Mind Caviar Fiction

Edith Bennett Bellamy has been writing elegantly prolix transgender erotica for the past five years. Her works appeared sporadically on various TG web sites until last May, when she opened Pink Gladiolas, her own site, which hosts all of her stories and also features current reviews of high-end TG and erotica sites. Edith lives in the Far North and may be contacted at ebellamy@pinkgladiolas.com.

What Gilbert Got for Christmas
A Serial in Four Parts
by Edith Bennett Bellamy

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Chapter 1, "A Mysterious Gift Under the Tree"

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Chapter 2, "Gilbert Rechristened as Gillian"

CHAPTER 3. Enter The Narrator: The True Origin of Gillian's Gift Revealed

As the newly-christened Gillian and her wife, Judy, ascend the stairs towards the former's first-ever rendezvous with the timeless mysteries of lingerie, let us pause to reflect on what has happened so far in our story.

Gillian, formerly Gilbert, has only hours earlier received an unusual Christmas gift, a magical pendant (or pearl choker), which efficiently transmuted him into a small and very attractive woman in less than one minute. Having broken the choker's clasp in attempting to remove it (in contravention of the explicit instructions which Gilbert had not beforehand troubled to read), Gillian believes her transmutation to be permanent, which, indeed, it may be. She is, at the moment, of two minds about it.

On the one hand, Gillian's initial inspection of her new and highly responsive sexual anatomy has already impressed her with one of the singular benefits of womanhood - to wit, the stunning orgasm which she brought herself to with her soft feminine fingers, not to mention the little episode in the living room, brought off by the mere crossing and recrossing of her legs. Even now Gillian remains pleasantly conscious of a serene and lingering vaginal lubricity already beginning to flow again, stimulated by her thighs (and the labia they conceal), rubbing together in the ordinary act of alighting the stairs. Having a cunt, she discovers, certainly has its rewards.

On the other hand, Gillian also finds herself inexplicably fascinated by common domestic chores, having just spent two hours effectively restoring her kitchen to like-new condition after almost a decade of Judy's benign neglect, a marital shortcoming of which she had never taken notice before. She also finds herself yearning to take up needle and thread and to fold piles of clean clothes.

While Gillian is quite certain that such shattering orgasms could never become, shall we say, tiresome, she entertains doubts about forming any attachment to housework. Worse, she reflects, there's the disagreeable matter of this comfortable and responsive cunt of hers Turning Traitor five days every month - treating her to a novel bodily function she could just as well live without. She recalls having occasionally taken a wrong turn (as Gilbert) down a supermarket aisle in search of shaving cream, light bulbs or charcoal briquettes, only to find himself in a long canyon of shelving devoted to Products Every Woman Needs to Keep Her Vagina In Line - packaged in white or pink or lilac or baby blue boxes embossed with stylized daisies and doves - products Gillian would now have to choose and purchase for herself and rely upon to maintain (or enhance) her feminine daintiness, products she had never held in her hand nor had the slightest idea how to use. She has no yen to be a consumer of such products. It is all so horribly revolting!

And, to top it off, Gillian perceives with a jolt that having a female reproductive system exposes her personally - not some abstract woman - to the risk of pregnancy! She imagines the size of a baby's head, then that of her cunt. Impossible! Why, she'd be ripped apart, torn inside out! She perceives, as well, the essential purpose of her lovely breasts and their sensitive nipples, and how she'd be constrained to give up fondling them and put them instead at the disposal of a tiny, ravenous creature at any hour of the day or night for a year at a time.

In short, as Gillian climbs the stairs with Judy, she is beginning to feel the first weight of female tribulation settle upon her. Her smooth womanbrow furrows and her little heart flutters in apprehensive dread as they near the top landing. She is not certain that woman-orgasms are worth the price. But such orgasms! She wants more... and she is already flowing again, her mind in awful turmoil with her body.


Let us therefore extend poor, troubled Gillian a measure of mercy, and remove from her girlish shoulders the embarrassing burden of having to continue her story in her own words. She has revealed enough of her intimate secrets already, would you not agree? She has acknowledged that she is now physically a woman (how could she deny it?) and possesses her very own well, we need not repeat unnecessarily such naughty words except to say that Gillian obviously possesses what every woman does, and that from her brief acquaintance with such possessions, she is unexpectedly pleased, although any woman reading this story will hardly be surprised to hear it.

