Ilka's Place Pt. 08

After my date with Maryanne, I began to worry that Ilka would start obsessing about losing her "daughter."

I was becoming more and more attracted to Maryanne, and would've liked to be with her at least weekly. I fantasized more and more about going all the way with her, female to female. Still, I had to exert all my willpower to keep the home fires burning with Ilka.

Helping Ilka masturbate now became a regular thing on weekends, but she seemed perfectly happy at keeping things at that level. I loved being Bridget for her, and it wasn't too long before my hair was long enough to avoid wigs. Thank god.

Ilka kept buying me more and more lingerie, feminine clothing, makeup and shoes, as though that would keep me close. Unfortunately, when she shopped without my input, her choices were not the best. It got to the point where I ran out of closet and dresser space and had to say, "Ilka, you're so generous, but why don't you wait until I ask you for something?"

I kept improving my Bridget look and mannerisms. I became so "Bridgetized" and feminine that when I transitioned to being Brett the handyman during afternoons, I had to consciously dial back the female side of me. Even then, from time to time, people I visited for repairs sometimes noticed when I said something from a female perspective, or moved in a way that came across as gay or feminine.

Maryanne and I went on another date on a Friday evening. This time, after another great dinner, we went to a classical music concert -- an all-Mozart affair. I actually wore a shirt and tie, and pleated trousers -- over (of course!) my favorite black corselette. My long hair now cascaded down over to my shoulders. I wore stud earrings (Ilka had paid for my piercings) along with a tiny touch of perfume (a kind that Janice preferred).

Can't say I enjoyed the music much (I'm into jazz) but I enjoyed pretending I belonged at such an affair.

Maryanne was dressed to the nines, easily up to the level of other, more wealthy women there. I think we came across as offbeat, but attractive.

When arriving back at her place, somewhat tipsy from the expensive wine we drank at the concert, we pulled each other together like mating snakes and passionately kissed -- at length. Without even thinking about it, my leg gently pushed between hers and against her cunt. Believe me, my image of her as a former nun was quickly evaporating.

She in turn pushed her mound against my leg, rubbing it a bit. She was definitely in a mood.

But we didn't just jump into bed. She wanted to see what lingerie I was wearing. She teasingly removed my shirt and tie, and trousers, to view my sexy black, open-bottom Rago corselette. And not only that (!) but I displayed the whole treatment, with black seamed nylons attached to the garters.

"Oh, how exotic," she exclaimed. "And I can see you body-shave -- so nice, Bridget!"

She felt my garment's cups, filled out with silicone boobs. "Almost like the real thing ...."

I was wearing a crossdresser's gaff to hold my cock out of sight, and she insisted I show her how that all worked. Ever since we'd kissed at length, it had become wet.

"So," she asked, "men get wet from being turned on? I mean, from kissing and necking and all?"

"Oh, yes," I replied. "It's nature's natural lube, sort of. Pre-cum."

"Cum, meaning ejaculation?"

"Yes, slang. You will definitely learn more slang when you're around me."

With all that, I hoped she'd want to explore cocks and cunts more, but she had other things in mind. She went to her newly purchased stock of lipstick and eye makeup and proceeded to try to make me look more like Bridget. That was sinfully exciting, especially since she had the lights turned down low. Her attempt was amateurish, but we had fun. And I continued to get wetter.

It was late when she finished, and I thought I'd better head home before Ilka went nuts.

But Maryanne wasn't ready to call it a night yet. It was as though she was playing house, or staging a little drama for her pals when she was a kid.

"Bridget, let's pretend. We're going to be girlfriends, OK? We'll put on nighties, and pretend we're going to share a bed, you know, like in a pajama party."

My god, this woman is so whimsical, I thought. No making out and fucking by the numbers with her!

So, she had me change into a black baby-doll nightie with panties while she put on a longer, sheer-black nightie. We carefully donned these items separately, without showing our privates. Into her bed we went, with just a small nightlight providing the barest of illumination. I could see hints of her titties.

"Oh, Bridget, I do so love this," Maryanne giggled, as she snuggled against me. "Let's kiss, lipstick to lipstick."

Yes, lipstick to lipstick was arousing. Underneath my babydoll, my prick was totally and turgidly erect. Again, my leg moved between hers, contacting her hidden cunt.

"Oh, Bridget, what is that thing between your legs?" she whispered and giggled with convincing innocence.

I led her hand to contact it through my babydoll's chiffon panty.

For the longest time, she explored my centerpiece, eventually even getting to my balls.

"Bridget, Bridget, this is quite something. So stiff and warm and wet. I am just so amazed you would have such a thing. What do you suppose its purpose is?"

"Well, oftentimes it has a mind of its own. It's always looking for a nice warm place to enter."

"Oh yes, we must do that, Bridge. All wet and ready to perform."

I didn't want to suddenly insert myself into her, no way. So I did the next best thing. I reached over and lay my hand over her cunt. Meanwhile, our faces were inches from each other and her silky hair was falling across my face.

"Oh, Bridge."

I kissed her briefly, fleetingly, and she began breathing more deeply. I let a finger drop into her cleft (without penetrating her) and then slowly pulled it up toward her navel, making sure it slid past her clit.

She gasped. I stopped.

"That felt so good, Bridge. Better than when I do it myself!"

"I want to take you to heaven again."

"A little more, please, girlfriend."

