This is the first more-or-less finished chapter of a novella-length sissy cuckold story i'm working on...i figured I'd post it here. since ive enjoyed the contributions of so many others on this site; maybe someone will enjoy it. 
MY WIFE, HER LOVER, THEIR SISSY
by sissymeeah
Chapter 1
How did I let myself get talked into such a crazy idea? That’s what I was asking myself, perched ladylike at the edge of a stool in the bar of an upscale supper club waiting for our new bull to arrive. It was one thing to share your hot-wife with other guys, and even to dress like a sissy in his presence, but why did I have to be humiliated in public? And why was Pam going along with it without so much as a protest on my behalf? After all, she’d only just met Eric online two weeks before and this was to be our first face-to-face meeting. How could things be moving along *this* quickly?
My wife makes all the choices of who we play with and this time was no exception. All she’d tell me about Eric is that she had a special feeling that this was the bull we’d been waiting for. When he insisted that I show up for our meeting looking more like my wife’s girlfriend than her husband, I’d put up a fuss. ‘No way am I going out in drag! No way!’ Pam waited patiently until I was done throwing my hissy fit and calmly told me that I was going to do exactly as Eric said. ‘Don’t worry,’ she assured me. ‘I’ll help you look your best.’ I sighed, knowing I was beaten. When Pam makes her mind up that she wants something, there’s just no use trying to talk her out of it. And there was something about this new bull that had gotten her lusting like a cat in heat and I was just going to have to hang on for the ride.
So there I was, daintily sipping my frozen banana daquiri, wearing a peach-colored chiffon skirt and a camisole that ended just north of my navel, a pair of silver thong flats on my feet to show off my French pedicure. My hair, my makeup—it wasn’t enough, I was sure of it. I was barely passible—at best! And then only if the bar’s dim lighting and the intoxication of the other patrons were cooperating at just the right levels to blur the lines between male and female.
‘Don’t slouch down, honey,” Pam leaned over to whisper in my ear. She must have seen the dejected look on my face. ‘What’s the matter sweetheart?’
I whispered back. ‘I feel so…*******. People are looking at me.’
‘Of course, they’re looking, silly. Now you know what I go through ever day. Women are always on display.’
‘But they’re looking at you because your beautiful,’ I said, plaintively, as I gazed with frustrated longing at my gorgeous wife. Her hair fell in waves of golden brown curls that framed an angelic face whose sweetness you’d never guess hid an insatiable hunger for cock—the larger, the harder, the better. Well, any cock but mine, which was neither larger nor harder than the kinds of guys she lusted after, my poor frustrated cock which now lay caged and cucked inside the see-through panel of my pink g-string. It was true, too. Pam was beautiful, the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, and never more beautiful than tonight, dressed in a tight chocolate leather mini skirt and a sleevelss tank top of shiny gold silk, her long legs, bare and tanned, her suckale brown toes, I wondered how any red-blooded man could possibly take their eyes off her for a second, let alone resist hitting on her. Well, few did resist, as I’d come to learn over the years we’d been together. I figured my only hope was that everyone would be so busy salivating over Pam they wouldn’t even notice her ugly duckling friend. Namely, me. Still, I couldn’t help voice my fears. ‘They’re only looking at me, I protested, ‘because I’m a freak.’
Pam laughed. ‘Oh stop it, Nikki. You most definitely do not look like a freak. In fact, I think you look rather cute. I don’t know why I didn’t think of taking your feminization public before now myself. I really think it suits you.’
‘Maybe because I’m your husband and because people we know might recognize me…’ I offered, feeling once again a surge of panic. The bar Eric had chosen, though, was far enough away that it made it unlikely we’d run into anyone we knew—but only unlikely, not impossible.
‘Well then, tonight will be good practice, Nikki. Because being recognized in public is something you’re going to have to get used to with the changes in store for you…’
I had no idea what Pam was talking about. I’d just opened my mouth to ask when I was interrupted by the deep masculine voice of a man who’d come up to the bar.
‘Well what have we here? My, my don’t we look precious this evening.’
That didn’t take long, I thought; it never does. Pam draws ment to her like a lighthouse does lost sailors; they seem to come from miles out of nowhere. I waited for the inevitable pick-up to proceed, wondering only how Pam would fend it off this time, since she already had a date for the evening, when I heard her say, ‘Darling, this nice man is talking to you. Don’t be rude.’