Yes, we must be merciful, and not force Gillian further to describe her first sensations of womanhood. She is, after all, being led to her bedroom by Judy, her wife, like a lamb to slaughter, and has quite enough on her plate without having to tell us about it! Let us not distract her from being the woman she has become; let her feel female rapture and pain, and leave the narrative to another.

Allow me to introduce myself, then: I am the narrator, the rhapsode, teller of stories. The attentive reader has no doubt observed that I've already been telling Gillian's story for the last page or so. I never blush. I never shrink from calling a clitoris by its proper name, from describing a woman's most intimate fears and desires, nor even from telling you precisely what Gillian will feel when she is fucked for the very first time. (Don't fret! That's coming right up, in the next chapter.)

Enthroned on my Olympian heights, nothing can be concealed from my all-seeing gaze - not action, not motive, not feelings, not even the future. You'll learn a lot more from me than you could ever learn from Gillian or Judy, for I know precisely what each is thinking and feeling: they can keep no secrets from me. I know all and it is my sacred vocation to share it with you.

For example, poor Gillian has been wondering about her wife Judy's role in the remarkable changes which have overtaken her: she had noted that Judy's surprise at her transformation did not seem completely unfeigned. But as long as Gillian was telling her own story she could wonder 'til Doomsday (unless Judy told her), but I can tell you right now, without further ado, that it was not Santa who gave Gilbert that special gift - the silver dollar pendant which became a pearl choker and transformed Gilbert into a woman.

No, it was Judy herself - a good enough wife and mother but rather an original thinker and of an unusually adventurous spirit (combined with an occasionally masculine frame of mind, which she had always taken pains to conceal). Some twelve weeks earlier, Judy, unbeknownst to Gilbert, had received her share of an enormous class-action sexual harassment settlement from a case her firm had brought against a major national corporation. Judy had been the architect of the litigation and was to have been the trial lead as well. The brief was so tightly argued that the corporation would certainly have lost had the case come to trial, but a settlement was reached, at a lesser figure, to avert the expense of appeals.

Judy's share was a whopping $8.2 million, payable over four years, and with it in hand, she had announced her retirement from the firm effective on ... Christmas day. But Judy had said nothing to her husband about it, for she had special plans and her new wealth now gave her the leisure and resources to bring them to fruition.

As I have told you, Judy was possessed of an adventurous spirit and some masculine tendencies, not to mention a smoldering resentment towards her husband, whose inconsiderate exercise of male prerogative in all things irked her more each year of their marriage. A week or so after she heard the stunning news of her share in the settlement (and had received confirmation from the bank of the initial deposit), she was purging her e-mail in-basket of its usual daily accretion of spam ("Want to double, even triple, your investments in a short time?"), when a message from TransMorphology Ventures, Ltd. scrolled by and caught her eye; she scrolled back and opened it.

The message described the silver dollar pendant-pearl choker and its powers. The product was costly - several tens of thousands of dollars, almost as much as, say, a new Porsche - but it had a money-back guarantee, so she immediately went to TransMorphology Ventures' Web Site and purchasedtwo units: a silver dollar pendant for Gilbert and a pearl choker for herself. The concept of Gilbert-as-woman and herself as a man intrigued her deeply, not the least because she wished to teach her husband a lesson.

Judy had quite a number of choices to click in placing the order - regarding height, weight, build, hair color and so forth, of the transformees. She chose parameters that would render each one, when transformed, about the same size and body habitus the other now was: it would make things a lot simpler in dealing with wardrobes that way, especially if there were to be periodic reversions. She kept skin and hair color pretty much the same, but decided to make Gilbert's hair quite short, as it would be far easier for him to manage at first. He would have plenty of other problems to deal with to start with, she figured, without having the added burden of tending long hair. He could always grow it out if he didn't like it short.

The choker... yes, she had tried it out, albeit briefly, in her private office the afternoon it arrived by red label. It had worked almost too well: a moment after Judy had fastened it around her neck, the choker flickered with its cold, silver-blue flame and became a silver dollar pendant and she was gripped by a series of lurching spasms which transmuted her into a man. She might have been throttled when her now larger frame suddenly filled the clothes she was wearing had she not had on a rather loose-fitting dress. Her bra straps cut into her shoulders before giving way with two sharp snaps like the twangs of a bowstring, then the cups severed in front at the seam and she literally burst out of her panties (even parting the horizontal seam at the front of the gusset). Her garter belt snapped, too, but her stockings held, though they became uncomfortably tight. (She had the good sense to take off her shoes first, however).

