Marcy," Sword reminded.
Marcy's hands went to work, one on each of the calendar girl tits. The teenager kneaded the soft hills. She tweaked the nipples and rubbed them with her thumbs. Hope moaned, the sound partly muffled by Marcy's mouth. She twisted and moaned some more until Marcy broke the kiss.
"Say cheese girls," Mrs. Chasterly told them, and they looked at her, at the camera, a pair of video-sluts with faces flushed, breathing hard.
"Oh, God," Hope moaned, taking in the camera
Marcy switched her gaze to Sword. "Uncle Barnabas, he's like the same. How come? He always gets hard. Do you want me to suck him?"
"Thank you, but not now. I suspect I know what's bothering him. We'll see. Go ahead, take off her panties."
Hope sat up with her strapped arms. "Nooo, please. This has gone far enough, too far enough!"
Marcy laughed. She pushed her down and kissed her and while she kissed she moved her right hand to the panties. Teenage fingers slipped beneath the band.
Hope jerked, forcing Marcy to break the kiss. With her free hand, the teenager pushed back Hope's head.
"Don't fight it, honey. Lift up," Marcy said.
Hope's eyes were squeezed shut. She lifted. The fingers came out from inside the panties, grasped them and began taking them off. Hope brought her legs together and the panties journeyed down and over knees, over ankles and feet and were gone. Marcy gave Hope's right knee a nudge and the legs reopened. It was silent for thirty seconds or so while Sword and Mrs. C. and Marcy studied my wife's cunt. They saw the blonde tuft at the top, the silky strands at the sides, the pink wet slit with its petal lips.
Marcy shook her head. "Boy what a nice cunt she has. I'm jealous."
"Your uncle thinks your cunt is perfect, dear," Mrs. C. reassured her. "But what about him, for goodness sake? It seems all our efforts have been in vain."
We looked with her at the subject of the efforts, Hope included who raised up on her elbows to gaze at the resting king.
"What on earth is the matter, Barnabas?," Mrs. C. persisted.
Sword shrugged. "He's a bit put off, I think, by a male in our little party. He likes females only. Another male besides him in the mix annoys him, causes him to lose interest. I confess it's a bit of a problem."
"Hmmmmm," Mrs. C. said, rubbing her chin. "Suppose Jack was, what do you call them, a trap, a dick girl. Would that make him female enough for you?"
Sword perked up. "Expand on that, Louise."
My heart hadn't stopped but it was thinking about it. Mrs. C reminded Sword what a dick girl is. She explained why she felt I was a reasonable candidate for the position and while she explained I worked at keeping my bearings. It wasn't easy. Hope sat up and looked at me. Marcy was looking at me. Sword was looking at me. I saw amusement in their faces, my wife's not excluded although her eyes had other reasons to be shining, and I saw something besides amusement in Sword's expression. It made me look back at him, and he winked. I couldn't bring myself to return the wink, I didn't dare. My pulse rate on the other hand was unrestrained.
Mrs. C. announced she had anticipated something like this would occur and had stored a few things behind one of the screens to make me over into a pretty dick girl.
I had no husbandly reservations to refuse this invitation after my wife's performance, and my exchange of glances with Sword, including his wink, were all the incentive I needed. Wait till he sees me, I thought dizzily as Mrs. C. took my arm. Hazily, I wondered what Hope was thinking. Mrs. C brought me behind one of the larger screens, and there were the goodies: a miniskirt, panties, cute top with sewed in falsies, blonde wig, makeup kit, etc. Marcy came to help but Mrs. C. shooed her away. She would do me by herself, she said.
"You are so easy!," she whispered when she "shaved" my legs, using not a razor but a cream that quickly did the trick. Same with my arms. My chest didn't need it. My pubic area did need it but it was easy there too.
"I think Barnabas likes you," she whispered when she was putting on my lipstick.
"He's probably going to laugh at me."
"Sweetie, he's probably going to fuck you."
I didn't know what to say to that! I had been hearing muffled sounds so instead I said, "What are they doing?"
She peeked over the screen. "Marcy is kissing her."
"Oh."
"She changed your wife's outfit. A skirt like yours instead of the dress. No top. No panties either, how nice. Marcy is holding the skirt up while she kisses her, letting Barnabas see her cunt. Isn't that cute? I imagine the little minx is going to finger fuck her if she hasn't already."
I ran the sounds I had heard back through my mind and decided she had already. "Mrs. Chasterly did you plan this?"
"No questions, Jackie. Dick girls don't have the privilege. Is dick girl the right term? I thought dick girls were supposed to have tits. What are the other words they use?, sissyboy and trap, I believe. So much nomenclature. It's confusing. Anyway, no questions for you, dear."
I had just asked a question which she answered, but I didn't argue. I didn't clarify the terminology for her either. I wasn't sure of it myself, actually.
A minute later my makeup was done, which included nail polish. She gave my blonde curls a final brush, whispered, "Have fun," and returned to the others to announce me.
I stepped out from the screen.
"Oh, my God!," Marcy blurted, and I knew the small mirror I had used hadn't lied.
From bottom to top my revised self was as follows: My toe nails were bright red. I was barefoot. "Footwear at this point is utterly superfluous", Mrs. C. had observed. My skirt was purple. It flared at the waist and covered my panties with an inch or two to spare when I was standing still, which at the moment I was. My bikini silk panties, as yet unseen, were pink with red lace at the edges and had a slit in the front to let out a dick and a slit in the back to let one in. The cotton top was reddish purple, cut off above my naval, scooped at the neck, with ruffle sleeves, and padded to give the impression of small but pretty tits. In big bright pink letters across the tits was, "I LUV COCK." I had on red lipstick, a little rouge and fake eye lashes. The blonde wig that topped me off had curls that fell to my shoulders.
