~o~O~o~

I was in my room a bit after 3:00 p.m. I emptied my suitcase, put my clothes in the dresser and my toiletries in the bathroom, then stripped out of my practical travel clothes. I thought about taking a shower, but since I wasn’t sure what time Cam might arrive – again, assuming he would – I decided to pass on that and get ready.

I was going for a look that I had never tried before. First, I slipped into a Merry Widow – a black corset with garters extending from the bottoms. I rolled black silk stockings onto my legs and attached them to the garters, and then added a pair of black silk panties. I pulled on my more extravagant purchase – a pair of knee-high boots with four-inch heels – and then checked my look in the mirror. Do I look like a badass? Oh yeah!

I covered up my “treats” with a modest denim skirt that hit me mid-calf and a merino wool sweater. I thought about switching to more dramatic makeup, but I knew I had to have a discussion with Cam before anything else happened, so I stayed with my day look. I was just putting in my gold infinity hoop earrings when I heard someone enter the adjacent suit.

I took a few deep breaths, then gave myself a minute by taking the time to give my hair a bit of a brush. I was just stalling; the hair looked fine today. Once my pulse was back to normal, I walked over to the connecting door and gave two sharp knocks. I heard the lock click, and Cam opened the door.

He looked good – face calm; expression welcoming. He was wearing a navy jacket over a crew-necked sweater and a button-down shirt and khakis. “Liz. Thank you for the invitation. Why don’t you come sit down?”

The “living room” area of the suit had a couch and chair around a coffee table, as well as a glass table and chairs suitable for eating dinner or for a meeting. Cam went to the latter table, which made sense to me. There were things we had to discuss, and, depending on how things progressed, agreements we had to make.

Once we were both seated, I said, “It’s really good to see you. I wasn’t sure you would come.”

He smiled – a kind of quirky, self-deprecating Cam-smile. “When have I ever been able to resist you? Of course I came.”

We just stared at each other for a minute, not quite sure how to proceed. But I was the one proposing to dominate, so I decided I had better be the one to get the ball rolling. “First and foremost, I am glad to see you, as a friend. Always. But, that’s not what this trip is about. Are you willing to explore your submissive side? Are you willing to let Candi out?”

He didn’t blink. “Yes. Subject to some caveats, which we’ll need to talk about, but yes.”

I felt a big, hungry smile creep up on my face. Let him see I’m ready! “Ohhh-kay! Then, let’s talk about your conditions – and mine. I think my conditions may alleviate your concerns, but we’ll see. Shall I proceed?”

He nodded.

“Alright. First, I’m Cam’s friend, and we’re equals But Candi will be under my orders. I will treat her with love, but I expect obedience. I am Liz to you; Candi may address me as ‘Ma’am’ or refer to me as ‘Ms. Talbott.’ At least for now. Clear so far?”

Again, Cam nodded.

“I won’t do anything to you that can’t be undone. For example, I intend for you to wear makeup and nail polish. But nothing that can’t be completely removed at the end of our session. I understand that Candi has to be able to go away without any trace that would keep you from being Cameron Savin outside of the bedroom. What happens between you and me will be completely confidential. You need to agree to this, too. Just like you, I have a job, a life, and a reputation, all of which would be impacted if our play became public knowledge. I assume that’s acceptable?”

“Absolutely,” he said.

“Next. I may want to take photographs of Candi for my personal enjoyment, and I will not share them. Agreed?”

He took longer on this one. “So long as I get photographs of you that are equally compromising, and we each get copies of any photographs that are taken, yes. And, of course, I give you a reciprocal promise that no photographs will be shared.”

I couldn’t disagree with any of that, so I nodded. “Next, I may want to take Candi to a public place at some point. May. But this will not happen without my discussing it with Cam in advance, and without Cam’s approval. Agreed?”

“Uhhh . . . I can’t imagine being comfortable with that. But, so long as I’m not agreeing to anything in advance, okay.”

“Those are my thoughts,” I said. “Did you have additional stipulations?”

He thought for a moment. “You’ve actually covered most of the points that I was thinking about, Liz. But there is one more. I don’t know what you are planning, and . . . I guess that’s actually part of the fun. But I will need a way to call ‘stop’ if there is something that makes me uncomfortable, something that you will agree in advance to respect. I don’t know that I will need it, and I don’t want you to think that I don’t trust you. But . . . I don’t actually know my limits. I don’t know what might cause me to freak out.”

“We need a safe word,” I said.

He looked at me quizzically.

I explained. “Sorry. Did a bit of reading. We pick a word or phrase that you can say to stop the action if you are feeling uncomfortable or threatened. Something other than ‘no, stop,’ because that’s just something Candi might say to increase the drama, without meaning it.”

“Ah,” he said. “Research, huh? Why didn’t the lawyer think of that? I guess I wasn’t doing a lot of ‘thinking’ about this! Anyhow, that sounds right. How about I say ‘red light’ if I need to stop, and ‘yellow light’ if I need you to pause and give us time to discuss it before proceeding?”

“Works for me,” I said. “And, I promise, I will respect it. I don’t want to hurt you, Cam. But I will need to push some boundaries, and I think Candi will want me to push. Do you understand?”

He nodded. “Yeah. That’s what I think, too.”

“Anything else? Any other issues we need to go over, any further stipulations?” I asked.

He thought for a minute and then shook his head. “I think that’s it.”

“You don’t want this in writing, do you?” I asked.

“Ah, no. That’s a piece of paper I wouldn’t want my name anywhere near. It would be a career ender for either of us to try to enforce it anyway. We know what we’ve agreed to. If either of us breaks the agreement, we just walk away. I’m only doing this because I trust that we have an overall relationship of love and respect. If I’m wrong about that, no piece of paper will salvage the situation.”

I could only say, “Me too, Cam. Me too.”

Then I looked at him sharply. “Okay. Discussion’s over. It’s time for my friend Cam to go away, and for Candi to come out. Are you ready?”

Cam looked at me, his eyes unreadable. Then he stood up slowly . . . and Cam Savin began to melt. Not literally. But his distinctive calm left his face. His eyes grew wide . . . he looked vulnerable, even fearful, like a puppy unsure of his welcome.

He pulled the clip from his ponytail and shook out his long, black hair. He reached into the lower inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out not one, but two teardrop earrings, which he proceeded to put in each ear. Then he removed his coat, folded it carefully and put it over the back of the chair he had been sitting on. He pulled his sweater off over his head, shaking out his hair as the sweater came off. The collared shirt, it turned out, was white, sleeveless, and sheer enough to reveal the lingerie underneath it. A woman’s shirt.

I felt myself grow damp.

He kicked off the shoes he was wearing – some type of slip-on ankle boot. Then he slowly began to unbutton the shirt. He was wearing my white bra, but he had also acquired a white silk camisole with wide straps, a plunging, lacy neckline and a scooped bottom that came to mid-crotch in front. As with the jacket and the sweater, he neatly folded the shirt and put it on the chair. Finally, he unclasped his belt and lowered his pants to the floor, stepped out of them carefully, then picked them up, folded them, and put them with the rest of his clothes. He was wearing my white panties, and his shaven legs were covered with thigh-length, lacy white stockings.

Cam was gone, and Candi had arrived. She looked down, took a shaky breath, then glanced at me fearfully.

