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The Christmas Gift, Pt. 13
🕑 Added 2023-03-04 12:14:13 +0000 UTC
I looked up at Sam in disbelief, my hand resting on Andy’s pregnant belly.
“Oh my god.” I whispered, steadying myself on my feet, my heels clicking with every shuffle on our hardwood. The room was spinning. My hair fell in my face and Andy reached up her lithe hand and pushed it back behind my ear.
“Honey, are you okay?” she said sweetly.
I nodded. “Yes.” Something kicked into my hand. My eyes trailed down to the cleavage Andy’s swollen pregnant breasts were creating in her dress. A hint of her teal satin bra could be seen from this angle beneath her dress, the cups tracing a rounded path to hold her breasts close, a cute little bow at the middle where they met, and just a hint of her dark, pregnant areola peeking through.
I took a deep breath and gazed back to Sam.
“You knew?” I could feel my satin thong cupping my pussy and the gap between my legs. I stood legs straight, balanced precariously in my high heels. My thighs were barely touching.
Last Christmas they were pressed together, and between them, my balls would have hung. I was wearing boxer briefs last Christmas, they wrapped around my upper thigh, and — you must pardon this colloquialism — there was plenty of room for my junk to breathe. Now, I had no junk. There was no carry-on baggage tucked into my panties. I was rendered smooth, and I was complicit. I had settled my balls into the steaming bath of my own volition and shaved them smooth. And now they were pulled taut against me and a warm, flowering slit lay at their center. Sam was wearing briefs now, and I wore underwear that barely covered anything. Both my ass cheeks were naked under this dress, exposed to every movement of the soft, green velvet. My covering was held in place only by the thinnest strip of fabric rounding my wide, feminine hips. I flexed, trying to remember my cock, and my pussy squeezed around nothing. I flexed again, delighting in the absence of my cock in the crotch of my snug, satin thong. It felt good against my clean-shaven pussy.
I glared at Sam, “You knew.”
He nodded. My gaze relaxed into a grin.
Oh, Sam.
He walked over to me and put his arm around me, pulling me into him firmly. My arm and breast settled delightfully into his side. My head tucked gently into his shoulder.
“Andy. Brad. I’d like you to meet our beautiful hostess for tonight — this is Eddy.”
“Hi, Eddy," they said. My ears perked up again at the new pronunciation of my name coming from the lips of our guests. The novelty of the long E vowel sound. Everyone had called me Eddie — even my name had been feminized.
“I don’t know about you all, but I’m starving,” Sam laughed. His hand fell from my shoulder, sliding down my side and settling low on my hip, hidden from our guests. Then it fell further to cup my butt. I bit my lip and tried not to look shocked. I could feel his fingers grip the plumpness of my right buttcheek and squeeze. “I fired up the oven outside earlier and Eddy prepped all of the toppings so we could be moving when you arrived.” He squeezed my butt again. Soft velvet scrunched between his hand and my flesh and I felt a slight sympathetic tug at the base of my pussy. I bit my bottom lip.
“Why don’t you girls get everything prepped and Brad and I will get the fire ready.”
“Sounds good to us!” Our guests turned and began making their way to the kitchen. Sam squeezed my butt again, firmly. I caught my breath. Why did I like being handled this way? And then, as if to say get moving, he gave my ass the slightest pop with his full hand. Fuck. I fell into my first step, catching myself at the last moment with my heel and continuing through the living room on my way to the kitchen, my mouth agape, a pained look of desire in my eyes as I met Sam’s eyes over my shoulder. I gave him a look that amounted to: oh, fuck, what are you doing to me? Message received, he simply grinned and gave me a wink. I watched him look down at my ass and then back to me and nodded like a goof. I shook my head and rolled my eyes with a giggle. Boys.
I exaggerated my walk, bobbing my hips, giving Sam something to look at as I clicked my way into the kitchen. Sam opened the fridge when we arrived and fetched two beers, popped them open, and handed one to Brad — formerly Bridgette.
It was time to play hostess.
It was just the girls now.
“Andrew — I mean, Andy. Can I get you some wine? We just opened a bottle. It’s a nice dry Primitivo.”
Andy set a large bag of gifts down on the table and turned, pointing at her belly with a wry grin.
“Oh!” I laughed. “Oh yeah. Sorry, I forgot.”
She laughed back. “Don’t worry. It’s getting hard for me to forget!” She pulled out her mom’s famous spinach dip from the bag and set it down on the table, then put both hands on her tummy. “Honestly, I have to pee so badly. This thing is pushing on my bladder all the time now. Powder break!”
