"Oh," she laughed again. "It's a submissive male who worships a woman and she basically humiliates him whenever she can because he likes it. But there are many forms, it's a spectrum really. I was thinking of it because in my family's past, we had a woman who would do this to men on her council. It was a story really, no one could even find evidence, but my grandmother told me stories. As a young girl they thrilled me to think of a woman who could make men do whatever she wanted, but then as I grew older and understood the sexual ramifications, I was thrilled in another way."
"What would I be to you?" he asked.
"Well," she thought. "It would be just like this. It's actually kind of arousing playing with you like this. I'd like to paint your face. In fact, we could get facial, manni's, and pedi's together. We could be like girlfriends. With benefits," she said as she noticed his cock was fully tenting his panties now. There was a damp spot at the tip and just then his cock lurched and a droplet of fresh precum sat atop the satin tip. She noticed him noticing it.
"Have you ever tasted it?" she asked.
"Yes."
"You can have that," she said.
And he took it with the tip of his finger and watched her watching him and he put it on his tongue like a hit of acid.
"We are going to have so much fun. Let's go," she took him to the bathroom and proceeded to paint his lips and give him some rouge.
When she'd finally finished painting his face (she wouldn't allow him to look before she'd finished completely), he was stunned at who was staring back at him. He looked like a woman. His hair was longish, feathered at the middle and about shoulder-length, not quite long enough to put into a ponytail. She slipped her glasses onto his face as he was staring into the mirror and the feminine frames made his face blossom into a woman's completely.
He felt her behind him and watched as she began to kiss the back of his neck and shoulders, behind his ears and he felt her wet, warm tongue swirl around his ear canal and her hot breath made him weak and he had to balance himself on the sink to keep from buckling at the knees.
"Do you have any gowns or dresses?" she asked.
He went across the hall to his walk-in and found his sexiest top, a onesie that stretched tightly onto his chest, stomach and ass, leaving the perfect curve of the bottom of his ass exposed. It was black with pink trim, matching his big silky VF briefs which peeked out from beneath the hem of his onesie.
Dominique seemed enraptured. She was clapping her hands and jumping up and down with excitement. She lunged toward him and kissed his mouth softly. He returned it just the same. Everything she did with her mouth and hands, he did with his own. He remembered Jacqueline, the first time she'd painted his face. They were wearing sheer-to-waist nylons, no panties, no tops, and they were playing a game they called "no hands" where they could touch each other in any way they could imagine but they weren't allowed to use their hands. During a pause in the action, Jackie asked him if she could paint his lips. She did, and then they made out the way you see lesbians in pornos. A lot of tender kissing and scissoring. He loved to scissor with her. She had big sexy legs, hips, and ass and when their silky legs entangled each other he seemed to drift into a feminine creature. He loved the way she responded to his touch, lips, tongue and movements.
Dominique made him feel this way. He undressed her down to her panties and bra, unclipped the back with one hand, a skill he'd learned from Jackie and that impressed Dominique as well.
"Very smooth," she said. "And not just your legs." They both laughed. Her body was long and full, like a woman's. Not like Jackie, and it took him a while to see her as a different person than Jackie. He was still in love with Jackie. He still fantasized about her. He still masturbated speaking her name aloud and he was deftly afraid that he would slip and call Dominique by Jackie's name because of this.
"Dominique," he said her name aloud on purpose, to set the right name in his mind. To turn his desire toward her specifically. He looked at her. "You are gorgeous, a fuckin' goddess." He paused holding her ass in his hands and caressing her there as he looked into her eyes and tried to say something that wouldn't mess this up. "Am I dreaming?" he finally said.
She laughed and asked if he had anything to drink. He took her into the kitchen and he made them his favorite ginger and bourbon drink. He felt like such a woman, zesting the orange, arranging the drinks just so, he seemed to do everything with more care and attention so that it would take him longer. Longer in his lingerie, longer with his painted face, longer with Dominique, chatting, laughing, touching and flirting the whole while.
He finished, handed her hers and then he toasted the evening. "To girlfriends," he smiled and they both laughed as she reciprocated the toast.
She stood in front of him and let him put his arms around her. The whiskey and lipstick created a kind of aphrodisiacal taste and scent that aroused them both. They kissed with her turning her head around and grinding her silky voluptuous ass into his panty-covered crotch. He slipped his penis around on her ass and felt the different sensations it created. Her ass looked like an upside-down heart and it accepted his hardness the way opposites often do, attracting one to the other. He made sure to kiss her tenderly, softly, with just enough wetness to let everything slip and slide together.
He felt her sighing. Jacqueline had taught him to listen and feel for a woman's arousal. Dominique's was soft but also firm, assertive, aggressive at times, and he kept up with her increasing intensity. He moved himself in his mind the way a woman who is enraptured with desire would. But he also let himself go and feel free to be aggressive in his own way. He wanted to touch her body everywhere. So sexy, firm, yet soft, voluptuous kept coming to his mind. She was a woman who wanted him. He was not being masculine, the opposite, he was trying to be as feminine as he imagined a woman could be, he was imagining that he was in Jacqueline's body. He was about as big as Dominique, the only exception was his height, he was much taller than she. But his body, ass, legs, hips, even his chest (she was small-chested) and hers were similar. Jacqueline was much larger, fuller, womaner, so he imagined he was in her body, or more appropriately, his mind was in her mind, their bodies were one.
Jacqueline had told him when they'd first met she believed all people secretly wondered what it would be like to be their opposite sex. They'd discussed it many times, and not just between the two of them, with friends too. Most women agreed, most men did not. He agreed. And he always admitted it. At first, the thought was disgusting, but then when he realized the power he would have as a woman, he began to see it in a different light.
He and Dominique were lying in his big bed that took up half the unit watching SNL, drinking, kissing and touching. His goal was to go only as far as Dominique led them. He wouldn't, for example, try to put his fingers under her panties until she did it first to him.
He had been aroused since getting off work that evening. He'd gone home, performed his ablutions, which always aroused him, had a drink and a smoke, which also always aroused him, and he'd spent 3 hours totally stiff and aroused. It doesn't just take it out of you physically, to be aroused so intensely for so long, it exhausts you mentally. He was in a kind of horny coma. He only felt the need to enjoy the moment. Feel Dominique, test her out, her responses to his "performance" and appearance. He really was doing everything his imagination could fathom to be a woman. Dominique seemed nonethewiser. She was aroused, that much he knew.
He was right--Dominique was aroused. She had never encountered a man like this before. At 32, she was in the prime of her life, with a history of many lovers. Her father had granted her permission to enjoy a few years of freedom, as long as she remained productive. These fleeting years of indulgence were hers to savor before marriage and motherhood would inevitably take over upon her return. He was constantly hard, his cock never relaxed. She'd gotten up to use the toilet and refresh their drinks, and she came back, he was lounging, one leg bent at the knee and open, the other extended to the foot of the bed, his back leaning into a pile of pillows with one arm slung over the top of his head in the most leisurely position a person could muster, and yet, his cock was completely hard and pinned between his stomach and the waistband of his panties.
And the way he looked at her with such wanton lust, it made her into a teenage girl. She played with his penis persistantly and to his appreciation.
This was the same look he had given Jacqueline. Jackie had once confessed that what aroused her most about him was the way he looked at her--like he always wanted her. He carried that same intensity now as he gazed at Dominique, carefully channeling it to align with what he thought she most desired. He knew that women wanted to feel desired, and as he looked at her, he searched for what he found most captivating about her. It was her openness.
