If I Tell The Truth

It would be at least another three days before Rebecca would talk to me. I could guarantee that. Yes, last night had been embarrassing for her. I'd gone off at her in public, but she'd deserved it. She's a pretty girl and is constantly flirting with younger men. I've grown tired of issuing her with warnings about such behaviour. Now she'd thrown a tantrum a two-year-old would be proud of and had stormed off to her favourite refuge, the Shopping Mall.

Fortunately, early in our relationship, I'd had the foresight to insist the bank limit her credit card to $1000.

Yes, I'm a Merchant Banker, and so I earn a good income, but she has no idea how hard I have to work and how stressful having a career can be. She doesn't pay the bills. In fact, she has no idea what bills there are to pay. Let's just say I didn't marry her for her financial acumen. Still, as they say, 'every dark cloud has a silver lining'. It was a pleasure to have the house to myself and a bonus knowing she'd be gone for at least half a day. It had presented the perfect opportunity to spoil myself, to pull out my ragged old carpetbag, slip on a pair of heels and release my carefree alter ego.

I'd drifted into my own little world, enthralled by the prospect of my transformation. There was an hour of indulgence, showering, shaving my body and pasting my perky little breast forms onto my chest. Then followed a further forty-five minutes painting my face, concealing the puffiness beneath my eyes and fixing my brunette, bob cut wig in place over my slightly receding hairline. The final touch, a spray of perfume, before I exited the bathroom.

It was in the throes of clipping a pair of silver crucifix earrings to my earlobes, that I entered our bedroom. Clad in a pastel pink satin bathrobe, with much enthusiasm, but little talent, I sang the old Jimmy Soul song, "If you wanna be happy for the rest of your life. Never make a pretty woman your wife."

I tossed the robe onto the bed and began the gymnastic performance needed to squeeze my body into a corset. As usual, fiddling with all those hooks and eyes drove me to distraction, but my waistline needed all the help it can get, and Spanx simply don't provide me with the same electric buzz as a lacy black corset. The house was silent and empty, or at least I thought it was, and so I continued singing while hunting down my stockings.

"Shit!" The word escaped my gaping lips, fleeing beyond the velvet red lipstick, before I could lock my jaw. Swearing was a reflexive reaction, an autonomic response, to catching a glimpse of her red leather stilettos approaching from my rear. A solitary second of panic-induced paralysis shadowed that reflex, strangling every muscle, save one. My heart pounded as though in the final leg of a marathon. I must have been quite a spectacle, bent at the waist, fastening my stockings to the elastic straps dangling from the corset. My freshly shaved manhood hanging limply between nylon coated thighs. I instinctively surveyed the distance separating me from the black mesh, bikini briefs, sitting on the bed. I concluded they were just beyond reach.

Even before I could throw an arm across my chest, in a vain effort to camouflage the breast forms filling the underwired cups of my corset, she started in at me. "Well, well, well! Having a little girl's day, are we? Oh, Sweetie, your underwear is cute, but that voice of yours just won't do at all."

Upon corralling a handful of skittish thoughts, I realised I should have shouted at her to get the fuck out of my bedroom. But I didn't. Because I was relieved, she wasn't Rebecca. And because shouting at a busty blonde who was wearing a short red, pencil skirt and sheer white stockings seemed unbecoming. Except, that's not entirely true. It wasn't only the relief that she wasn't my wife and it wasn't just the beguiling apparel and figure. It was also, perhaps mainly, because she dominated me. A beautiful woman with the bravado to rattle my cage in my own bedroom intrigued me. Perhaps what they say is true. Maybe the sexiest thing a woman can wear is confidence.

Not since I was a little boy had I permitted a female to control me. Certainly, I would never have allowed Rebecca to do so. But this blonde stamped her authority on our interaction from the outset. She began by mocking me, her manner dictatorial, condescending and derogatory. Her technique, strong and sensual, supplied a startling level of carnal pleasure.

She scoffed, at my awkward application of make-up, "I see you're some kind of wannabe Gothic princess." Then came a liberal dose of sarcasm. "Oh, I am sorry, Sweetie, you're not quite ready for visitors, are you? How rude of me, I should let you finish fastening your silky stockings shouldn't I? And then you can slip into your pretty little panties."