Startled, I looked up from my daquiri and into the muscular chest of a man dressed casually in a sports jacket and jeans. Square-jawed, broad-shouldered, at least five inches taller than me—and at least five inches longer than me, too, I’d bet—he had that confident, unmistakable alpha air about him that immediately had me smiling and blushing and eager to please. The phrases ‘Yes sir’ and ‘No sir’ seemed to rise instinctively to my lips in the presence of such dynamic men, who were the exactly opposite of me. The fact that he was black only seemed to amplify the already huge disparity of power between us. He was physically, mentally, and sexually more powerful, more virile, more man than I could ever be. By what seemed to me a kind of natural and elemental law that superceded any other, I felt he had every right to do with me as he chose. In the ‘real’ world, the world beyond the artificial laws of socioeconomics, I would always be at his mercy—and I would always have no choice but to obey. And now here was this irresistibly commanding man standing over me with a confident grin on his face waiting for me to answer him, because, incredibly enough—and gasp!—he really was talking to me!
‘Oh…ummm….well….’ I started off eloquently. ‘Oh….hi….and thank you!’ was the best I could manage. Oh god, I thought, I sounded like an idiot. I took a nervous gulp of my banana daquiri and fought the urge to run away. Just what was I supposed to do now? Did he know that I was a sissy? If he didn’t, already, he’d probably kick my ass when he found out. Should I tell him that I was waiting for someone, that Pam and I were waiting for someone; after all, it was true. Desperately, I glanced over at my wife for help, she was the expert at this kind of thing. I widened my eyes as if to say ‘Please get me out of this!’ only to find the solution already at hand. For while I’d been staring and stammering self-consciously at the bar the black man had passed behind me and was now standing beside Pam, his arm casually and possessively around my wife’s waist, his large black hand lightly stroking her bare belly. They were both smiling, clearly getting a kick out of my surprise.
Just like that, without a moment’s hesitation or a word of explanation, he’d made the entire situation—and my place in it—crystal clear. What could I say, or do, even if I wanted to reassert my claim to the beautiful woman who was my wife? What could I do, sitting there with my bare legs crossed, my sandal dangling from my pedicured toes, embarrassed, speechless, physically intimidated, and feminized, especially knowing that I didn’t really want to do anything at all anyway, that my poor imprisoned cock was beating impotently inside its cage with excitement.
‘Eric, this is Nikki,’ my wife said, leaning familiarly into the large black man as if sh’d been long-accustomed to his intimate embrace, as if she *belonged* at his side. “My husband. Isn’t he adorable?’
‘Yes, he certainly is,’ the black man said. He looked me slowly over from head to foot and back again. I dropped my eyes, unable to meet his appraising gaze. ‘Very cute,’ he added softly, not at all mean, I thought. ‘I especially like the toes.’ I listened closely for a trace of sarcasm or disdain in his voice, but when, to my surprise, I didn’t find any, I felt myself blushing all the way to those very toes.
‘Nikki, be polite. Eric has just give you a compliment. Say thank you, for goodness sakes.’ My wife looked up at Eric with a little exasperated sigh. ‘I’m sorry, he’s really not usually this retarded. Actually he can be quite lively and entertaining, as you’ll no doubt find out, whenever he snaps out of his bimbo daze.’
As if I were subject to a ten second tape-delay, I finally managed to find my voice. ‘Thank you …thank you…’ A momentary panic. I didn’t know how to address him. ‘…sir…’ I finally blurted, the word that most naturally came to mind.
Eric laughed. He reached out and touched me on my bare upper arm—briefly, casually—it was the first time he touched me and I knew I wouldn’t ever forget it. I flushed. In those few seconds of contact, he communicated everything I needed to know from here on out. I belonged to him every bit as much as my wife did. He claimed ownership of both of us. We were his sexual property.
‘The sentiment is correct, Nikki, but, in practice, you don’t have to call me ‘Sir.’ My name is Eric Drazier. You can simply call me Eric. There isn’t any need for formalities between us. We all know who’s in charge without them. Besides, we’re all going to share a very intimate relationship with each other. We should at least be on a first-name basis, don’t you think?’
‘Yes…Eric,” I said, trying out his name, tasting it in my mouth. I smiled shyly and blushed when I thought of what else of him I’d soon be tasting.
‘Good. I think we’re all going to get along just fine.’ Eric gave Pam a tight, affectionate squeeze and she tilted her head back as he lowered his and they kissed, a long, hard, passionate kiss that practically melted the ice in my daquiri. I can’t imagine what Pam felt, because even my knees were weak just watching. When he broke the kiss, my wife looked intoxicated, and not by the margherita she’d been sipping. Eric smiled at me, and, with just a hint of aggressiveness in his tone, added, ‘In fact, I’m certain that we won’t have any problems at all. What do you think, Nikki? Are we going to have any problems?’
I lowered my eyes again and found myself staring at my French pedicure.
‘No sir, no problems whatsoever.’
I knew Eric had told me it wasn’t necessary to call him ‘Sir,’ but at least this one time it seemed perfectly right to do so. When I looked back up, he was nodding his satisfaction and he didn’t object to my calling him ‘Sir’ at all.
