The Milky Way 3: Mark

"Ah, you remember," she says happily. "Look at how far you have come!"

I smile. "Thank you, Jane, for helping me all the way along and making it possible to be the person I always wanted to be."

I am sincerely grateful. I could never have done this on my own. I probably wouldn't even have known my true destination.

"It has been my pleasure, Alex. Our pleasure, Mark's, AND mine," she says. Mark smiles. He always had a crush on me, and I feel happy for him that everything worked out the way it did. I have no hard feelings for him or Jane. Maybe I should, because after all they are married, and I am only a little servant to my Mistress. But they are both so happy, and that makes me happy, too. Besides, I know how much Jane enjoys a good fuck...

I peer down furtively, checking what's going on between my legs. Nothing, as usual. All properly tucked away, in a gleaming metal pouch. For the umpteenth time, I wonder how it might look inside...

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The transition from Alexander to Alexandra, or just from Alex to Alex (how convenient! Ha!) went smoothly. The mandatory psychological evaluation is just a formality if you know the right people, and anyway, once I set my first foot on the path I was resolved to go on. She paid for everything and supported me everywhere. She never coupled it to any requirement, like prostituting myself for others, humiliating myself to show my gratitude, or whatever crazy thoughts people come up with in their twisted fantasies. I finished the whole process up to my official gender change in about half a year, including a complete facelift.

Building the breasts took longer because I didn't want to undergo surgery. Recent advances in hormone therapy have made it possible to grow tits mostly naturally. If you are lucky, you can reach size E, with some help like regular breast training, even F is possible. B or C is practically guaranteed, and I was happy with it and still am. I tried larger sizes with fake implants and found it to be both exhausting and also not aesthetically pleasing for my rather small and slender build.

Okay. I know you are wondering about... sex... You little tranny fuckers always do, fantasizing about shemales with huge monster tits and equally monstrous horse dicks that are mounting girls, guys, and everything in between without discrimination...

Well... Sorry to disappoint you...

You see, these hormones and the rest of the medication were slowly, but steadily subduing my male sex drive. I could still get an erection if I really tried. It would take me a long time and a lot of stimulation and the occasional "blue pill", and it didn't hold up very well, but ya, technically it was still some kind of a hard-on. But reaching a proper orgasm became very difficult and unpredictable, and somehow also less desirable. It felt like I was drying up from the inside. Pretty much like the doctors predicted.

I was never very much into penetration, anyway. The few times I tried to fuck someone else, it invariable felt... wrong. I certainly never did Jane, I didn't like the idea at all. And the orgasms, I liked those even less. Five seconds of near unconsciousness, blacking out, squirting sticky whitish liquid; Yuck, just yuck! Those nasty little sperms. Who in their right mind would want to squirt billions of little tadpoles into another orifice?

I preferred it when she gave me one of her rare blowjobs, or let me jerk off. But even then I tried to avoid actually reaching a climax; the mere thought of ejaculating made me positively sick.

Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love it when someone cums onto or, even better, inside me! Yay, give me all the jizz you have!

I guess I just hated myself.

As you can guess, I was pretty happy with the development, with the loss of my male drive. I was very much looking forward to squirting something better instead. Soon I would produce milk. I was as ready as a ripe peach.

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When the question about "the surgery" came up, she asked me what I liked to do. I could have gotten a pussy. But I was scared shitless about the risky operation with an uncertain outcome. Instead, I went for an orchiectomy. That felt like the most logical step.

The doctor was very nice; she had a lot of experience (and a tasty pussy) and made me feel comfortable throughout the procedure. I fell asleep and woke up and lost maybe two ounces. They did an amazing job, not leaving any scars or wrinkly skin. It looked like I never had any testicles in my life. Beautiful. Completely smooth.

In a certain way, my life became smooth, too. It felt like a well-maintained train running on well-maintained tracks. I still had and have my job and got promoted several times because my performance really skyrocketed after the transition. So outwardly, everything was groovy.

Whether it was a side effect of the surgery, of the hormones, or something else, I don't know, but together with my balls I also lost any ability to maintain an erection. It wasn't for the lack of feeling down there, oh no. I thought that my sensations had become even keener and sharper. It just didn't translate into a hard-on anymore.

Fascinating. And extremely satisfying, truth be told. I could play for hours with my dicklet, which quickly resembled an earthworm than a stiff prick. Or rather an overgrown clit. Massage it between two fingers, rubbing it gently, grinding against a mattress (or occasionally, secretly, furtively against another body in the tightly packed morning subway).

Orgasms, or whatever you'd like to call them, became much different; instead of a lighting striking me down, scorching me, and leaving me utterly exhausted, it felt more like a fire smoldering, steadily growing hotter, but never unbearably so, until I finally had enough. No falling off steep cliffs into an abyss anymore. Just walking up nice grassy hills in the sunshine.

