You Can Always Say No Ch. 03byAngelCherysse©
It was my distinct pleasure to take my lunch Tuesday at Dante's, an elegant little trattoria in the mall. Faye was right on time. I saw her approaching across the courtyard and marveled at the fluid motion of those fantastic hips and tush. I wasn't the only one admiring her strut. Every male eye in the place was fixed raptly on that poetry in motion, clad within the confines of a red and black print rayon dress with long, pointed sleeves, sweetheart neckline, and a tight skirt ending four inches above the knee. As before, the dress appeared sprayed-on and left nothing to the imagination. She was obviously braless and, as the boys say, 'her headlights were on'. On this day, she had opted for full-fashioned stockings with French heel, reinforced toe and full back seam, ending in black patent ankle-strap sandals with five inch heels. I just shook my head in amazement, watching her approach; hips undulating smoothly, breasts jiggling, head held high and a dazzling smile on her painted lips. Let the naysayers take their best shot at her personal sense of style; this woman had it together.
We hugged, air-kissed, and settled into our chairs. While we waited for our lunch to be served, we sipped wine and got to know one another better. I had been inaccurate in my assessment of her on one point; she was an Emmy-award-winning makeup artist (two times); she had only been nominated for an Oscar. As I suspected, she was on the wrong side of forty, but only just. I complimented her on her youthful visage and sense of style, avowing she put me to shame. I commented I wanted to grow up to be just like her, causing her to beam proudly.
I filled her in on the details of my weekend with 'Angie' over Chianti and eggplant parmesan. I tried hard not to fixate on Faye's magnificent long, curving fingernails and the way they wrapped so enticingly around the stem of her wineglass. I had a sudden vision of Angie, with nails like that wrapped around a man's erect cock, which she was sucking enthusiastically. I shivered with excitement at that mental image. I noted Faye shifting in her chair, rubbing her thighs together, as I related the incident in the parking lot after we left her. She almost choked on a swallow of wine, followed by peals of laughter, when I mentioned the security camera.
"I know most of the guys in Security," she admitted. "You are absolutely right. By now, everyone will have at least seen it, if not made a copy of it. Talk about Girls Gone Wild! You will be lucky if it doesn't wind up on YouTube."
My face fell.
"I hadn't thought of that," I stated with a little trepidation. "That would be death for my career."
"Don't worry," Faye reassured me, squeezing my hand. "They're mostly good guys. If the recording sees the light of day at all, your face – and Angie's, if it is at all visible – will be digitally erased. Leave that to me; I will personally attend to it."
I knew I liked this woman!
Perhaps it was the wine. Perhaps it was the growing sense of closeness I felt with this stunning siren. I shared with her the most intimate details of my weekend. Upon arriving at home, Angie and I had rutted like minks. This was my first real taste of sex with what Suzi had referred to as a "special girl" – and I couldn't get enough! We made it in every room in the house, in positions I had never considered before. Faye enjoyed another moment of sexual tension as I described Saturday night, when I popped Angie's 'cherry' with an eight-inch strap-on.
"How did she… take it?" Faye inquired, her excitement apparent.
"All… the… way," I smirked.
I described how Angie had cum spontaneously as I fucked her, without any physical contact to her 'clit'. Words couldn't begin to describe the sense of empowerment I had felt, taking my lover as a woman is taken, bringing her to an orgasm, then scooping up her cum in my hand and feeding it to her. The slut had gobbled down every last drop greedily.
At this point, Faye's eyes were slightly glazed.
"Faye," I asked candidly, "how did you do it?"
"Do what?" she replied, genuinely puzzled.
"When I met you Saturday, I had only the vaguest idea what I wanted with my sissy. I didn't even have a name for his femme side. When I saw you through the store window, I suddenly knew I wanted her to be just like you. Talking to you here, now, only convinces me more."
"Thank you, Faye replied, deeply moved. "That is the nicest compliment you have paid me yet."
"When I introduced myself," I continued, "you had all the answers, seemingly before I even asked the questions. You came up with the perfect name for her – Angela – so effortlessly, as though you had been contemplating it all your life."
"I have," Faye remarked quietly. "Angela was my daughter's name."
