Shiny Pebbles Pt. 02

Tamara and I set out on a partly cloudy, cool fall day to beach-walk, packing some sandwiches, cameras and a couple beers. I'm wearing some tight, slender jeans with a nicely tight thong underneath, along with my lightly insulated, maroon windbreaker with black turtleneck and embroidered black bra underneath. Topping it all off with conservative earrings, baseball hat and light hiking shoes. And don't ask me why, but I felt like (and did apply) just a touch of mascara.

Tamara has changed into something much less camouflage-ey -- loose, but somewhat thick yoga pants; a thick, gray cotton pullover with the U. of North Carolina logo, with a scarf around her neck and tucked in; tennis shoes; a couple rings on her fingers; and those thick-rimmed black glasses. Her hair is voluminous enough so she doesn't need a hat. Her eyebrows are full; she obviously isn't plucking them. I'll admit to styling mine a little.

I would love to know what she's wearing for underwear today.

She seems in an expansive mood, so she talks and I listen as sea gulls squawk in the distance and the pungent aroma of kelp fills the air.

I'm coming to realize I'd love to fuck her.

"OK, Frieda. This sort of walk is so much out of my comfort zone. I'm really not much of a nature girl. I like cafes and concerts in the park and be invited to friends with kids, and all that."

"OK. Well, have you ever wanted kids?"

"Oh, hell yes. What I haven't told you is that I have a son with one of my loose first relationships. After my ex and I split up, I raised him for his first ten years and then his father for the second ten years. So I am a mom."

"OK. You actually do seem like you'd make a good mom; you have those vibrations. And, the funny thing is, I'm probably about your son's age."

"Yes." Tamara laughs. "Yes, yes."

And, after checking out a couple tidal pools down the beach: "Look, Tamara, I am so curious about your liking to be tied up."

Tamara laughs again. "You know, Frieda, now that you know this about me -- something I've shared with only a couple people -- you realize you've got the goods on me, too, don't you?"

"Tit for tat, eh?"

"Well-known celeb reporter loves to be hog-tied. I can just see the story in Variety!"

"I wasn't on planning to confront you with that, but thanks for the idea."

"OK, here's the real deal on that, if you don't mind. It all started in college when I had a dorm room by myself. I started having a thing for sandals with leather straps; I bought maybe five or six pair. I was no Imelda Marcos, but I just enjoyed the hell out of having my feet held securely by leather straps. Then starting my junior year I had an apartment by myself, and one thing led to another. I started buying ropes, white nylon ropes that had a sensuous feel, and tying my feet and legs up. It was such a nice, solitary turn-on. Sometimes I'd go to sleep with my legs tied tight. It was like feeling both very secure and yet very vulnerable, if anyone had broken into the apartment. I would fantasize someone doing that, and tying me up and, well, taking advantage of me."

"Okaaayyyyyy ..."

"Frieda, try to follow this. It must bore you if you're not into it."

"Well, I do like tight lingerie."

"OK. So, over time -- and by looking at what other women were doing online -- I figured out how to totally tie myself up. Self-bondage, so I was incapacitated. On a weekend, say, if my schoolwork was all finished, I would tie myself up in such a way that I wouldn't be automatically released until five hours later. Very ingenious. So I would be lying there, squirming, immobile, like I was totally under someone else's control, like someone else had tied me up and I was their prisoner. Quite the feminist thing, eh? But actually, I found the whole experience liberating. It lightened me up. It was like meditation.

"I loved having my hands tied behind my back, my ankles bound, a gag in my mouth -- everything. ... And I never fucked up and had to have someone else come and release me."

"And ... "

"And, I have NEVER told this to anyone, Frieda, no one. But for some reason I can tell you, maybe because you've been so open to me, when you had little reason to. ... You will never tell anyone what I'm telling you now, right?"

"Of course."

"And you won't make fun of me."

"Yes; I mean no!"

"Well, sometimes I would tie a rough rope so it passed tightly between my legs, you know, through the cleft of my cunt, so that it ran over my clit. And I would also be completely tied up otherwise. So I'd squirm and struggle against the ropes and I could make the cunt rope move around, and tighten it, and it didn't take long before I had the most wonderful climax. It makes me feel horny just to think about it.

