Chapter 11
Visit from an Old Friend
I woke up still groggy and achy from the surgery and pain pills. A nurse came in to change by bandaging and check the wounds. I asked her, when Dr. Harris would come see me and when I might be discharged. She couldn't tell me, but said he should be in soon. It was after lunch before Dr. Harris skulked in, looking really bedraggled. He removed the bandages and checked my wounds, with eyes half opened.
"Ms. Kunt, everything looks really good we are going to discharge you in a little while. I believe your--erm--wife will be picking you up?" I had texted her earlier and then called, but I had not yet heard back from her. No doubt, she was passed out from previous night's exertions. I could only imagine the things they had done to her after the video was cut last night.
It was after five when she finally wandered in. She had on dark glasses and a long trenchlike coat that covered up everything. She brought me some loose sweat clothes I could get into easily and helped me get dressed. They wheeled me down to the lobby where we got into a cab and then I was wheeled up to our apartment, with the help of our doorman.
She put me to bed and gave me a pain pill, and I was soon drifting to sleep. We talked very little in the taxi home. We were both exhausted, and had not much to say to each other. She was generally shaky in all her movements and her voice low and raspy with a general quivery timbre.
Now, she wanted to apologize again for the recovery room, but again I waved her off again.
"Look, Lori, I can't blame you for that. I know it was really his doing and you were just following his commands. I felt bad, but it's not your fault, or anybody's "fault." We both picked this; we're subs, we're supposed feel pain; it's okay."
"Oh, Mitchell!" She was sobbing, but I couldn't tell exactly why, though I felt the tension of the moment.
"Lori, I think we are way past, Mitchell. It'll have to be Michelle from now on." I said jovially, pointing down to my crotch with its bulge of bandages. She laughed between sobs and we hugged in a sisterly way, she leaning down over me in bed. I nuzzled her neck and closed my eyes and took in her smell, which no longer familiar. I fell asleep instantly and didn't get up until just before noon the next day.
The next week, I continued to convalesce at home; we had very little contact with Mr. Jenkins. I was beginning to feel neglected. He video-chatted with us every day, but it was all inspections and progress reports. My wounds and Lori's beautiful breasts had started healing again too. Most of the bruises had healed and only some scars were noticeable.
We had settled into a subbie routine we would go about our sub chores like strapping in our corsets, or putting in the new plugs, etc. I finally went into work where I was now officially out as a trans woman. Lori would go to her part time gig. We lived somewhat celibate lives, which seemed strange for sex slaves. We would make out sometimes, but always stop if we got too close.
Monday of the third week after the surgery, we got a text from Mr. Jenkins. He said he would be going out of town for a few of days and would be incommunicado, but he also said he would have a special surprise on Friday night. We were to "behave" ourselves until then.
That Friday morning, we followed the routine. Back at work, I was on pins and needles all day about what the surprise could be. I could only hope that it was finally my new anal obsession with his glorious cock. My hole spasmed around my plug thinking about it. I was wearing the largest one now, and the second smallest clit cage.
My peenie, in the moments I saw it out of its cage was now only slightly larger than Lori's clit, which was big for a clit, and my breasts were getting soft and sore and had developed a kind of puffiness; there were definitely breast growing there, and my nipples were tripled in size. I was wearing sexy, but acceptable business attire at work.
The feeling between my legs was beyond strange. Sometimes, I could swear I still felt as if my testicles were there, but I would feel down there and find nothing, but a smooth landing strip from my clit all the way up to my asshole. The two tiny rings that held my cage in place were barely noticeable most of the times. Unless I directly felt for them, I would forget they were there.
My face was amazing. As a boy I had never really spent much time looking at myself in mirrors. My looks never really seemed to impress anyone and least of all me. The few minutes I spent at the sink brushing my teeth were the only times when I would catch a glimpse of my face. But, now, I would find myself starring at that pretty girl in the mirror and tracing the new lines.
Dr. Harris, despite the lechery, had done a great job the scars were imperceptible now. I had gone back to Bob's for my tattoos, I had one just like Lori's, over my clitty, but mine said J.J. Jenkins's Sissy Bitch. Around my asshole instead of WHORE, it said, JJ's by my crack and "CUNT," where the "U" was my hole. Lori's was done in black, but mine was in red, which made the whole thing look much more lurid.
Everything had changed; I felt that even my metabolism was changing. I had always felt speedy as a guy; I moved impatiently through the world trying to get
there
as soon as possible. As a woman, I felt more leisurely in everything I did. It may have even made me better engineer. Engineers are always careful with numbers, but I had always rushed to get through them quickly, often having to check and recheck. Now, I focused without hurry on getting them right once.
It was this way in every aspect of life. As a man, I would dress hurriedly, wearing whatever my hand first landed on. As a woman, I would plan out my outfit the night before with care and deliberateness. Depending on who I had to meet with or what activities were involved in my day. Eerily, even though I was moving more slowly through it, the whole world seemed to have slowed down for me. But this day I was so impatient that it was going by too slowly.
My day finally done, I left work dreaming of what was to come. When I got to my building, I found Mr. Jenkins sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs in our lobby. He had a fiendish look on his face, but welcomed me like his long-lost sissy. "Michelle, oh, I have missed you, sissy. How are you? I have such a surprise for you sissy." His whole vibe was off, seemed hopped up on something and quite his usual commanding self.
"Oh, Sir, I'm so glad to see you too. What is it?"
"Just, wait 'til we get upstairs!" In the elevator and he gave my ass a hard grope and wiggled it some hoping for more. I was beside myself with anticipation of what was about to happen. I looked over at his handsome face and felt myself aroused in my completely new way. I couldn't think of what else he could be so excited about. This must be it... right?
When we got upstairs, I opened the door, and was shocked by what I saw: my wife was on her knees in our living room with the big cock of our old friend Joe (from Houston) buried down her throat. She was bobbing on it like her neck was spring loaded. Her wide-opened eyes peered up at him. But as I approached, she turned toward me, and I could see that look of pure lust in her face. She had a wide grin as she looked at me, but past me.
"She's done it to you again, sissy! Ask him how he happens to be here today." Mr. Jenkins shouted gleefully. Laughing his hardy "HO HO HOH" laugh. This is what he was so hopped up on. The anticipation of how much he was about to humiliate and degrade me.
"How, Joe?" I managed to blurt.
"She texted me a couple of weeks ago; begged me to come fuck her in the ass like I had always wanted to. She said you were such a faggot that you wouldn't even mind, that you would probably jerk off to it. Dude, what the fuck? You're a hot chick now?"
"Whore! Is this true? Did you say that to your husband's best friend?"
"Yes, Sir I did."
"And are you enjoying sucking his big cock?"
