Mommy's Boy? Ch. 03

I minced into the kitchen in a new dress, feeling terribly nervous. My small pink butt plug added somewhat to my wiggle, reminding me at every step that sissies need constant training. I brushed my hands against the skirt of my princess dress one more time, smoothing out again all the wrinkles that my imagination created, and again touched the hair of my wig -- a short blonde bob that looked totally cute. I could still taste the lipstick that I was finally allowed to wear, and although it left no sensation, I was hyper conscious of the mascara and blush painting my face. Mommy had never let me do my own makeup before -- I would try, but she would always touch me up -- but I was ready today. And there was one more thing, something I was immensely proud of somehow, something beautiful and sensuous and shimmery new -- my fake breasts. To some, perhaps, they were only small lumps of plastic, but to me they were magic, their adherence to my chest giving me a weight and a reality that the tissue that had previously filled my a-cup bras could never bring. Yes, I really was becoming a girl!

And it was a special day: we were having guests, and I was to serve the tea!

I did not know who the guests would be, but I knew this was an important day, a milestone on my journey from being a pansy boy to being mommy's special little girl. I knew that my whole heart wanted to make mommy proud, to show what a good girl I was to all of mommy's friends.

The whistle of the tea kettle brought me out of my reverie. The clock showed 4.15; our guests had arrived 15 minutes ago, and I could hear them now settling down, the boisterous laughs of their entrances dying down into a warm flow of conversation. They would all be seated now, around the fire mommy had had me prepare on this crisp autumn day. They would be wanting their tea!

My high heels -- one inch high, and one of my favorite possessions now -- clicked smartly over to the tea pot as I took it off the heat. Gingerly my light-blue fingernails poured first the tea, then the steaming water into five teacups. Biscuits and jam, which I had baked earlier that day, were alread on the serving platter. I backed through the swinging door that led to the sitting room gingerly; the door again reminded me of the teasing pink toy in my bum, where mommy now put her three fingers every day instead of touching my "fairy wand" to ease my excitement at my transformation. A warm shiver went through me as I swung around to face the room, the guests I was serving, and my own acknowledgement of my role as sissy.

A momentary bobble made the teacups clink slightly as I saw our guests. Seated next to the fire, in a large white armchair with a pink floral pattern, was Mrs Gregory, our next door neighbor. A matronly woman of 65, she lived alone in a largish house and presided over two maids, of whom I had been very jealous for a long time. (Of course, I now thought the dresses I wore were far cuter than their plain uniforms; but how I'd dreamed, before my own transformation, of trading places with them!)

Then there was Madame Malreaux, seated next to the fire also, across from Mrs Gregory. She was the French teacher at my school, a new hire from New Orleans, whom I saw three times a week. She wore a straight black skirt that fell just below her knees and a fitted white button-down shirt that drew one's eyes irresistably toward her perfect bosom (I suspected a large B-cup, or perhaps a small C), luxurious chestnutt-brown hair in a somewhat severe bun, just as she wore it in school; her square black glasses complemented her longish face, but hid her green eyes, which I suspected were secretly beautiful.

Mommy was across from the fire, seated in the center of the couch with her back to me; to one side of her was Mrs Woodson, the chief of our Parent-Teacher Association. She was a boisterous, round woman, her short blonde hair framing her round face, plump fingers wiggling in front of her face as she told a funny story. As she moved her arms and laughed, her large breasts bounced.

On mommy's other side was our school principal, Miss Jane. We never called her by her last name, and she had the perfect touch with students, always ready with a warm smile and laugh, equally apt in encouragement and punishment. The whole school loved her, and would do anything for her -- consequently, even though it was a large school, there was little misbehavior around her, and she would quickly put things right. How often had her smile and a few warm words stopped my crying after being bullied! How often had she scolded the boys who teased me!

I set the serving tray on the low table around which the furniture was arranged, dipping at my knees to do so. It would have been un-lady-like to bend over at the waist, but mostly I just didn't want my pink friend to poke me and cause me to jump! Quickly but smoothly I handed out the teacups, politely curtseying to each lady in turn, ending with my dear mommy, who beamed at me in pleasure, eyes twinkling at my good performance.

