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Wedding Belle by Throne
🕑 Added 2025-10-11 14:10:14 +0000 UTCTHE WEDDING BELLE
By Throne
Synopsis:
It starts when a young guy's fiancé talks him into modelling a bridesmaid gown. That leads to a variety of encounters which may or may not take him to a happy ending.
Wedding Belle
by Throne
I was so excited. My fiancé and I had begun discussing wedding plans.
It was still hard to image me, short and slightly built Martin, marrying
the blond former head of our school cheerleaders. I wanted to be
involved in planning the ceremony and reception, to show Krystal how
much I cared. I was quick to suggest everything from bridesmaid dresses
to the table decor for the gathering afterward. My future wife took my
suggestions with a bit of hesitation but ultimately had to admit that I
had fine taste in those matters. The one point we disagreed strongly on
was her choice for a best man. I didn't have a lot of male friends, so
she had chosen Duke, who had been the captain of the football squad back
in school. In my opinion he was a macho meathead. Granted, he had the
height, weight and physique to back up acting like every girl's dream,
but I didn't think that justified his swaggering attitude. The only
unfilled position in our wedding party was that of bridesmaid, which
Krystal said she was still thinking about.
When the wedding was only two months away, she had some get-togethers
with the girls who would be involved. They were at our apartment.
Krystal said I could spend the evening doing whatever I wished, but I
preferred to stay home and interact. I believe the guests liked my
ideas for various details on the big day. I got to know most of them
and they insisted on exchanging phone numbers, in case they wanted to
tap into my expertise on any other matters, even ones not related to our
upcoming wedding.
We got down to just four weeks before our nuptials. That was when
Krystal made a strange request.
She said, "Martin, I need your help."
"Sure, honey. Whatever I can do. Did you want my thoughts of your hair
or make-up for when we tie the knot?"
"No, I think I have that all decided. It's about the maid-of-honor
dress. I need to see it modeled and none of the girls are available to
try it on for me. I realized that you're the right size to wear it, so
I was wondering if I could borrow you to see how it looks on someone."
"You want me to wear a dress?"
"Yes. The one that will be an important part of our special day. I
figured you won't mind getting into it and letting me see the fit, as
well as how it appears when the wearer moves."
"Well, I..."
She gave me a pretty pout, which just melted my heart. No one else
would see me, so I said, "Okay." Then I smiled and joked, "But no
picture taking."
Krystal smiled back. For an instant, I thought there was something odd
in her expression, but then the moment passed. She had me strip down.
As modest as I am, even in front of the special woman in my life, I did
it in another room. When I came back in just my jockey shorts, she
motioned for me to lose those as well. I've always been uneasy about
showing my body, for two reasons. One is that I have almost no hair
anywhere below my eyebrows. The other is that my genitals are below
average, to put it charitably. When I got out of my final bit of
covering, Krystal eyed me up and down. Her gaze settled for a moment
below the waist, on the pale downy pubic hair and undersized male parts.
Then she caught me off guard by holding out a pair of panties.
"Um," I said uncertainly, "is it necessary for me to wear those? I
mean, they won't show once I have the dress on."
She sighed and shook her head. "I was hoping you'd work with me on
this, Martin. After all, I did let you make so many decisions about
other parts of our wedding."
That was true. I didn't want to seem unreasonable. Telling myself that
this would all be over in a relatively short time, I accepted the
lingerie and stepped into it. As I pulled it up my almost smooth legs,
over the invisible hairs, I was aware of the soft touch of the
lightweight material. When Krystal snugged them into place and smoothed
down the crotch, even though I didn't see why that had to be done, her
touch stimulated me. My penis twitched. She gave the front of panties
a few more pats and I got semi-stiff.
Eyeing that reaction closely, she said, "It looks like panties agree
with you."
"Well," I told her nervously, "they're so soft and clingy..."
"Mm hmm," she responded, sounding skeptical.
