I get to be me again.
Emily welcomes me with a hug. The air is filled with music and the smell of dinner cooking.
"Your outfit is laid out. I think you'll enjoy it," Emily says with a pat to my bottom, sending me into her spare bedroom. There I find tonight's ensemble; a sheer white blouse, a red sweater vest, a short black skirt, a beautiful lacy bra with matching lace panties, stockings, garters, and black mary janes. It's the same thing Emily is wearing.
I shuck my boy clothes and begin dressing en femme with relish. As the soft material enveloped me, I feel a sense of tranquility flow through me. With each layer of female garments, my masculine armor falls away.
Walking confidently on my small heels back into Emily's living room, she looks up to see me and smiles. "There's my pretty girl," she says.
She tells me to do a twirl to show her how I look from every angle. I pose for her and she applauds. "Are you ready for more?" she asks, knowing the answer already.
Back in the spare bedroom -- "The girl's room" she calls it -- she has me sit at the make-up table where she helps strip me of more masculinity by feminizing my face, applying foundation, powder, and blush. Lip gloss, eyeliner, and mascara. With each stroke of her brushes, I feel my self-imposed oppression sweep away and revel in the the liberation of my true self.
Looking down at me, over the top of her cats eye glasses, she applies the last stroke of mascara. She steps back to allow me to see myself in the mirror. I'm gorgeous. I'm me.
"It's time to serve dinner," she says, gently kissing me on the forehead.
I follow her, walking confidently in my heels. She sits in the dining area while I don my apron and begin plating dinner. It looks and smells delicious. I soon find out it tastes the same.
We share our meal. I find myself holding myself differently; my pinkie extends while taking a drink, my voice is pitched higher with a gentle lilt. I enjoy seeing the traces of lipstick on my glass and feeling so demure. When I'm dressed this way, I feel smaller and more in touch with the world. Every movement sends ripples of sensation through me as if every nerve were amped up on adrenaline. I feel more alive than I've ever been.
She knows that I'm a maelstrom of emotions and sensations. She puts her hand over mine and I see that our nail polish matches. She leans over and kisses me. I feel our lipstick meet before I feel the warmth and pressure of her lips, the feel of her tongue slipping into my mouth.
She puts her other hand behind my head, pulling me closer, her tongue diving deeper. I suck on her tongue and she moans into my mouth. I'm always hers, but when she dresses me this way, my submission runs far more deeply. I am weak; I am her plaything.
She takes her hand off of mine, lifting it and placing it on her chest. I feel the swell of her breast under her sweater as she touches my leg. Her fingers on my stockings makes my heart jump and my "clitoris" swell. I close my eyes and let the sensations set me alight.
I'm being pulled out of the chair and placed on the kitchen floor. My knees go up and my legs are spread. My panties are pulled down and, with my skirt bunched up under me, I feel the cool linoleum on my bottom. My eyes open slightly. She's smiling down at me. She's got a tube in her hand and she's squirting its contents onto her fingers.
I feel her fingers at my entrance. Her smile turns wicked. She says, "I'm going to fuck your sweet pussy, little girl," as she pushes her fingers inside of me. Though I open easily to her, I still gasp as the sensation shoots through me. I see what's happening to me via the reflection in her glasses. She's got two fingers inside of me, moving them in and out with slow, deliberate care.
She pushes a third finger in to join the other two. I open to her, without reluctance. I am blooming like a morning flower.
I grunt as I watch her impale my pussy with a fourth finger. She continues to move her digits in and out of me. She cups her hand as much as she can and adds more lubrication to her palm. It flows into me.
Her mouth is set in a determined grin. She looks me in the eyes, smiling, and says, "I'm taking you all the way tonight." And, with that, I feel her thumb play around my entrance. She puts her left hand onto her elbow, steadying her right arm. She keeps her eyes locked on mine as she grunts with exertion and shoves the rest of her hand inside of me. I feel the bones of her hand pass through me, into me, and she's in me, fully. Her entire hand.
I am no longer myself in any way. I am part of her. I'm an extension of her body. I feel her fingers insinuate themselves when, suddenly, I feel pressure against my "G-Spot." She knows she's found it, from the feel of the walnut inside of me and the gasp I emit. She begins pushing her arm back and forth, in and out, stopping at her wrist before plunging deeper into me. She finishes each push with a special stroke against my tender gland, massaging me.
My clitty is so hard that I can see its outline against my panties. She uses just the tip of one of her fingers and massages me through my underwear. She smiles and whispers, "Let go. Let me take you where you need to go."
I lean my head back and just feel the sensations. She pushes against my prostate, finding a steady rhythm with my pulse. There is a pressure building somewhere, something unfamiliar, akin to the sensation of needing to urinate mixed with the slow pleasure of masturbation. What I know without question was that I no longer have any kind of control over my own body. I am just an extension of her. Her girl.
The pressure increased until I feel like I might wet myself. But, knowing that Emily knows what's best for me, I release myself from worry and soon find my body releasing itself as well. I start cumming. There isn't an orgasm so much as a feeling of completion followed by flooding my panties with warm, sticky cum.
I am drained like I've never been drained before. When I'm empty, she slowly, carefully removes her hand from inside of me. I feel a deep void within me and want to beg her to fill me again. As if hearing my thoughts, she places a bulb into me. It's tiny. But she quickly pumps a smaller bulb attached to it by a tube, she's inflating it, filling me again. This makes me happy.
She goes to the other room to wash her hands before coming back, smiling broadly. She stands over my head, allowing me to look up her skirt at her bare pussy. I love the gentle pout of her lips, the curve of her mons. I look at the slight growth of fuzzy fur on it as she lowers herself onto my open, waiting mouth.
I run my tongue inside of her, tasting her heady flavor. She moves forward, pushing herself against my nose, riding my face, my tongue moving in and out of her. She moans and clamps her thighs tightly around my head. I taste her deeply, the flavor changes with her excitement. It's richer, stronger.
She's riding my face harder. I can barely breath but wouldn't want her to stop for any reason. I belong her, beneath her, serving her.
The force of it startles and delights me. The world begins to swirl as I'm deprived of oxygen by her sex. She thrusts herself harder onto me. I hear the cartilage in my nose crackle from the pressure. She floods my mouth with her flavor. If I'm to die, it will be from sheer bliss as she finds pleasure from me.
She leans forward, allowing me to catch my breath. The air cools my sex-slick face. When she dismounts, she gasps at seeing that she's given me a nosebleed. She fetches a washrag and wipes me clean.
"You've been a good girl for me tonight," she says, still catching her breath. I know in my heart that she's right and I hope to always be a good girl for her.