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I watched as he adjusted the front of his jeans, and continued to rub there. I watched for about five minutes, then flushed the stool to give him a warning.He sprinted the short distance back to the couch, sat, and tried hard to control his breathing. He failed miserably at the breathing part.I asked him,"Are you okay?" Yea. I just got some water in the wrong pipe," he replied. His red face and quivering voice betrayed him. We continued with some semblance of a conversation for awhile, with him stealing glances now and then, and losing the train of thought. I decided the conversation had come around enough times to call it on account of lack of interest. I told him our safe word and explained that if she uttered it, things were to stop immediately. Then I told him to follow my lead and be very quiet.I got up and went to open the doors to the bedroom. He, of course, followed me into the room.I moved around the bed to the headboard, leaned down, kissed My Wife, and started feeling her. "You can beat her Denise..." she said with a pang of anger as she stillcouldn't say or even remember her old name now.Denise slowly looked in the full length mirror and examined her shortvoluptuous body; the former man insider her would have loved to plowthe vision of femininity in front of her, but now she could gaze at herbody all day long and feel nothing. "I cant believe this..." shethought with dismay. "Everything changed..."Vicky watched her step daughter through her crystal ball and smiled asshe examined herself in the mirror, no doubt wondering what wouldhappen to her now. Vicky pulled the doll forward and sprinkled a bit ofpowder over the head of the doll. "Bye bye intelligence," she said witha grin. "I hope you enjoy being an airhead."Denise felt an odd sensation wash over her mind, her thoughts becomingmore basic and carnal. "Vicky!" she thought with dread as she felt herold knowledge begin to leave her. Her memories of building engines withher father being replaced.
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“It’s fucking pouring out.” “Here, let me get you out of those clothes, baby.” He never said a word about the bruises or the way I smelled like sex or my missing underwear or the way I stumbled over words and looked slightly unfocused as he kissed me gently and removed his gift from my hand before wrapping me up in a warm blanket and heating up a cup of hot chocolate in the microwave for me. For once I was thankful for the hard rain, seeing as it had washed all the cum out of my hair and off my face. “Merry Christmas, baby. Open it,” I told him between sips, my eyes shining with unshed tears, knowing that we both deserved better, yet unable to keep a little joy seeping into my heart at his expression. “Where the fuck did y... ,“ he started, then shook his head, his smile both joyful and sad. “Never mind, doesn’t matter. Thank you, baby. Merry Christmas. I love you. Here. Ain’t much, but…” He was right. It wasn’t much. A pair of little butterfly earrings that I’d once fussed over at.

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