Then came a bra with padded cups, which she said was essential to the
fit of the dress. I frowned to show my displeasure but didn't say
anything, as I was eager to move on and get past how my dick had filled
out. Considering the dimensions of my equipment, the less attention
drawn to it, the better. Krystal assisted me in the unfamiliar task of
donning a bra. After it was on, she gave my shoulders a reassuring
squeeze from behind. Her hands came around and playfully slipped under
the cups of the bra. She fingered my nipples, which she knew from past
experience are quite receptive. In seconds, I had a full erection,
straining at the panties. Down went one of her hands, to confirm the
completeness of my reaction. She gave my dick a quick massage, which
shifted my attention from having to wear a dress, to hoping that we
would soon be having sex.
Our love life had been limited from the start. Usually, she would tease
me and I would lose control, which led to me shooting off prematurely,
before I could penetrate her. I would squirt onto her tummy and leave a
mess. Since she didn't get any satisfaction when that happened, she
steered me into fulfilling her another way. I would have to go down
between her legs and use my mouth. That put me in close proximity to
the cream I had spurted, which I was very aware of. I could smell my
ejaculate, so near to where I was. Then I would use my lips and tongue
to pleasure my girlfriend. She coached me on taking my time and
improving my technique. I quickly became proficient at giving her
orgasms. I didn't like that act being such a central part of our sex
lives, but it was me who came too soon, and the substitute method gave
her extreme pleasure.
Back to that dress session. Krystal aided me in putting on the garment.
It was an A-line beauty in blushing pink, made of floral burnt fabric.
Features included a sweetheart neckline, open back and spaghetti
shoulder straps. It even had a side slit that would tantalizingly show
off the wearer's legs. It was adorable. After it was on me, Krystal
stepped back to appreciate the results. She had me turn around slowly,
with my arms raised slightly. Then I had to walk. When there wasn't
enough room for her to get a proper view, we moved to the living room.
I also sat and got up several times. She urged me to take small steps,
pull back my shoulders, and raise my chin, all of which I did to speed
up the process. Then she decided she needed to see me in heels. I
wasn't happy about that but figured it was pointless to try to back out
then. She gave me pair of her pumps with two-inch heels. They were
only a little tight, as my feet are almost as small as hers.
With her fingers on her chin, she considered, "We have to go just a
fraction further, to get a final evaluation."
"Further?" I asked, beginning to sound desperate.
"Hair and make-up," she explained.
My hair was only collar length, so she slipped a wig on me. It was one
she had for when her own hair was a mess and she didn't want to bother
with it before running out to grocery shop or whatever. It was auburn
and straight, falling to collar length, with bangs in front. Cosmetics
struck me as totally unnecessary but she was adamant. Being attired
like I was, in the wig, it wasn't possible for me to muster up any
resistance. She sat me on the closed toilet and selected a few items
from her collection: liner, eye shadow, blush and mascara. After those
were on, she sorted among a jumble of lipsticks that resided in a
plastic tray. Her final selection was something called Perfect Peach.
I remembered that she had used yellow on my eyelids, so this would go
together with that.
I stood up and she clapped lightly to show her approval. When she
pointed toward the mirror over the sink, I checked myself and was
stunned. OMG. Staring back at me with wide eyes was a pretty girl, all
ready to be part of the wedding party. Whoever ended up in that dress
would be lucky. I turned my head to one side and then the other. The
yellow and peach shades had a dramatic effect and made an interesting
contrast with the dark wig. I licked my lips, picking up the flavor of
what was on them. True to its name, the lipstick tasted peachy.
Krystal took my hand and walked me back to the bedroom. She opened the
closet door, on the inside of which was mounted a panel mirror. This
time I gasped. The transformation was startling, even more so when seen
in full-length. It left me somewhat swoony.
She must have noticed my unsteadiness, because she said, "Sit on the
side of the bed, Martin. We need to talk."
I did as she wanted, adjusting the floor length dress as I lowered
myself. My fiancé remained standing, smiling faintly down at me. I got
the impression that she was about to say something important.
"For a while now, I've been thinking of changing my plans," she began.
I didn't miss the fact that she referred to 'her' plans and not 'ours'.