I smiled and nodded as she took her leave, struck again that my once male friend was pregnant. I watched her totter out of the room toward our guest bathroom.
We had been texting over the last few months and Andy had never said a word about any of this. I thought of her receiving a text from me. Responding back to me with a dance of her feminine thumbs and manicured nails. Lounging on her couch, texting, pussy between her legs.
How long had Sam known about this? I wanted to be angry about it, but it seemed like a silly question to even bring up. Ultimately, when presented with a box of lingerie, a pouty face from my wife, and a meekly uttered 'Just for Christmas,' I had chosen to take the pill. To experiment. I could be upset that Samantha tainted my pancakes with not one, but two pills if we weren’t going to be taking them anyway. Somehow Samantha knew that I would say yes. Why?
I heard a clink and looked up to see Sam and Brad outside, standing by the grill, cheering their beer bottles. Brad threw his arm around Sam laughing and the conversation immediately amped up into a boisterous display of male camaraderie. To me, their voices were but a deep baritone murmur vibrating through our windows. Sam poked the fire in the pizza oven, and Brad looked on, furrowing his brow with interest at the process. I stood washing lettuce in a colander, my feet already a little sore in my heels, and the uncanny sensation of lugging around two beautiful breasts in a push-up bra.
So much of human exchange can be understood by body language alone, and I watched their gesticulations knowing Sam thought he needed more firewood. It had begun to snow. Small flakes danced languidly to the ground and I could see by the lights on our back porch that they were sticking in the lawn. It was getting colder. I could feel the chill from the window over my cleavage. I could hear the muffled sound of the toilet flushing and the sink turning on in our guest bathroom.
The men’s breath, deeper from their larger lungs, rose in clouds of fog. Brad turned and ran through the snow toward the wood pile out back and Sam followed. They brought back large armfuls of wood in their muscular arms, tossing them to the ground next to the furnace. Then they ran back again. The guest bathroom door creaked open and I could hear the click of Andy’s heels slowly approaching the kitchen. I fixed my hair and stood up straighter. I took a deep breath and my tits billowed up and down on my chest.
“Are you seeing this?” I muttered.
Andy strolled up to me and put her arm around my waist and we gazed out the kitchen window. Sam and Brad were chatting and laughing beside the woodpile. Suddenly, Brad stepped aside, near a section of brush near our back fence. His legs stretched into the unmistakable upsidedown "V" and his arms fell to his sides. He was laughing and Sam laughed as well and walked over to stand beside him, falling into the same stance. We watched on as a burst of steam rose from the ground between their feet into the winter air.
“That’s the only thing I miss,” sighed Andy. I nodded knowingly.
We stood there in our heels, Andy and I, her thin arm around me, and watched our husbands pee in our backyard.
“Wait — the only thing you miss?”
She shrugged against my shoulder and looked at me with a scrunched-up expression and a grin of confession. “Pretty much.”
The men shook. Then Brad’s gaze shifted to his right. He saw something near the fence. I could see him rummage around for a moment and then produce it in one hand. My football. So that’s where it was.
He held it high and Sam ran deep for a pass. Brad cocked his arm and sent one flying, right on target. I smiled. Sam was definitely not going to be catching a pass. I recall Samantha standing, two hands outstretched, fumbling every ball. Through the snow, Sam leaped and caught the ball gracefully, tucking it into her arms and planting her feet. And then, she let one fire back at Brad — a rocket of a pass. I stood in shock.
They tossed the ball back and forth as Andy strolled over to our kitchen table, lugging her pregnant belly. She sat. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get off my feet. Oof!”
I poured the lettuce into a bowl and began cutting cucumbers. I could believe how large our chef’s knife now felt in my tiny, feminine hands.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Andy said. “While I miss peeing standing up. I don’t miss having a cock.”
I turned to her, curious. “What do you mean?”
She laughed. “C’mon, Eddy. You know what I mean.”
I sighed and looked back at the boys playing in the yard, my response trailing off. “I’m not so sure.”
“You have to admit though. It’s nice when you make them hard.”
I nodded. “It is.” Thinking of Sam’s cock and feeling a jolt of energy through my body. “It really is.”
“God. And when they come. . . ” whispered Andy. "I love it. I love seeing my wife's cock explode."
I nodded. It felt funny to admit it. And I knew that Andy understood all the more. I had been a woman for hours. She had been one almost a year.