At first I was too overwhelmed to say anything. After waiting a moment for my reaction, she put her right foot behind her left, bent both knees, and lowered her head, executing a perfect, and clearly practiced, curtsy. She said, in a small and uncertain voice, “I’m here, Ma’am. I’m ready.”

Oh, damn, am I turned on! I quickly stood and shed my own sweater as well as my skirt, not giving a shit where they fell.

Candi’s eyes popped out when she saw my outfit.

Good! I turned my back on her, walked to the middle of the room, turned back and beckoned her over by snapping my fingers and pointing to the spot in the floor immediately in front of me.

She left the shelter of the table and came over. Her movements were hesitant, tentative.

It made me want to eat her up. “Give me a spin,” I commanded.

She gave me a slow twirl, then stood before me, knees and ankles together, arms at her sides, head and eyes slightly lowered.

I walked around her slowly, taking my time. “Well done, little one,” I said. And she was little. Oh, Cam was almost my height, but with four-inch heels on, I felt like I was towering over Candi.

As I came around her back, I reached out and ran my fingers over her bare shoulder, stopping at the straps of her bra and camisole, then I ran my fingers lightly down her straps. I reversed my hand and ran the back of my fingers over her panty-clad ass, causing her to shudder. “Well done indeed. A good start.”

I came in close behind her, reached around and gently massaged her chest through the right cup of her bra, with my fingers inside her camisole. I gently licked her shoulder, moved her long hair aside with my left hand, blew lightly into her ear, and gave it a little nibble just under where her earring was clipped. “Stand there for a minute, Candi, and think sweet thoughts. I’ll be right back.”

She remained standing without changing her position, while I sauntered next door. When I came back, I held a pair of pumps. I was sure the shoes would fit; I knew Cam’s shoe size because we’d stopped at Little’s in the Squirrel Hill neighborhood one of the times he’d visited. The conversion to women’s sizes hadn’t been difficult. “Time for some training,” I told her. “Put these on.”

She obeyed, putting on each shoe and staying balanced without kneeling or trying to find any support.

I filed that piece of information away.

She stood before me, poised on her heels, and waited for my next command.

Her complete submission was practically causing me to orgasm on the spot. “Okay, girly. Follow me.” And I led her through the open door into our new world.

“Cam and I had our little discussion, but you and I need to have one, too,” I told her. ‘Because the first thing we are going to do is strip away your defenses and bring you out of your hiding place, however deep you think it is. So you just stand there, legs together. Hands together. And answer my questions." I sat down on a chair, facing her as she stood meekly before me.

“Let’s start simple,” I said. “What is your name?”

“Candi,” she said softly, still not meeting my eyes.

“Candi what?” I replied sharply.

“Just Candi,” she said.

“That’s one,” I said sternly. “You know how you are to address me. I don’t expect to have to remind you again. Now, what is your name?”

Even more softly, she said, “Candi, Ma’am.”

“I can’t hear you. Try again.”

“Candi, Ma’am,” she responded quickly and more audibly.

“Better,” I said. “Okay, Candi, what are you?”

She was momentarily confused, looking up at me quickly before casting her eyes down again. “I’m a girl, Ma’am.”

Oh, I was enjoying this. I started pushing the questions faster. I understood cross-examination from the work that I had done with Cam preparing for the antitrust trial, so I decided to borrow some of his own tricks.

“Do you remember the last time I saw you, Candi?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Did you enjoy wearing my panties?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Have you worn my bra and panties since I gave them to you?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Now, that wasn’t the first time you had worn panties, was it Candi?”

That question seemed to catch her out and she hesitated.

“I’m waiting, Candi. That’s two.”

“No, Ma’am, it wasn’t the first time.”

“Do you remember the first time you wore panties?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Time to switch out of cross – this required some explanation. “Tell me about your first time in panties, Candi.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” she said slowly. She took a deep breath. “My big sister used to dress me up, when I was little. Four. Five. Party dresses, mostly. Frilly things. But she always had me wear panties and a girl’s camisole. And white stockings. We had tea parties together.”

“I see.” And I guess I did. Fascinating. “Did you like dressing up for your sister?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Why? Did you know even then that you were a girl?”

“No, Ma’am. At least, I don’t remember thinking that. I just . . . I loved my sister. I wanted her to like me, I guess. It felt good inside, that she wanted to include me. It made me feel special. Wanted.”

Candi paused a minute more, then quietly said, “Yellow light, Ma’am.”

Immediately I stopped my questions. I stood up, tucked a finger under her chin and brought her head up so that she would look at me. “Okay, take a minute. Let me know what’s bothering you. No Ma’ams, now; we’re in time out.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I didn’t expect to be spilling my secrets, but . . . I guess it’s more than fair. No issue there. I even think you’re probably right. But I need to draw the line at Fi’s secrets. I don’t want to say anything that puts her in a bad light. This was something that happened a long time ago, but it stopped when I was still little and Fi was just eleven or twelve. Fi and I don’t see each other much – none of us do – but we have a solid relationship. Can we put this issue aside? Please?”

I cupped her cheek with my hand. “I understand. Of course, we can.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Are you still okay?” I asked, making sure that she kept eye contact. “Do you need a minute?”

“I’m okay,” she said. “Green light, Ma’am.”

I returned to my seat, lowered myself gracefully and crossed my legs before resuming my examination. “Alright, Candi. Did you wear panties again after that?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Were you alone?

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Yes, Ma’am. When I was a teenager, I took some of Fi’s cast-offs and wore them sometimes. I remember a pair of panties.”

“Were there other things, Candi?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“What did you take?”

“I remember taking a pair of pumps and nylons. And . . . I remember taking a green one-piece swimsuit.”

Aha! I thought she was no novice to heels. “Did you teach yourself how to walk in heels, Candi?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Were you sexually aroused when you wore women’s clothes?”

“Sometimes, Ma’am. Not always.”

“You look very pretty today, Candi.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

“Do you like your pretty lingerie?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Does it make you aroused, wearing your pretty things?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Last time I saw you, you had a noticeable bulge in your panties, Candi. If you are aroused, why don’t I see one now?

“I put tape down there, Ma’am.”

“Why did you do that?”

“So that my panties would look better, Ma’am.”

“It’s important for you to look good for me, isn’t it? To look good in your panties?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Very good,” I said. “Very, very good, Candi.”

~o~O~o~

I woke up in a state of intense anticipation. Today’s the day!

The prior week I had driven out to a Target in the Richmond area, far from anyone I knew, and purchased a few items with a gift card that, I hoped, couldn’t be tracked back to me. I used the self-pay station, but I still felt like everyone was watching me pick up a sleeveless top with a unisex collar, a pretty, lacy camisole, white stockings, a pair of dangly earrings, a hair dryer and a few other supplies. I threw a few other things in my basket just to make it seem ordinary. Probably no-one paid me any attention, but I still felt conspicuous as hell. It didn’t matter. If I’m going to do this, I want to do it right!

So I had everything I needed to get myself ready. I started by spraying Nair on my legs, arms, chest, and underarms. I’m not very hairy at the best of times, but I wanted to be completely hairless for Liz. The underarms stung! After the set amount of time, I rinsed off in the shower. Then I washed my hair with a volumizing shampoo, and for once actually followed the instructions to “lather, rinse and repeat.” I worked in a sweet-smelling conditioner that reminded me a bit of lavender and let it set for a good five minutes before rinsing it out.

