CHAPTER ONE

 

Tom Dickson woke and thought it was a beautiful day, then he realized he had a headache.

The sun was shining through the big window, a glorious golden klieg light that exposed his happy home. It felt like a blacksmith was making horseshoes in his head.

At first he kept his eyes closed, but the pounding continued. He cautiously opened his eyes, the smith was still there, swinging his big hammer, bending metal inside his brain. He closed his eyes again.

Next to him Samantha snored, light chuffs of breathing, so ladylike even in her sleep.

He tried to sleep again, to forget the pain, but it was impossible. And pulling a pillow over his head did nothing to dull the pain. The pain was on the inside, not the outside.

Slowly, not wanting to move fast, he slid out of bed. He stood and looked around. His happy homestead. The product of a hard working couple. He wrote. Technical. Did pretty good at it. She was a doctor. A real doctor, stethoscope and all.

Boom! Boom! Boom! went his head.

He held his head gingerly, as if afraid it would fall off. He walked softly, as if afraid a mere footstep would cause an explosion in his cranium.

Around the bed to the bathroom. Maybe a shower. He slept nude, no need to get undressed. He stepped into the shower, the tiles cold on his feet, and turned the knobs. Cold water sluiced down, struck his hand, and slowly turned warm.

He knew cold was better for him, but he didn't think he could stand the shock.

He stepped into the shower, felt the water strike his shoulders. Slowly, he leaned his head forward, accepted the bracing spray of water on his forehead, on his scalp. Then he slowly turned the knob and made the water colder. Ah. There. His headache slowly lessened.

After several minutes of as cold as he could take it, Tom turned the spray off and stepped out of the shower. Oddly, he felt like singing. The cessation of pain had left a happiness. He toweled himself off, and suddenly winced. The towels were soft, they had just bought new Mypillow towels, probably from Giza, but his chest hurt.

No. Not his chest. His nipples.

His nipples? He liked to play with his nipples. He liked to rub them, to draw his fingers across them gently, feel the surge of pleasure go all the way down to his groin. Many an erection had been started through the simple fact of playing with his nipples.

But he hadn't played with his nipples recently. He had been working on a project and had simply put thoughts of sex aside. So why would his nipples be sore?

He stepped in front of the mirror and examined his chest. Son of a bitch! His nipples were swollen! Even a little red.

It wasn't much, just a puffiness, but when he touched them they actually hurt.

Not knowing what else to do he rubbed some 'Motherlove Nipple Cream' on his little points. Well, not so little. They were puffy, which meant they were larger than they should have been.

The nipple cream felt good, and the soreness receded. He snorted. What would Sam think if she knew he was slathering her nipple cream on his nips?

Then he grew sober. She had a caustic sense of humor, and she might make a lot of fun out of this. Better to just keep it to himself.

He padded back into the bedroom, opened a drawer and pulled out a g-string. It was a string up the backside and a simple pouch on the front. It kept him bouncy and yet supported him. Most of all, it kept him horny.

He was working on his special project today, writing erotica, and he liked to be a little horny when he did that kind of writing. Being horny put him in the mood to write about endless fucking and sucking. Usually, when he wrote about lust he liked to play with his nipples, but that wasn't going to happen today. He was going to have to create without rubbing his chest peenys.

He stepped into the kinky underwear and pulled it up tight. Oh, that felt good. His asshole hummed and his cock said, 'What the fuck?' as he stuffed it into the pouch and arranged it.

He pulled out a pair of socks and put them on the end of the bed, then he took out a tee shirt and started to pull it on.

OW! His nipples protested.

He looked at the tee shirt ruefully, then he put it back in the drawer. He took his wife's bathrobe, his was in the laundry, and slipped it on. It was softer, and it only made his nipples hurt a little.

Then forgetting his socks, he trotted out the door and down the stairs. His wife liked to have morning coffee, and if he hurried he could have it ready for her. Maybe even serve it while she was still in bed.

***

Fifteen minutes later he sashayed up the staircase. He carried a tray with a poached egg, a slice of toast, a small glass of orange juice, and coffee. Two sugars. Cream.

He sniffed the aroma and felt his stomach grumble. He should have eaten something himself, shoved a slice of toast, lots of butter and jelly, down his gullet before he came up. But he didn't think he had time. And he didn't. Sam was just stirring as he entered the bedroom.