"Yes," Faye responded, her eyes glistening. "She was my little angel, my gift from God; one thing in my life I really got right. She died shortly before her first birthday. SIDS. They told me she didn't suffer."
It was like a body blow. I snatched up her hands in mine, kissed them, then clutched them to my cheek.
"I am so sorry," I offered sincerely. "That had to have been devastating."
"It was," she sighed, "but that was a long time ago; more than sixteen years."
"My God," I uttered, shaken. "You were two years younger than I am now; about the same age as my Alan."
"Your husband is younger than you?" Faye inquired, intrigued.
I shrugged my shoulders a little bit.
"It's only a number," I replied. "In light of our evolving relationship, that knowledge gives me a subtle psychological edge."
"But both of you look so much younger," Faye commented, "Alan especially. He looks like a teenager."
I smiled coyly and winked.
"The miracles of modern Medicine," I confessed, fishing the clinic's business card out of my purse and offering it to her. "I can't imagine what you went through, losing Angela like that. My husband could; he lost his parents to a drunk driver when he was six and was raised by an aunt. I know I would be crushed if I ever lost Alan. How did you cope?"
I can't say I have ever gotten over it," the introspective blonde explained, "but I have gotten past it. As for having all the answers, no, I don't. I do have a lot of previous experience with feminine men; I told you that already."
"So you did."
The waiter unobtrusively removed our luncheon dishes. I ordered another carafe of Chianti, refreshing our glasses when it arrived. We were just getting warmed up.
"I love sex with masculine, well-muscled men," Faye confided. "I love cock. I love being taken, used like the slut I am. I'm just not particularly enthralled with what that cock is attached to after I'm done with it. If I could just, somehow, wave my magic wand and turn the guy into a pizza and six-pack…."
I had to laugh.
"I know exactly what you mean," I agreed. "I feel the same way; at least, I did before I met Alan."
"But he is not exactly an Adonis, now is he?" Faye countered.
"No," I chuckled, "he isn't – and Vive l' difference!"
"Amen," Faye confirmed, clinking glasses. "I adore sissies. Nothing gives me a bigger emotional lift than finding a really cute girly man and transforming him into the softest, sweetest, sexiest, femmiest sissy he can possibly be. I ooze over the really good ones. That is why I stay so closely involved with the Drag/Tranny scene. Sooner or later, I'll meet 'Missy Right'."
"I have," I replied, trying not to sound boastful, "and I am in sheer bliss. Sometimes, though, I wish I had…more."
Faye raised one eyebrow questioningly.
"Yes," I confirmed, blushing a bit. My eyes dropped to admire Faye's lush, womanly curves.
"I told you," I murmured. "I would love 'Angie' to be just like you."
"A slut?" Fay teased, smiling coyly.
"Yes," I admitted guiltily. "What can I say? I am discovering I adore sluts!"
"No wonder we get along so well," Faye enthused.
"I have to ask," I began hesitantly. "If Angie was… I mean, more like you, doesn't that mean her… I mean, she wouldn't be able to…"
Faye took my hand in hers and gazed tenderly in my eyes.
"Not necessarily," she comforted. "As you pointed out, the miracles of modern Medicine are capable of exactly that; miracles. Realistically, yes; if you were to make Angie 'just like me', she would be soft, squishy… harmless down there. It's a question of what is important to you. I love my sissies soft and squishy; the femmier, the better. If Angie is as talented with her tongue and as responsive in her femmy pussy as you attest, then with the right toys, there is no limit to the pleasure you two can enjoy. If you decide, later on, you need something more from time to time, remember; attractive women like us can get cock anywhere."
"I won't cheat on my husband," I avowed tersely, shuddering. "My mother did that. She succumbed to the charms of some smooth-talking little shit who convinced her she was 'better than all that'. Dad caught them one day; in my parents' marital bed. It almost destroyed our family. For all that, her lover dropped her flat; never called her again. In the end, my parents stayed together, but it was only for us kids. They were never the same. I can't remember a time when I saw my father even touch my mother."
My companion squeezed my hand tenderly.
"I am not advocating you cheat," Faye explained softly. "That is as repugnant to me as it is to you. It isn't 'cheating' if you share. That is what a loving, caring relationship is all about; sharing your hopes, dreams and desires freely. You have needs; your partner has needs. If the two of you can be open and honest with each other, holding nothing back, the fulfillment of those needs should be a joy for you both."
