My Pleasures Were Undignified

Once that sank in, he lapsed into silence, save for the racing breath through his flaring nostrils. As she approached she noted that drops of sweat had broken out on his forehead. His tool had deflated markedly, but not completely, she was pleased to see. She sat down on the bed next to him and, with a superior expression on her face, began masturbating him. In no time he was stiff again; his eyes kept being drawn to the phallus wobbling slightly in front of her hips.

"Yeah, that's right, you've probably even fantasized about this, right? Being humiliated, being totally owned?" The throbbing of his prick showed her words struck home. "Does she know? Is she into that?" His downcast eyes gave her the answer. "Didn't think so." If anything, his embarrassment seemed to excite him more. "Oooh, you're getting wet..." Drops of fluid had started emerging from his meatus.

She stood and, as he stared, she drizzled lube onto the shaft at her crotch. She made a show of spreading it around, then climbed onto the bed between his legs. Groom was breathing very fast now, and his muscles strained against his bonds fruitlessly. Her hand guided the tip of her instrument to his anus. She left it there for a few seconds, milking the tension. Then she gradually pushed forward and slid it inside. A muffled moan escaped from Groom as she did so.

"You even sound almost like a girl," she sneered. "I do that, too, when a real man takes me in the ass." She started to move, slowly, back and forth. "Better relax down there, or this'll hurt."

Somehow it didn't seem to be hurting him - or at least, the pain was being outweighed by something else. His cock waved ineffectually in the air as she thrusted; she was careful not to give it any direct stimulation. But one hand snaked forward under his shirt to pinch his nipples. He didn't seem to experience that as pain, either. By now, she knew, his balls would be aching with pressure. He'd been feverishly on edge for almost half an hour now without any relief.

For Sherry's part, she was thoroughly enjoying the exquisite rubbing on her clit as she worked him mercilessly, and revelling in the domination. Her own orgasm arrived, and she tweaked his cock as she began ramming into his ass as hard as she could. His own climax was practically a seizure, shaking the bed. She was impressed with how far his cum sprayed up onto his torso, staining his shirt.

When all was done, she unstrapped the tool and left it inside him. Then she untied one of his hands, and ordered, "Clean that up. And yourself. And send in the next one." She rolled off the bed as he began to untie himself, inspecting the dressers and cabinets for anything useful. His face burned with obvious shame as he went to the bathroom holding the dildo. In a few minutes he was dressed, and he left without a word.

The next groomsman was tall and skinny and not nearly as fetishistic, which suited Sherry just fine. She got things going with a minimum of preliminaries; her pussy needed some serious plumbing. They fucked happily on the bed, with her on her back this time. He rode her high and hard, and kissed her deeply as he pounded into her cunt. She screamed as she came three times before he finally exploded himself.

Once he'd left, another groomsman came in. He was older and on the short and thick side. There was a vague resemblance to Carl, which turned her on in an odd way. She took charge again, though less forcefully, and had him sit on the bed while she performed extended fellatio. He reacted much as Carl would have - with disbelief, wonder, and in the end almost pathetic gratitude.

The revelry continued through the night in that fashion, the men taking their turns with her - except the groom, who devoted himself to drinking with a vengeance and eventually passed out. At least, that's what Sherry heard; she never ventured out of the bedroom. It was quite late before the exhausted group finally gave up and slept.

"...within I was conscious of a heady recklessness... a solution of the bonds of obligation..."

Sherry was awakened by a frantic hand jostling her shoulders. "Oh, shit, wake up, wake up!" She smacked the hand away and sat up, rubbing her eyes.

"What the fuck is your problem?" she snapped, recognizing Best Man.

"You've got to get out of here. I didn't set the alarm, my wife'll be home any minute. She can't fucking find you here!" Best Man looked worried.

Sherry thought for a moment, then slid out of bed. "Okay, fine. I'll just get a shower and go."

"No, you stupid cunt, it's almost nine! She'll be here any minute! I've got to clean this place up!" He grabbed her arm and tried to drag her toward the heap of her clothes in the corner.

Sherry refused to be budged. Best Man glared in her eyes for an instant but then froze as he met what Groom had encountered the night before. His hand fell away from her limply.

"I'm covered in cum. I don't mind that, but when it dries it itches. You clean up, whatever, I don't care. But I'm gonna take a shower." Best Man stared desperately after her as she strode unhurriedly to the bathroom.