More than satisfied, Judy had hurriedly removed the pendant: it promptly reverted to its choker manifestation and she to her female self: she could breathe freely again. In her executive bathroom, she removed the tattered remnants of her underclothing, managed to bend her garter belt hooks back into shape with her nail file and to smooth out her dress well enough so that no one would notice, despite the absence of a bra. On her way home that evening she stopped by the bank and locked the two pieces of jewelry in her safe deposit box. She was unusually aware of the winter air because she was not wearing any panties, which she rightfully took as a somewhat chilling omen of the charms' awesome powers.

Once home she had no trouble pretending that nothing was out of the ordinary. Gilbert didn't so much as raise an eyebrow. They had an ordinary evening with the children; Judy bathed them, read them their stories and put them to bed.

A number of weeks thus passed in unremarkable domestic fashion, with Gilbert never the wiser about what interesting changes lay in store for him on Christmas morning. Christmas was mostly for the girls; Gilbert expected a few nice pairs of socks and perhaps a couple of ties. As for Judy, Gilbert had bought her three rather costly silk bra, panty and camisole sets, which he knew would become bedroom attire: Gilbert quite fancied the foreplay of stroking his wife through the sensual intervention of silk and his wife liked it, too. They were sexually quite a compatible couple.

Judy possessed remarkable patience and self-restraint: she didn't touch the magic jewelry again until she retrieved it from the safe deposit box on the day before Christmas. She came downstairs late that night and laid the oddly-wrapped package on the top of the pile under the tree, like baiting a trap.

On Christmas morning Judy was delighted to see that her gift to Gilbert had had such immediate and pervasive results; she surmised, from his having been down in the guest room with its full-length mirror, that he had acquainted himself firsthand, so to speak, with his womanhood. She knew, of course, he would awaken hours earlier, as was always his custom, and so would have ample opportunity. Judy was not surprised that in his typical clumsiness he had broken the choker struggling to get it off. 'How very like him!' she thought. Judy had almost counted on Gilbert's breaking the choker, so well did she know her husband. And if he hadn't, she intended to break it herself, for Judy had much longer term plans for Gilbert than just a single day's switch.


So you see how handy a narrator can be, as otherwise you would not have learned these essential details of the plot! Now, having learnt them, let us rejoin the two women and get on with our story...


...As the two women, both of a size, crossed the landing at the top of the stairs and were about to enter their bedroom, Judy had just about run out of patience - she was fairly dying to put her choker to the acid test, and could hardly wait to set into motion the second part of her scheme.

But Gillian, at the last moment, standing on the bedroom's threshold and contemplating the drawbacks of womanhood, suddenly developed a bad case of cold feet, balked and pulled back, saying:

"Listen, Judy, I I'm not sure this is the right thing to do. I really don't think I should be putting on your lingerie. I might get into the habit. So why don't you fix that choker right now and let's change me back. I'll wait for you downstairs. I'll make you a nice sandwich, O.K.? This has been great fun while it lasted, but.... I d-don't know. I'm not sure I really like being... being... like this." (Gillian could not bring herself to say, "being a woman.")

She continued:

"I'm afraid... afraid I'll get..." but, unable to finish her terrifying thought, she began to sob, her little shoulders heaving convulsively.

Judy responded with convincing reassurance:

"Don't be silly, Gillian! Why be in a rush to change back? We have the whole day to ourselves and you haven't seen anything yet, honey. Trust me, you're going to enjoy this more than you can possibly imagine. And I know what you were just thinking. You're afraid of getting pregnant, aren't you? But that takes a man, and I don't see one around." So saying, Judy ostentatiously inspected the bedroom (even looking under the bed), while she mused to herself, 'I don't see a man anywhere... yet!' She guided Gillian, in motherly fashion, into the room by her elbow and over to the bed, sat her down, then joined her, gently draped an arm about her heaving shoulders and dabbed at her tears with a tissue. Gillian stopped her deep sobbing, but continued to cry quietly.