This sexy talk was going right to my pussy. It was my turn to rub my thighs together.
"I still can't get over how good Angie looked on Saturday," I mused. "What you accomplished on such short notice, so effortlessly…."
"They say a sculptor," Faye interjected, "a really good one, like Michelangelo or Rodin, can look at a solid block of granite or marble and see the finished work of art contained within. I can size up a client, female or sissy, and see the potential – or lack of it – in a glance. When you introduced me to Alan on Saturday, I didn't ooze; I gushed."
"We are in complete agreement on that," I concurred.
"There's more," Faye went on in a more serious tone. "When I first laid eyes on Alan, I was terrified."
"Why?" I questioned, shocked at her assertion.
Faye stared at the tabletop for a moment or two, then fortified herself with another sip of liquid courage before continuing.
"I looked at Alan," she spoke quietly, "and saw that 'sculpture' within the bulky sweats. I saw… Angela, my daughter, the way she would be today; at least, the way I would want her to be."
"I saw the resemblance after the makeover," I admitted. "It was uncanny."
"You saw what I had seen in my mind," Faye avowed. "My hands merely brought that vision to life, like some latter-day Pygmalion."
We both needed a sip of wine and a moment to reflect.
"It must have killed you to put 'Angie' away last night," my companion opined, "so 'Alan' could go to work today."
"It did," I agreed, "both of us…"
I glanced aside and down, my eyes unfocused, a bemused smile on my lips. I chortled just a bit.
"What?" Faye prompted insistently. "Tell me."
"It's just that," I giggled, trying not to lose my composure altogether, "yesterday afternoon, I had gotten out the card to call Suzi, to get Alan in to remove his nails. Then I looked at those beautiful nails, and he looked at those beautiful nails, then we looked at each other. He placed his hand on my cheek, then softly, ever-so-softly, scraped his nails down the side of my face and neck. It sent chills up my spine. I had to have him right then and there. I ripped his clothes off, then my own, then threw myself backward across the kitchen counter. As he took me, he gently raked my naked flesh with those gorgeous talons. I came so hard, I saw stars – and just kept cumming! After that, we just didn't have the heart to remove them, so…."
"So?" Faye demanded. "TELL ME!!!!!"
"So," I smirked, "I bought him a pair of Isotoner gloves instead. I sent him off to work this morning, promising he had nothing to worry about, that I would take care of everything. Then, I called his office and spoke to Jason Miller personally. I explained to Jason, Alan had run afoul of a patch of Poison Ivy while doing some gardening for me over the weekend. The rash was really bad and the doctor had advised he wear the gloves until it cleared up, both to keep the hands medicated and to prevent spreading the toxin to others. Being a manager myself, I knew how especially important that was in an office environment, so I had insisted my hubby do just that. Jason thanked me for being so considerate to him and his employees."
We sat there, laughing so hard, we couldn't make a sound.
"Do-do-do the gloves do a good job disguising the nails?" Faye managed to squeak out.
"Mostly," I responded, dabbing at the tears in my eyes with my napkin. "Of course, his fingers look about twice their normal length. If you look closely, you can see the outline of the nails in the stretchy fabric, as well as the impression of the nail art on them."
My girlfriend lost it completely. She clutched her sides and stamped the tiled floor rapidly, alternating her feet in a little stutter step. I teasingly held up one palm. She gently high-fived me.
"You go, Girl!" she exclaimed with glee.
"So," Faye asked, finally regaining her composure, "where do you want to go in your relationship with our Angie? More to the point, where do you want to take Angie herself?"
'Our Angie' wasn't lost upon me. Faye, too, had made an emotional investment in my lover.
"My head tells me go slow, stick to our agreement, let Alan set his own pace," I revealed. "After last weekend, my heart, and the domme within me, are telling me: more."
"How much more?" the ravishing blonde asked pointedly.
I took a deep breath.
"A lot more," I gushed, exhaling.
Faye sat there with a silly smile on her lips. So did I.
"Now we really need to talk," she expressed confidently.
We clinked glasses again.