"Rise and shine, my little sweetie lambie poo."

"Mmm," Sam stretched, then sat up and scootched back against the headboard. "You are so corny. Oh, goodie!

He placed the tray on her lap and watched as she nibbled the toast and contemplated the egg.

He didn't watch her eat, so much as watch her breasts. She liked to sleep with a sexy bra on. Enough to offer support, but not enough to bind. The result, when she sat up, was her full globes coming to his attention. They were white and rounded, delicate curves, and he could see the thrust of her erect nipples through the fabric.

He felt his erection stirring, fighting the pouch.

She looked at his g-string and giggled. "I see somebody trying to rise and shine themselves. Come here."

Tom moved to the bed and she cupped him. Her hands were beautiful, surgeon's hands, red tipped with lacquer, the nails short enough so she could open somebody's chest and look around. Now they cupped him, handled his balls, squeezed him.

"Uhhh!" he groaned.

"Feeling a little kinky today?" she asked, then she sipped some orange juice.

"What?"

"Underwear? My robe? What are you wearing my robe for?"

"Mine is in the laundry."

"Are you sure you're not just a little perverted?"

He shook his head. She was still mauling his testicles, and it felt so...fucking...good.

"Oh, Tom." She let go of his testicles and went back to eating. "You are so easy."

He couldn't help himself then, "Do you think, uh, maybe this weekend...?"

Sam shook her head. He marveled at how her hair could be so loose and flowing and beautiful. "Got a seminar this weekend."

"Maybe tonight?"

"You know how tired I get after a long day."

"How about Sunday?"

She shook her head, finished her poached egg. "Sunday I have to prepare for Monday."

He tried not to whine. "It's just that we do it so rarely, and I...well, you know-"

"I know. You're horny. Sorry, lover. Put it off till next weekend."

Tom nodded slowly. He turned to leave, but wasn't out of the bedroom when her voice stopped him.

"And, Tom?"

"Yes?" he turned back, feeling just a smidgeon of hope in his soul.

"Don't you even think about jacking off."

He opened his mouth to protest, but stopped in time. He wouldn't masturbate. He didn't if she told him not to. But that didn't mean he couldn't play with himself.

"And don't even play with yourself."

Fuck!

"When I get around to it I want you hard and horny. I don't want you wasting your semen down the toilet."

***

Fifteen minutes later she was ready to go. She had a day of meetings, surgery was yesterday, and she wanted to look her best. She wore a navy blue pencil skirt and matching jacket. Under the jacket she wore a shelf bra-she loved to have her nipples rubbed just for walking-and a thin blouse. Her earrings were three hoops dangling. Her hair was done in a French Twist, and her make up was killer. Her eyes were kohl shadowed, dark and mysterious. Her lips were red, shiny, moist looking.

She entered the kitchen.

"Fuck," blurted Tom. "You don't fuck me then you do this to me?"

She laughed, delighted with her effect. She kissed him lightly, not enough to smear, and grabbed his pouch.

"Wish I had time, lover, but think of me all day long."

She massaged him, his dick grew big and she pulled the band down so it could pop free.

He gulped and moaned.

She stroked his shaft, slowly, lovingly, loving the feeling of control it gave her.

She liked sex, but in the past few years she had found that she liked teasing more. And, truth was, when Tom was asleep she frequently jilled off. The orgasms seemed to be better when she did them herself, rubbing her mons, cupping it, rubbing a finger over her clitoris.

Finally, Tom broke. He tried to grab her, but she backed away. "No, no," she admonished, laughing at him. She turned, grabbed the car keys off the counter and darted into the garage.

Tom stood in the kitchen and listened to the sound of her Beemer roaring down the street. She liked snazzy cars, and she liked to drive fast.

He looked down at himself, his boner erupting from his kinky underwear. His lust at a peak, and on hold at the same time. He said a dirty word, then, absent mindedly, scratched a nipple.

"OW!"

He opened his robe and looked at his chest. If anything, the cream had made his nipple more puffie. And sensitive. He touched the nip with one finger and lightening like sensations shot down to his groin.

"Oh," he said, unaware of the sexiness in his voice. He knew he was turned on, but he didn't know how turned on, or in how many ways.