"And other times I'd bind my tits with ropes or leather thongs, which was erotic, and sometimes use nipple clamps that were attached to something else with cords, so that when I moved I could make the cords tug at my nipples and cause a little pain. OK, OK, I'll admit that pain does play some part in all of this."

With Tamara gushing about her bodily secrets, I find myself being a bit overwhelmed. Like, such unbridled honesty was making me feel less horny. I've guess I've always been more attracted to women who kept their sexual preferences secret, or at least were secret-tive. So I'm actually being more attracted to her brain than to her sexuality and bod.

"Well," I say anyway, "Who'd guess this about you? Can't say I've ever been into bondage or pain, but it's interesting to hear about."

By this time, we've been out for a couple hours. We sit down in the lee of a large log and she leans over with a kiss. We clumsily fall over into the cool sand and kiss some more. Her kisses bring back strong memories of a trip taken up in the Sierras during my stay at USC. There were four of us couples on a ski trip and we were all sitting on the back porch of our rental cabin, and wine and pot were making the rounds and I kissed my girlfriend in the cold. There's something about making out in the cold ...

Now I'm back to feeling horny. My hand, with a mind of its own, migrates down to Tamara's cunt and explores it briefly. Then I rest my thigh against her pussy, and she bumps and grinds against it until she climaxes. I am amazed. This woman really likes sex.

She is also out of breath.

"Oh, wow," she whispers. "I've never played with a trans before. To be continued when we get back to your place?"

After short naps on the sand, we eat and drink and then continue walking, taking pictures.

Now it's time for her to interrogate me.

"So, Frieda, isn't it kind of lonely being here by yourself? Is this what you want?"

"Well, to me it's like there were two people here."

"I mean, was there something in your life that made you want to withdraw and change sexes? You weren't happy as Nathan?"

"Tamara, please tell me if you're just personally curious, or you're collecting this for an article."

She laughs. "Goddamn it, Frieda. I'm just as drawn to writing expository articles about the rich and famous as I am to being tied up and having sex! I could write such a great, great story about you. But no, I'm getting in too deep with you now, sorry to say! So don't worry. Just don't piss me off or send me packing."

"OK, Tamara. Of course I've given all of this some thought. First of all, my kid mind was very chameleon-like in being able to assume the personalities of various people, especially girls and women. Like, when I went to the movies, and there was a strong, sexy female lead, I'd walk out of the theater feeling like her.

"I was much more drawn to my mother and my nanny than to my father, who was all business. He didn't have much time for me; took me to maybe one baseball game a year. If my folks got in an argument, which sometimes could get quite heated -- and long -- I would always take my mom's side, especially when she cried, and I'd feel my dad was the bad guy.

"So ..."

"I've never talked with anyone about this before. But wearing my mom's clothing made me feel so deliciously womanlike and feminine, and I liked the feeling. My guyhood seemed so plain and dull.

"Then when I was in college I developed more and more of an erotic attraction to women's things, especially lingerie -- like maybe I had an Oedipus Complex or something.

"But now, it's like, I want to absorb all the attributes of women, all the things that I love about women -- including of course their sexiness -- and then, as odd as it sounds, once in a while make love with myself. Like I said, it's like there have been two people living here, Nathan and Frieda. Frieda is obviously the more potent of the two. You follow?"

With that, Tamara kisses me. I'm thinking of the crazy idea that I'm kissing my mom, and surprisingly it's a turnon.

"OK," she says, "I'll tell you, I really do feel like I'm kissing a woman. Butch, but a woman. I like that."

Tamara helps me collect more driftwood and seashells. And she gets some nice photos of shorebirds.

After our very long hike we're tired and hungry. Returning and entering my house, we smell the disinfectant the maids used in the bathrooms and kitchen, and I open windows to clear the air.

Tamara wonders if the maids have figured out I'm a crossdresser, or trans, or whatever. I tell her they must know by now since they've seen both my male and female clothing. So yeah, maybe gossip about me has made its way around Garberville by now. But my hope is that the townspeople will leave me alone because of my wealth; and maybe they'd figure that wealthy people have license to indulge their peculiarities.

I make a large shrimp salad, with lots of tomatoes and sliced cucumbers, while she checks news on the slow computer.

After dinner, which we enjoy immensely (while imbibing wine and pot simultaneously), we don two of my nice white nighties, and cuddle on the sofa while we watch a movie on my laptop. What a change in my life in just a few days.

After that, we head for the bedroom.