MY WIFE, HER LOVER, THEIR SISSY
by sissymeeah
Chapter 1
How did I let myself get talked into such a crazy idea? That’s what I was asking myself, perched ladylike at the edge of a stool in the bar of an upscale supper club waiting for our new bull to arrive. It was one thing to share your hot-wife with other guys, and even to dress like a sissy in his presence, but why did I have to be humiliated in public? And why was Pam going along with it without so much as a protest on my behalf? After all, she’d only just met Eric online two weeks before and this was to be our first face-to-face meeting. How could things be moving along *this* quickly?
My wife makes all the choices of who we play with and this time was no exception. All she’d tell me about Eric is that she had a special feeling that this was the bull we’d been waiting for. When he insisted that I show up for our meeting looking more like my wife’s girlfriend than her husband, I’d put up a fuss. ‘No way am I going out in drag! No way!’ Pam waited patiently until I was done throwing my hissy fit and calmly told me that I was going to do exactly as Eric said. ‘Don’t worry,’ she assured me. ‘I’ll help you look your best.’ I sighed, knowing I was beaten. When Pam makes her mind up that she wants something, there’s just no use trying to talk her out of it. And there was something about this new bull that had gotten her lusting like a cat in heat and I was just going to have to hang on for the ride.
So there I was, daintily sipping my frozen banana daquiri, wearing a peach-colored chiffon skirt and a camisole that ended just north of my navel, a pair of silver thong flats on my feet to show off my French pedicure. My hair, my makeup—it wasn’t enough, I was sure of it. I was barely passible—at best! And then only if the bar’s dim lighting and the intoxication of the other patrons were cooperating at just the right levels to blur the lines between male and female.
‘Don’t slouch down, honey,” Pam leaned over to whisper in my ear. She must have seen the dejected look on my face. ‘What’s the matter sweetheart?’
I whispered back. ‘I feel so…*******. People are looking at me.’
‘Of course, they’re looking, silly. Now you know what I go through ever day. Women are always on display.’
‘But they’re looking at you because your beautiful,’ I said, plaintively, as I gazed with frustrated longing at my gorgeous wife. Her hair fell in waves of golden brown curls that framed an angelic face whose sweetness you’d never guess hid an insatiable hunger for cock—the larger, the harder, the better. Well, any cock but mine, which was neither larger nor harder than the kinds of guys she lusted after, my poor frustrated cock which now lay caged and cucked inside the see-through panel of my pink g-string. It was true, too. Pam was beautiful, the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, and never more beautiful than tonight, dressed in a tight chocolate leather mini skirt and a sleevelss tank top of shiny gold silk, her long legs, bare and tanned, her suckale brown toes, I wondered how any red-blooded man could possibly take their eyes off her for a second, let alone resist hitting on her. Well, few did resist, as I’d come to learn over the years we’d been together. I figured my only hope was that everyone would be so busy salivating over Pam they wouldn’t even notice her ugly duckling friend. Namely, me. Still, I couldn’t help voice my fears. ‘They’re only looking at me, I protested, ‘because I’m a freak.’
Pam laughed. ‘Oh stop it, Nikki. You most definitely do not look like a freak. In fact, I think you look rather cute. I don’t know why I didn’t think of taking your feminization public before now myself. I really think it suits you.’
‘Maybe because I’m your husband and because people we know might recognize me…’ I offered, feeling once again a surge of panic. The bar Eric had chosen, though, was far enough away that it made it unlikely we’d run into anyone we knew—but only unlikely, not impossible.
‘Well then, tonight will be good practice, Nikki. Because being recognized in public is something you’re going to have to get used to with the changes in store for you…’
I had no idea what Pam was talking about. I’d just opened my mouth to ask when I was interrupted by the deep masculine voice of a man who’d come up to the bar.
‘Well what have we here? My, my don’t we look precious this evening.’
That didn’t take long, I thought; it never does. Pam draws ment to her like a lighthouse does lost sailors; they seem to come from miles out of nowhere. I waited for the inevitable pick-up to proceed, wondering only how Pam would fend it off this time, since she already had a date for the evening, when I heard her say, ‘Darling, this nice man is talking to you. Don’t be rude.’