I lifted the cutting board and scraped the cucumbers into the bowl. “Was it you who wanted this?”
She shook her head softly. “No. It was Bridgette.”
I fetched the bottle of wine and poured a glass, glancing outside at the two men drinking their beers. I quickly lifted the wine bottle to my lips and took a swig. I guess I would be the only one drinking wine tonight. Any other night I would have been out there drinking beer, tending the fire, and throwing the football.
Two spots in the very back of our yard still steamed in the night. I took another swig of the bottle, trying to regain my male, devil-may-care bravado. But it didn’t feel right in this context. In my dress. In these heels. I set the bottle down. I took my wine glass in both hands, my long nails clicking against it, and sipped. No, this was better.
“Andy, do you want to go to the living room? Our couch may be more comfortable for you. Join me."
She nodded. “As long as you help me stand up!” I laughed and helped her up. I poured her a wine glass with water and passed it to her. I was glad when we arrived in the living room to see Sam had started a fire in our fireplace. It was warm inside. I was relieved we weren’t out there with the guys. It felt good being just the girls for a minute. I added a log to the fire and then sat down next to Andy.
“So this was Bridgette’s idea.”
She took a sip of water and collected her thoughts. “Bridgette got the job in Cincinnati. It was too good to pass up.” She sighed and shifted in her seat, reaching her hand to pull her dress around her thigh. “So I said 'okay.' I’d been doing everything remotely but I had also hit a lull in my work.”
“Your art.”
“Yes,” she took a sip and settled the bottom of her wine glass on her tummy. “I was tired of doing what I was doing. The style, the approach, etc. And worse, everyone expected me to do it the way I had always done it. I needed a change, too, but I was reluctant to set it in motion because I was scared of the blowback. So — “
“You did nothing.”
“Exactly. I was very much out to sea without a paddle.” She threw her arm back and settled into our comfy couch. God, Andy’s breasts were hard to ignore. I assumed they had grown even more since she got pregnant. “So when Bridgette got the job, there was no reason for me not to say yes.”
I took a sip of wine. I was watching Andy talk as much as I was listening. Seeing the familiar glint in her eyes and the way she talked, but hearing it anew — a new feminine timbre, high pitched in her throat, her words rolling out like a song — and seeing it: feminine expressions, a flick of the wrist, a sweep of the hair. Conversation among good friends invokes deep connection, and lulled into our chat, I could feel my shoulders relaxing at my friend’s feminine presence — and learning from it. I crossed my legs. Usually, I would have rested my ankle to my knee in a wide cross, but now I tucked my thigh over the other and bounced my leg slightly over. My thighs pressed together.
“But how did you decide to change?” I leaned forward when I asked this, touching her knee softly in interest, then sat back shoulders straight. I could see a print of lipstick on the edge of Andy’s glass, and I looked down to my delight to see the same at the edge of mine. I smiled slightly and swept my hair behind my shoulders and waited intently for her answer.
“The movers packed our house and went ahead of us. We loaded the car up with clothes and some sundries and set off across the country, driving well into the night” Andy looked into my eyes, blinking only occasionally and I was drawn into her story.
“Bridgette was driving in Wyoming, and right when we got to Cheyenne, she turned off-course and headed south to Denver. I told her she was going the wrong way. And she shook her head and insisted that she wasn’t and that we would be taking a few days' break in Denver. She said it was clear I had been stressed and feeling interrupted and that, when she got to Cincinnati, things would be very busy for her at work. This was her little surprise. A break before our new lives started. ‘Think of it as a second honeymoon,’ Bridgette had said.”
Andy swept her hair from her face. My eyes perked up. Oh! I liked her earrings. And then I realized, her ears were actually pierced. Twice. Two small diamond studs rode high on her lobes and beneath them dangled long, elegant earrings that tickled the sides of her neck. She looked incredible. I wondered to myself for a flash about the history of earrings, the ancient peoples who had made the first penetration of flesh to decorate their bodies, and why it looked so nice. I wondered, too, if Andy noticed mine had been clipped on — and I also felt a bit jealous because I wouldn’t be experiencing the entire feeling of beautiful earrings dangling from tiny holes in my earlobes before changing back.
“We arrived at the hotel late — a beautiful five-star hotel. I was shocked when we pulled up and the bellboy opened my door.
I turned to Bridgette and she said ‘Andy, I see that look in your eyes. And, yes, this is a luxury hotel. It is very expensive. Don’t worry. I’m paying for it.'”
