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The Christmas Gift, Pt. 12
🕑 Added 2023-03-01 07:04:15 +0000 UTC
“Take your leggings off.”
I nodded, standing gracefully and smiling sweetly. I slipped my fingers under the snug waist of my pink leggings and then turned to my side to give Sam a better view. I pushed them down, slinking them from my thigh and then revealing my plump little butt, bending to send them to the floor.
I tip-toed out of them.
I slid my hands down my body, looking back at Sam, moving my palms over my thighs and across my pubic mound. My thong was soaking wet and as if to punctuate that fact a long string of feminine fluid dripped from their crotch to the leggings bunched up at my feet.
He nodded his head. “And your thong.”
I nodded back, repeating the same process, but this time-bending all of the way over. My thong stuck for a moment, but then rolled off my pussy, which, framed by my ass and thighs was revealed to my husband. A sweetness filled the air and I half considered Sam might shove me over the counter again, grab my ass, pull his sweatpants down, and enter me.
But he didn’t.
Perhaps it would have been easy for me to turn and retrieve his cock myself, but I reminded myself that I shouldn’t want this. In the periphery of my vision, I could see the sultry woman I had become undressing in the various mirrors and reflective surfaces around our bathroom. Our space had become a kaleidoscope of sensuality and allure, with me as its object. Sam’s gaze again returned to my nude body.
For a moment I stood in silence, waiting to be taken, and then I strolled to the sink and fetched a washcloth, saturating it under coursing water under the sink. I stood up straight and took in my reflection again. Naked. Curvy. A fucking knockout. I pushed the washcloth between my legs and washed the expectant glaze off my aching pussy. Fuck. I would be wet again soon enough. I just knew it.
Sam watched from behind me — watching my fingers and the white washcloth peek into the gap between my thighs to wash my pussy. My eyes darted in the mirror between his face and crotch. He was riveted at my form, and he was rock-hard in his sweatpants. I smiled, feeling desired. Then, with no word, he walked out of the bathroom.
I looked around sheepishly, finding a towel to dry with, and then followed him slowly into the bedroom. He stepped out of the closet with it, towering over me. Oh!
My dress.
He held it in one hand. “Green velvet,” Sam noted. In his other hand dangled two black high heels, thin black straps hooked on his fingers. “And heels.”
My eyes met the heels and I must have looked entirely flummoxed. Sam’s tone sharpened. “Don’t make a big deal about it. My wife wears heels. She knows how to walk in them. It’s not hard.”
I swallowed nervously. “Okay. But how does she walk in them?”
“Listen closely. On flat surfaces, you will walk heel to toe. Gently — don’t break a heel tonight. And do not ever lead with your toes on the flat ground or you will look like a baby cow, a look not befitting of my wife.”
“Heel to toe,” I repeated, concentrating, forgetting myself in my eagerness to please Sam. “Got it.”
“One foot, in front of the other. Find your walk. Feel it in your thighs and hips.”
“But.”
“But what, Eddy?”
“But what about the stairs?”
Sam’s expression didn’t change. “As for going down the stairs, you will plant your entire foot on each stair. Going up the stairs, you will lead with your toe making certain your foot will fit each stair when your heel comes down. Do you get it?”
I nodded.
“Say you get it.”
“I get it.”
He scowled. “Try again.”
My eyes searched back and forth for the answer. “Yes, honey. I understand and will walk gracefully for my husband in my new heels.”
Sam nodded. “Very good, Eddy.” He made his way back to the closet, returning with a matching satiny bra and thong. My eyes widened. More lingerie?
He rolled his eyes. “I can see that look in your eyes, Eddy. And it’s strange coming from someone so beautiful.” I looked around trying to place what look I had projected, as she continued.
“You’re thinking, “how much did Sam spend on Christmas.” Well, to be very direct, we got a sizable Christmas bonus this year at work. And I decided this Christmas I would spend every dime of it on my wife and my fantasy.” He looked me right in the eye. “You will slip these soft satin panties over your alluring new pussy. You will settle your beautiful breasts into the two cups of this bra. And without messing up your makeup you will slide into this green velvet dress. Then, you will strap these heels around your supple little ankles. And you will stroll downstairs without so much as a trip and prepare for our dinner party while I prep the oven for cooking.”
I bit my supple bottom lip and nodded.