Startled, I looked up from my daquiri and into the muscular chest of a man dressed casually in a sports jacket and jeans. Square-jawed, broad-shouldered, at least five inches taller than me—and at least five inches longer than me, too, I’d bet—he had that confident, unmistakable alpha air about him that immediately had me smiling and blushing and eager to please. The phrases ‘Yes sir’ and ‘No sir’ seemed to rise instinctively to my lips in the presence of such dynamic men, who were the exactly opposite of me. The fact that he was black only seemed to amplify the already huge disparity of power between us. He was physically, mentally, and sexually more powerful, more virile, more man than I could ever be. By what seemed to me a kind of natural and elemental law that superceded any other, I felt he had every right to do with me as he chose. In the ‘real’ world, the world beyond the artificial laws of socioeconomics, I would always be at his mercy—and I would always have no choice but to obey. And now here was this irresistibly commanding man standing over me with a confident grin on his face waiting for me to answer him, because, incredibly enough—and gasp!—he really was talking to me!
‘Oh…ummm….well….’ I started off eloquently. ‘Oh….hi….and thank you!’ was the best I could manage. Oh god, I thought, I sounded like an idiot. I took a nervous gulp of my banana daquiri and fought the urge to run away. Just what was I supposed to do now? Did he know that I was a sissy? If he didn’t, already, he’d probably kick my ass when he found out. Should I tell him that I was waiting for someone, that Pam and I were waiting for someone; after all, it was true. Desperately, I glanced over at my wife for help, she was the expert at this kind of thing. I widened my eyes as if to say ‘Please get me out of this!’ only to find the solution already at hand. For while I’d been staring and stammering self-consciously at the bar the black man had passed behind me and was now standing beside Pam, his arm casually and possessively around my wife’s waist, his large black hand lightly stroking her bare belly. They were both smiling, clearly getting a kick out of my surprise.
Just like that, without a moment’s hesitation or a word of explanation, he’d made the entire situation—and my place in it—crystal clear. What could I say, or do, even if I wanted to reassert my claim to the beautiful woman who was my wife? What could I do, sitting there with my bare legs crossed, my sandal dangling from my pedicured toes, embarrassed, speechless, physically intimidated, and feminized, especially knowing that I didn’t really want to do anything at all anyway, that my poor imprisoned cock was beating impotently inside its cage with excitement.
‘Eric, this is Nikki,’ my wife said, leaning familiarly into the large black man as if sh’d been long-accustomed to his intimate embrace, as if she *belonged* at his side. “My husband. Isn’t he adorable?’
‘Yes, he certainly is,’ the black man said. He looked me slowly over from head to foot and back again. I dropped my eyes, unable to meet his appraising gaze. ‘Very cute,’ he added softly, not at all mean, I thought. ‘I especially like the toes.’ I listened closely for a trace of sarcasm or disdain in his voice, but when, to my surprise, I didn’t find any, I felt myself blushing all the way to those very toes.
‘Nikki, be polite. Eric has just give you a compliment. Say thank you, for goodness sakes.’ My wife looked up at Eric with a little exasperated sigh. ‘I’m sorry, he’s really not usually this retarded. Actually he can be quite lively and entertaining, as you’ll no doubt find out, whenever he snaps out of his bimbo daze.’
As if I were subject to a ten second tape-delay, I finally managed to find my voice. ‘Thank you …thank you…’ A momentary panic. I didn’t know how to address him. ‘…sir…’ I finally blurted, the word that most naturally came to mind.
Eric laughed. He reached out and touched me on my bare upper arm—briefly, casually—it was the first time he touched me and I knew I wouldn’t ever forget it. I flushed. In those few seconds of contact, he communicated everything I needed to know from here on out. I belonged to him every bit as much as my wife did. He claimed ownership of both of us. We were his sexual property.
‘The sentiment is correct, Nikki, but, in practice, you don’t have to call me ‘Sir.’ My name is Eric Drazier. You can simply call me Eric. There isn’t any need for formalities between us. We all know who’s in charge without them. Besides, we’re all going to share a very intimate relationship with each other. We should at least be on a first-name basis, don’t you think?’
‘Yes…Eric,” I said, trying out his name, tasting it in my mouth. I smiled shyly and blushed when I thought of what else of him I’d soon be tasting.
‘Good. I think we’re all going to get along just fine.’ Eric gave Pam a tight, affectionate squeeze and she tilted her head back as he lowered his and they kissed, a long, hard, passionate kiss that practically melted the ice in my daquiri. I can’t imagine what Pam felt, because even my knees were weak just watching. When he broke the kiss, my wife looked intoxicated, and not by the margherita she’d been sipping. Eric smiled at me, and, with just a hint of aggressiveness in his tone, added, ‘In fact, I’m certain that we won’t have any problems at all. What do you think, Nikki? Are we going to have any problems?’
I lowered my eyes again and found myself staring at my French pedicure.
‘No sir, no problems whatsoever.’
I knew Eric had told me it wasn’t necessary to call him ‘Sir,’ but at least this one time it seemed perfectly right to do so. When I looked back up, he was nodding his satisfaction and he didn’t object to my calling him ‘Sir’ at all.
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