Jane never touched my dick again. She really loved to watch me, and one of her favorites was when I mounted her strapon, rode it like there was no tomorrow, and she could see my limp thingy flop around. She often assured me that this made her incredibly horny. And happy, because she could feel how much I liked the change. But she never touched it.

I wasn't too sad, I still could please her in many other ways. I loved burying my nose in her black hair. Or between her small and firm breasts, kissing each one a thousand times. Licking her pussy like there was no tomorrow. Or, my favorite, bury myself deep inside her ass, feeling her hot butt everywhere over my face, inhaling her smell, nearly suffocating myself. I could completely focus on her body. Afterward, I often went to my rooms and replayed the memories in my mind, letting the fire slowly consume me.

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That went on for a year, give or take, while I was still sorting out all the remaining formalities, and adjusting to the hormonal changes.

With time I was depending less and less on what was going on between my legs. Touching myself down there had lost most of its attraction, and I only did it when Jane ordered me to. Besides, I really detested it when others were molesting me. Nasty fingers tugging at my clit never had a chance. I was glad Jane never ordered me to have sex against my will.

With my male sex drive mostly gone, I focused more and more on other body parts. Especially on my ever-budding titties, which were constantly tingling and growing from nearly invisible mounds to veritable hills. I checked them hourly, noticing the slightest change, waiting for the milk to flow.

That said, whenever the opportunity arose, I would allow myself some anal fun. Jane always thought it to be a poor substitute, something that would distract me from my goal (which was... umm... I didn't REALLY know, but damn sure had something to do with tits), but she let me do my thing. Provided I asked both her and whoever was going to use me for permission. Nicely and politely.

Whatever. I didn't mind the minor humiliation. A big fat dick in my ass, breeding me properly, that was quite nice. The feeling of copious amounts of hot jizz in my ass pussy, slowly oozing out, sticking on my thighs, even better. A long stiff strapon, plugging me deeply, until it hit my prostate - I would never say no to that. Cleaning whatever had been in my nether hole - sure thing. I always made sure I was properly rinsed inside. Nothing worse than an awkward accident halfway through. I liked the taste of my juices, and if they were mixed with some extra sperm, I liked them even more.

The best thing, however, was being rimmed. A sensitive, experienced tongue, going all round and round, before probing deeper and deeper, lubing me up for something thicker and stiffer, ahhhh. Mmmmm.

While they were licking and teasing me I would even let them fondle my little dicklet. They were allowed to flip it back and forth, massaging it between two fingers, pulling back the foreskin, and rubbing it like an overgrown clit. As long as there was a hot tongue or two buried in my ass pussy, I didn't mind.

Jane was right, though; every time I got pounded, I felt unsatisfied and unhappy AFTER the climax had faded. It did seem like a failure, something that was beyond my control, and once the excitement and the sheer lust had abated, I usually concluded that the whole experience had been mediocre. At best. Let's face it, most people just don't know how to fuck an ass properly. I also was acutely aware of how they had been staring and laughing at me whenever I begged them to take me. When I was hyped up, I cared zilch about it. Afterward, I always felt ashamed.

And yet, as soon as somebody opened his zipper, I spread my legs. Every time, like on autopilot. I was addicted to it, and like with any good addiction, in my sober moments I hated myself.

I hated the abasement; hated the shame; hated the invariable idiot that tried to push his or her whole hand inside; hated the limp dicks that couldn't really deliver, vainly trying to penetrate me like a warm, half-boiled wiener sausage, before, after an eternity, giving up even though I opened up to the max; and most of all I hated the stallions that only thought about their own lust and considered it to be a competition to rip me in two as fast as possible.

Fuck you! All you showoffs that can't keep me entertained for more than ten minutes. Fuck me!

Mark, fuck me!

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We met Mark at a club. I was playing a gig with my band and was heading to the bar for a quick break, hoping to grab a beer before the second part of the show.

"Wow, you are AMAZING! I never thought you could do THAT on a viola!" A warm, velvety voice, sounding very young. I turned my head, and there he was.

A handsome, cleanly shaven face, slightly reddish from the stifling heat in the room, and maybe also from the excitement. The bluest eyes I had ever seen. He was looking at me with a quizzical smile. Not the usual 'Can I fuck you later' expression. A genuine interest.

"Thank you," I said, maybe a little bit too curtly, and I felt sorry immediately. "Look, I'm in a rush right now, I'm super thirsty and need to grab a beer, but if you like, we can meet later, after the concert? I don't think it'll be longer than maybe half an hour, you seem to be the only one who likes what we play..."

"Sure," he beamed. "Oh, let me get something for you. A lager?"

I nodded.

"By the way, my name is Mark, and you must be Alex?" he said while he was pushing forward through the crowd. I like men with broad shoulders. Especially when it comes to clearing the way.

He re-emerged with two bottles.

"O dang, I forgot to open them," he said, fumbling in his pocket and then turning back to the bar.

I just managed to catch his hand. So warm and soft!

"Wait, gimme the bottles!"

Three years of studying in Germany may not have taught me much language-wise, but I learned to open beer bottles with absolutely everything. Plop, plop.