She peed, and then took her time in the shower. It was not out of any malicious impulse, she was simply indifferent to anyone's desires unless they matched her own. Cleaning out her vagina was both necessary and fun, and Mrs. Best Man apparently enjoyed shower massagers, too.

When she turned off the water she heard someone outside the stall. She opened the glass door to reach for a towel and beheld Tall Groomsman vomiting into the toilet. She stepped past him and dried herself off. He finished and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at her miserably.

She was wrapping her hair up in a towel as she remarked, "There's another bathroom, you know."

"Occupado. Jerry's in there. I told him to take it easy on the tequila." She vaguely remembered that had been Groom's name. Tall was hovering over the toilet, as if waiting for more.

"Guess you should have, too." She located what looked like Mrs. Best Man's toothbrush and went to work.

Apparently satisfied he was done for now, he sat back on his haunches and grabbed some toilet paper. "Hell, I've drank more'n that before. Don't even have much of a headache. I hope I didn't catch what my kid had..."

Sherry left him in the bathroom and walked out into the bedroom, where Best Man had tossed the dirty bedclothes in a corner and was frantically making the bed with new sheets. He shot her a murderous look as she began putting back on what little clothes she had been wearing. Skimpy panties, a short dress, and some shoes comprised the entire ensemble, so she was dressed, though hardly decent, in seconds.

Best Man had just started pulling the comforter onto the bed when a low hum thrummed from somewhere else - the garage door opening. "Fuck fuck fuck!" he cried. "Look, get out the back, I got Don, he'll give you a ride." He started bustling her down the hall.

Now that Sherry was clean, she didn't mind leaving, even in a rush. A confrontation would be tedious and possibly even annoying. Their haste was in vain, however, as two women came into the kitchen from the garage as they tried to pass by. One of them called out, "Tell Jerry to hide! We're just gonna..." Sherry's presence finally registered, and she trailed off.

There was a tense pause, and stormclouds gathered on both women's faces. "Who is she?" the other one demanded frostily.

"Uh, honey, this is..." Best Man fumbled for words.

"I'm Sherry." She smiled. "I was just leaving." It didn't mollify them. She had seen hints of this before. Women tended to get defensive of their men in her presence. Though, certainly, the present circumstances didn't help.

"What the fuck is she doing here?" Mrs. Best Man shouted. "What is she, a stripper? A hooker? You said it was just going to be 'the boys', not..."

"I'm not a stripper yet." Sherry interrupted. She realized she could lie at this point, and possibly smooth things over. But she was getting bored and she just did not care what happened after she left. "Like I said I'm leaving now anyway." She turned to Best Man. "Where's Don?"

"You're goddamn right you're leaving, bitch," spat out Mrs. Best Man. She couldn't seem to decide who she wanted to glare at more, Sherry or Best Man.

"Where's Jerry?" asked the other woman, apparently the bride, in a tone that foretold doom. "If he fucked you, I'll kill him. And you," she pointed at Sherry.

Now she was not bored but actually irritated. "Shut up. He didn't fuck me," she said as she rummaged in her purse. "You might want to ask Jerry where this's been, though." Then she tossed something underhand at the bride, who caught it reflexively. Then she dropped it in shock as she recognized the strap-on. She looked back up at Sherry with confusion and mounting horror.

"Go ahead, keep it," Sherry smirked. "Might come in handy with him." As she'd expected, that was a conversation-stopper, and she was allowed to depart unhindered.

Don turned out to be the Carlish guy. She had him drop her off at a nearby mall. She breakfasted in the food court, and got in some shopping time. At noon the court was much more crowded. Her food was purchased by a store manager on his lunch break, who ended up taking the rest of the day off and driving her to a nearby hotel.

Regrettably, though, his reach exceeded his grasp, so to speak. Inside of an hour he was too tired to continue. Sherry donned a swimsuit she had bought at the mall (that was right on the borderline of legal) and went down to the pool to 'advertise'. It was the work of minutes to pick up some travelling businessmen and she moved between three rooms as the afternoon proceeded.

By Sunday evening, though, Sherry was feeling more than a bit queasy. She concluded that the vomiting groomsman had not had a hangover after all. Given the volumes of bodily fluids she'd exchanged, infection was practically inevitable. In her usual selfish manner, she did the only logical thing - she returned home and changed back to me, intending to leave me to suffer through the symptoms. But as the wracking pains of the change subsided, I realized that I felt fine. I was tired, but I wasn't nauseous.