Jason called Alan into his office late that afternoon. My husband later related the event to me, and that he had been scared to death. I had met Jason and chatted with him at several company social functions. He may have been a GQ poster boy, right down to his chiseled good looks, designer suits and hundred-dollar hairstyle, but he was also one of the most unprepossessing men I had ever met. He radiated self-confidence naturally, not as the affectation of an overcompensating ego.
Alan entered the office with trepidation, closing the door behind him. This is it, he had thought to himself, they know about my nails. I'm screwed.
"Thank you for coming, Alan," Jason had effused warmly. "Please, sit down. Under the circumstances, you will understand if I don't shake your hand."
"It's quite all right," Alan had responded cheerfully, grateful his boss had chosen to keep his distance. Alan seated himself on the edge of the chair. He held his legs together with knees to one side, gloved hands clasped loosely, resting in his lap.
"Is there any… discomfort?" Jason inquired solicitously.
"A little," Alan ad-libbed smoothly. "This junk I spread on my hands keeps the itching down to a tolerable level."
"Please express my gratitude again to Donna for the heads-up," Jason continued. "I admire your wife a ton. You are one lucky sonofabitch."
"Don't I know it," Alan had sighed, relaxing from the sense of camaraderie Jason had infused into the conversation.
Jason shook his head in disbelief.
"Poison Ivy," he muttered. "What incredibly bad luck – especially now."
"Jason," Alan inquired, deciding to launch a pre-emptive strike. "Is there some... problem with my work?"
"Of course not," Jason demurred emphatically. "How could you even think it? I wish all of my employees had your enthusiasm and dedication to the job. Your department's numbers are through the roof! That is why I asked you in today. Alan, I'm in a bind. I have a major new project on my plate; a bid for a five-hundred-million-dollar contract with DoD. I don't have to tell you, this is huge for us; the biggest thing yet. If we win the bid, and do well, this company and its employees will be pretty much set for life, in terms of future business.
"Of course, you don't just waltz through the front door of The Pentagon and say: 'Show me the money.' This bid will require a massive amount of research; collecting and collating mil-spec data, assessing our current production capabilities, versus re-tooling to meet their specifications, lining up the necessary suppliers, shipping, warehousing requirements, additional security requirements, pricing, contract proposals, a thousand and one little details, not one of which can be blown off. We have to have all I's dotted and T's crossed on this one.
"The problem is one of manpower. Gayle, my P.A., did the preliminary research, then left on maternity leave. I have talked to her a couple of times and I don't think she is coming back after she has her baby. She couldn't have left at a more critical time. She was my good right hand; I just had to tell her what I needed and it was done. I can call an agency and have a temp here this afternoon, but no stranger is going to know the nuances of our business; where the 'stepping stones' are, so to speak. It would take too long to bring a 'newbie' up to speed, even if I could find one with the necessary credentials. That's time we don't have to meet the bidding deadline. I can't do the project alone and run the company, too. Hell, I'll admit it; I can't do the project alone, period.
"I think you can see where I am going with this. Alan, other than myself, there in no one in the entire organization who knows the ins and outs of this company like you. You have proven time and again; you have work ethic, organizational skills, and attention to detail like nobody's business. You are also a whiz when it comes to crunching numbers. In short, I need you on this.
"I know you have your heart set on the Vice-Presidency of Manufacturing when Bob Bailey retires. I also know this would not only remove you from management of your department, it might, on the surface, appear to be a major step backward in prestige and responsibility, taking you out of consideration for the promotion. Nothing could be further from the truth. The future of this company will rest squarely in your hands. You put together the proposal, keeping me in the loop with regular reports. We'll work on this together when the press of day-to-day business doesn't interfere. Jimmy Darnell can handle your department for now; if he does well, we'll probably make that permanent later on. When you nail this down for us - and I have every confidence you will - you will be moving up, not back. There will also be a sizeable bonus in it for you.
We'll move you right into Gayle's former office. It's close to me – in 'executive country' - and her preliminary research is already there; we won't have to move a thing. We'll keep you at your current salary and benefit package for the duration of the project. I'll let you write your own title and job description. If you want me to juggle two apples and an orange while riding a unicycle, I'll do it, just don't... say... no. Okay, Alan?"