Next, the blonde threw her head back chuckled so heartily, she almost burst several buttons on her off-white silk blouse. "Is it chilly in here? Judging by the size of your tiny little dick, you must be frozen." The coldness of those words sent a shiver slithering down my spine.

Half-naked, I again buckled at the waist, trying to hide from the reality, my right hand covering my genitals. Yet the truth was in plain sight. There I was a feebly fidgeting, like a dainty little insect encased in a silken web, and there she stood, the master predator, savouring my distress, relishing my anguish. Her steel-blue eyes had penetrated the walls of my soul, laying bare its contents, liberating my deepest fears and daring me to defy her will.

I continued to huddle beside the dresser. Her venomous scowl injected additional anxiety, disabling all resistance, my smooth white flesh partially clothed but my darkest secret completely exposed and stripped of any defence. When I asked what she was doing in my house, contempt continued to drip from her lips. "Oh, Sweetie, I thought I was here to meet with Rebecca but instead, I find her little sissy putting on a saucy little burlesque show. Does Rebecca know what you get up to when she is out?" She cocked an eyebrow and paused, allowing me to contemplate her thinly veiled threat.

My cheeks burned with embarrassment, their rouge veneer scarcely disguising the inflammation. I swallowed hard searching for coherent a response, knowing the longer I allowed this humiliation to go on, the more difficult it would be to stop her. The hunt was unproductive, I found no plausible excuse which might free me from this noose, no magic words which might cause the ground to open wide and swallow me whole. She sensed it too. Her sardonic silence shouted as much.

No doubt, she'd revel in my effort to explain my predicament, delight in my account of the reasons why she couldn't/shouldn't/wouldn't tell Rebecca what she'd seen. The cold glint in her eye told me she was waiting for a manufactured yarn, expecting me to spin some wild tale. Yet, all I could cobble together was the most unconvincing of lies. "No. I mean ... you can go right ahead and tell Rebecca. She knows everything."

Before I knew it, my tormentor had assumed the initiative once more. "I'll bet she has her suspicions. I'll bet she's considered the prospect hundreds of times, but I'll bet she's never confronted you with her suspicions. No, she would never think of challenging you. No, she'd spend hours dreaming up excuses for why behave as you do. Sure, you'll have told her that you shave your legs because you ride a pushbike, and she'll have believed you."

While continuing her assault on my ego, the blonde pursed her lips and faked a pout. "But there'll have been lots of little things that don't sit right with her. Things that have been slowly gnawing at her confidence, leaving her to doubt that she's married to a real man. I'll bet my house you haven't had the guts, to be honest with her."

Her words battered my ears. I needed to buy some time. If I could just get out of my underwear and get some clothes out of the wardrobe, maybe, just maybe, I could shift the balance of power. So, I gave ground, fully aware there was no other viable option at hand. "What do you want from me?"

I hadn't even finished the question, when a flash from her telephone stung my hazel eyes. Droplets of perspiration dotted my upper lip. There was no longer any opportunity to deny the whole thing. My mind was leaping about, like a cat on a hot tin roof. For one feverish moment, I wondered whether somehow Rebecca might understand. Maybe I could convince her I was rehearsing for a Rocky Horror costume party. Her friend was mistaken, it was all a misunderstanding. Yes, she'd discovered me dressed as a woman, but it wasn't what she thought.

The blonde closed the gap between us, she leaned forward so that our cheeks almost caressed. Uncertainty filled my head and my heart, I half expected she might kiss my cheek, but those hopes were dashed the instant she inhaled, filling her button nose with my scent. A giggle burst from her cherry red lips. "My goodness, Sweetie, don't you smell like a rose garden?" In an instant, her mood changed, a more sensual being visited her warm breath upon my ear. "Sweetie, would you like to get into my panties?" she whispered, while raising the hem of her skirt. With a satisfied smirk, she commenced to wiggle her hips until the white satin underwear was free of her thighs. She then released her grip, allowing them to cascade to the floor.

My response became lost wandering aimlessly in the parched desert of my throat. I nodded as my body shivered with excitement and my cock snapped to attention, saluting her proposition. Once more she whispered, "I thought you would". A smirk spread briefly across her heart-shaped face, "Then, Sweetie, you will need to do everything I ask of you." The steely glare returned to her eyes, "First, you'll need a few lessons in what it takes to be a real woman." Her tone left me on edge, but my concern evaporated when she winked at me. "Ok, Sweetie, I want you to kneel at the foot of the bed and remain calm. I don't want you to wet yourself. I'm going to bring in a friend to help with your training. Simon! We're ready now."