"Frieda. Would you ... would you do something different for me?"

"It wouldn't have anything to do with bondage, would it?"

"Gee, Frieda, you are so perceptive. My God."

She goes to her backpack and finds some more small lengths of sensuous rope. "Tomorrow I'm going to show you how to tie people up properly, Frieda. But now do the best you can. I'm going to kneel, and I want you to tie my ankles and knees together, and then my wrists behind my back. And here's also a blindfold."

Which I all manage in a so-so way, after we're both aware I have an erection again.

"Frieda, imagine I'm your prisoner and you're going to take advantage of me. Like I'm totally helpless now, and I can't prevent you from carrying out all the fiendish things in your mind ... "

I laugh a little nervous laugh. This sort of scenario has never been in my playbook, and I was always told never to force myself on a woman.

Nonetheless, I walk over behind her, and grab her generous tits from behind and lightly knead them through her nightie. Then I reach under her garment and twist her nipples between my fingers, with more force than I've ever used. She's breathing heavily now, and so am I ...

I run my fingers through her cunt, just to see how wet it's getting, but I don't remain there. By now my dick really needs attention, so I move around in front of her, lift my nightie, and run my cock's head around her lips. I can tell this is what she's wanted all along, because she's turning her head back and forth to better run her lips along my rosy tip. Now she has my cock's head in her warm mouth, and she's sucking, sucking, and sucking it. Upstairs in my mind I'm ecstatic.

And I wonder, suddenly, am I now Nathan in a nightgown, or Frieda, with her long hair?

Well, it's much more exciting to think of myself as a woman playing with a woman so I go in that direction ... . While she toys with my dick in her mouth, I begin to gently play with my nipples, imagining I have breasts. And this gets me so worked up, I start thrusting into her slowly and then faster. And then, just like that, I explode into her as I hold her head and force it against me.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," I moan.

My jizz is all around her mouth, but she manages a smile and says, "Jewish boy converts to Christianity?"

"Oh, well, I've never been religious. I don't know what it is, but when I come, I usually yell something about Jesus. Don't know why."

She's licking her lips clean as I come with a towel. "Oh yes, baby, that's what I like. You taste nice. I like your dick, senorita."

"It's like we were in a completely different place," I say. "It's like we moved off the planet somewhere ... So now, I hope you can think of me as a chick with a dick."

"That I can. Now untie me, please, although if I put my mind to it, I could probably untie myself in a couple minutes."

After showers, we sleep together soundly, with her spooning me for a couple hours. In the morning I get up early, find the appropriate bra and panties, and get into my Frieda gardening outfit. I'm still preparing my winter greenhouse by planting new things and prepping soil, and so on. I point a heat lamp at certain plantings to get the seeds to sprout.

About an hour later, Tamara comes out looking quite fetching in one of my peasant skirt-and-blouse combos, with her hair kind of loose. I just love her tits and her smile.

"Breakfast is served, woman. Please come and join me."

"Why thank you. We're getting positively domestic, aren't we?"

And it does feel kinda right to have her make breakfast -- which is a quiche, with some salsa on the side, and a cut-up orange. Just really hits the spot.

Afterwards, when I've switched to wearing leggings and a thin sweater with boobs, she announces, "This morning I'm teaching a class in you know what: knots, ropes, gags, restraints, you name it. Interested?"

"Do you grade on the curve?"

"I suppose that's a double entendre?"

"Kinda came out that way. I suppose you hope I'll get into this fetish as much as you are?"

"Look, Frieda, I saw your erection when you were tying me yesterday."

"But that was tying, not being tied!"

"Well, one never knows, does one?"

Tamara gets her collection of ropes and puts them on the living room rug. I have the fireplace going; it's a nice scene and I'm very relaxed.

"This will be hands on," she says, laughing a little, but also looking just a little conspiratorial. "Sit in that chair. I'm going to tie you up just to show you how to properly do it. Boy Scout knots and all. OK?"

I nod, and feel vaguely turned on by her assuming a more dominant role.

So there I am, with her diligently tying my ankles to the chair's legs, and explaining her techniques every step of the way. This time, my panties prevent my erection from showing -- mostly, anyway. Next, my waist, my faux breasts and my shoulders are secured, and I'm learning a whole lot about knots and the art of bondage. There really is a beguiling beauty to it. Finally, my wrists are nicely secured to the chair's arms. I can barely move.