"I thought that over time you might 'man up', dear, but that didn't
happen. Then there was how you fussed over details of our impending
wedding, the kind of things that most guys would simply leave up to
their intended. Now, seeing how naturally you took to dressing up this
way, and the fact that you made almost no objection to having it done to
you, I knew something had to change. I should also tell you that, for
the past two weeks, when I said I was going to hook up with the girls,
I've been spending time with Duke. He and I dated occasionally back
when the three of us were in school together and there had always been a
strong connection between him and I. Being with him again rekindled
that and turned it into a blaze."
"What are you saying? I don't understand," I told her honestly.
She sighed, as if disappointed by my lack of perception. "You and I
aren't getting married, Martin. The wedding will still take place, but
with Duke as the groom. I've decided that it will be more appropriate
for you to be my maid-of-honor."
"What?"
"Filling that position will rid you of any ideas about being the sort of
man I would wed. It will be doing you a favor."
"You can't."
"My decision is final. I'm sorry I had to be dishonest with you about
Duke, but in case I didn't reconnect with him and stayed with you, I
thought it would be better if you didn't know what I'd done."
"We're engaged," I said, which was a rather foolish argument at that
point.
"Yes, sweetie. But you're inadequate in bed. I've never brought it up,
but what you have between your legs just can't do the job. Duke is much
better equipped for that. He never finishes before I even get started.
And when we have sex, his technique is impeccable, even if he gets rough
at times." She sighed wistfully. "I'm not about to give that up for a
fornicating failure like you."
I was devastated. Not only was she dumping me but she expected me to
wear the dress I was in during the ceremony and take a female role. Her
wedding night would be spent with that brute Duke. I remembered when we
were in the same gym class. Time in the locker room had always been
uncomfortable for me, with my immature member and near-absence of pubic
hair. He, on the other hand, had strutted around with his enviable
organ dangling between his muscular and hairy thighs. Remembering that,
and figuring how it played into Krystal's changed plans, made me deflate
inside. I wanted to run away. Even so, her suggestion that going
through with the plan to have me in her wedding party, would give me a
strange form of closure, had merit. It was like I was shrinking, right
there in front of her. I looked up from my spot on the bed.
"All right," I said, hardly able to believe I would do it. Would the
shame I had to endure be worth it, to get me past the heartbreak I felt,
and to allow me to share her perspective? I didn't know but, at that
moment, it made a curious sort of sense.
As the intervening days until the walk down the aisle passed, something
else occurred. When the bridesmaid had their fittings, I was invited
along. I even had to wear my dress, to help me get accustomed to being
in it. In addition, were a pair of shoes Krystal purchased for me, ones
that were color-coordinated with the dress, and fancy lingerie that I
would have on. The girls doted over me, showing sisterly support and
soothing my jangled nerves. They pointed out that females often had
romantic reversals. They treated me as one of them and I was grateful
for their consoling attitude. That made it less awkward to endure the
humiliation of being a boy in a dress. They gave me tips on doing my
own make-up, which yielded helpful results. My hair was another issue.
Among them they determined that it could be styled into a pretty upswept
(?) style that would flatter the oval of my face. Telling myself that
this was the course to stay on for the best results in the long run, I
went along with everything. Even so, I wasn't looking forward to the
big day, especially not because I would be there with Duke, the man who
was taking away my bride-to-be and making her his own. Visions of them
in their honeymoon suite kept popping up in my mind. I repeatedly saw
that superior cock that had bothered me back in our locker room days.
No matter how I tried to control that mental torment, I couldn't stop
myself from picturing Krystal on an oversized bed, in her white wedding
lingerie, delightedly accepting him into her arms and then into her
precious body.
On the day of the happy couple's vows, I was taken into the care of the
bridesmaids. My hair was treated with texture spray and dry shampoo.
It was put into a French roll. The updo was held in place with
crisscrossed pins. We dressed together, with them complimenting me
repeatedly. They even solicited my advice, and praised how
knowledgeable I was about womanly concerns. I had picked up a lot of
that understanding online, in the time since the original dress fitting
and Krystal's news that I had been replaced in her heart of hearts.