Simon had been lurking in the lounge room waiting for my buxom bully to summon him.

"Holy shit!" He roared, upon entering the room. He kissed her lips, lingering and savouring their flavour, before continuing to chortle. "Oh, Honey, what a cute little pussy you've found. She's perfect, a sexy little ass and plump little lips with just a hint of an overbite."

Once more, I should have shouted at him to get the fuck out, even before he'd opened his mouth. But I didn't. This time because he was obviously a gym junky. The man was built like a brick chicken house. And because shouting at Goliath was only likely to anger him. Again, though, this wasn't the whole truth and nothing but the truth. It wasn't just fear that held my tongue. It was also, probably mainly, because I wanted to hump the giant's girlfriend and, to seize my chance, I had to dance to her tune.

The blonde feigned an introduction, while Simon grinned like the Cheshire Cat. "Sweetie, this is my boyfriend Simon, oh and by the way, my name is Penelope and don't ever call me Penny. Simon, this is Rebecca's little sissy, Sweetie. Sweetie's a virgin, and she's decided she wants to become a real woman. I'd like you to help her out."

"Hell no! You can't be serious." I shouted, my heart leaping through my throat and voicing its objection.

Penelope's response was swift. Her palm struck my cheek forcing my head to turn a full forty-five degrees. Yet, her words carried even greater force. "Shut up, Sweetie! You really are a silly little bitch. I thought we had an agreement. You were to get something you wanted in return for doing as you are told. Now you want to be a real woman and getting fucked by a real man is something that happens to real women."

Penelope waved her index finger at me as though I were an errant schoolboy. "If you really wanted to be a man and if you really wanted to screw women, you wouldn't be dressed as a Gothic Princess and you wouldn't smell like a rose garden."

She seized my jaw just below the cheekbones and began to squeeze, "Sweetie, face it, you're a bona fide fucking sissy. She released her grip. Her eyes circled the room, "If you want, I'll prove it. Do you want me to show Simon the dildo you've been practising with? I guarantee, if I search this room, I'll find it and when I do, maybe I'll screw you too."

Perhaps I remained in post-traumatic shock, my face still throbbing from the blow, but I simply shook my head in resignation.

While Penelope delivered her sermon, Simon was busy stripping down, so by the time her scourging finished, his dick was dangling inches from my face. God the man was ripped and hung like a horse. I've never been great with measurements and perhaps the proximity of his cock made it seem larger. His looked almost twice the length of mine and at least one finger width thicker.

As if to reinforce her boyfriend's dimensions, Penelope knelt beside me and raised Simon's dick, holding it with both palms face up as though she was making an offering to the gods. "Now, you need to learn how to suck a man's cock. Going down on a man is something most women do." Urgency filled her voice, "Go on, Sweetie, give it a lick. I'm pretty sure you'll enjoy the flavour."

I hesitated, but only briefly, before following her command. There was a mustiness to his loin and a salty taste. I slipped my lips over the circumcised head of Simon's dick, gradually inching his shaft into my mouth. "That's a good sissy That's what men want. They want to be sucked and teased until they come." I took my time, wanting to savour the moment. I'd only ever have one, first time and although his erection was eager, I didn't want the experience to be a hurried, meaningless act. Penelope continued her encouragement, "Tastes good, doesn't it? Just wait until you get to the creamy filling."

"God." Simon snarled, growing impatient as my rhythm slowly escalated. I looked up and to my surprise, I began to ogle the man. I'd scrutinised male bodies before but never with such an appetite. I delighted in the sight of his muscular chest, the undulation of his abdominal muscles, the tantalising smattering of hair across his pectoral muscles, which narrowed down the centre of his abdomen, leading directly into the tight, dark curls at his groin. By the time my eyes returned to his groin, I'd lost any interest in his pubic hair; my admiration focused solely on the swollen, eager cock between my lips. I ran my nails over his scrotum and gave it a cheeky squeeze.

Maintaining a slow but steady tempo and revelling in the anticipation was gratifying for me, but it left Simon exasperated. So once more, I cupped his balls and pressed my nails into the soft flesh. He arched his back, shifting his hips so that the tip of his cock slid deeper into my mouth. Pausing momentarily, as I choked, he then began rocking his hips forcefully, creating deep thrusts.