While kissing her neck lightly, I began to run my finger, full-length, through her cleft back and forth several times, before beginning to circle her clit. Suddenly her breathing took a very deep turn. She shuddered, and then she screamed, "Ah, ahhhh, Jesus, ohhhh, ..... oh, you took me there ..... I was like a flower opening to the wind."

She lay back, sweating, with eyes closed. I have never seen a woman look more beautiful.

Eventually, she returned to Earth. I asked if she could help me reach my crescendo "as in the Mozart concert."

"What can I do, girlfriend?"

Hoping not to gross her out, I drew my erect cock out of my panties, and had her place her hands around its wetness.

"Now, Bridget will show you how she cums, dear."

I began thrusting gently against her sexy fingers. She looked so intently at what was developing. I told her to clasp a little harder, against my hardness. There was so much pre-cum that my slipperiness was perfect. I began thrusting faster. Now Maryanne, leaned over to kiss me, causing me to lose all control and thrust mightily. After a couple more pushes, I came mightily, all over her hands and onto the sheets.

She seemed taken aback at this demonstration of lust and lunging. "Wow, Bridge. Like a tiger or something. My female tiger ... with something extra. You mean, that's how you would do me? To penetrate (giggle) me?"

"Well, I'd be very gentle, Maryanne, but if you wanted the energy level higher, I could take you there, too."

I reached down to feel her cunt again. "You got quite wet yourself, my dear. Don't you just love that feeling of lubed by the gods?"

"Yes, I actually do love that feeling. Sex seems so sort of wet."

"Of course I've climaxed before, masturbating," she said, "but with two people it seems more intense. Like merging with the other person."

"Yes, all of that," I offered. I found myself getting positively mature with this lady. As with Janice, when I was playing the role of a woman, I was more self-assured and strong.

We had made it to a new plateau. Forgetting about Ilka nearly completely, we slept together that night, with Maryanne instead of Ilka spooning me.

The next morning, I made it back to Ilka's before she left for work.

"I kept waiting for you all night," she said. "I hardly slept. But you, you slept with that Maryanne, didn't you? Lesbian daughter slept with lesbian."

"Yes. We had a good time at the concert and a good time with sex. But I did get back here in time to have breakfast with you."

"Disappointed in my daughter Bridget. Not honoring mother."

"Pretend mother," I responded.

I worked furiously to get her lunch together. As she went out the door, she promised another heart-to-heart conversation later.

That evening, after a silent and nervous dinner, she began the old holding-hands, candlelight-Hungarian-family-conference thing again. I could tell she'd had a little too much Hungarian liquor.

"Bridget, you not really my daughter, but you feel like my daughter. So important. I invite you to be daughter because you like daughter things. I buy you everything you want; make you beautiful girl. I give you place to live, rescue you from the street. I think you be thankful and honor me. We eat good. I give you good job.

"Then you meet this pazar apaca, loose nun, and she charm you because she want your heart."

"But she's my age, she's actually a very nice Catholic, and she likes me, and we have a good time together. Ilka, I'm sorry you feel like I'm abandoning you, but I think I can be your pretend daughter and enjoy Maryanne at the same time."

Some tears welled up in Ilka's eyes and she grasped my hands tighter. "No, daughter, you do as I say. This Maryanne bad for you. Let her find someone else; she must be goodlooking. She can look around. You just do your job, and dress as woman, and we both be happy that way, and everything be right again."

"I am so sorry, Ilka, or mother. I won't say goodbye to Maryanne."

Now Ilka moved from tears to anger, and let go of my hands. "You come with me, Bridget." She led me into the bedroom again by pulling on my ear. I gave in to see where this would go.

She wasted no time finding the penis cage again and ordered me to raise my dress and pull down my panties so she could once more attach it.

"Only way, Bridget. Keep your himvesszo, your excitement part, from being used by the nun. From capturing you in her spider web. Only I have a key. Stand still while I put it on again."

"Ilka, no way. Keep that fucking piece of crap away from me. My prick is mine; don't forget it. You think you own me, but you're wrong. Sure, it was nice you helped me become Bridget, but you don't own me." I almost shouted that last sentence.

Ilka nearly shouted back, "Then you make choice. You be Bridget and daughter like always, and wear this cage, or I make you leave."

"Like your father forced your gay brother to leave. And you never saw him again."

This forced Ilka to stop dead in her tracks. She began to cry. When a woman of her bulk cried, it was a spectacle to behold.

"What will I do?" she sobbed. "Maybe I go ask priest, or pray."

Whoever she consulted, or received instructions from God, she eventually gave in to the inevitable. I had free reign to consort with Maryanne, and I looked forward to the day when I could find regular employment and leave Ilka's Hungarian apartment.

Meanwhile, it seemed as though my world had brightened considerably. I was still being Bridget with Ilka and Maryanne, but with a newfound freedom and enjoyment. During my rounds as a handyman now, I stopped dressing like one, and began expressing my femininity more, with better-fitting, more colorful clothing, stud earrings, and a necklace.

Maryanne's next gambit was to take us to a lesbian bar in the next city over. She'd actually had the wherewithal to check it out briefly. Her big plan was for the two of us to go one weekday night as girlfriends. I was certain I wouldn't pass but I couldn't ignore Maryanne's sense of adventure. Besides, when we returned home, I figured it might be time to finally hit a home run .....

(Note: I think the next chapter will be the last. Thanks for your patience.)