"See, you feel better about it already, now, don't you?" asked Judy. "Come on, let me get you something really nice to slip into. You'll like it, I promise. Besides, you can't very well go around anymore wearing boxer shorts, and with boobs like yours, honey, you really need the support - if you don't wear a bra you're sure to get stretch marks. If you don't want me to pick something out for you, pick out something yourself. Then I'll look at that choker, all right?"

But Gillian only shook her head, began to sob more loudly than ever and mumbled something unintelligible. Seeing that her transmuted husband would need considerably more forceful persuasion before she'd step into a pair of panties and put on a bra, Judy sought some pretext or other to absent herself for a few minutes. So she said, "Be right back, Gillian honey, I have to go pee," and she entered the bathroom, closing the door behind her while Gillian remained sitting forlornly on the bed, sobbing and snuffling her tears.

After several minutes Gillian calmed down and became still and alert. She listened intently, for she as yet had heard no feminine rill from the bathroom, nor rattle of the toilet paper roll in its holder, nor flush of the toilet itself. Gillian sensed that Judy was in the closet adjoining the bathroom, and not in the bathroom at all. Arising from the bed, she tiptoed in the direction of the bathroom and had just extended her hand towards the doorknob when Judy opened the door. Gillian gasped, brought her hand to her mouth and staggered backwards, her eyes fixed on the silver dollar pendant hanging about Judy's neck.

Only it wasn't Judy. It was a good-looking man about thirty-five or so, wearing Gilbert's bathrobe and smiling at Gillian, whose eyes, rapidly scanning back and forth over the man's face, recognized Judy's underlying features made ruggedly handsome.

Gillian gasped again. Judy's "plan" had at last dawned on her, though still dimly, and she began to laugh in a high, nervous laugh. The man began to laugh with her, but his was a laugh of enjoyment at the little woman's surprise and discomfiture as the reality of her position began to sink in and she desperately tried to pass it all off as some sort of prank.

"You... you... you got me that pendant, didn't you, Judy?" blurted Gillian, when her hysterical laughter had subsided enough for her to speak again. "All right, all right! Fine! The joke's on me! I'm laughing, see? You've had your fun, Judy. Now I'm ready to change back, so fix the damn choker and give it back to me. And you take off that pendant right now!" squeaked Gillian, and she stamped her little foot in ludicrous emulation of male anger.

"No, Gillian," replied the man, in an unruffled and resonant baritone. "I don't think you're ready to change back." He reached into his bathrobe pocket, extracted Gillian's ruined pearl choker and dangled it before her incredulous eyes. He laughed again - a happy, confident laugh, the laugh of one firmly in control. Then, with his strong hands, he stripped all the pearls off their strands and slowly poured them onto the hardwood floor, where they clattered like hailstones, bouncing crazily and scattering in every direction as Gillian looked on, aghast at what this man had just done to her future.

His arm over her shoulder, the man guided Gillian into the center of the bedroom and then turned to face her, placing two fingers under her chin and raising her tear-stained face so that she was looking up straight into his eyes. He now confirmed to her, in a low, sincere voice, what we already know about the real provenance of the choker. Then he explained his plans for their future in graphic detail to an increasingly horrified Gillian. She pushed away his hand and drooped her head, beginning to weep freely again at the enormity of her predicament.

The man - Julian - continued, "And now, my pretty plaything, let's pick up where we left off... You were about to get dressed, remember? while I sit here and watch you put on my... I mean your fine lingerie, the way you liked to watch me. I think it'll be rather interesting, with you the soft and penetrable one slipping into her silky underthings while I can just sit here and imagine how nice it'll be to peel them off you and you can imagine what it'll be like spreading your legs for me to impale you, taking me in as high as your adorable little bellybutton. I know you'll just love having my cock inside you, Gillian. Trust me. I know just how it feels. And if it hurts at all, it'll only be for a second." Yes, it was true that Gilbert had enjoyed leaning up in bed on one elbow to watch Judy slip into her lingerie. He had loved hearing the crisp little snap after she pulled her panties up snugly, plucked then released their delicate waistband with the tiny, flat satin bow at the front - that charming badge of femininity which adorned the voluptuous undergarments of women. He had loved seeing how Judy's panties clung so perfectly to her curves, making her convexities glisten. And he had loved watching the way Judy leant forward to catch her breasts in the cups of her brassiere as she put it on - moving smoothly, precisely, like a ballerina - and how she straightened up and fastened the clasp behind her with undulant grace, her hair swinging en masse like a soft pendulum.