He was impressed.

We clinked our bottles, and I took a long sip. The beer was too foamy, and I accidentally spilled a lot of it on my breasts. My nipples were clearly visible. Hard, stiff pins, peeking out merrily just from above the black lace of my open bralette, surrounded by a rosy patch, each one. All in plain sight through the nearly invisible fabric.

You've gotta believe me, really just an accident! Scout's honor!

I straightened my back and pushed my tits out. Unintentionally, of course. Tried to rub off the stains from my shirt. Was it my fault I touched my nipples every so often? Just trying to be presentable for the second part of the gig...

He was even more impressed. Ogled my tits, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets, and began to rub his crotch absentmindedly. He stopped as soon as he noticed me looking at him and grinned sheepishly. What a pity! I had high hopes that he would open his pants right here and now.

I grabbed his wrists with an iron grip and placed his hands on my boobs. Looking him straight in the eyes. He didn't blink, didn't flinch, and I thought he also had forgotten how to breathe. As did I. So warm. He would dry my shirt in no time. He began to rub my nipples with his thumbs. Slowly, as if he was unsure about it. They instantly became hard like little rocks. Despite his apparent innocence, he seemed to know exactly what to do. He kept staring at me, mouth half open, breathing heavily.

No. The heavy breathing, that was me.

A warm, tingling feeling was slowly spreading from my bottom. I felt my ass getting wet. A bit as if I had peed myself. Maybe I did from all the excitement. Must have been the heat and sweat, I thought. I licked my lips. I wanted him. Now. I closed my eyes and reached forward until I met his crotch. Totally oblivious to the throng of people around us. Please keep on walking, nothing to see here.

Damned zipper, why does it always take so long!

"Hey Alex, I hate to interrupt you two lovey-dovey birds, but we're waiting for you," our drummer. Always the annoying guy. Dang.

I handed him my beer, together with my famous 'I'll kill you if you take so much as a single sip' look, and shooed him off.

Mark wanted to say something. I placed a finger on his lips.

"I've got to go, but if you want... Let's meet later. Do you see my friend Jane? Over there. The one in the red dress waving at us? I'll meet you there in a few minutes, okay?"

He nodded. Out of an impulse, I wrapped my arms around him and gave him a deep, long kiss.

"Off you go," I said.

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I played the shortest concert of my life that night, rushing through the songs at breakneck speed, not caring about the notes I was playing. I only had one thought - I wanted Mark's lips on my tits and my hips on his stick! I hadn't even seen it, but my overloaded mind imagined an amazing cock. The perfect one. Fucking my mouth, my ass, my tits, maybe even my feet. Oh. My. God. He must be the best. Whenever I had a break, I darted a look around and quickly rubbed my crack for a few seconds. Closed my eyes and imagined his dong down there, trying to find the entrance. Hopefully, nobody noticed.

...He fucks me hard and good, exactly as I like it. In. Out. In. Out. Not too fast, he knows his business. I'm so ready to cum. Beg him for release while he builds up a steady rhythm, accelerating together with the drums and the bass. He is milking my boobies, not gently as before, but determined, without mercy, like a cow's udders. His hips slap against my ass, I arch my back as far as possible to allow him to enter deeply with every stroke. Everything is a blur! He grunts like a boar, and warm liquid is filling up my ass, immediately running down my thighs. And simultaneously, more liquid is running down my chest, from my nipples, that have finally begun to do the job they have been created for...

I blinked.

The drum and bass section had finished the buildup to my solo in hypnotizing, riveting crescendo. Everybody was looking at me. I had totally, completely missed my cue. Dazed and confused, I lifted my viola and began to play against the scary silence. Looking around to check for Mark, who surely still must have been on stage. Nope. Just a fantasy.

I stormed off the stage before the final chord, not waiting for an encore. I guess the audience was glad to see us leave the stage anyway. Barely made it to the restroom. Splish splash, some cold water in my face. A quick peek around. Nobody there. Rapid check down under. Lose those panties; frantically scurry out. Oh my god oh my god oh my god, let's hope he's still there.

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The story of my life. Always being the third wheel...

Because...

...when I finally made it to Jane and Alex, I found them locked in a tight embrace. Jane's immaculate lipstick was smeared all over, and she had deposited quite a lot on Mark's lips, too. Her hair was tousled, and I could have sworn that Mark's shirt was not unbuttoned halfway down before. They were kissing, giggling, kissing again, thoroughly oblivious of the world.

I felt a sudden pang of jealousy. Why, oh why, did she have to do this to me? I thought of running away, leaving all this behind me. Can't I have something for myself? Just this one time? I gripped the handle of my viola case, so hard that the seams were cutting into my palm.

They broke their kiss and Jane looked at me. Her eyes were shining, and her face was glowing from the inside. Despite the ragged appearance she was, at that moment, the happiest and most beautiful woman in the world.

My anger went as quickly as it had come.

"Hi Alex, I think you two know each other?"