Rather than simply toweling off my hair and putting it into my ponytail, I wrapped it in a towel while I dried off and rubbed body lotion into my skin to soften any stubble.

When the mirrors were completely clear of steam, I got out an electric razor and carefully shaved any hint of hair from my face. I put shaving cream on it and followed up with a straight razor. After I wiped everything down, I checked my face and my body carefully for any missing hairs. It felt strange having no underarm hair. It felt sexy, too.

I had always just used a comb on my hair – a comb with narrow teeth before I grew my hair out, and wider teeth afterward. But I had certainly seen women blow dry their hair, including Liz, so I had an idea of how it was done. When I was finished, my hair looked very different – fuller, bigger and somehow finer. Still, I gathered it, keeping the long strands tight against my skull and placing the clip low on my neck.

I hooked myself into the bra that Liz had given me, slipped into her panties, and settled my new camisole over my head. I rolled the two white stockings up my legs just as I had seen Liz do, letting the elastic at the tops hold them in place against my thighs. Amazing. Then I put on my camouflage – khakis, my sleeveless top, a sweater heavy enough to keep my lingerie straps from showing, and a suit jacket. I finished with ankle boots with elastic in the sides that I could easily slip on and off. I grabbed my suitcase and went to catch my train.
I got to the hotel around 4:00, and as promised Liz had left a key for me at the front desk. I took the elevator up, found the room and walked in. I had barely set down my suitcase when I heard a rap on the door to the adjacent room, so I went to let Liz in.

She looked good, as always, in a soft black Merino wool sweater over a denim skirt and boots. She had an almost hungry look that I hadn’t seen before.

We sat down and I agreed that I had come to take up her offer, to explore our corresponding sexual fantasies.

She quickly took control, laying out some sensible ground rules that pretty much corresponded to the issues I had intended to bring up.

I raised the issue of needing a way to signal a halt in the action, and she suggested a “safe word.” Apparently it’s a thing, and she had done some research to find that out. Oddly, doing research had not occurred to me. But the preliminaries didn’t take long, and she was ready for Candi.

This was the moment of truth. I had come prepared to let my feminine side out, the persona that Liz thought of as “Candi.” But, did I really have the guts to do it? When she asked if I was ready, all of my confidence drained away. All my plans, all my preparations, didn’t matter. I was scared. Scared of what Liz would really think. Would she laugh? Would she mock?

Intellectually, I was sure I knew her better than that. But in that moment, I wasn’t sure of anything. I was afraid that I was going to start shaking, or crying. I must have looked like a deer caught in headlights.

But I made myself stand up, take down my hair, put in my earrings, and start removing my armor of male-ness. The jacket, the heavy sweater, the boots. Even the shirt. Finally, the khakis. There was nothing left but me, standing before Liz in silky white lingerie, feeling more exposed than if I had been naked. All or nothing, I thought.

I dropped into the curtsy that I had practiced countless times in front of my mirror, and told her that I was ready. Or, rather, that Candi was.

Liz looked triumphant. She stood up and practically threw off her sweater and skirt. Like me, she was dressed for play under her modest outer garments. A tight black corset emphasized her toned waist, the flair of her hips, and the swell of each peach-perfect breast. Her bush was encased in black silk panties and her legs shimmered in silk stockings that attached to the garter straps from her corset. Her gloss-black leather boots came all the way up past her knees and added inches to her height.

She looked hot, so hot . . . but also commanding. She had me stand in front of her, then twirl. She walked around me, practically purring, fondling me, blowing in my ear and giving it a nibble.

I was overwhelmed. I felt like my volition had completely fled. I stood where she said to stand, twirled on command, and was motionless as she caressed me. I hadn’t been told to move, and without her command, I seemed to have no will of my own to do so. She left me standing there as she went back into her room, returning with a pair of pumps with short heels. She had me put them on and led me back into her lair.

Inside, she had me stand in front of her and answer question after question, stopping to remind me that I was to respond “Yes, Ma’am” or “No, Ma’am.” I had no thought to refuse, no will to refuse. I confirmed that I am Candi, and Candi is a girl. I confessed that I had dressed in women’s clothes as a child and was aroused while wearing them as an adolescent. It should have been too humiliating to even contemplate, but in reality it was a relief to just get it all off of my chest. I hadn’t ever spoken to anyone about these things.

The only time I was able to pull back was when she had me reveal things that made Sis look bad. I was able, barely, to call a halt and ask for mercy on that point. When I did, she immediately called a time out, and accepted my request with tenderness.

She asked if I was okay and made sure that I was before proceeding.

I felt a surge of trust. Yes, I was baring my soul, but I could trust this woman to keep me safe. I signaled that I was ready to go on.

She did.

~o~O~o~

When she was done with her questions, she said, “Very good. “Very, very good, Candi. Now, come here.”

She had been seated during her examination of me. “Bend over across my legs, but keep your feet on the carpet.”

I did as I was told.

She rested her right hand on the back of my panties and said, “You failed to properly acknowledge me when you gave your first answer to a question, and you failed to answer another question promptly. Do you have anything to say that would mitigate your mistake?”

I didn’t. I was afraid of what was coming. Is she going to spank me? That doesn’t feel right at all.

She took her hand away. My sphincter involuntarily tightened, waiting for a blow that didn’t come. I heard a snapping noise that I did not recognize, followed by a squirting noise. Bent over with my head down, I couldn’t see what she was doing. But she started petting my butt again, gently running her hand over my panties, murmuring something soothing.

“Relax, Candi,” she said. “I have to be strict, but I’m always fair. You have done well today. I’m pleased.”

I relaxed, and was soothed by the gentle rhythm of her touch, circling, circling.

She eased my panties part-way down and began to stroke the skin of my ass directly.

I sighed. Then I felt a finger, moistened with some cool liquid, touch the sensitive skin around my hole. I felt like I had received an electric shock. I groaned. The finger circled slowly, gently. I felt hot all through my body. My poor taped member ached, and my groaning increased. The finger probed deeper, deeper. I couldn’t take it any longer. I cried out and nearly fainted from the orgasm that exploded between my legs.

“My, my, my,” Liz said. “I seem to have found a sensitive spot, haven’t I? You take a minute, Candi, then I think you are going to need to clean up, aren’t you?”

I could barely croak out, “Yes, ma’am.” When I recovered my breath, Liz slipped my panties back into place and helped me stumble to the bathroom. I was in a deep daze.

“Okay, Sweetie,” she said. “I think you had better strip off your pretty things.”

I complied, while she removed a thin rubber glove from her right hand and put it in a plastic bag next to the trash. Fortunately, the thorough mess I had made of my panties had not spread anywhere else.

Nonetheless, she had me remove every stitch.

“Hmm,” she said. “I see that you didn’t remove your pubic hair, Candi. You’re going to have to fix that. Let me see how you did everywhere else.” She inspected me minutely, then went over to the vanity, dug through her toiletries and pulled out a pair of tweezers. “You did a good job, Candi. A few misses on the back, but I’ll take care of that for you.”

I felt several tugs in the area of my upper back, then she stopped.