And on those infrequent weekday mornings when Judy arose before he did, Gilbert had relished watching her roll on and fasten her stockings, twisting her head over her shoulder to see her back garters (for she eschewed pantyhose). He had liked to watch her drop her slip, then her dress over her head and zip up and smooth out her dress with crisp feminine efficiency. It was always a show, whether or not followed by lovemaking, and Judy always seemed to enjoy performing it for him.

Now the tables were turned, now she was the one who'd be putting on fine lingerie preliminary to being fucked, but with this crucial difference: not only had Gillian never been fucked, but she had never put on women's clothing before (much less fine lingerie), and if she absolutely had to, modesty dictated she do so in private and not in front of a man! She had no intention of making a spectacle of herself. Besides, she still had an inept male's congenital aversion to small hooks and eyes.

Gillian regretted ever having put that horrid pendant around her neck. That she was expected to disrobe and stand naked before this stranger was bad enough. But even worse was her increasing awareness of defenseless penetrability - and here was a man standing right in front of her, ready to put it to the test at any moment! Her mind flashed on the soft cleft between her legs - how unprotected and vulnerable it was, and just what this man was after!

The blunt physical fact that she could, like any woman, be fucked by a man was both frightening and revolting to her; she could not see herself - not yet - as a receptacle for the gratification of male lust, as a passive sex object to be ravished at a whim not her own. And now this Julian character was going to rape her! Right then and there! How supremely humiliating for her, so recently male, to feel another man's stiff cock thrust deep inside her, to be inseminated like a brood mare, to swell up with a baby, perhaps! And she could do nothing about it but spread her legs and let him fuck her! This man outweighed her by almost two to one, so physical resistance would be fruitless, and they were alone in the house, which sat on two wooded acres, so that no one would hear her screams.

Determined to bluff her way out of what seemed a hopeless situation, Gillian tossed her head defiantly, summoning all her reserves of resistance, and declared:

"No deal, Judy. I'm not going to do it! Period. And this talk about 'impaling' me is really sick. As if I'd actually let you - or anyone - fuck me! Do you think I'm crazy? Look, I admit that getting myself off downstairs was a treat, and that this body you've put me into is gorgeous. It was a turn-on for sure, but I have no desire to stay this way - I'm not crazy about having to pee sitting down or wasting an hour every morning putting on makeup and fixing my hair. Or doing my nails. Or having to find my own gynecologist (I'd never let that creepy Dr. Freiberg of yours lay a finger on me!) I'm not about to start doing the cooking and shopping and laundry, either. And you're nuts if you think I'm going to put up with bleeding down there every month and having to wash bloodstains out of my... my... "

Here Gillian faltered, unable make herself say the words.

"Out of your panties each month, you mean?" Julian brightly suggested, thoroughly enjoying Gillian's passionate denunciation of female inconveniences. "You don't expect me to wash them, do you? The trick, Gillian, is to get to the blood right away, before it sets. And never wear your best panties when you're having your period. Or just use common sense: try not to leak in the first place, which you shouldn't do if you just take the least bit of care, and make sure you always have carry pantyliners in your purse. They're the greatest invention since sliced bread."

Gillian visibly winced at this recitation, for she could not imagine any of it applying to her. Julian, perceiving her revulsion, rubbed more salt in the wound by adding:

"Don't worry, Gillian, I'll give you whatever you need - it's all right in there..." He gestured towards the bathroom with a deprecating fillip of his hand. "I'll even show you how to use everything, too. And if you do spot once in a while, I have some great stuff that'll get your panties spanking clean every time. There's a year's supply of it under my sink. I won't be needing any more, so it's all yours. You'll see, you'll get used to having periods in a couple of years or so... And remember, if you ever want to know anything, please don't be embarrassed to ask me. I'll be more than happy to answer any questions you..."

"Stop it, Judy!" Gillian shrieked, her face crimson with rage, "Shut the fuck up! I don't want to hear another word about it!"