With a final spritz of perfume, the mist from which I stepped through,
leaving myself scented with honeysuckle, I was ready.
The ceremony itself was a blur to me. I remembered standing in front of
the gathered guests, in my lovely dress and heels, with my finger and
toenails done the day before at a local salon where I was treated like
royalty. They now boasted pink polish. My eye shadow and lipstick
shared that hue. I recalled Duke enfolding Krystal's tiny hand in his
massive paw. When we had held hands, ours were both similar in size.
The two of them sealed their union with a tender kiss. I knew much more
passionate ones would follow that night.
The bridesmaids made sure I got to the reception in one piece. I was
sitting at the end of the long table, at the head of which resided the
bride and groom. Several of the girls were asked to dance by various
guys, and happily accepted. To my utter astonishment, a cute boy
approached me and held out his hand. I was too shocked to refuse.
After all, I was passing for female and didn't want to be exposed in
front of everyone. There were attendees who knew the male version of me
that was now hidden from them. I rose on weak legs and let him lead me
to the dancefloor. Other couples embraced and moved to the music all
around us. He drew me against him and my chin automatically went onto
his shoulder. With one hand on the small of my back and the other
higher up, he led me through two slow songs in a row. His firm male
physique pressed against me. He said something about how we moved well
together and should dance again later. When it was over, he thanked me.
Another song started. That was when a different fellow approached us.
He asked the first guy, "Mind if I steal your pretty girl?"
They must have been buddies, because there was a shared laugh before I
changed partners and danced. The second young man was taller and
thinner. He held me close. I was startled when his cock made itself
known through his trousers, against my midsection. Either he was
halfway hard or it was a whopper even in its flaccid state. Whichever
was the case, my cheeks grew warm and I knew I was blushing. The
thought that I may have aroused a guy was so strange. The number
playing was a long one and he made no effort to loosen his hold on me,
or to draw away his hips.
After the song at long last ended, my partner, whose name was Charley,
said, "I'd like to see you again sometime. Maybe we could go and get
coffee."
I demurred as politely as I could. When he dropped me off at my table,
the girls from the party gathered around me, wanting to know all sorts
of details about both guys. I felt cared for and protected but wished
it could be under different circumstances. To have two dudes attracted
to me, with the threat of exposure ever-present, was not something I
wished for. I mean, it was flattering to have them drawn to my feminine
persona, but it was also nerve-wracking. Plus, it made me lose even
more confidence in my male self. How manly could I be if it was that
easy for me to become a potential date for those two? The girls said
they would stay in touch with me and help me on my journey. Huh? What
journey was that, exactly?
After my failed engagement, I needed sympathy and support. Those young
misses provided it, singly and in various combinations. We got along
well, except that they only wanted to be with me if I was dressed girly.
I wasn't thrilled by that but considered it a small price to pay for
their empathy. What I would do was meet whoever it was at their place.
They gifted me with clothes, some that had been theirs, but others which
were new, purchased especially for me. After a glass or two of wine,
they would dress me up pretty and then have me give mini-fashion-shows.
I became practiced at walking in taller heels. They made sure I minced
and sat properly. My hand gestures became increasingly swishy. They
referred to me as their sissy and joked that they would have to find me
a perfect match. I wanted to reject that idea but because they always
presented it with a joshing tone, I didn't.
After several months of that I realized that they had become my whole
social life. I wanted to return to a more masculine role, but my
confidence in that department had been seriously undermined. I felt
safe and secure, especially after they changed my name from Martin to
Martina. It was liberating not to have to wrestle with self-doubt but
instead of accept the new me. It would be temporary and certainly not
get taken any further. At least, that was what I assured myself.
Then came the visit to one girl's spacious apartment. I thought it was
just going to be like all the previous get-togethers but it turned out
to be party. Instead of girls-only, this occasion was a mixed group.