“I brought some Nair with me – I didn’t think you would take care of that little issue before you arrived. You probably didn’t know that you could use it on your pubes as well. It’s going to sting a bit, and you will need to use a washcloth in the shower to pull out the remaining hairs. But we can’t have you all messy down there. Now, get your tape off.”

I said, “Yes, Ma’am,” but I was strangely reluctant to free my male genitalia. In the head space I was in, they felt wrong, out of place. Nevertheless, I did as I was told.

Pulling the tape stung, but it was over quickly and my penis hung down, still dripping. Liz handed me a couple of tissues and told me to clean myself off. Then she applied nair to my balls, my groin, and the area leading to my belly button. It itched, but no worse than when applied elsewhere. Really, the underarm application had been more unpleasant.

“Good start, Candi," she said. Then she had me rinse the panties thoroughly in the sink, using soap. By the time I was done, enough time had elapsed for the Nair to do its thing.

Liz did something with my hair that left it all on the top of my head, then covered it with a plastic shower cap. “In you go, Missy.”

I went into the shower and, following her directions, shortly my pubic hair spiraled down the shower drain. I was completely hairless, except for the mass on top of my head. Suddenly the shower door opened and Liz joined me. She had stripped out of her lingerie and boots and, unlike me, had gone without a shower cap.

“You did such a good job with your hair removal, that you can give me a shave as well.” She sat on the bench at the end of the shower and handed me a safety razor and some type of soap that foamed a whole lot. “It’ll be easier to do my legs if you are kneeling,” she said with a mischievous grin.

So I was on my knees, with the shower now mostly on Liz. She lazily raised her right leg and rested her toes on my left shoulder. “You can start there.”

It was an amazingly sensual experience. The steam, the constant stream of hot water, the foam of the soap, the satiny smoothness of Liz’s calf, her thigh . . . the care with which I had to handle the sensitive spaces behind her knee . . . the perfume of the soap, and, as I brought myself closer to shave the tender skin on the inner part of her upper thighs, her own smell. I was lost in the moment.

I looked up to find her gazing at me with a half smile on her face and a sleepy look in her eyes.

“Having fun?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” I said. “Yes, Ma’am. Very much.”

“Good,” she said. Then she stretched, arching her back in a way that did interesting things to her breasts. “Let’s give you a bit of a challenge then. I hate shaving my pits. You do it.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I said, with a lot of trepidation. I had Naired my own underarms; it was going to be very hard to do the job with her razor, and god forbid I give her a cut! At least Liz wasn’t ticklish.

She stood up and motioned me to follow, then lazily raised her left arm, bent her elbow and put her hand behind her head.

I carefully soaped her tender skin and applied the razor, using the shortest possible strokes. When I had cleared all of the soap, I rinsed the area, checked it visually, then confirmed by touch that I had gotten everything.

She had me repeat the procedure on her other armpit.

Amazingly, I avoided cutting her.

“Well done, Candi. Very well done. You may now wash my hair. Just a shampoo rinse today.” She stepped around me and faced the shower, bending her head to soak all of her hair.

I applied the shampoo liberally and slowly massaged it into her scalp.

“Ummm,” she said. “More.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She bent her head and rinsed off the shampoo. Keeping her back to me, she gave me back the bar soap. “Wash me.”

I slowly soaped up and began to run my soapy, slick hands over her shoulders and around her narrow neck, down each arm, encircling each finger of each hand. I got my hands soapy again and soaped up her freshly-shaved armpits, then continued forward to caress each breast, my chest almost against her back. I ran my hands across her belly, then let them drop lower, until my fingers were in her bush, brushing against her labia.

She was shaking, but remained quiet.

I scrubbed her back, then knelt to soap up each leg, starting with her feet and ending with her beautiful, round ass. When I was finished I didn’t move; I just stayed on my knees on the floor of the shower, watching the water flow over her lovely curves.

~o~O~o~

We toweled off, which included directions from Liz on how it’s done by girls. So I patted myself off while she did the same. When we were more or less dry, she told me to show her that I knew how to dry her hair. I was glad that I had practiced on my own!

She had me follow her out of the bathroom, and she slipped on one of the hotel’s terry bathrobes. But she directed me to put on an outfit selected to remind me of my first experience as Candi – a short robe designed to show long legs to advantage, and a pair of panties to hold my member in place. This time, the robe was a soft blue satiny material with lace trim and three-quarter, kimono-style sleeves, and the panties were high-cut, ice-blue lycra. They felt incredibly feminine.

“Well, Candi, I’m going to get myself presentable and go downstairs for some dinner. I’ve got some homework for you to do while I’m gone. I have a beginner set of cosmetics for you that came with a link to some instructional videos that will walk you through the basics. I want you to watch the video, and then practice. I don’t expect perfection – there is a whole lot of art to doing it right and experience matters. I warn you that your first efforts will be comical. But you are a smart girl and I fully expect your complete concentration and your absolute best effort. Remember that less is more.”

She handed me a smallish bag and a receipt that had a link to the videos. Then she shooed me back into my own room. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready for your next lesson.”

I had no sooner sat down on the couch and pulled out my iPad than Liz reopened the door. “Almost forgot. I packed some food for you in case you get hungry.” She handed me an insulated vinyl lunch bag and padded back into her room.

I looked at the clock and saw that it was a bit after six. I wasn’t hungry, so I located the instructional videos and started watching. The instructions started by identifying the vials, lotions, potions, and applicators in the starter set and explaining what each was designed to do and how it worked. That was followed by a step-by step demo, which viewers were encouraged to pause after each step to try the technique that had just been explained.

I moved into the bathroom for this part, since the hotel provided a lighted, close-up mirror over the vanity.

The video took about forty minutes, though the step-by-step portion was more like twenty. It covered moisturizer, primer, foundation, blush, highlighter, eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, lip gloss, and setting spray . . . to say it was daunting does not begin to do justice. I had no idea the process is this involved. Liz had always gotten ready on her own, and all I remember my sister doing back in high school was putting on some lipstick. I knew there was more to it, but I was stunned at how much more.

By the end of the video, the pretty instructor looked stunning. l, on the other hand, looked more like an extra for a Stephen King movie. But Liz had warned me about that and I wasn’t too dismayed. The video ended with instructions for undoing everything, so I did that, brought the video back to the start of the step-by-step instructions, and began again. And again.

I was surprised to discover that I was enjoying myself. I felt a mix of emotions, but none were bad or threatening. There was the sheer challenge of trying something new, especially something that called upon the talents of both artist and artisan rather than the verbal and analytical skills with which I was more practiced. There was the fun element of viewing my face as a canvas with potential rather than a finished portrait. And, under it all, the deep current of sexual tension, seeing my face in a new, feminine way, imagining ways to make my eyes look larger, more alluring, or make my lips look moist . . . and kissable.

Around 7:30 I paused to eat. I wasn’t terribly hungry, but I knew I would be before the evening was over and I didn’t want to annoy Liz by failing to eat what she had provided. Which turned out to be a PBJ on white bread, a banana, and a half-pint of milk. I chuckled when I thought about the nice meal she was undoubtedly having downstairs, but she had been very clear: In my Candi persona, I was not her equal. Still, I’ve always eaten what was put before me without a lot of fuss. Fuel is fuel.