I smiled knowingly and sipped my wine, turning my glass to leave another clean impression of my lipstick, resolving to excuse myself later for a refresh of the crimson hue.
“It should have struck me then because she had never called me Andy. I wrote it off as her trying to sound serious and to be honest, I was so struck by how beautiful the hotel was I forgot all about it.” Andy bounced in her seat giddily. “Oh, Eddy! You wouldn’t believe the lobby. Everything was so ornate and abuzz. The porter greeted us and the bellboys took our luggage and led us to our room — a huge lavish suite with a king-sized canopy bed, a separate large living room, a luxury white-tiled bathroom, and a breathtaking view of the mountains.”
“Wow! That sounds amazing.” I chirped.
“Bridgette tipped the doorman and the door closed. She stood for a moment and then turned. ‘I bought you something,’ she said. She opened her suitcase and pulled out a large rectangular package wrapped in brown paper and handed it to me. I knew immediately from the impression in the wrapping that it was a painting, feeling in my hands the frame the canvas was stretched around. I opened it. It was beautiful. Immediately I admired it for its style, which was so different from mine. Sure strokes of generously-applied paint, executed by a brilliant hand.”
“What was the painting of?”
She bit her lip. “It was a nude. A naked woman on her hands and knees in a canopy bed, a bed strikingly similar to the one that stood in the bedroom of our hotel room. The expression of the woman in the painting was dripping with contented pleasure. I was so struck by it. I gazed into her eyes and they seemed to gaze back. Her breasts were exquisite, to the point I was aroused looking at the painting. Around her neck, she wore a beautiful diamond choker.”
I pressed my thighs together more in my cross-legged position. I was already wet from Sam’s handling of my ass in our entryway. Now, I was riveted by the story coming from my friend’s beautiful lips; even more, I was struck because I knew how the story ended. I could hear the baritone murmur of our husbands cutting up outside, and, though my tummy was rumbling, I prayed they wouldn’t be done with the pizzas until her story was over.
“I told Bridgette it was beautiful. And then she said, ‘I bought you something else,’ and handed me a long, thin box. The box was white. I remember it shined brightly in the dim lighting of our room. I opened it.”
“What was it?” I leaned forward in interest. Andy’s gaze darted to my displayed cleavage and back to my eyes.
“A beautiful diamond choker.”
I gasped.
“Bridgette then took me by the hand and said, ‘Andy, I want you wearing this around your neck in our canopy bed when the head of my cock spreads your pussy wide.”
I gasped again, feeling a jolt in my clit.
Andy blushed. “Perhaps, I should be embarrassed to tell you this,” she said, biting her lip, “but I’m not.” She sighed. “I know you understand.”
I nodded nervously, feeling suddenly empty. Did I?
“I looked at her confused. For starters, she always called me Andrew. I remember thinking I had misheard her. My eyes searched hers and she repeated it again. ‘Andy, I want you wearing this around your neck in our canopy bed when the head of my cock spreads your pussy wide.’ I was a bit in shock — I honestly felt penetrated to the core by her words — and I looked down at the painting, settling my eyes on the woman’s breasts and her form in the dim light of her room as she lay contented on the canopy bed. Bridgette ran her hands through my hair and remarked, ‘Do you notice she has blonde hair? Like you.’ It took my breath. I looked up at her confused and said, ‘But how? I don’t understand.’ And that’s when she held up the pill. It was pink.”
“God.” I bit my lip.
“And then I saw it.”
I sipped my wine, and spoke, breathing a light fog into the exterior of my glass, my hand shaking. “Saw what?”
“I saw it in her pants. It was hard. Bridgette was hard. I looked back at her and she said bluntly, ‘Hurry up and take it, Andy.’ She then smiled and added, ‘I took mine in Cheyenne.’”
“Oh, fuck. Did you protest?”
“I wanted to. But — ”
“But?”
“Instead I took the pill and rushed into the bathroom of our hotel room. My hands were shaking as I took a glass, removed the paper cover from its mouth, and filled it under the sink. I looked at my reflection and popped the pill in my mouth. The pill was sweet against my tongue. I didn’t know it but this was the last time I would ever see myself as a man. The last time I would ever see Andrew. I took a deep breath and half-considered spitting it out. But then I brought the glass to my lips and swallowed it in a rush of water.”
I nodded, my mind reeling. I didn’t know how to respond. The fire in the fireplace cracked and popped. The muffle of voices from outside continued. Deep voices. Our men.