"There! See? I kinda wish that was me there, Frieda, but now you can experience what I like. So, what do you think?"

"This is very strange. You truly know your ... ah, craft."

"And I absolutely know you could not get out of this bondage."

"Oh, I don't know."

"Well, dear, you'll have a chance to find out. You'll hate me, but I'm going to leave you this way while I drive into town to get some stuff."

"You pull something like this and you will have to leave -- for good."

"Oh, Frieda, I so enjoy seeing you angry. Not much you can do about it though, is there?"

With that, she finds her knapsack, pulls out a little makeup kit, and lipsticks me. "There. You're a tied-up woman. Totally under Tamara's control." She laughs. I squirm, knowing I will not be able to release myself.

After five hours -- I never knew time could pass so slowly -- and that I could hold pee so long -- she returns with groceries, womanly clothing and lingerie -- along with more rope, and stuff from the hardware store whose purpose I can only guess at -- and a couple magazines, like the kind she writes for.

"Oh, you look so sweet just sitting them immobilized, my dear Frieda -- so feminine and womanly," she says. "I'm turned on ... "

And I, in my angry funk, just sit there.

"Look, Frieda, I bought you some nice new clothes. I want to dress you. Some new lingerie -- I think I got the right size -- I looked at what you had already. ... And a few things for me, too."

"Untie me right now before I pee my panties."

"Oh, yes, can't have that -- peeing, I mean."

So she goes and gets a tall glass, puts it against my cock, and permits me to pee into it. I feel like I've used a hospital bedpan or something.

"Goddamn it, Tamara, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but get me out of this."

"But Frieda, you look so sexy all tied up. I just can't stop enjoying my handiwork."

With that, she loosens the ropes around my faux boobs, reaches in and removes them, and finds my nipples. She just barely touches their ends, which instantly brings them to attention, and then she slightly nudges them around like joy sticks. I forget my anger as waves of pleasure begin to wash over me. Next, one of her hands heads south and under my leggings to grasp my penis, straining to get free. One more minute of this and I'll be cuming.

She pulls down my leggings and panties, and my erect dick is now free, clear and vertical. It's like she owns me.

She lifts up her skirt and manages to insert me deliciously into her as she sits heavily on my thighs. She murmurs and maneuvers her butt around, with me deep sinking deeply into her juiciness.

"Baby, baby," I say.

Even as tied up as I am, I can still thrust a little. And she, with her arms supporting herself, can do some herself. I suppose we look a little comical, but it feels so right and good. I only wish I were able to reach around and play with her clit.

She begins to come, and that brings me to the edge too, and then we both scream and shudder at exactly the same time, because we must be on the exact same frequency. Wow.

An hour later, with me untied and lying on the bed alongside her, I say, "So, nine months from now we'll have a third member of the family, eh?"

She laughs. "No, don't worry about that."

"So," I say, "I can't say I got off being tied up."

"Oh, I'll bet there's some aspect of it it'd turn you on."

"Well, I the one aspect I think I enjoy is you controlling me, to be perfectly honest."

That evening, she does do something that I find a real turnon; she must read me like a book. She ties my hands behind my back, gags me, and as I wear my cami with built-in bra, she goes into her bag of tricks, finds a little leather thingee, and snaps it around my penis just behind the head. She attaches a leash to it, and giggling, leads me around the house that way, yanking from time to time. I feel my balls floating from side to side, and my erection keeps getting harder and harder. I begin dripping copiously, which she loves, and smooths it around.

Then she leads me back into the bedroom, releases me, and orders me to masturbate. Which I do without hesitation. She watches intently. I close my eyes and imagine her dressing me up in high heels and a waist-cincher corset with nicely embroidered bra cups. I cum, and cum, and cum some more.

"Frieda, see, you do enjoy being tied."

"It's more you owning and dominating me."

"Well, maybe we can meet in the middle, me taking a dominant role sometimes and you taking to being tied up and controlled sometimes. But also maybe reversing roles too."

"Maybe."

My formerly solitary existence has given way to food and bodily pleasures. Where before maybe I'd masturbate once a week, we're having sex at least every other day. And never running out of new things to try. She seamlessly works at developing my Frieda personality more, bringing out more and more of that part of me, treating me totally as a woman (with a dick), while I indulge her sexual whims and peccadillos.