I returned to my efforts. I thought my fifth try wasn’t too bad, all things considered, and I was about to wipe it off and try again when my phone buzzed and I saw a text from Liz instructing me to come to her in her room. I decided to leave effort number five in place, happy that she had not caught me a half a minute later. Leaving the cosmetics on the vanity, I went next door.

Liz was sitting in the occasional chair in the “living room” grouping of furniture. She had dressed in a black ribbed tank top in a stretchy knit fabric, tucked into a fitted scarlet skirt, with black pumps. Her top had a low, scooped neckline that showed a bit of her cleavage, and the clinging fabric emphasized what it covered rather than concealing it. It looked like she had worn a white jacket down to dinner; it was folded over the back of one of the dining chairs. She was sipping a glass of red wine and looking relaxed.

As I came into the room, she motioned me to come over and stand in front of her once again. I did so wordlessly, and remained motionless as she stood, inspected my first efforts with makeup and reached over with her left hand to move my face left or right to complete her inspection.

“About what I expected, Candi. A good start. I want you to take the cosmetics home with you and practice some more. I think it’s a skill that you should develop. It will be good for you. Tonight, I’ll give you a taste of what you can manage with the assets you possess if you really work at it. Go back, remove all of your makeup, then bring your kit back to me.”

When I came back in, she started by pulling my hair back up again, twisting it somehow then sticking some sort of long spike in it to hold it in place. Then she went to work on my face. She took about fifteen minutes, turned my face left and right, then nodded, apparently satisfied.

“A beautician can do a much better job than I just did – they’re professionals, I’m not. You may want to find one who is discrete and willing to give lessons, but that’s your call, on your dime, and your own time. I’m a pretty talented amateur, though, if I do say so myself, and you will see a big difference from your efforts. Go have a look.”

I went over to the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. My dark hair was piled on top of my head, with a few stray whisps strategically dangling past one ear to my neck. My eyes looked huge and somehow darker, my cheeks more prominent, my skin glowed and my lips glistened. It was me, and it wasn’t. I wasn’t gorgeous, like the made-up model in the video or like Liz. Pretty doesn’t really capture it. But I did look feminine. And younger. Sweeter.

“Not done yet, Candi. I’ve got more treats for you,” Liz said. She had me hang the robe in her closet then join her by the table. She sprayed something on my bare chest, then opened a small box and removed what was clearly a prosthetic breast, which she proceeded to place over my left nipple and lower pec. She told me to hold it in place, applied the right breast prosthetic, then had me hold that one, too. She got an evil grin on her face, pulled out her phone and took a few photos. I’m sure I looked like the very picture of helplessness, all made up, wearing nothing but blue panties, cupping my breasts with both hands.

When the sticky stuff had set, she applied cosmetics to the seams where the prosthetics met my skin. By the time she was done, you would have needed a bright light to detect that the breasts were not natural. And, while they provided no feeling, they sure felt heavy.

Liz then pulled a bra out of the bag on the table that matched the ice blue panties, hooked it behind my back, lifted each breast, put it into the corresponding cup, and then spent a couple of minutes adjusting the straps. When she was finished, it felt surprisingly right.

A garter belt followed, then sheer, pale blue stockings. She had me put on strappy, close-toed sandals with three-inch heels, which brought me almost to her height in her then-current footwear.

“Guuurl,” she growled, “you look hot.” She brought me over to the mirrored door to the closet, and had me strike a pose. “Raise your right knee a bit, leaving just your toes on the ground,” she said from behind me. “Curve your left arm up and hold the end of the hairpin as if you were about to pull it out. Stroke the top of your left breast with the fingers of your right hand, held flat. Open your lips, just a fraction. Now, look at yourself in the mirror . . . look how sexy you are. Look how soft. How pretty. Think hot thoughts. That’s it . . . . There.”

I finally looked away from my own image long enough to see that she was taking more pictures. The shots would be . . . well, “embarrassing” doesn’t cover it. But we had an agreement about that, and I trusted Liz.

She slid behind me and started kissing my back and shoulders, bringing her arms under mine to stroke my chest. She let her right hand glide down my body to my panties, and I leaned back into her, content to let her play with my body, closing my eyes and feeling a burning glow inside.

“Now, Sweetie,” she cooed. “Go in and lie on my bed. On your back, with your legs spread, your knees up and your hands behind your head.” I was starting to breathe hard just imagining where this was going. I reveled in the feeling of her mastery – overheated and panting.

She took a few more photos, then sat beside me on the bed and started fondling my body. “I could blindfold you,” she said conversationally, “But you and I both know that I don’t need to. All I have to do is tell you to close your eyes, and you will obey, won’t you?”

I struggled through my gasping to respond affirmatively.

“Do it,” she said, and I did. She got up and walked away then, leaving me struggling for breath on her bed, completely vulnerable and utterly at her mercy. It never occurred to me to open my eyes.

I don’t know how long I lay there, but I became aware that she had returned as I detected the scent of her perfume above me. I felt her hand stroke my smooth face. She probed my lips with a fingertip, and blew gently into my ear. “You are mine, Candi,” she said in a low, fierce whisper, millimeters from my ear. “Mine!!!!”

I could only moan, “Yes, Ma’am!”

I felt her get onto the bed, straddling my head and pinning my arms with the bones of her shins. She began to brush her fingers here and there over my skin or through the sexy lingerie that wrapped me in a cloud of femininity. She caressed. She coaxed. She teased.

I felt like I was going to lose consciousness, so far was I lost in the sensuality of the moment – the sound of her fingers passing over silky fabric; the faint smell of her subtle floral perfume and the now much stronger smell of her womanhood, so close to my nose. To my lips. Every nerve was alive, quivering like the strings of a harp in the hands of an artist.

Then the smell of her own excitement grew and became overpowering as her hot, wet labia descended to meet my glossy lips. Her voice, husky with lust, commanded, “Eat me,” and again, more urgently, “Eat me. Now. Now!!!”

As I eagerly kissed, licked, sucked, and probed with my tongue, I heard Liz’s own labored breathing and a high whimper that I realized with a shock was my own. I felt Liz’s juices flood over my lips, twice, three times.

She stopped again and lifted herself off of me, her breathing still labored. She grabbed my wrists and brought my hands out from behind my head. Then she placed a strange object into my right hand and straddled my augmented chest. “Open your eyes, now, and impale me with my toy.”

I was holding a piece of some rubbery material with an uneven surface, more or less in the shape of a penis, but considerably larger than the one I was endowed with by nature.

I was too caught up in the moment to be distressed. Only her pleasure mattered now. I spread her labia with the fingers of my left hand and inserted the dildo with my right.

“Pound me,” she panted. “Harder!!” “Faster!!” As I obeyed her command, she pumped her hips to increase the penetration.

I could feel her shaking violently. She screwed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth, her face contorted in a rictus, trying to restrain the cry that finally tore from her throat, the sound that a champion weightlifter sometimes makes as he heaves a massive bar-bell past his chest and over his head. She stopped, and clearly that was a sign for me to stop as well. Some commands are no less compelling for being delivered without words.

“Well,” she said after a few seconds had passed. “Well . . .” Finally, she opened her eyes. It took her a minute to focus, but then she looked down at me. I’m sure that my makeup was all messed, and my hands were still holding the dildo in her pussy. “Okay, Candi,” she said. “You can pull it out now.”