Nobody bothered to tell me that until after I was in drag and had two
drinks in me. One of the former bridesmaids had given me a ride, so I
didn't even have my own transportation, if I wanted to escape. There I
was, in a sleeveless top and tight slacks, with my junk tucked and taped
under a snug thong. Someone had given me earrings for my newly-pierced
lobes. The jewelry resembled life-size butterflies, dazzlingly colorful
specimens. The circumstances were so uncomfortable, as guys swarmed in
and paired off with my female friends. I felt abandoned and insecure.
That lasted until one guy approached me. He was short like myself,
though broadly built, with a conservative haircut and a neatly trimmed
mustache. He was casually dressed in a sportscoat over a black designer
T-shirt, and stylish jeans that had been made to appear worn. On his
feet were dark running shoes. His name was Paul. When I acted shy, he
became chatty, holding up more than his end of our conversation. I was
grateful when he deftly rebuffed another fellow's effort to join us. It
made me feel protected. I was still in fear of being found out, so it
was also appreciated when he walked me to the informal bar and obtained
a fresh drink to put into my hand.
Somehow, he guided me away from the crowd. There was a bedroom right
down the hall. He opened the door and peered inside, satisfying himself
that it was unoccupied. Then he took a necktie that was draped over the
inside doorknob, and transferred it to the outside one, where he knotted
it in place. I knew that meant the room would be occupied and those
inside wished for privacy. In my inebriated state, I was slow to
understand the implications of that. Once we were alone, he set my
drink aside and took my face between his hands. Before I knew what was
happening, he leaned closer and put his lips on mine. By instinct, I
opened my mouth. All at once, his tongue was on mine, slithering and
sliding all over it. His hands roamed down my back to squeeze my buns.
Holy crap. I was in the middle of a seduction. What to do? The last
thing I wanted was for him to explore below my waist and find what was
there. It might be small, but it was still unmistakably male plumbing.
Seeing no other alternative, I let my hand find his crotch. Just my bad
luck, what waited there was sizable. He might be as short as me in
height, but not in his penis dimensions. I was being led into
misbehavior by a guy who either had stuffed several pairs of sports
socks down there or was in possession of a real jawbreaker. Thinking
only about keeping his fingers off my dinger, I undid his belt. That
led to more of those penetrating kisses from him. To keep his mind
where I wanted it, I lowered his fly. Down came his costly jeans and a
pair of brief briefs with a famous name on the waistband. My estimation
of his secret weapon had been correct, though maybe a tad less than the
reality. With his pants around his ankles, he sat on the edge of the
mattress. Oh, crud. Now there was no way out of what I had set in
motion. My plastic cup was on the nightstand. I asked him to hand it
to me, after which I drained the last of the booze and whatever sweet
stuff it was mixed with. Thus reinforced, I sank to my knees.
He helpfully said, "I like a bitch to take her time."
First of all, I didn't appreciate being called the B-word. Then, I
hadn't intended to make this a long drawn-out session. Looked like I
wasn't getting my wish in either case. Paul flicked at one of my
dangling earrings and I took that as a cue to get busy. With the need
to maintain his distraction, and despite how much I didn't want to do
it, I got my hand on his sausage. Touching made it grow considerably.
It stood up and jutted out at me. I gave a few experimental strokes,
with it more than filling my hand, warm to the touch, rock hard. As if
the long thick shaft wasn't enough, the dark head was thick even in
comparison to the rest of it. What had I gotten myself into? And what
was about to get into me? That second question I knew the answer to.
The point was to keep this oral and not the other way. Saying goodbye
to my male ego, if only for the next however-long, I dipped down my head
and placed a kiss on the rounded end of his knob. He let out a growl of
satisfaction. A bead of clear fluid formed from the slit there. I
wished one of us had dimmed or extinguished the bedside light.
Extending my tongue, I lapped up the glistening droplet. It tasted
tangy. I wondered if that had been affected by whatever he'd eaten
recently.
Paul encouraged, "Slow and easy." Then he amended, "Not too easy." His
chuckle didn't relax me. Neither did what he said next, which was, "Get
it into your mouth, ho."