Startled by the shrillness and force of her feminized voice, she froze for a moment, her eyes wide with surprise. Then she closed them tightly and plugged her ears with her fingers to shut out further discourse on the fine points of menstruation, and resumed her diatribe:

"It's never going to happen, Judy, because I am never going to have even one period, see? Never! And I will not be humiliated by trying on your panties and then letting you fuck me. No one is ever going to fuck me, because this has gone far already! I'll pick up the pearls and you'll fix that choker right now and change me back. And you take off that pendant right now and change yourself back, if you know what's good for you. You've had your little joke and I've had my fill of Christmas! Now it's time to..."

But Gillian was cut short: Julian yanked her fingers from her ears and immobilized both her wrists with one hand. The indigant little woman opened her mouth to protest, but before she could get a word out, Julian slapped her smartly with the back of his free hand, soundlessly and hard, raising an immediate welt on her cheek. Gasping in outrage, Gillian bent her face downwards and tried to bite his hand, but he was quicker than she was and grasped the short hair at the back of her head, yanking it so hard that she was forced to look straight up into his eyes. She sputtered incoherently, spat in Julian's face and kicked at him in impotent rage.

"So you think you've had your fill! We'll see about that!" Julian exclaimed, holding her head at arm's length and easily avoiding her kicks. He released her wrists and her hair, but before she could pummel him, he seized her right arm, twisting it tightly up behind her back, forcing her to her knees. Gillian grimaced and squealed in pain as she sank to the floor.

Julian wiped the spittle from his face with the back of his other hand. Inclining his face close to Gillian's ear, he urgently whispered, "Listen, you little idiot: don't fuck this up! I have everything perfectly planned, and I promise you'll have no regrets! Just do what I tell you or I'll break your arm, then I'll flush all those pearls down the toilet and you'll be stuck forever. Do you understand? Do you? " He wrenched Gillian's arm up another notch, forcing her to squeal sharply again.

"You haven't thanked me for your present yet," Julian continued, not waiting for Gillian's response, "But you will, believe me! You're going to end up giving me your heartfelt thanks for that pearl choker you broke. I guarantee it. And I am going to fuck you, Gillian, and you're going to love it and beg me to fuck you five times a day for the next year at least. And, if you behave, perhaps I'll oblige. As for all those other things you just said you'd never do, you'll do them, all right - and much more - and you'll like it, too! And don't ever call me Judy again while I'm wearing this pendant. I'm Julian to you now!"

Gillian writhed in pain, her face almost touching the floor. "Judy, you goddamn bitch, let go of me!" she shrilled. But Julian merely yanked her arm up even further and hissed:

"It's Julian, I told you! You're the woman around here now and I'm the one in charge. Is that perfectly clear?"

Gillian had reached her limit of pain. Her shoulder at the tearing point, she bit her lip and nodded her head so rapidly in assent that it seemed to be vibrating. Julian gave her arm one last little twist then released her. Sobbing spasmodically and rubbing her shoulder, Gillian slipped the rest of the way to the floor, but not before Julian had caught the tie at her waist and pulled it off. He yanked it so hard that it snapped back on itself, like a silken whip. Then he yanked off her pink robe, too, trundling her onto her back as he gathered it up, leaving her naked on the cold hardwood floor, both hands covering her face. After a minute or two he got down on one knee, scooped Gillian up and dumped her unceremoniously onto the bed - on her back - where she lay sobbing hoarsely. Then she rolled over to bury her face in the pillow, her body racked with anguish.

Perhaps half an hour passed, the only sounds coming from Gillian's gradually diminishing sobs. Julian waited patiently a while, then went into the bathroom, returned with a nail file and began casually to file his nails and buff them on the terrycloth of his robe, while leaning against the dresser. He glanced over to Gillian after doing each nail to see if she had finished her tantrum. Finally, Gillian left off sobbing, turned over and sat up, snuffling and wiping away tears with the back of her forearm.

"So what's it going to be, honey?" Julian asked with tight calmness, blowing the dust off his nails and looking over his curled fingers towards Gillian.

"All right," she said, her girlish voice quavering, "All right, Julian. You win. I'll put on your... I mean my lingerie, and you can watch me do it, but that's it! Then you'll fix that choker and change me back, right? And there won't be any more talk about 'impaling' me or how deep you think you can get into me with that... that thing of yours. The whole idea of you fucking me is disgusting!"