I sighed, “Yes, ma’am,” and pulled the dildo out of her vagina.

She shivered again as it slipped past her labia. She loomed over me, looking at the dildo, glistening with her own juice. Then she looked at me. “Clean it,” she said.

Again, I felt my will melt away. “Yes, Ma’am,” I replied, and brought the dildo to my mouth. I carefully licked her juices from the base and up the sides, finally licking the tapered head.

“Suck on it.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I slipped it past my lips and applied suction.

“In and out, Candi. In and out. And, get it in deeper.”

I began to suck in earnest, moving it deeper then pulling it back, over and over. I felt like I could see the threads that bound me to my male ego and sense of self stretch and grow gossamer thin, until they began to snap like the strands of a spider’s web that has been hit by a baseball. I heard myself whimper again.

Just then, she moved her body backward, and sank her ass down onto my panties, grinding her body against my thoroughly engorged penis.

For the second time that day, I cried out and exploded.

My eyes were closed, every sense overwhelmed. I felt her pull the dildo from my mouth. I found myself starting to cry, to sob. I had no idea why. I was shaking. I didn’t feel her move, but she came off of me.

She let me cry for a bit, then she sat at the top of the bed and leaned against the pillows. She pulled me to her, lay my head against her breast, and started stroking my hair. “It’s okay, Candi. It’s okay.” Then she did something to wet her nipple and guided my lips to it. Instinctively, mindlessly, I rooted like an infant, while she continued to stroke me and give me reassurances.

I don’t know how long we lay like that, but eventually I did stop crying and pulled my lips from her nipple. She sat up off the pillows and lay my head in her lap, continuing to stroke my hair. I gazed up at her, seeing no trace of her passionate apotheosis at the height of her orgasm.

She looked peaceful, serene.

Finally, she said, “I think that’s enough for now, Candi. I’ve got a nightie for you to wear tonight. I want you to take it back to your room now. Clean yourself up, remove all of your makeup, rinse out your soiled panties, and get some sleep. Tomorrow morning, I would like Cam to join me for breakfast at 8:30. He and I will decide when I see you again. Okay?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good night, Sweetie.”

“Good night, Ma’am.”

I must have done as she commanded. Fixated on following her commands, I had no more thoughts at that point than a zombie. I had no awareness of what I was doing and retained no recollection of my actions once I was back in my room. I had only one coherent thought, before sleep overwhelmed me. Cam can sort this out tomorrow.

~o~O~o~

What a day! I had pushed and pushed, and Candi . . . Candi just lowered her gaze, murmured “Yes, ma’am,” and complied with my every command, my every wish. I was intoxicated by my power, my complete control, over her. I told her to stand and she stood. Demanded answers to questions and she gave them. I was briefly tempted to give her a spanking for some minor failures, but I had no interest in being cruel or abusive. Besides, she was being very cooperative!

I made her shave and shower me like a maid. Had her stand still and passive while I fondled her. Made her practice with makeup while I went downstairs and had a nice dinner, leaving her nothing but a child’s meal and milk. Put breasts on her chest and paraded her in sexy lingerie. Had her on her back with her legs spread wide on the bed. Had her suck me off and pleasure me with a dildo. She took it all: submissive, obedient, biddable as a girl.

God, it made me so hot!!! Sometimes I orgasmed just watching her. When she licked me and pounded me with my dildo, I damned near exploded.

But I knew there was one more test, and again, she passed it without hesitation. I had her lick my juices off of my dildo, then suck on it. I watched her writhing on the bed, breasts heaving against her pale blue bra, eyes closed, sucking the fake cock with glossy red lips, a look of complete ecstasy on her pretty, painted face. I felt transformed with my sexual power, invincible, invulnerable. I ground my ass into her pussy, watched her squeal and climax.

It did not surprise me that she was overcome and began to cry. I had accomplished everything I hoped for, stripping away all of her defenses, peeling away her armor. It was time to give her comfort, to make sure she knew that however vulnerable she was, she was safe with me.

I felt, as I never had before, a fierce desire to protect her, like a lioness with her cub. Yes, she was defenseless now, but by God, I would keep her safe!

Eventually, I gave her the comfort of an infant, guiding her to mindlessly suck at my breast like a baby. Then I sent her off to bed. I set an early alarm, put on a utilitarian night shirt, and went straight to sleep. I have no doubt I was smiling as I drifted off.

I got up a bit before 6:00, tidied up, and collected Candi’s cosmetics. I eased open the door connecting our rooms and, as I expected, found that she was still sleeping deeply. She was lying on her back on top of the covers, one arm at her side and the other curled about her pile of dark hair. Judging by the slow rise and fall of her breasts, she was sleeping deeply and peacefully. She looked sweet, innocent, young, and very feminine. I left the cosmetics and a spare hair brush in her bathroom – just in case she should want them! – and eased myself out the door.

Back in my room, I threw on a sports bra, a racerback workout shirt and nylon shorts, then I went downstairs and hit the hotel gym for a quick workout. An hour later, I was back in my room, sweaty and happy amidst the endorphins that accompany a runner’s high, with a start-of-the day cup of coffee. I showered, dried my hair, put on some light morning makeup, and got dressed.

I woke up as the light of dawn began to seep through the translucent curtains of the bedroom. Whatever dreams I had encountered had left me rested and tranquil. I felt a moment of disorientation, staring at the ceiling – trying to remember where I was. I shifted my body fractionally, and my disorientation increased as I felt the unusual tug of silky soft fabric against my skin. I raised my head and looked at myself.

I was dressed in a silky, pale, blush-colored nightgown with capped sleeves, a shirttail hem, and a plunging, lacey, v-neckline that exposed my . . . very feminine breasts. My breathing stopped, and, finally becoming fully awake, my recollection of the prior day came flooding back. I put my head back on the pillow, closed my eyes, and took a moment to process my thoughts.

After a few minutes, I stirred and slid out of bed, feeling the silky fabric caress my moving body. I walked over to the mirror and looked at myself.

I must have managed to remove my makeup, because there was no evidence of any on my face. My hair was disheveled and hung over my shoulders and part way down my back. The nightgown Liz had chosen for me was very flattering, making my arms look more slender and my legs longer. My augmented breasts dramatically improved the drape of the garment.

I did not look at all male, but the evidence of my biological sex was beginning to assert itself. I went into the bathroom, lifted my nightie, and sat down to pee. When I was done, I wiped myself with some toilet paper, then went to the vanity. I apparently had washed my panties last night, and they were almost dry. I tucked my member between my legs and put on the panties to hold it in place.

It was about 6:30. I had two hours before I – or rather, before Cam – was supposed to meet Liz for breakfast. I couldn’t remember taking the cosmetics back with me, but I must have since the bag was on the vanity. I decided to try my hand at makeup again before beginning my transformation.

After taking a moment to ensure that I had no stubble, I went back to the video. My first effort went well enough that I shut it down and worked from memory. I did better than the night before, but nowhere near as well as Liz had done. No surprise.

There was a hairbrush on the vanity as well, so I went and sat on my bed and brushed my hair. I was inspired to bend my head down, and brush out from the base of my skull to fluff it up some. Then I sat up and brushed it out from the front and top. I found it very soothing, and kept brushing for several peaceful minutes.