Oh, joy. I had gone from bitch to ho, and in such a short time. My
nerves electrified and several major muscle groups tightened. I tried
to calm myself by taking a few deep breaths and exhaling them languidly,
but realized that I was directing my warm breath directly at his
straining cock. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. I capped the
bulging business end of his tool and fixed my lips around it. Talk
about a mouthful. I slid down further, until my gag reflex was
triggered. The sound I made was not conducive to being perceived as
sexy, but Paul didn't act like he minded. When I bobbed up and down on
him a few times, any objections he might have had were magically
transformed into gurgles of gratitude. It's amazing what an unhurried
blowjob can do to a guy.
His hands came to rest gently on the back of my head. "Good girl. No
hurry, no worry. It's okay if you can't deepthroat that monster. Just
pay a lot of attention to the head."
How considerate of him. And how self-complimenting. With both hands on
the rod, I sucked the knob. My tongue swirled around it. On the
downstroke, one of my hands bumped his heavy balls. I got them onto my
palm and carefully caressed. His hips jerked. Remembering his advice
to not rush, I slowed down. On the upstroke, I got accidently some of
my saliva on the top hand. That inspired me to slobber on the same
spot, so that I could give his length a wet massage, a sloppy stroking.
He grunted his thumbs-up, so I drooled some more to increase the effect.
My alcohol-induced haze lifted briefly, allowing me to be aware of what
I was in the middle of. I was a guy in girl's attire, alone in
someone's bedroom, giving head to a man I'd just met. This was
assuredly not good. My shame level climbed up into the red zone. Yet
there was no way for me to stop and cheerily say that was all he was
getting. No, I had to proceed until the bitter end. Or rather, the
messy end, with a load of his spunk filling my mouth and running down my
throat. UGH. I didn't want that. I wanted to turn back time and be
with Krystal again. At least then I'd be eating pussy instead of
gobbling cock like a drunk slut, which I figured I sort of had become,
too.
Trying to respect Paul's desired pacing but also wanting to get the
repugnant act concluded, I varied my methods, switching back and forth
from slow to fast. When he didn't complain -- unless non-stop moaning
could be taken for complaints -- I at last shifted into high gear. I
sucked like a crazed sissy, which also might be what I was. My hands
pumped vigorously. Paul hissed between gritted teeth. I didn't need an
alarm to go off to tell me he was about to explode. His cock erupted
into my mouth. Because I hadn't been able to swallow him further,
almost the entire load remained where he shot it, coating my palate and
puddling under my tongue. What did slide down my throat just added to
how nauseated I was.
He ordered me, "Open that trampy mouth and let me see what you've got in
there." I did, and he went on, "Now lick your pansy lips and get my
cream all over them. I want to see you wearing sissy lip gloss." He
laughed at his own crude joke.
I did as I was told, though I would have preferred to spit or swallow,
anything to get rid of the slime coating my tongue. When I applied
Paul's goo to the outside of my mouth, he laughed uproariously.
"All right," he finally allowed. "You can gulp the rest down like the
dirty girl you are." To himself he said, "Damn, what a sleaze."
Up until some point I had at least been able to tell myself that I had
made a good impression and could be proud of my faux femininity. Now it
came out that he was less interested in the rest of me than in the part
that had just blown him. My personality wasn't even on his radar. He
got up, toppling me over backward as he rose. Paul got his pants up and
fastened. He gave me a sarcastic thanks and left the room. I got onto
my hands and knees, and from there to my feet. Before I could go
further, another guy sauntered in, already lowering his zipper.
"Paul says you suck like a whirlpool, Martina. Let's find out if he's
right."
This one stayed on is feet. What followed was less me giving him
pleasure than him humping my face. After lots of gagging on my part, he
unloaded into the back of my mouth. Pulling away before he was
completely done, he deposited the final output directly onto my tongue.
At least I had given him what he selfishly wanted. I somehow tried to
turn that into a positive result, and tell myself that I was, if not
desirable for cuddling, at least so sexual that men wanted to be with me
in some capacity. It wasn't much, but I needed something that made
sense of what had happened. I think that was when I started to crave
satisfying males as a way of proving my self-worth.
