Playing With Lesley's New Breasts
Lesley Cranshaw burned with shame as his panties slithered in Mrs Wilson's lap. Her hands had slipped into the side slots of his pink silk dress, and her fingers had excited his newly lengthened nipples so that he squirmed in agonies of sexual rapture; pleasure that was unfamiliar to him, but which was so, so delicious. He had never met her until today, but already she knew him as a pathetically feminized husband. His wife sat on the arm of her visitor's chair with a grin of satisfaction on her face.
"Now you can see what his Mother-In-Law means," she said, "when she told you that we were forcibly feminizing him. I'm not surprised you wanted to call in and play with them, Cynthia. Have you ever seen such feminine breasts, even on a female?"
"No, never," declared Mrs Wilson, "and they feel so firm and erotic. I'm loving feeling their sensitive shape with my fingertips but... I would feel so much nicer if I could see your husband's nipples while I play with them," and her fingers rippled and fondled with renewed vigour, bringing a moan from her victim as his stockings slid this way and that on either side of her rubber apron. Brenda giggled, then turned her husband's blushing face towards herself.
"We need to remove your dress, Lesley, so that Mrs Wilson can enjoy playing with your lovely tities." She undid the dress buttons beneath his throat so that his dress opened, before slipping the puffed sleeves from his shoulders. His brassiere swelled into sight and Lesley turned a brighter shade of crimson.
"Oh my!" he heard from behind as the visitor's hands smoothed over every inch of his cups, "what big breasts you have sweetie. And aren't you wearing a simply lovely brassiere? Do you feel proud, having your breasts dressed in satin and lace? What size is it?"
"46 DDD," announced Brenda, "and it's too tight. We'll have to go up a couple of sizes."
"That's twice the size of mine, honey," said Mrs Wilson. "Let me unfasten it for you dear so that I can feel the feminine flesh of your breasts." She leaned his limp body forward so that his bulbous bust weighed on one of her arms. She unhooked him at the back, then pulled him back and rested him against her own bosom. "Ohhhh, they're falling out!" she cried. "It's all right, sweetie, I'll hold them up for you."
Lesley burst into a fit of sobs as his breasts swayed to either side, escaping her hand and drooping against his stomach with a stiffened nipple pointing in each direction. His wife reached forward and held his breasts from underneath as Mrs Wilson gasped with excitement.
"Ohhhhhhh!" exclaimed their visitor, "you're so feminine with your new breasts, Lesley. And your huge nipples! You're making Cynthia feel quite inadequate as a woman... and making me feel so lovely, pet. I think I'm going to have to give you a special treat. Can you take your husband off me for just a moment, Brenda?"
Brenda lifted her husband under the arms and Mrs Wilson got up from her chair, plunged her blouse sleeves under her skirt and slip, and drew down her panties. She kicked them off her shoes and laid them over the arm of her chair. "You're going to be allowed to wear them later, my little sissy, if you become feminine enough all over for me."
Lesley wailed with desire for the pink satin delicacy, prettied at each leg with lace inserts, but at the same time his eyes closed with misery that he had come to desire Mrs Wilson's panties so deeply, so affectionately. How shameful that his maleness had disappeared to such a frightening degree.
"You're a very lucky sissy husband," the visitor went on, "having a wife and Mother-In-Law who have taken the step of feminizing you so sweetly and so completely."
Her words stung his male pride, adding to his feeling of sexual failure. He had to try and counter her words.
"Oh but when these feelings wear off," he said, his voice a feeble whisper, "I'll feel all male again, as masculine as I ever was, won't I?."
His words showed no belief, no real hope. "No dear," said his wife, her crimson lips rippling with triumph, "now that we've feminized your breasts, they will stay that way. But we haven't finished with you yet." His eyes blinked wide as he looked at her lovely face. "Do you know what the next step will be, husband darling?"
He gave a faint shake of the head.
"Next we will feminize your clitoris, of course. Your Mother-In-Law is going to make a date for your penis enfeminization."
A wail of misery sprang from her husband's heart as Mrs Wilson giggled and fondled his unprotected nipples, his breasts sliding on the satin sleeves of her blouse.
"But how can you do that to my cock?" he pleaded. "It's male and it always will be, I'm sure it will."
Brenda's fingers unhooked his panties and released his penis, her fingers stroking, fondling and caressing it into even more stiffness.
"I'm sorry, dear, but you're wrong. It's already half female. Look down at it between your new breasts. Now tell me... doesn't it feel sweet and lovely?"
"No... no... it doesn't feel lovely."
"But it's so stiff and so hard darling... and yet its skin and flesh is beautifully soft and graceful... and because it feels so pretty and so feminine, I decided to buy it some nice penie-dresses."
Lesley Cranshaw's voice started to cry. "P-P-Penie-dresses! No, no, you shouldn't have Brenda! It doesn't feel pretty... or feminine."
"Concentrate on the lovely feelings in your clittie, darling," urged Mrs Wilson into his ear. "Those are feminine feelings, and they feel all the more deep and delicious because your wife and your Mother-In-Law are turning you into a female."
"No. Oh please stop! I don't want to be a female." A wave of sheer fright swept over him, sending him sliding on Mrs Wilson's cool, rubber apron. His wriggles brought his eyes onto the satin dress that awaited him on its stand. This is what he would wear to sit between Mrs Wilson and Imelda, his mother-in-law, when she got home from work. Was he to lose all his manhood? Was he going to turn into a woman, a little girl? The thought brought a swell of sweetness to him, gushing through his breasts and especially his nipples. His feelings were so rosy, so warm and glowing, that he loved to feel like this. Maybe it was a lot nicer to be female, if he was going to feel as excited as this all the time.
He couldn't take his eyes off Brenda as she unwrapped his first clittie dress and opened it out on its little hanger. She held it up and turned it this way and that for her husband and Mrs Wilson to see how pretty it was. It shone in pink satin, with white satin puffs at each shoulder, a white sash and little white pockets- just like a little girls' dress. She lifted its skirt and giggled as her husband whimpered at its lining of pale pink satin.
"But first," she said, her lips curled as she teased, "it has two pretty little white silk petticoats."
Her husband cried aloud with mortification as the two little silk skirts edged with lace were arranged round his upright penis and each fastened with three baby press fasteners down the front. His penis ached with femininity as Mrs Wilson held him between the sleeves of her blouse and fluffed and prettied his penie-petticoats with her fingertips. Next Brenda threaded the dress over his helmet and down his clittie. It sizzled onto the waiting flare of his petties.
"Mmmm, isn't that lovely, darling, when your girlish little penie is wrapped in the sliding sweetness of its satin dress lining?"
Mrs Wilson spread the skirt of his penie dress over the petticoats and held the dress in at the waist. Brenda used the tips of her finger and thumb to slide the back zip slowly upwards, closing the penis inside the tight satin dress lining up to its collar."
"Oh what a darling, sweet little clitoris in its lovely satin little-girl dress!" cried Mrs Wilson, her fingers working lengthways along her captive's rigid nipples, and as Brenda turned up the peeny-dresses little white collar, her husband's feminine sexuality surged from the velvety helmet of his clitoris in a pumping, juicy tribute of liquid feminine surrender.
The two women giggled together, fondling his penis and his nipples as the swell of jism drooled on and on from his dress collar onto Mrs Wilson's latex apron.
"That's very good, sweetie, and very feminine," chuckled Cynthia. "Brenda, I think your sissy husband has earned the privilege of being dressed in my panties, so that his clitoris can feel more and more feminine while I play with his new and very feminine breasts.