They gawked except for Sword who gazed. I gazed at him. And before my very eyes, his cock which, if anything, had snoozed a deeper nap while I was away, began to swell and straighten and stiffen. It lifted from its black resting place and angled outward, poised in readiness. My knees thought about fainting. Marcy had known whereof she spoke about the beauty of Sword's manhood. It, pardon me, "he" was beyond handsome. Big, yes; fearsome, yes; strikingly handsome, yes indeed; straight as a rocket, pure of form, a satin pink head to die for, bluish veins that coursed like rivers against the creamy white, in all a mouth watering glory of nature.
"My goodness. Look girls!," Mrs. C. declared. They did. My wife's mouth fell open like mine. She seemed a bit shell shocked from what Marcy had done to her. Her hair was messed up, eyes shot, but I can't say she didn't look tasty, topless in her little purple skirt.
"Hmmm, that didn't take long, Uncle Barnabas," Marcy teased.
Sword ignored her. He stood up. "Good work," he said. "I like girls who tell the truth."
I didn't know what he meant. "Are you talking to me?" I have a girlish voice I can make and I used it.
"Address me as 'Sir' or 'Mr. Sword', Jackie. Yes, I'm talking to you. I suspect the confession on the blouse you are wearing is an honest one. Is it?"
I had forgotten what my top said. I looked down at it. "Oh!"
"So?"
I giggled. "Of course, sir!"
"Pull up your skirt, please."
I lifted my skirt. My panties were sticking out thanks to my five and a half inch stiffy. Fortunately, it was just missing the slit in my panties or it would have been out for everyone to see and to compare.
"Turn around. Show me your pretty bottom."
I turned around and showed everyone my pretty bottom. After half a minute, with no one saying anything to let me know if my bottom passed inspection, Sword told me to turn back and I did. I glanced at Hope, wondering what she thought. I was not reassured. Her eyes had cleared and she was watching me with an amused expression. Fine, let her be amused, I thought. What right did she have to be critical after what she had done and was STILL doing?
"You are one fine dick girl, Jackie. I'm most impressed," Sword said, smiling at me.
"Thank you...Sir," I said. Evidently, my bottom was acceptable.
"You're welcome. Come and meet him."
I heard myself titter. Meet him? What did that mean? I went up to Sword. I looked at "him", questioningly.
"If you're unsure, Jackie, the way you meet him is to shake. Put your hand around him and give him a few strokes. That's how a sweet trap shakes hands with a cock."
"Oh." Now I was a trap.
My heart was off to the races. I looked down at "him". I put my right hand around "him" and gripped, not hard. I stroked Barnabas Sword!
Suddenly, Hope was there. "Can I help?
Sword looked surprised. "It depends. Go ahead. We'll see."
She put her right hand over mine and together we pumped Sword's cock a few times until i felt her other hand on my left shoulder. The hand pressed. I took the hint and, letting the cock go, I sank to me knees. The cock was in front of my face.
"Open your mouth, Jack," she said, gently.
I swayed a little in my excitement. I steadied myself and opened my mouth. Hope took the cock and guided it between my lips. I pushed my head forward. "He" went deep in. I began to suck. I closed my eyes and sucked, and sucked, and sucked. I heard them talking but I had no idea what they were saying; it was sound without meaning. The meaning was in my mouth. Hope's hand shifted from my shoulder to the top of my now blonde head and she kept it there, her wifely command for her me not to stop, to keep sucking the heroic cock. I didn't stop and as I was sucking she whispered in my ear. "You're doing so good, Jack. Make him cum. Make him cum and swallow it. You have to swallow it."
Oh, I wanted to swallow it. I was dying for the chance to swallow it but I didn't get the chance. Sword stopped me. He pulled out. He came in a minute or less but not in me. It was Hope he wanted. She fell back at his push and then her legs were around his back and he was fucking her. I watched it. I heard him shout. I saw his cum as he kept fucking her, a white seepage around her crammed hole. Afterward they lay side by side on their backs panting while Mrs. C. videoed the aftermath including yours truly sitting on the floor by himself, a foolish dick girl-trap-sissyboy nursing his hurt feelings at not getting all the candy he wanted and feeling sorry for himself because he would never appeal to a hunk like Sword the way his wife could.
In the car going home we didn't talk, not a word, until we were ten minutes from the apartment. I was driving.
"It was an aberration," I said. "The grass got to us, the way they set us up and everything. We just gotta put it behind us."
She sighed. "It wasn't an aberration, Jack. You better put that idea behind you. What came out tonight was the real you. And by the way, the real me. Um, remember Mr. Finley's bodyguard? He thinks you're cute. He and Mr. Finley were there the whole time. One of the screens was actually a one-way see through thing and they were watching us. Isn't that funny? Anyway, Barnabas wants you to be a girl for Mr. Finley who apparently has a major thing for dickgirls - it was the reason for what happened tonight, and his bodyguard.....he'll be there also, you know, to do you too. It's going to be next Saturday. Kind of a party."
I managed to keep driving. After a couple of minutes I said,
"You knew all this?"
"No, of course not. I was as fooled as you were. Barnabas told me when you were changing. It took you long enough. That's when I saw Mr. Finley and his bodyguard and he told me how cute you are. They were just leaving."
Horatio Finley had stared at me in my bathing suit at the Orchestra picnic, I remembered. "I didn't say I would do it."
"I want you to, Jack."
More silence.
"I see. Well. Quite a situation." I paused. "And the party, Barnabas won't be there?"
"Mr. Sword to you."
"Mr. Sword."
I felt her grin. "Sure, he'll be there. So will I."