Later experience has borne out what I theorized then - a side effect of the transformation somehow eliminates diseases. I'm uncertain as to the mechanism. Perhaps some aspect of the change kills germs. Or perhaps being sick isn't part of my 'self-image'? However it works, that little byproduct wiped away my last major worry about Sherry's lifestyle, the last hurdle that might have kept me from my current predicament.

"...the situation was apart from ordinary laws, and insidiously relaxed the grasp of conscience..."

Monday the store was closed as I cleaned the house, laundered the sheets, and attempted to organize the rooms for their new second tenant. I was hooked, being Sherry was intense and exhilarating and irresistible. I knew that I would be Carl only part of the time from now on.

Monday night saw Sherry in a photographer's studio doing some promotional shots. Dawg had called and sent her there - he was spending a goodly amount on advance publicity for the debut of 'Sherry Sweet'. He knew a sure thing when he saw it.

The shutterbug was a guy in his forties who was apparently a friend of Dawg. He was black, and a veteran of some kind; she didn't really care about the details. His girlfriend was there, watching the shoot; she was also a dancer at the club. Sherry enjoyed the process, posing among a pile of pillows and cushions in various outfits and assorted states of undress. Imagining guys stroking off to her image was incredibly hot. Eventually, she was naked and masturbating openly, taking pictures that could be used for the club's "members only" website.

The girlfriend had been watching with awe. Sherry was distinctly aware of her gaze... and equally aware that she herself hadn't fucked a woman yet. "Hey, Jesse? Wanna get a few shots of me and Mercedes?"

"Hell, yeah," Jesse breathed. Mercedes didn't need much convincing to join her in front of the backdrop. At Jesse's insistence Sherry put on a thong and a frilly negligee. They started by looking into each others eyes, and then moving close. "Yeah, just like that," Jesse called, "you're in love and you can't hold back anymore."

Sherry ignored him and kissed Mercedes gently on the lips, one hand on her shoulder. She was a thin black girl, but full-chested with a wonderful caboose. Her hair was straightened and lightened to a tawny brown. She wore a pink cutoff t-shirt, jeans, and sandals. Sherry thought she looked delectable. Mercedes was breathing faster, now, as she leaned in for a hug and a longer, slower, juicier kiss. Sherry reached forward and pulled the other girl's shirt up over her head. The camera clicked wildly.

She leaned forward and nuzzled the offered breasts. They were implants, of course - few skinny girls could have such a bosom naturally - but they felt wonderful, and the stiff nipples tickled her face and lips and, as Jesse took shot after shot, tongue as well. Mercedes was trembling, unsteady on her feet, her eyes squeezed shut.

Sherry stepped back and bent forward, undoing the other girl's jeans. The dusky girl remained still, eyes closed, but she spread her legs slightly to help as the brown-haired beauty eased the pants down. Mercedes was wearing a red thong that flashed invitingly as she stepped, one leg at a time, out of the pants.

Sherry stood up, and Mercedes opened her eyes. She reached forward and lifted the negligee off as Sherry raised her arms, presenting her own bosom for best display. The girls moved close, kissing and embracing. Sherry found Mercedes' soft smooth skin to be eminently touchable, and her full lips felt too wonderful on her own.

Jesse had fallen silent. It was clear that no direction was needed. Mercedes was fondling Sherry's breasts now, and the girls sank down gently to lay upon the scattered cushions and pillows. Sherry eased her hand down between Mercedes' legs and deftly slipped past the strip of fabric. The dancer was quite wet, and she squirmed, moaning through the kisses as Sherry explored her pussy. Sherry commenced gently humping Mercedes' leg through her thong, voicing deep moans as well.

The moans peaked - just shy of screams - as the girls both experienced passionate orgasms. But there was no slowdown as Sherry helped Mercedes remove her thong. She lay on her back, propped up on an overstuffed pillow as Mercedes' head dipped between her legs and began to lap at her sopping cunt. The sensations were enchanting; a girl really did know what a girl liked. Sherry admired what she could see of the dark-skinned body for a few moments, before the exuberant slippery probing at her lips and clit demanded her full attention. She yelped joyfully and rode the surge of excitement to a quick series of climaxes.