"Fucking hell, Sweetie, you're fantastic. This is so hot ... Christ!" He plunged his hands into my wig, pulling my face ever closer to his pelvis and picking up speed. He gave a deep, hard thrust that made me gag. Then his rhythm grew marginally faster and distinctly more erratic. I dug my nails into his ass cheeks. He grunted and swore as he succumbed to his climax. The pressure of his hands kept my face fixed against his pubic bone until every last drop of liquid had been milked from his softening cock. Gasping and moaning, he exhaled heavily and slumped onto my bed.

It was only then, I noticed Penelope was filming us with her smartphone. She laughed at the frown on my face. "You really are a complete fucking sissy. I've filmed the entire episode and saved it to the cloud. Just wait until Rebecca sees it. You won't be lauding it over her anymore. No more controls on her make-up, the way she wears her hair or the way she dresses. No more fits of jealousy when she talks to men and no more limits on her spending."

I was completely shell-shocked, by the time Simon began to stir, so deep in disbelief, his approach barely registered. Refreshed and sporting another long, thick erection, Simon stepped behind me. He lunged forward and placed his hands on my shoulders. "Stay still." He whispered, before sweeping his hands down my shoulders, biceps and forearms. He ran his fingers over my back, shoulder blades, flanks, spine, and finally, my buttocks. He gave them a firm squeeze.

The purely masculine feel of him had me spellbound. Slowly, his hands crept around to the front. He teased and taunted as he went, pressing his chest against my back, and tiptoeing his fingers slowly around my hips, then across to my lace-covered bellybutton, whereupon he allowed his fingers to drift leisurely down to their final destination. Gradually enveloping straining prick in the fingers of his right hand, he pressed the flat of his left hand against my lower belly. Excitedly I tensed, as he commenced to stroke me. All too soon I felt warm, viscous fluid reach my tip and I blushed. As usual, I'd reached my climax early.

Simon growled, "Hell that was quick. So, I take it, you're ready for me to have my turn?" I bent forward at the waist and took a deep breath. I wanted him but I was apprehensive. I knew that his entry was going to hurt.

At first, my ass resisted. His erection felt even bigger than it looked. Simon barked his instructions, "If you don't clench, it won't hurt as much." He pressed against my entrance a few times, priming my sphincter with his lubricant. I sensed that he was deliberately keeping his movements slow and gentle. But suddenly he was beyond the threshold and the mood changed.

He let loose, forcibly thrusting and rotating his hips driving shaft deeper into me and pressing hard against my prostate. Soon he was entirely consumed only by his own needs and oblivious to his surrounds. Panting heavily, he pushed my impaled body firmly against the wall. The searing groan of his orgasm singed my ear as his feverish cock erupted, violently spasming within me. His pleasure surged through my body and warmed my soul.

Even before Simon had completed his withdrawal; I could hear Penelope on the phone to Rebecca providing a blow-by-blow commentary. It was evident from their discussion that Rebecca had suspected my cross-dressing and had sent Penelope to investigate while she went shopping. Rebecca's act of betrayal left me shattered, totally crestfallen.

The busty bitch wasn't finished. She was determined to twist the knife and when I turned to confronted her, she threw her panties in my face. "Go on, Sweetie, put them on. A deal is a deal. You wanted to get into my panties, and I agreed to let you, so put them on."

Yet again, she laughed at the hurt written in bold letters across my face. "Oh, Sweetie, you couldn't possibly think I'd let you put that pathetic little prick of yours inside me. I honestly can't work out whether Rebecca is the most understanding woman in the world or the most desperate." Once more, she pretended to pout, "And it's not just your baby dick or your lack of masculinity, as Simon just proved, you're a real two pump hump. There's no way she could be satisfied. It's no wonder you're so petrified whenever she spends time around a real man."

I turned to hide the veins of mascara trickling toward my cheeks, only to see Rebecca standing in the doorway. She crossed her arms and shook her head. "Well, Sweetie, we need to talk. I'm sure you realise things are going to change."

My humiliation was now complete and yet, I was also liberated from the burden of maintaining a secret identity. If I was to tell the truth, I'd do it all again, in a heartbeat, just to feel Simon deep inside me.

The End