Sighing, he set about fixing oatmeal, his dick bumping against the counter, swaying in the breeze, as it were. God, it felt good to have a stiff rod. If only he could share it with his wife. Seemed like she wanted it less and less these days.

He measured water, then oats. He wasn't a big eater. Never had been. Sam said that was why he was so skinny. Well, she said slender, but she meant skinny. He was healthy, though, so who cared?

Besides, slender didn't matter if your dick was big and thick. And his sure was.

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

The day went slowly for Tom. The headache came back. Slightly, but it was back. His nipples hurt so much his pecs actually ached. He couldn't wear a shirt, and he didn't like being undressed while he worked.

Most important, ideas didn't flow.

He sat and stared at the computer screen, and his mind just sort of wandered this way and that. Normally he was full of ideas. He was a great technical writer, people called him frequently and pitched him projects, and he was always the 'idea man.' But now he couldn't think for the ache and pain, and even itching, on his chest. Finally, frustrated, his attention continually going to his groin and his unfucked penis, he turned to that bastion of time wasting on the internet...porn.

He flipped through milfmovs, looking for big titted mommas. He especially liked it when they took it doggy style, their breasts hanging low and their faces twisted in lust.

Once, when he was feeling quirky, he combined a scene of three women taking it up the rear with the audio of a herd of cows mooing. The results were hysterical. He was laughing for hours, and even thought about sharing it with his wife. She wasn't fond of porn, however, and in spite of the humor he was afraid she would dismiss it, and diss him.

He hated it when Sam belittled him, and it didn't take much. She would twist her lips in distaste, maybe grunt a little, and it made him feel two feet tall. It made him feel like he was ten years old again and his overbearing mother took him to task.

He went to momtits(dot)com then, and scanned through the videos. By now he was quite a bit horny, and it was all he could do to not take himself in hand. His lust was palpable, a hot thing in his chest, his aching, puffy nippled chest, but he kept his hand out of his lap. It was a matter of honor with him that he paid attention to Sam's wishes. Still, his dick was hard, and uncomfortable in his g string, so he pushed the underwear off and left them in a puddle beneath his desk. His dick was throbbing, and it kept bumping against the keyboard slide out.

Suddenly, he found himself in an unlikely section of the site. Transgender.

He never went there. Not only was it weird, but it made him uneasy. But now, maybe because his damned chest wouldn't stop itching, and because just the movement of air conditioning in the house brushed across his nipples and made him horny, he stared at the videos.

Men with tits. Crude, but true.

Men with curvaceous bodies.

Were they really men anymore? Or were they budding women?

It was one of those questions people would disagree on, like 'life' or 'choice.' And, honestly, he didn't know how he felt. He just knew that at the moment he was horny, and somehow he had got stuck in the trans section. For an hour he perused the endless movies clips, studying the way some men looked like women, and some didn't. He didn't like seeing them masturbate, but he couldn't help seeing some of the semen erupt and splatter, and suddenly he realized something, it was fascinating him.

Shit! He was no lady boy. He started to shut the windows and froze...he heard his wife's BMW tear into the garage.

Damn! he thought, as he heard the screech of tires as she skidded to a stop. He had told her time after time it was dangerous, that she was going to drive right into the kitchen some day, but she just laughed and touched his cheek and said, "It's time for a remodel."

Then he had another thought: what is she doing home?

She was supposed to be in meetings all day? It was only two in the afternoon, what was she doing home?

He stood up and went to the kitchen.

"Hi, honey. Going Au naturale, eh?" She passed him, tugged on his dick and giggled, then headed for the bedroom. He fell into her train.

"What are you home for?"

"Wanted to make sure you weren't playing with yourself," she grinned over her shoulder. Glanced down at his erect penis. "Looks like I made it just in time."

"Aw, honey, you know I won't do it if you tell me not to."

She turned, surprised him by planting a kiss on him, stroking his dick, then she spun and hurried up the stairs.

"Got a special invite to a Trans Operational Procedures Seminar tomorrow morning. Doctor Ramar Itzeanean. World figure in the biz. It means I don't waste a morning waiting around for the scheduled seminar. And I have been absolutely fascinated by his work."

They were in the bedroom now, and she stripped off clothes. Tom watched the skirt and blouse get thrown on the bed. She rolled her panties down and kicked them onto the floor. "Be a hon and take care of my clothes for me. I've got a plane to catch."