The stripper came up with a pleased expression on her face, that Sherry quickly showered with kisses. The smell and taste of herself on the other woman was piquant and provocative. She had to taste the other girl's musk at once. She laid Mercedes onto her back and, with easy, acrobatic grace, flipped herself about to enable them to 69. She buried her face in the girl's shaved and succulent pussy. There was a hint of stubble - not something she'd encountered before - but it made a nice contrast to the smooth slippery convolutions of her labia and channel. She loved the contrast between the dark skin of the labia and the pink sweetness within them.

Matters continued like that for some time, each girl exploring the other intimately. No words were needed as they coaxed repeated ecstasy from their conjoined flesh. The first actual sentence in over an hour was Jesse, hoarse with lust, saying, "That's it. I don't have any more film, or cards." Sherry had forgotten he was even there. Mercedes had consumed her total attention.

And the pair had obviously consumed Jesse's attention. His pleading expression made Sherry giggle and it took her a few moments to compose herself and invite him in with a wave. Scarcely another moment passed before he had dived onto the haphazard softness they were playing upon. Mercedes got to work on stripping his lower half while Sherry took charge of the upper half; she was slower because it was more difficult to pull off his shirt while kissing him.

The contrast was striking and enticing. Jesse was urgent, forceful. Mercedes was passionate, too, but the dynamics were different. Not exactly less selfish, but less... using. More aware of what Sherry wanted. Of course, what Sherry wanted from a man was generally that very male aggression, so in practice she got what she craved. That was the case now, as in short order she settled onto his dick with a sigh while Mercedes sat on his face. Her hips moved in sinuous flow while she kissed and stroked the other girl.

Jesse didn't last more than a handful of minutes. His cock pulsing inside her triggered yet another profound detonation. They remained pleasantly conjoined for a while in the afterglow, and presently Mercedes squeaked through her own crescendo.

The girls returned to a sixty-nine while Jesse worked to rebuild his strength, but this time they were side-by-side. Assertive licking and knowing, gentle teeth soon dragged another climax from her partner, but knowing that Mercedes was licking cum out of her drove Sherry wild. She knew she had to taste that herself. So she took the part of 'fluff girl' and went to suck off Jesse. Under her administration, Jesse erected his tower in record time. Then Sherry sat back on some pillows, Mercedes on hands and knees before her, eating her out. Jesse mounted his girlfriend from behind, staring avidly as Sherry tweaked her own nipples and eyed him languidly.

When he ejaculated with a yell a few minutes later, Sherry pounced. She switched positions with the other girl and began lapping at her twat with glee. Spunk and pussy juice made a delicious cocktail indeed.

"...a body that seemed not strong enough to contain the raging energies of life."

Again I managed to go two days as myself, but on Thursday, Sherry had a message from Dawg on my answering machine. That night she went to the lounge to pick up her new bona fides. He presented her with the driver's license, birth certificate, and Social Security card for one 'Charlene Ann Dolchay', age 21. She wasn't at all troubled by the misspelling.

She left and went clubbing with her new ID. While certainly not an experienced dancer, she had an instinctive talent for moving her body and a gift for mimicry. Naturally she became a center of attention. When the club closed at 1 am (Boston's liquor laws are rather old-fashioned) she was invited to a rave and gleefully jumped at the chance.

The rave was wonderful, with exposed, gyrating, sweaty flesh everywhere she looked. She became the nucleus of a 'cuddle puddle' and happily turned it to her own ends, seducing and ravishing several partygoers over the course of the night. When it finally wrapped up, she accompanied two aspiring studs to their dorm room and proceeded to fuck them silly until almost morning. Then she annexed one of the beds and slept until noon.

When she awoke, the boys took her down to the cafeteria. Sherry didn't care about my store in any way, and never even considered relinquishing control of our shared form for the day. A coed dorm was practically a candy store for her; she was far more impressed with the selection of students at the tables than the food that was available.

Over the course of several hours she visited at least ten different rooms, and had sex with over a dozen young men and one adventuresome young woman. (Sherry almost fainted with pleasure when the girl fit her dainty hand entirely inside Sherry's passage.) It was late Friday afternoon before she finally organized a ride back to our house. After 'tipping the chauffeur' in her usual way, she had him wait downstairs while she cleaned herself up and selected an outfit for her debut at the club.