Once the girls heard about my adventures in suck-and-swallow, from the
pair that had used me and wanted to brag about it, they began to arrange
similar meetings for me. At least those were one fellow at a time. He
would arrive at one of the girls' places, where I was waiting. My
friends had most of their fun dressing me for these occasions. I would
be in something like a belly shirt and miniskirt. Or it might be a
cheerleader outfit. I remember one when I was in a Halloween kitty
costume. One of the girls let me know that this string of guys was each
told that they were being hooked up with a trans girl. That relieved my
worries about being exposed, but created a new problem. My new dates
got an extra kick about my gender-bender status. They wanted to reach
inside my panties and feel what was there. They took special pleasure
in how small I was where it counts, which meant that I had less than any
of them. They also wanted to play with my nipples. It bought back
memories of how Krystal used to toy with me there to prompt premature
ejaculations, as I now understood she had been intentionally doing.
That restarted me thinking about her with Duke and how I had been
cheated on during our engagement. Every time I was knocked down another
step by all that, my urge to win approval through giving sexual favors
increased. All too soon, I was anticipating the next cock to be shoved
in my face, the next pair of hands to feel me up, the next tongue to
lick my ears, and on and on.
To my surprise, I found I was going to attend another wedding. This
time I wouldn't be standing up front for all to see. The ceremony was
simple. Krystal and Duke were in attendance and I had to witness them
being close with each other. After the principals had said 'I do', we
all went outside to watch them depart. The bride turned her back on the
cluster of gals that had formed for the throwing of the bouquet. I got
pulled along and ended up near the center of that gaggle of girls. Up
went the bunch of flowers and came straight toward me. Without
thinking, I intercepted it and hugged it against my narrow chest. By
then my handlers were no longer bothering to put me in padded bras. I
was obviously a sissy. That was why I was surprised when someone made a
beeline for me. He was an older gentleman, distinguished and well-
dressed. He introduced himself as Claude. I was intimidated but also
proud.
"One of your girlfriends gave me your number. After all this hullabaloo
is over, I want to see more of you." He smiled devilishly and said,
"All of you."
After he departed, with the excuse that he had to leave town on
business, I felt so alone. Claude was a sweet change from all the wham-
bam-thank-you-ma'am types I'd been encountering. I'll admit that his
obvious wealth added to his allure.
The next time I found myself at one of the girls' places, it wasn't to
meet some anonymous guy with a yen for chicks with dicks. Instead, I
was greeted by a trio of fellow trannies, though those ones were 100%
voluntary, unlike whatever exactly I was. They started gushing about
how fortunate I was to have Claude interested in me.
"He's well known among us dick-girls," one said.
"And very generous to any who he's with, Martina."
"Plus, he has the most gorgeous estate," the third enthused.
This felt like a turning point for me. I still half wanted to retreat
back to my male life, though after the trauma of losing Krystal to Duke
and all the succeeding planned hook-ups with horny dudes, I didn't see
that as a strong likelihood. It had become almost impossible for me to
walk and talk like who I used to be. After hearing Claude praised that
way, I began to get calls from him. He sent flowers to my place, which
meant he knew where I lived. Then he announced he was coming to take me
to dinner. My older admirer showed up right on time. He had a long car
with a driver. I was swept away and taken to a swanky and dimly lit
nightclub, where we enjoyed exotic edibles and potent potables. His
drinks came in sturdy glasses, mine in stemmed ones. His beverages were
dark and mine were tropically colored. One of us had paper umbrellas in
what they were served, and it wasn't Claude.
Afterward, we were driven slowly through the park, where we pulled over
briefly. Claude complimented me, hugged me close, and gave several
kisses that managed to be both gentlemanly and aggressive at the same
time. He didn't expect me to thank him for the lovely evening by having
his cock stretching my lips. I knew it was big enough to turn my mouth
into a wide 'O' because I boldly felt between his legs. Oh MY! He
chuckled at my reaction and pawed me through my panties, which on that
occasion were sheer and lavender. He even commented me on my
honeysuckle perfume, which had become with the encouragement of my BFFs,
my signature scent.