Julian remained silent, but raised his eyebrows, frowned and shook his head, tsk-tsking. He put the nail file down on the dresser, approached the bed, and, applying two fingers to Gillian's sternum, firmly pushed her down, once again on her back. Then, encircling her ankles with one hand, Julian skidded her heels upwards along the surface of the bed, causing her legs to scissor apart and her labia to gape just enough to reveal a narrow slit of lurid pink. Pensively pursing his lips, he regarded her furred cleft with its glistening slit for a full minute. Then he raised his gaze to her red-rimmed and swollen eyes.

"Don't be such a clueless girl, Gillian. I am going to fuck you and you're going to let me. And like it. And beg for more. It's that simple. You don't have a choice. Then maybe I'll fix your choker and then again maybe I won't. It all depends on how good you are in bed..." he said in a chillingly even voice, his hand remaining firmly locked around her ankles.

"Yyyou mean you're going to fuck me right now?" wailed Gillian, stammering and blushing beet red at being splayed like a whore for her client's pleasure. "At least give me a chance to get used to the idea. Just let me put on the bra and panties and you can watch me do it, if that's what you want, O.K.?" pleaded Gillian, stalling for time. "It's a great idea Julian, really, it is! I'll model them for you however you want. I can even try on different sets, all right? And anything else in your.... I mean my wardrobe. Just let go of my ankles so I can get up! And stop looking at me like that!" she protested, but neither did she try to get up nor attempt to close her legs even a fraction of an inch, which she could easily have done. For Gillian now clearly perceived, without the least doubt, that this Julian really did intend to fuck her, no matter what she wanted.

But what did Gillian want? Her body was dictating to her, telling her in no uncertain terms what it wanted. And now that she had done her best to resist Julian - and had failed - she was, with blunt feminine practicality, quickly reconciling herself to being fucked, finding the idea not quite so repulsive. And Julian, seeing the initial flicker of female lust in her eyes, felt his cock stir.

An aura of inevitability hung in the bedroom like a palpable mist as their eyes met in consensual ratification of what was about to take place between them. Then Julian returned his gaze to her cleft, contemplating it intently for a several minutes while imagining the new woman's initial shock at being penetrated - and how very brief that shock would be, like the first time a child feels the stinging effervescence of a carbonated but sweet beverage on palate and tongue. Under such alert male scrutiny, Gillian's labia began to swell and part, like petals unfolding, to display her vibrantly pink penetralia. The novel sensation of her cunt beginning to flower made her raise her head from the bed and glance down at herself. Her face no longer registered outrage or fear, but only dumb amazement at what was happening to her body.

His eyes still fixed on her slit, as if their gaze would open it further (which, in fact, it did, abetted by Gillian's spreading her thighs a little bit more), Julian finally spoke again:

"No, I'm not going to fuck you right this minute, Gillian. I'll give you some time to get used to the idea. But for now I just want to inspect the merchandise." So saying, he released her ankles and began softly to slide his broad hand up along the inside of Gillian's hairless milky white thigh.

Ankles free, Gillian at once pulled her heels higher up along the bed, spreading her legs more widely apart to grant Julian readier access. As she did so, her labia parted more widely as well, allowing an ampler view of her glistening depths. Julian turned and lay down beside her and slid his hand down from above, along Gillian's broad womanbelly, to rest the heel of his hand firmly on her mound. He extended his fingers downwards along the length of Gillian's petalsoft labia, gently opening them further. This was, after all, the way he had been accustomed to approach himself over the years, since the age of eleven or twelve- as Judy, that is. Now Julian slid his other hand under Gillian to scoop her buttocks. Gillian sighed softly in welcome surrender and lifted her hips off the bed for a moment to allow Julian to grasp her bottom a bit lower down, then nestled herself against his big hand.

Julian certainly knew all there was about how to pleasure a woman with his fingers, having been one himself all his life until this very hour, with the exception of the brief moment at the office. At first both his hands remained still, one pressing Gillian's mound, its fingers resting lightly on her labia, the other cupping her bottom. Then his skilled fingers entered Gillian smoothly and without friction, for she was fully lubricated despite her earlier protestations. Gillian closed her eyes and moaned softly as she felt herself start to flow like an estuary on a rising tide. Male outrage at having been so completely feminized - or what scintilla of outrage remaining - had slid so far from consciousness that it now dangled precariously by a fraying thread above the black abyss of amnesia - that very amnesia which Gillian had all but forgotten about!