I was getting wet again. Sam was making me wet. I don’t know what it was, but I liked being talked to this way. For most of our married life, I had wondered what she wanted — desirous to please her, to meet her needs, to be a good husband. I think I did a good job, but there was always a tinge of unknowing. But now. . . I knew exactly what she wanted. It was clear. And when I pleased her I could tell. I could tell in the hint of a grin. And in the way her pants shifted as her massive cock swelled in delight when I did something that really pleased her.
“Sam?”
He nodded. “Yes?”
“I love you.”
A thin string of fluid dangled from my pussy, glistening in the bedroom light. Sam stepped forward and casually cupped my crotch, saturating his thick fingers. He stood close. I could feel his heat radiating into my naked tits. He pulled his hands from their place over my pussy and raised them to his mouth, smelling them for a moment — then licking.
Sam let out a long mmm, licking up what my pussy had deposited on his finger. Then he wrapped his arm around my waist and leaned forward, pulling me to him.
He kissed me.
I didn’t know what to do. Sam’s lips met mine softly. Something in me wanted to hate it. But my tits pressed so delightfully into his torso and my body hanging in his grasp struck me. In shock I breathed in, filling my lungs, my breasts settling into him all the more. Then the tip of Sam’s tongue slipped into my mouth. I could feel my pussy flowering. Responding to this penetration and the taste of my pussy lingering on his tongue. I whimpered and touched the tip of my tongue to Sam’s, we stood that way for a moment, making the tiniest of circles with our tongues. And then he stood back, dropping me to my shaky feet.
Sam stood for a moment. He reached into his back pocket. Then held out his hand.
My breath quickened. “Our rings.”
He nodded. The diamond ring I had bought Samantha glimmered in my new husband’s hand. I held out my thin, beautiful feminine hand and he took the ring and slipped it on me. Then I took my band and did the same over Sam’s strong ring finger.
I held my hand long and eyed the diamond glinting in the dim light of our bedroom. I smiled and looked back at Sam. He was beaming.
Then, sweetly, Sam popped me in the ass. “Now go get ready.”
I giggled. I literally giggled. And nodded. “Okay, honey.”
It was a pleasure to slip my tits into the cups of my satiny bra. To feel my engorged nipples meet sumptuous fabric, cut into it, and settle in for the night. To stand in the mirror and slip my thong up my sexy legs, over my pussy, and into the crack of my ass. To spin and flit in my lingerie, admiring my sexy body, appreciating it from the gaze of both a man and a new woman. To slip into the velvet embrace of my dress — a dress which accentuated my curves and provided the most lovely frame to my cleavage. My earrings dangled invitingly. I looked fucking fantastic. I smiled, wondering what Bridgette would think about tonight’s hostess.
Then, with some reservation, I sat on our bed and strapped on my heels, one lithe foot at a time. I stretched my legs out, looking over my body framed in green velvet, the cut revealing my thighs, disbelieving of my new view. I was a woman. I wiggled my painted toes and lavished in the revealing thong I was wearing beneath my dress. It cupped my pussy so nicely, cutting softly around my sex. Fuck. I took a deep breath, stood to my feet, and caught my balance. You can do this, Eddy. I lifted my right foot and stepped heel first, slowly, then the next, one foot in front of the other to the mirror. You can do this.
And so I did.
I walked carefully but successfully to our full-length mirror. Like clockwork Sam stepped behind me, wearing a pair of dark, gray slacks and a black sweater.
“Oh! You look great, Sam.” I was so impressed. My dress, the lingerie, my heels, and his clothes. Sam had impeccable taste. He certainly looked better than I ever had, and pride welled up in my tits knowing he’d certainly outdress Andrew tonight. I wondered what Bridgette would think of my handsome husband.
We stood in the mirror together for a moment, admiring the image. Sam put his hands on my hips.
“Jesus, Sam. We look like a power couple.” His reflection nodded. “You really did a great job.” I turned my head from side to side, admiring my beauty and how natural Sam’s makeup job made me look.
“Oh, I forgot. I bought you one more thing,” Sam said as he returned to the closet. I was blushing again, giddily standing in the mirror, pleased with all of this attention. Oh, Sam. He really knew how to take care of me. I heard rummaging and then, Sam walked out with it. A tiny black purse on a silver chain.
“Put your lipstick in it.”
It struck me. I had always felt a little strange holding Samantha’s purse in public. And now, I had one. I swung it over my arm and it settled to my hip. I admired myself in the mirror. Wow. Everything had come together so nicely. I leaned back into Sam and he swept his arms around me, kissing me on the top of my head. This was perfect.
The doorbell rang.
Oh, god.