On our second formal date, we went to his penthouse and I eagerly sucked
him for all I was worth. Martina had turned a corner.
Sometimes when we had drinks at his place, he liked to quip that he was
giving martinis to Martina. He never let me have too much alcohol. At
the same time, he always made sure it was just enough that he could
honestly say I'd had too much to go home. That was funny because it
would be his car taking me if I left, not me behind the wheel.
Claude loved seeing me dressed for his delectation. There were elegant
dresses, imported heels, and jewelry galore. I was even given a short
fur jacket, though he made sure it was fake fur because he was
compassionate toward animals. The only price I had to pay for that gift
was to swish around wearing it with nothing else on, which I was
delighted to do. Making him happy made me happy.
What took me beyond happy, all the way to ecstatic, was when he proposed
marriage. I wanted to say yes at once, but he insisted on giving me
some details before I accepted.
"The thing is, Martina, that I sometimes like to play games with a
pretty thing like you. Dress-up games, bondage games, and sometimes
control games. I will certainly understand if that alters your response
to my proposal."
I'll admit that I giggled when he made that confession. Claude didn't
seem to understand my motivation. I told him, "The other special girls
let me know about all that."
"Those naughty birds," he said with good humor. "If we have some
threesomes or group scenes with them, I'll make sure they pay for
blabbing."
We both laughed then, and toasted with champagne after I said yes to
tying the knot, even if the knot would occasionally be restraining me.
Two of the other crossdressers assisted me in picking out my gown, which
was a marvel of lace and embroidery, in virginal white, even though I
was still a virgin in only one sense. They also became my bridesmaids.
The real girls who had been with me during Krystal and Duke's wedding
were invited as guests. The big day soon loomed, with me as giddy as
any bride has ever been.
Our ceremony was held in a chapel inside a luxury hotel, the ballroom of
which was the site of the reception. The food and wine were the best.
The music was lovely but mainly sedate, with some livelier tunes mixed
in as the evening progressed, for some animated dancing. Claude and I,
however, only slow-danced and gazed into each other's eyes. Once all
the goodbyes and goodnights had been said, we went to the bridal suite,
which he had reserved. I teased him about what I had on under my gown,
which was a set of lilac-colored lingerie designed to inflame his lust.
When he saw me revealed in that, it did its job and then some. He got
naked and took me in a fierce embrace. His kisses were passionate,
bordering on vicious. He couldn't stop touching me all over.
"You do know," he said, his voice taut, "that I am going to make you
entirely mine tonight, as no other man has done. I am going to rob you
of your virginity."
"I'm eager for it to happen, and would give it to no one else." Those
words earned me another probing kiss. My only concern was that because
Claude was so well endowed, I might not be able to accommodate him, but
I was determined to make it work.
His glorious cock was stiff by then. I massaged it worshipfully as we
got onto the palatial canopied bed. There was lube on the nightstand,
which I used on his impressive manhood. Then I got into position for my
deflowering. I knew it would be more an act of love than of sex, but
was enthused about both aspects of it. My husband knelt behind me. I
felt pressure on the essential spot. He held onto my soft girlish hips.
When he pushed, there was a moment of pain that made me whimper, but
then he was inside. Claude gave me time to adjust to what was
happening. Then he set up a slow but steady rhythm, making me feel
totally feminine, or at least totally sissy. Labels didn't matter at
that point, only the joining of our two bodies. I had come so far,
through so many stages, to arrive at that happy convergence.
As he continued, I was pleased, with waves of pleasure washing over me.
We were both enjoying my new accommodation of the man who loved me. He
didn't rush it or take overly long. It was perfect. When he finished
inside me, in a flurry of short sharp jabs, I was astounded to find
myself spurting spontaneously, without my little sissy dick even being
touched. It was so rewarding. I will confess, however, that when I
snuggled against him in post-coital bliss, it was partly to avoid the
wet spot I had created. He figured that out and kidded me about it.
What can I say? We were already acting like a long-term, happily
married couple.
*********