Julian smiled, pleased at how slippery-wet Gillian was. Disengaging from her bottom, he slid his other hand a bit further downwards and entered her from behind, at the lower extremity of her cunt, a cunt which had never known stretching of any sort, much less penetration (Gillian's previous explorations with her small fingers certainly didn't count): she was, indeed, a new-minted virgin.

The intrusion of male fingers into her body made Gillian gasp in affronted astonishment as the penultimate ember of masculine consciousness glowed momentarily in shock and revulsion at what was Julian was doing to her. But Gillian's sexual responses (over which we all know a woman has no control whatsoever), were so ascendant - wavelets of intense pleasure began to course through her body under Julian's dulcet touch - that she felt her insides grow slack and outrageously soft and begin to glow like a lambent unwavering flame. Gillian glanced down and saw Julian's hands virtually buried inside her and slowly turned her face towards his. She stared at him, lids half closed over dilated pupils, her features blandly placid. Then Gillian smiled, too, a small, wan smile of kindling satisfaction and she did not turn her face away from Julian again. Instead she gazed languorously and without blinking deep into his large brown eyes as she had never gazed into anyone's eyes before.

Gillian, you see, was silently begging Julian to proceed. Julian knew that look well, having assumed it himself so many times in his life. So he proceeded, with redoubled inspiration (and redoubled effect).

Gillian's eyelids drooped, then shut; she moaned softly again as Julian's expert fingers pursued their knowledgeable and delicate work. She had by this time become so very wet that she could hear Julian's fingers probe her lush pink tissues and folds, making delicate little slapping sounds and constraining her to squeal each time he withdrew them and brushed over her clit with his featherlight touch. But suddenly Julian removed his lower hand and, bringing it up, seized one of hers, to draw it downwards along his muscular abdomen. Gillian tried to retract her hand, but Julian, easily overcoming her token resistance, dragged it relentlessly down all the way to his as-yet uninitiated manhood.

Gillian instinctively grasped it, at once appalled and amazed at how it felt in her small hand, which barely encircled its shaft. How veinstudded and menacing it was! Yet how smooth its cap with its delicately molded ridge! She could scarcely believe how urgently she wanted it inside her, to ensheathe it in her woman's warm softness all the way to its thick root! Now and not later! Gillian's last flicker of masculine consciousness tried feebly to muster indignation at what was transpiring, but she had become so molten under Julian's expert touch - in spite of herself or because of herself - that she no longer knew which nor did she give a damn any more one way or the other. She wanted only to claim her rights, to have a stiff cock thrust deep inside her, for in no other way could she possess the magnificent instrument she had so often wielded in her prior existence - except by becoming its scabbard.

Gillian sensed that she would be better serviced if Julian was more rigid still, so she began to stroke him lightly with her soft fingers. She heard Julian, for the first time, moan with pleasure as he stiffened to his limit. She ceased her stroking and grasped him firmly. He moaned again. Gillian felt him swell, then pulse under her grip; there was a surge of hot wetness on her forearm... and another and another and another...

To Gillian's dismay, Julian promptly withdrew his other hand from her cunt, leaving her empty and cruelly short of her edge. Her eyes brimmed with hot tears of female frustration, but she said nothing, biting her lower lip instead. Julian lay still for a couple of minutes, then spoke, very softly:

"Now get dressed, Gillian. It'll be much better this way, you'll see. Before I'm through you'll beg me to tear off your panties, I promise. Pick out whichever ones you want; I don't think you'll have the slightest hesitation now in putting them on. They should be a perfect fit. They're all in the top drawer..."

As if Gillian didn't know which drawer she kept her own lingerie in!

Gillian slowly arose from the bed like morning mist from a lake and glided with untutored feminine grace into the bathroom to wash Julian's stickiness off her forearm. It seemed to her that her feet were barely touching the floor when she dreamily floated back to the bedroom and approached her dresser. Julian reclined on the bed, propped up on one elbow, watching intently.

She would give him a really good show, she decided, as she turned her back on him and slowly drew open her lingerie drawer...

Click HERE to read the 4th and final chapter of "What Gilbert Got for Christmas."

Copyright © Edith Bennett Bellamy. All rights reserved.


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