When I was done, I found where I had put the strappy sandals and put them back on, securing the strap firmly over each ankle. Then I went back to the mirror to check out my look. I felt pretty, though that didn’t really capture how I looked. I started running my fingers, then my hands, over my nighty, rapidly getting hot once again. I stopped, went back to the bed and stripped off all of my finery. I went into the bathroom, removed my makeup again, then turned on the shower and stepped in.

I let the water sluice over me for a while, before rousing myself to fully scrub and wash my hair. Then I carefully found the seams of my breast prosthetics, peeled them off, and washed the sticky material off of both them and my chest. That task complete, I stepped out of the shower.

It took some effort to re-center myself, to find the male consciousness which, up until this weekend, I had simply thought of as “me.” I took deep, calming breaths. Surrendering to the naming dichotomy that Liz had introduced, I said, “My name is Cameron Savin. I am Cam. I am a man.” I repeated this like a mantra, six or seven times.

My mind appeared to settle. I finished with, “I am a man, I am Liz’s friend, and she wants to meet me for breakfast. Let’s get moving.”

I gathered the cosmetics, the strappy sandals, the prosthetics and the lingerie that was in the room and put it in a “laundry bag” that was part of my suitcase. Unlike the prior day, I wore male clothing inside and out – briefs and socks, loafers, khakis, a crisp white oxford shirt and my blue blazer, with a heavy Rolex-style watch on my left wrist. I put my single gold circle in my left ear, pulled my hair back into my usual severe ponytail, and went back to the mirror to make sure that no trace of Candi was visible.

I passed.

It was about 8:15. I spent a couple minutes policing the room to make sure that all of my clothing and other possessions, male or female, were packed away, then went downstairs to the restaurant.

It was time.

~o~O~o~

Just weeks ago, after encountering Candi for the first time, I had been embarrassed to face Cam in the light of the next day. Now, all that I felt was anticipation and curiosity. How is he processing our adventures from yesterday?

Well, it was 8:30, so it was time to go find out. I took the elevator back downstairs and walked briskly to the restaurant, a few minutes late as I intended. I didn’t immediately see Cam, but he had obviously kept an eye out for me, walking in from the courtyard area and over to where I had entered.

He looked perfectly normal, his manner friendly and relaxed. He gave me a smile and a “Good morning, Liz,” lightly touched my elbow and steered me to the table where he had been sitting. The restaurant wasn’t that busy and it seemed that most people were preferring the indoor tables.

To me, the air felt delightfully crisp.

He pulled my chair out for me like a nice guy from the fifties and sat across from me with his back to the wall, giving him a view of the whole restaurant. He lifted a carafe of coffee and quirked an eyebrow.

“Yes please,” I said.

After taking a sip, I looked at him carefully. “Okay, Cam. After-action report. First, how are you doing?”

“I’m fine, Liz,” he said. “Really.”

I looked at him minutely. He seemed calm and composed as ever, like nothing had happened, but Cam had his lawyer face on. There was no telling.

The silence stretched a bit, until he reached over and gave my right hand a quick squeeze. “I’m okay. I’m not going to say that yesterday didn’t rock my world; it obviously did. I’m still digesting it. But I’ll be fine. How are you doing? Better than last time, I hope?”

“I’m good,” I replied. “Really good. Last time, I was worried that you would hate me for what I had done. Today . . .” I began.

He stopped me with a hand motion, then looked over my shoulder as a waiter wandered over to our table. We paused to order breakfast.

After the waiter left, he looked back at me. “You were saying?”

“I feel good about yesterday, Cam. I came here wanting to explore an aspect of myself that frightened me, one that I had regarded as bad, something to keep leashed. And, to give you the same opportunity. I hoped that it would be safe for us to explore these things together – that you and I found something of value in the parts of each other’s character that others might reject. That we had rejected ourselves.”

He nodded.

“Yesterday was everything I had hoped for,” I continued. “I felt strong. Powerful. Sexually dominant. I’ve got to say, I have never been so turned on. But . . .this has to work for both of us. And I really, really don’t want to hurt you. Sitting here this morning, you seem strong and calm. But Candi – Candi was naked and vulnerable. So I need to make sure that I’m not damaging you. Either of you, so to speak.”

He smiled. “You see? You aren’t the monster that you thought you were. Even when you gave yourself up to your will to dominate, you still felt the need to protect. Your passion is constrained by your feelings. Your commitments. That makes all the difference.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate that. But I’m not letting you off the hook. Did I hurt you, or Candi, yesterday?”

He thought for a minute before responding, “I don’t think there’s a simple answer to that, Liz. You know I’m a pretty controlled guy, normally.”

I broke in with a dry, “No, really?”

He gave his quirky half smile. “Really. I think everyone constructs the face that they show the world, but I’ve probably been more intentional about it than most people. What you see is what I want you to see. The danger with that is that after a while, it’s hard for me to see past my own construct.”

He was speaking slowly, like he was working it out in his head while answering my question. Which I noticed he still hadn’t done, but I decided I would see whether he would get there.

He continued. “What you did last night was to shred my carefully constructed persona, to put me in a position where I had to let it go. I had to surrender control, which I thought was central to who I am. Did that ‘hurt?’ I don’t know how to answer that. It was hard as hell, that’s for sure. I was scared of what I would find, and what you would think of what I was when the person I had always shown you was stripped away.

“But it was also incredibly liberating. I allowed you to be in complete control. Trusted you completely. Gave you all of my carefully guarded secrets. Allowed myself no pride, abandoned my false dignity. To be completely without responsibility – even for a few hours? It was an amazing experience.” He grinned.

I didn’t really think of personality the way he was describing it. “So is ‘Candi” the real you?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “That’s not what I mean. I think we stitch ourselves together out of odd scraps of mixed up fabric – old memories, desires, stray thoughts, dreams, inherent strengths and weaknesses, experiences . . . . We choose what we think matters, and it’s just a scoop of what’s available. The ‘me’ you have known for the better part of a year is ‘real,’ in the sense that all that you see really is part of me. But the same, I guess, is true of the ‘me’ you saw yesterday. I was just hyper aware of who you call ‘Cam,’ because that is my own construct. I didn’t see ‘Candi’ at all. Doesn’t mean she wasn’t there all the time.”

Then he looked at me carefully. “Does that change how you see me, Liz? Can you still think of me as a friend, an equal? Knowing some of the weirdness I keep buttoned up?”

I didn’t hesitate. “No, it doesn’t change how I see you. At all. You are my friend, and an amazing person. I told you up front that I didn’t want anything to change that, and nothing has. Nothing that happened yesterday and nothing you told me this morning.”

I paused. “I do see Candi as someone different. And I don’t think I could sit here and have this conversation with Candi. For a bunch of reasons. But one of them is that I don’t think of Candi as an equal, the way that I think of you. That doesn’t mean I don’t ‘respect’ that part of you. Parents respect their children. Usually, I think bosses respect good workers; officers respect their troops. Or they should. But they don’t see them as equals or treat them as equals.”

“So it helps you to think of ‘Cam’ and ‘Candi’ as different people?” He half-asked, half-summarized.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m not sure why, but it does.”

“If Cam is your friend, how do you feel about Candi?”