"Now?" he said, almost stuttering as she unfurled her breasts. They were round and heavy, but had a slight almost reverse slope from the nipple up. The nipples were hard and erect. He noticed that the bra she dropped on the floor was a shelf bra. "You wore that?"

"In one hour. And, yes. I wanted to get really, really horny for you." She held her breasts up, pointed the tips of them at him." I get so-o-o horny when my nipples are excited. She bent her knees and pushed her butt back sexily. Then she pranced to him and held them up for him to kiss.

Tom was almost swooning as he took a nipple in his mouth and gently sucked it.

"Oh," she moaned. Then she pushed his head away and headed for the shower.

Tom followed her into her bathroom. He couldn't stop watching the way her butt swayed. The curves were so sexy, her ass muscles so hard. His erection was almost dripping.

Singing softly, she soaped herself up, paying special attention to her breasts. Suddenly she looked up. Tom was staring at her forlornly. She smiled sadly and opened the door. "Poor Tom. Come in and soap me up."

His heart suddenly filled with thuds, he stepped into the shower. She handed him soap and a natural sea sponge. "Do a good job, lover. Make me horny."

He rubbed the soap on the sponge and began running it over her body. He sluiced her flesh with suds, rubbed her softly and tenderly. He couldn't believe how hard his dick got, touching her flesh like this.

"Ooh, somebody likes his job." She turned to him and soaped his penis as he turned his attention to her breasts. He lavished love and cleanliness on her mounds. He kissed the nipples every once in a while, and finally began rubbing her junction.

"Oh," she moaned, hanging on to his shoulder with his hands. "Get me off, lover."

He nibbled on one breast, sucked the nip, swirling his tongue and using his teeth, and began rubbing her pussy, harder and harder.

She began breathing harder. Water washed down through her hair, her shoulders, her breasts, and trailed between her legs.

He worked harder, moving his whole arm, and he managed to get a finger into her slit.

"Oh, yes," she held on to him, her knees growing weaker. "Fuck me."

He got two fingers into her, and he began pulling 'come here' with them, he knew he was rubbing her g spot. He could tell by the way she arched her back, pressing her tits into him, and moaned. Her hips lurched back and forth, fucking his fingers.

"Oh...oh..." he jack hammered the finger bang, using the muscles in his upper arms, getting as much leverage as he could.

"OH!" Her eyes snapped open and her hips spasmed. She jerked back and forth over his fingers, and he gently dug the fingertips into her soft spot.

"OH...OH...OH...!"

She spasmed again and again, her body out of control, consumed by the white hot explosion working its way through her pussy.

Then she clung to him, and he stopped finger banging and held her up.

"Oh, god," she murmured against him.

They stood for long moments like that, him supporting her, her holding on for dear life, then she started to move, to struggle back to being in charge of her own legs.

She sighed, kissed him deeply, but now without the lust. It was almost like she was thanking him, but please don't get carried away.

"Honey?" His voice almost cracked, and it did whine.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just don't have time. Now let me rinse off. Maybe when I get home Sunday." She patted his cheek and laughed, "If you're lucky."

He stepped out of the shower, a curious blende of horny and elation. He was horny, hadn't cum for days, and had just been part of a massive orgasm, and that gave him a certain frustration, heightened his horniness, as it were. But he was also elated. He had pleasure his beautiful wife. He had given her an orgasm so powerful she couldn't stand up. Surely that was worth something?

And it was. He liked being horny, frustrated, so horny he was cross-eyed and couldn't think. In fact, it was better than an orgasm. He loved to live in this state of dazed mind, the world a warm and fuzzy, be it horny, place.

He watched her, helpless, his dick throbbing, then, when she turned off the shower and opened the door, he handed her a towel.

She took the towel, dried her marvelous boobs, used the towel like she was shining shoes on her cunt, then wrapped her hair up.

"Go on, you horny fuck," she laughed as she pushed him out of the bathroom. "And don't touch yourself."

"I can't...I mean...I've got to touch myself," he whimpered to himself as she closed the door on him.

He listened to the sound of the hair dryer, then it shut off and she opened the door. "I need a salad. Tuna and egg."

"Yes, dear." He left the room to the sound of the hair dryer blowing again, and her muted voice singing. She had a good voice, he loved her voice, but he had to make her lunch.