Crossdresser Eats Guys Cum 3

Sign Up Today

Then I clicked my purse shut. I had a brief evening appointment with a Japanese client who came to town now and then, a man who would enter my ass in a nervous tremor and then vibrate his cock in and out like a rabbit doing a fast fuck. A remarkable man -- he could cum inside me two or three times in quick succession without my even noticing, and without even pausing. I scarcely ever saw him face to face. Fortunately he had a small cock and he didn't visit me too often, or I'd have had to charge extra for the down time while my rear end recovered. Or charge his firm, anyhow. But really, he was no trouble to accommodate. "I need to go out," I told Jim. "Be back in an hour or two."

"All right," he replied. Then he remembered, and as casually as possible he said, "Oh, while you're out would you pick up whatever I'll need to start growing breasts?" He hid again behind his newspaper.

"All right," I said. "I'll try to remember." I already had the necessary prescriptions, provided by a Doctor client of mine. "You do know that with hormones instead of implants you'll have to be patient. It'll be six months before you begin to look respectable. But if that's what you want. Anything else?" "No," came a small voice. "Remember to load the dishwasher and to rinse out our undies again before you get to bed." Those were now his jobs, whether he knew it yet or not. The first of many, as far as household matters went.

And I was gone. I came back three quick assfucks later carrying his six-month's supply of estrogen, progestin, and androcur. And as an afterthought, Prozac to keep him mellowed out. I told him to take one of each kind each day the moment he woke up, and I left them on the night stand near our bed so I could see that he did. I knew that his hormones would soon end even those pitiful erections and ejaculations he managed to coax out of himself at each of our sessions, that soon his orgasms if he ever had any would resemble a woman's delicious tensions and relaxations. All to the good. The mood pills would help keep him from worrying about what was happening, where I was leading him, until he'd arrived there. Not too bad, my progress so far. The next evening I came home feeling irritable after an altogether unsatisfactory group session. Five men from a single men's club, Rotary or Kiwanis, I forget which, who'd signed up for severe discipline. They'd been slow to follow my orders, so I'd set them circle-fucking each other in a daisy chain, then I'd told them I was through, no more, they could go fuck themselves now that they knew how. Then they offered me double my fee to keep them on, pleading, and I was still annoyed with myself that I'd finally relented. But I was cheered when I saw Jim fondling a couple of nighties and a half-dozen new panties and bras while he cut off their price tags.

"Do they fit?" I asked. "Yes, they're fine, thank you," he replied calmly. The Prozac at work! "The salesgirl insisted I try on each one and come out and show her, because they don't permit returns of lingerie, she said, once it's left the store. It was humiliating, all those women shoppers gathering to see. They looked amused. I was glad I had no body hair, or I'd have felt really ashamed. When I came out wearing this beige set they actually applauded." "I can see why," I said. "It's very pretty. It's hardly humiliating, wanting to wear pretty things. A nice choice."

I noticed that the house still reeked of perfume. He'd overdone splashing it on himself, probably, but I said nothing. I had to smile that now his "after shave" or whatever he imagined people thought he was wearing was as unmistakeably dainty and feminine as lipstick. My hubby in lingerie, wearing a woman's fragrance! What next?