"Doesn't she look lovely?" asked Mrs Gregory. "Why she's come so far in so little time -- simply amazing. A credit to her mother, indeed." I blushed and bowed my head, burning with joy at the compliment. Each of the ladies murmered their assent, complimenting my pretty maid's dress -- a light blue affair with a white apron, lace at the end of the short sleeves and, of course, plenty of pouffy crinoline beneath. I wore full panties, full of ruffles, and thigh-high white stockings, whose lacy tops showed just below the bottom of my dress, and pink heels one inch high. My toes were painted pink, and though no one could seem them, even they tingled with pleasure at the attention I was getting.

"She's so talented with that tray of hers, why, I'd have thought she practiced all her life with it," bubbled Mrs Woodson, her breasts again bobbling with enthusiasm. "Gee, she sure does have some talent -- it's a good thing you found her out, June," she addressed my mommy.

"Well, I might not have noticed, had dear Jane not let me know the situation. She had such good advice for creating a lovely little sissy out of a really rather silly boy," smiled my mommy. My eyes popped with surprise -- just for a moment, and I blushed even harder. So all those days spent crying in the principals office had come to this! Miss Jane had told mommy what a wimp I was, and encouraged her to make me a sissy! I'd had no idea such a thing could happen.

"Ah, she wanted to be a simpering little girl, for quite some time, non?" purred Madame Malreaux, sipping her tea. "Such a fine little madamoiselle could not have come about unless she wanted it deep down." She looked me in the eyes, smiling but somehow stern; her glance was almost a slap on the bottom. I suddenly longed to be taken across her knees, to feel the sting of her palm or a paddle. My legs were like jelly with all the talk about my sissification. I revelled in my femininity.

Slowly the talk turned to other things, though, and I stood politely in the background, recovering from the heady praise I'd been given. The ladies talked about gossip, about school politics, about the various men in their lives. Mommy was teased a little for not having a husband, but her replies -- that she had no husband, but all the fun she could handle -- delighted her guests.

After a few hours of chatting and a series of re-filled tea glasses, the talk slowed.

"Well, June, I've been awfully bored lately," murmured Mrs Gregory. "Shan't we get on with the lesson? Call little Stephanie over here. She ought to learn her next duty as house sissy."

My mother fidgeted for a moment, brushed a strand of loose hair back from behind her ear, and smiled almost uneasily. Miss Jane put her hand on mommy's leg, gently but firmly. "June, you know Stephanie is ready. Don't be uneasy." This seemed to give mommy courage, and she turned her head to call me over. "Stephanie, please come here. I have a new lesson for you. I'm sure you'll like it."

There was a rustling among the ladies, and suddenly I noticed something very strange and confusing -- they were all slipping off their panties and hiking up their skirts and dresses. Suddenly a wide assortment of feminine sweetness was revealed to me: in one fell swoop, all four of my mommy's guests spread their legs!

I was taken completely aback. Never had I seen such a thing before! I shivered with desire and emitted a high-pitched "eep!" and blushed furiously and averted my eyes, hands clasped demurely in front of me.

"Stephanie, don't be shy. Come here. You know mommy has always wanted only the best for her little sissy girl, and now it is time to teach you something new. You must always be prepared to please any woman who asks pleasure of you. Of course your little fairy wand has no business in a real woman, and it is far to small to bring a woman pleasure anyway. But today, you will learn to use your tongue to make a woman orgasm. Do you know what it means, 'orgasm?'"

I nodded demurely, utterly embarrassed by the sudden sexuality of the room. Getting naked for mommy was one thing, but she never revealed herself to me!

Mommy led me over, and gently pushed down on my shoulder until I was on my knees in front of Mrs Gregory. I inhaled deeply, almost in spite of myself, and breathed in the wonderful aroma of this woman's femininity. I trembled and swallowed heavily, suddenly very conscious of the pink thing wriggling in my sissy hole, of the softness of terror of my false masculinity. Oh, how I longed for Mrs Gregory! She was wearing a very old-fashioned, almost Victorian black dress, with a high white collar and white cuffs. The waist was high, accenting her very large breasts, which she now gently stroked as she looked at me, stern yet soft and beseeching at the same time.

"Come child. Learn your place as a sissy, and perfect your art."

