Conversation with Gabriella Ch. 03

Gabriel prefers to be called Gabriella at night and on weekends when her real preferences come to life. Olga is his wife. Daniel, virile, strong, and masculine, was forced to become Danielle.

The following day, all day, was devoted to training you for the evening ahead. It would be the last evening together and we were going to a very nice party. Actually, it was a dinner party.

"What will be served for dinner?" you had casually asked as you were being trained.

"You, sweet Gabriella, you will be eaten for dinner."

The reply made you spill a few droplets of ejaculate. Really, it was not much that came out, but as in all instances, premature ejaculations must be dealt with immediately and unequivocally lest the sub think that she can get away with it.

The dinner party actually was a sequel to your session of modeling feminine lingerie the night before. All women and the few males that were allowed to voice their opinions had voted the various outfits you were modeling and how they made you look. The top five were selected. Basically, you would be made to parade around the room in one of them. Women might look at you; women might play with you; women might tease and/or torment you; women might force you down to savor their wetness. When the time was right, you would be spread out on the dinner table (legs and arms wide apart, of course, for easy access to your most private parts) and that course would be served on your body.

Yes, Gabriella sweetheart, your body would be the dinner table upon which all women would serve themselves. You would feel their hands roaming over the lingerie covering your body as they took this and that to put on their plates. Additives would be under your apparel: salt and pepper packets would be tucked under your bra so that a woman would reach in for them, fondling your nipples in the process. Serving utensils, metal and always chilled after every use, would be tucked into your panties for easy access. Or perhaps a woman might ask you to raise your legs so that she could have you hold her glass of wine between your knees while she served herself a little something to nibble on. In short, Gabriella sweetheart, you would be the meal.

The most interesting variation to this entire meal was your attire. Each matching set of intimate apparel was selected because of color, cut, and shape to meet a specific theme:

BRIGHT, LIVELY COLORS; LOW CUT:Appetizers

BOLD, DEEP COLORS; FULL BODY:Main courses

EARTHY TONES; NO-NONSENSE STYLE:Side dishes

FLOWERY PATTERNS; LOOSE-FITTING:Salads

And then would come my favorite of all: seeing you in very tight, skimpy lingerie that clung to your body, revealing nothing yet baring all in plain view, in festive colors:DESSERT

Yes, Gabriella sweetheart, you would be the dessert table. By now, your erection would be freed and out in the open, rising nicely into the air, throbbing incessantly. It would be the ideal location to cover with thick whipped cream in which to dip berries, orange slices, and other fruits before savoring. Or even a woman might want to smother a banana in the whipped cream covering your beautiful erection, comparing the two, and then having to make the hard choice of which would better pleasure her in penetration, either the banana or your beautiful cock.

That would be the opening for the final moment of triumph.

Each woman would get to ride you one or two thrusts. Sitting upon you, one by one would carefully guide your beautiful cock into her pussy. When it was just perfectly in position, she would lower herself (slowly or quickly, her choice) up and down one or two times, moving off, and making room for the next.

Thus, each woman could claim that she had fucked you, Gabriella sweetheart.

"The final ride?" you asked at the very end of the party.

That, Gabriella sweetheart, that last ride, the one that lasts forever, belonged by all rights to Olga, your lovely wife.

And as she rode you with reckless abandon, all hands were upon her body sitting atop you and upon your own body, flat on the dinner table, clothed in perfect femininity.

That, Gabriella sweetheart, was to be the first of many glamorous climaxes you were to have over the coming months of friendship with us, dressed and serving as the perfect woman, starting with Olga, your lovely wife, as she set you out on your own to a new and marvelous life.