“Oh, god.” I stood up, smoothing out the velvet dress I was wearing. “Oh, god. They’re here, Sam.”
He laughed. “Relax, you look great.” Sam stepped to the dresser and picked up a bottle of cologne and sprayed it into the air by the closet and walked through it. My nose perked up at the scent.
“Fuck. That actually smells yummy.”
“Your olfactory system rewired in the change.”
My eyebrows raised. “Did you buy me perfume, too?”
He nodded toward my dresser. Oh, Sam.
I walked to it. Time seemed to slow. It had been my grandfather’s. Dark wood, hand-built by him and his brother long ago. With my reduced frame it loomed much larger in the room. I stepped toward it — now his granddaughter — and there, looking out-of-place, on top, stood a glowing light-blue bottle of perfume. I took it into my hands and opened the cap, revealing an ornate gold sprayer. I took a deep breath and sprayed it into the air.
The doorbell rang out again as I spun in place through the mist, lavishing my nose and body in the alluring feminine scent that would soon linger with me as I strolled around our house playing hostess.
“It’s showtime.” Sam said.
I followed Sam down the stairs, planting my heels just as he had instructed, my tummy filling with butterflies. Oh god, Andrew and Bridgette. How will they respond to this madness? I shook my head, knowing I needed to compose myself. Look confident. And — at worst — blame it on Samantha. It was her idea, after all. Any sheepishness on my part would make me look complicit. No — I would simply shrug and say “it was Sam’s idea.” Just for Christmas.
The doorbell rang again. And again. I could hear the muffled conversation behind our front door. The voice of a man laughingly yelling “is anyone home?”
My high heels resounded as I stepped down on the wood floor of our foyer. I fixed my dress and crooked an arm to move my hair into place.
Sam unlocked the door and reached for the doorknob and glanced back. “Are you ready?”
I swallowed my fear and nodded quickly.
The door opened.
They came into our house in a burst of joy. Rowdily and excited, with Christmas cheer. It had been a long time since we had seen them. Bridgette’s transfer early in the year had been a no-brainer: An amazing position. More pay. An opportunity of a lifetime. Bridgette was professional and great at her work, the breadwinner, and an amazing woman. Andrew, though sad to leave, was open. He was an artist, eccentric and joyful. He worked mostly from home — so why not? Why not try a different city for a while? And besides, it would make Bridgette happy.
They roared into our home, our two college friends — our buddies, our pals, our comrades — and collected for a moment around Sam.
I stood bewildered. Watching. Utterly perplexed at the scene playing out before me.
“Wow! You look amazing, Sam.”
“God, you’re so tall. I can’t believe it,” he said. He was a few inches shorter than Sam now. He was dressed in a sweater and slacks. I could smell his cologne. It was harsher than Sam’s, but not unpleasant. He spoke exuberantly, slapping Sam on the shoulder, and laughing. Sam laughed back. A deep joyful laugh.
“And just look at these muscles!” She squeezed my husband’s bicep and giggled. A tinge of jealousy welled within me. I hadn’t complimented Sam’s muscles. I had been too busy trying to fathom my own changes — and still getting used to the idea that Sam was a man to begin with.
A purse swung on her arm. She wore a strand of pearls and little pearl earrings to match. Her makeup was done well. Long blonde hair cascaded in ringlets around her shoulders. I looked down at her feet. Black heels. Similar to mine, a bit shorter — mine were nicer. My eyes moved up her body. She was in a red velour dress that hugged her body closely, outlining her round breasts and pulling tightly over her tummy. She was pregnant! At least six months. A big round beautiful belly hugged perfectly in the confines of her dress.
They doted on Sam and there I stood in our foyer — absolutely baffled.
How did they know he was Samantha? Why were they not shocked? And worse —
Who were these people?
The woman turned and walked toward me, her heels clicking. “Oh! And you! Oh my god! You look so beautiful! Like your sister, but even prettier!” She held her belly with one hand and touched my arm with the other and gazed lovingly into my eyes. “How does it feel, Eddie?”
She was the same height as me. I gazed into the blue of her eyes, lost in their familiarity, trying to place her.
She looked back warmly.
“Andrew?” I whispered.
She smiled.
She nodded.
“But you can call me Andy now.”
My knees went weak.
"Oh!" She exclaimed, quickly grabbing my hand in hers and pulling it to rest on her pregnant belly.
“Feel. He’s kicking.”
.
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Thank you for reading! Having a burst of inspiration as of late and the writing is flowing. Thank you for all your support to make that happen.