I leaned in. She was completely unshaven, a jungle of white hair hiding that wonderful gate to many mysteries. I inhaled again, and she was pungent, sweet and strange. And then I kissed her, feeling her hair and her skin, intoxicating. I kissed again and again, not wanting to part my lips from hers, but she only sighed. "Dearie, you must use your tongue. Lick me, push your tongue into me!"

I didn't need to be told twice. I stuck my tongue into her as far as I could, trying to remember how mommy used her fingers on me. Perhaps I could make Mrs Gregory feel like that. Oh, how happy I would be if I could make Mrs Gregory feel like I felt with mommy's fingers in me, or my butt plug now felt!

"That's a good start, sissy, but a woman is more sensitive than a man. She needs lots of licking and attention. Here," she suddenly drew her middle finger down, pointing to a little bump just above the tender, sweet lips in which I had lodged my tongue, "here is my clitoris; lick it and suck it a little."

I did so, and then began licking the outside of her wonderful mound, intoxicated by the pungent sweetness and the ripe taste. Her hair tickled my nose and got on my tongue, and I was ecstatic. I kissed and licked, sucked and sighed, and after what seemed like ages, beautiful and heavenly ages, Mrs Gregory began to shudder, softly at first, then more, and she locked her legs around my hears and groaned. "Oh my yes, Stephanie, yes, suck my clit! Fuck me with your tongue!" Hearing such a proper, upright lady say such terrible things thrilled me, locked as I now was between her legs, and the thrill spurred me to even greater enthusiasm. My tongue ached badly -- I felt it might almost fall off and get stuck inside of her -- but I knew I would not, could not stop!

When her shuddering subsided, Mrs Gregory let out another groan and sighed, "Come here, deary, give us a kiss." The lips of her mouth were papery and strange after those I had just been so vigorously loving, and as our tongues danced together, I realized that my panties were soaking wet, just as Mrs Gregory's sweetness had been. The other ladies cheered, and my mommy beamed at me. "It looks like you're catching on to this as well." She motioned to Mrs Woodson.

I sank back to my knees, knowing my wobbly legs could never carry me any distance, and crawled to my next test. Mrs Woodson's legs were already sopping; apparently she had liked the show I'd put on. She was entirely shaved, and smelled and tasted different in an inexplicably way. There was still the same sweetness, the same pungent musk; yet somehow not at all the same, a smell I could never confuse with anyone else's. And Mrs Woodson's legs, like Mrs Gregory's, soon clasped about my ears and pulled my tongue deep, deep inside her sweet femininity.

I could not stand, but crawled again, panting for breath, to Miss Jane, who was different yet again: she was adorned with a small, inverted triangle, pointing downward as if to say "Go this way, and you shall know happiness." She was also dripping with pleasure, but she seemed to pause, and as my head came to her knees, she dipped the middle finger of her right hand into herself, and held it out to me. "No dearest, I'm sorry, but I have someone else. You will not be able to eat me, I'm afraid." With these words, she turned her eyes to my mommy, beaming the sweetest, most loving smile I had yet seen at her. Suddenly my heart melted, and I knew that only mommy would taste Miss Jane's intoxicating taste, that only mommy would follow the arrow of extacy to its end. I crawled to Madame Malreaux.

"Why," she drawaled, "did you keep me waiting, cherie? Such poor manners from a sissy. Bend over my knee, little sissy -- you must be punished." I did not hesitate to do as I was told, trembling as she pulled up the crinoline of my skirt; simpering as my panties were pulled down and there was a sudden burst of laughter and the pink tail that filled my boy-pussy; feeling, rather than seeing, her crimson-tipped hand rise in the air. The shock of the slap tingled into my scalp, and I burned all over for lust for this woman who was punishing me so sweetly. Crack! Again and again she spanked me, 15 times. The ladies giggled as I squirmed.

"Don't ever keep me waiting again, or you'll be punished again!"

"Oui, madame!"

As I licked my strict teacher, I was again intoxicated, lost in the heady musk of my teacher. When I was finished, the other ladies were gone, and Madame Malreaux's hair was free, strewn messily over the back of the chair, her breath coming in heaves as she softly moaned.

She pulled her hair back again, redoing the strict bun, and left.

Only now did I hear the moans from mommy's room, and my heart melted again for those two wonderful women in the throes of ecstacy I so yearned for. I set to clearing the tea things.