I thought a minute about how to respond. Finally, I said, “I don’t know how you’re going to feel about this. Candi’s vulnerability, her complete submission to my control, makes me hot. Really hot. But the further I pushed, and the more Candi surrendered, I just felt this overwhelming desire to protect her, to keep her from harm. I don’t know how to fully describe it. I felt strong. Fierce. Protective. And . . . possessive. I wanted Candi to be all mine. Are you okay with all of that?”

He seemed relieved. “Yes, Liz. I’m okay with that.” He was about to say more when the waiter came back with our breakfast, and we wordlessly agreed to turn to easier topics while we ate.

I told him a bit about what was going on at work – I had been assigned to be a senior manager in a product development team that was exploring a potential market for new service offerings, which would involve more hours and a lot more travel. “I’m really excited by it,” I told him. “Building a team, getting people motivated and working toward a common goal – I’m good at it.”

He talked a bit about his own work, which seemed to be going very well, too. Not that I was surprised.

When we had finished eating, Cam returned to our conversation. “So, what’s next, Liz? Do you see yesterday as a one-off? Have you scratched your dominant itch sufficiently, or do you want to explore it further?”

“I think I haven’t found the depths of Candi’s surrender. And . . . I want to. I want more. But I have to be clear. We are both free and unattached. You may not stay that way. I may not. We should feel free to date.

“No, let me put that more strongly. We should date. And, at some point, one or the other of us will get into a relationship, and our sexual exploration should stop. I don’t think what we have – or rather, what I have with Candi – is what either of us want long-term. But how about you? Do you even want more?”

I had thought that he might be hurt at my reminder that he and I would never be a couple again, but he didn’t seem to be bothered. “Yes, I want more. ‘Candi’ is trying to tell me something, and I’m going to need some time to figure out what that ‘something’ is. And, honestly . . . you are freakin’ hot when you start giving orders in the bedroom.

“I agree this isn’t long-term. I don’t really want my sex life to be defined by fantasies for the rest of my life. Right now, though . . . I’ve lived a very boring life, Liz. I feel like a walk on the wilder side. But . . . I’m only comfortable doing it with you. I can trust you with my vulnerabilities – maybe more than I can trust myself.”

I pressed his hand. “Thank you for that.”

He smiled. “Now, there’s a small matter of photographs . . . .”

I giggled, which I don’t do much. “Yeah,” I said. “Got some beauts!”

“Well, you have to copy me on them.” He slipped his phone over and I did as he requested. Then he reminded me that I had to give him damning photos of myself as well. “I doubt you’ll have anything as embarrassing as what you have of me, but I absolutely don’t believe you didn’t try out your black Merry Widow and boots, and with all that camera gear you have back home, I’m sure you got some interesting shots!” He grinned.

I found myself blushing, which I also almost never do. “Guilty,” I said, and transferred a couple pics I had taken in front of a mirror back home.

He had a look and chuckled. “Hmm, yes. Those will do. The curled whip is a nice touch, by the way.”

I joined his laughter. It felt good.

We paid the check and went back upstairs. He had to catch a train, while I would be heading home later.

We left the adjoining door open while he went in to brush his teeth and do a last check.

I went through my room to collect any of Candi’s things that we had left in my room, and walked over to give them to Cam.

“Liz, thank you. These must have added up to some expense; let me pay you for them.”

I had an immediate, strong, and negative reaction, which caused him to raise an eyebrow at me. Damned lawyer.

“Okay, give,” he said.

I had to think a minute before responding. “I guess it’s a power thing. I want Candi to be dependent. I want her to be a kept girl, and I want to be the keeper. Back in the day, the guy would pay for his girl. It was ‘chivalry,’ but it was also a way of putting down a marker. Saying ‘you’re mine.’ So, yeah. I bought stuff for my girl. I want her to accept my gifts with gratitude, not pay for them.”

He thought about that for a minute, then nodded once. “Okay. I guess I understand that. And . . . I’m sure ‘Candi’ will be suitably grateful – for your thoughtfulness as well as your generosity.” He got everything into his suitcase.

“Based on our conversation this morning,” I said, “it sounds like both of us have some very busy weeks ahead. I don’t know when we’ll be able to get back together next. But I’d like to see Candi again sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I’m going to set up an email account for her and send you the credentials to get into it. I’ll use that to send her . . . more detailed instructions, shall we say?”

He smiled and agreed, then gave me a short hug, the sort that you might give a work friend of the opposite sex, and took off.

~o~O~o~

The turnpike from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh takes the better part of five hours -- more if traffic doesn't cooperate. But I like driving, so I didn't mind. Besides, it gave me time to think and plan. We had committed to further exploration of our sexual fantasies. But, as my limited research showed me, those games came in lots of flavors. I now had a better sense of what turned each of us on.

I have the wheel. Where do I want to drive this?

I thought about some of the games I had seen in my reading. There were endless variations, but I found myself uninterested or completely turned off by most of them. I didn’t have any desire to hurt or humiliate Candi. In fact, I didn’t really want to do things to Candi at all. I wanted to do things with her. Things that would allow her to experience being the sexually passive partner – the very traditionally feminine role, and the more feminine, the better – while I got a taste of being the dominant sex partner.

Do I want Candi to walk a mile in my shoes?

I sensed that wasn’t it. Not exactly, any how. And the more I thought about it, the clearer the answer became.

I want her to walk in BethAnn's.

I was as competitive in high school as I am today. I was smart, got good grades. But the smart girls were a distinctly lower caste. It wasn’t enough to be a smart girl – even the leader of the smart girls.

To be the best of the best – the popular kids, the ones everyone wanted to be like – a girl had to be pretty. And sexy. Smoking hot, but also sweet, innocent. The cheerleader type, that the cool guys, the football players and the like, pursued and fought over. It was confusing, crazy, hard. But I applied myself. Learned my lessons well. Beat them all at their game and came out on top, the undisputed high school queen.

When I set my sights on Jack – a quintessential high-status catch – I quickly figured out what he was looking for and made sure that was what he saw. Jack wanted a girly-girl, a sweet, submissive wife who never questioned his authority. I convinced myself that I could be that person -- and do a better job of it than anyone else. I should have known that was not who I am.

Now, I found myself turned on by taking the dominant position Jack had assumed in our marriage. I wanted to see how Candi would do in the submissive, traditionally feminine role. It wasn’t who I am, but it might very possibly be who she is. Cam's sexual response to my moves to feminize him – both yesterday and weeks ago in Pittsburgh – had been extremely positive. I seemed to be pushing on a door that was, at the very least, more than slightly ajar. I wasn’t at all surprised that he had experimented with cross-dressing when he was younger.

As I was coming to the end of my drive, I hit upon a path forward. Having Candi dress like a girl was, in many ways, too easy. That’s a child’s role, Candi isn’t a child, and I don’t want a child as my partner in this exploration. I would invite Candi to think like a girl. Like a woman. To learn some of the same lessons I had learned, and that all girls learn.

And I knew just how to do it. The more I thought about it, the hotter I got.

At home, after I made myself a light supper, I set up an email account for Candi with a service that included cloud storage of documents, videos, and the like. Then I put on my Merry Widow, stockings and boots, freshened up my warpaint, and made my sweet Candi a little video.

– To be continued . . . .

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