“I hung the painting in my study, and I look at it often. I know Bridgette had planned it all well in advance, but the painting feels like a prophetic illumination. I stood on the cold tile of the bathroom, knowing Brad was waiting for me, as my blonde hair grew into lovely ringlets over my shoulders, and watched my breasts bud and swell from tiny mosquito bites into round, gravity-defying tits that rode forward on my chest.”
I listened, aching.
“They hung beneath me when I climbed to the bed and took my place in its center. I leaned forward a moment and let my nipples slide pleasantly along the soft sheets that would be our bed for the next few days. Then I pushed back up to my hands and knees, delighting in the swing of my new tits. Brad stood in the room in front of me, his huge cock in hand. I had put the choker around my neck in the bathroom. I watched his eyes take in the painting that had made come to life before him. And then — “
“And then?” I took the last sip of my wine, my hand clutching my thigh, desperate for something to hold onto.
“And then Brad strolled around the bed, climbed into it, and I waited in place as he settled in behind me. And then, with the choker around my neck, he spread my pussy wide with the head of his cock, and fucked me in our bed as I watched the sunrise over the mountains. His cock pushed such sounds out of my feminine throat. I moaned so loudly at one point the guest in an adjoining room knocked on the wall. I imagine what he must have heard and it makes me wet even now.”
Oh, god.
“We never left the room. We fucked. I let Brad take me any way he wanted. We ordered room service. And I fell asleep in his big arms. The most restful sleep of my life. By the end of the weekend, I was convinced. My choice was a no-brainer.”
“Your choice?”
“I woke up on the day we were to check out. Brad's cock was hard as he slept. It was pitching a tent in our sheets. I roused him with my tongue and mouth and took him all the way."
Oh. Fuck.
"Then I walked to the bathroom and popped three pills into my mouth along with his come. Three pills remained from our weekend. I popped all three and made it permanent. It's a dose the body can't bounce back from. To be honest, I was probably already pregnant. Either way, it was the easiest decision of my life. The pills sweetened his seed so delightfully in my mouth, and I swallowed down my little throat, looking proudly at my reflection in the mirror — feeling like myself for the first time in years. Checkout wasn't until 11. I went back and climbed on and rode my husband reverse cowgirl while watching my breasts grow another cup size — an overdose of pills can do that. I rode Brad into the sunset, so to speak. And that was that."
“Wow.” I took a deep breath, searching for an adequate response. “That was a beautiful story. Congratulations, Andy.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, beaming, and added, “I’m the luckiest woman alive. And, as I said, there's nothing I miss. I certainly wouldn't trade being a woman to get my cock back, not after all I've felt." She giggled and leaned forward to touched my knee, "but I'm sure you know all about that."
I nodded nervously and smiled back. "Yes." Then I said, in my best hostess air, “If you’ll excuse me a moment, Andy, I need to use the little girl’s room and then we’ll see if our husbands can feed us.”
She laughed and sat back. “Good, because I’m starving!”
I uncrossed my legs, planted my heels, and stood to my feet. I strolled out of the living room, clicking my way down our hall into the dimness of the guest bathroom. A candle flickered on the counter, casting dancing lightly over my reflection as I turned and locked the door.
I stood for a moment, gazing at myself. Eddy — the hostess.
Then I pulled up my dress and snaked my fingers around the waistband of my thong and pulled it in one smooth movement to my knees and let go.
My thong fell around my ankles.
With my dress still lifted, I bent over the counter and dove two fingers inside of my aching pussy. It was already so wet and swollen, my fingers were coated lavishly in only one thrust. I reached for a bath towel and took it in my teeth, trying to be quiet as I could while I commenced to fuck myself wantonly.
God. Andy’s story — Fuck.
I reached my other hand down beneath me to dance in a flurry over my clit as I stuffed my fingers into my pussy over and over, thinking about the king-sized canopy bed, the luxury hotel room, and Sam behind me, spreading my pussy wide and then fucking me on my hands and knees as my moans resounded on the walls around us. I let my imagination run wild, wanting him deep.
My left tit broke free of my bra and then my dress, and bulged on the counter. I eyed my pink nipple as it glowed sweetly in the candlelight, and I fucked myself, bucking against the counter and pushing back to meet my thrusts. The energy from my earlier interrupted orgasm collected anew in my clit and in mere moments I was riding the edge of what I knew would be an earth-shattering orgasm.
I felt it.
I felt it close.
Suddenly, I felt in control. Unashamed of my explorations. Savoring my fingers and the cool air against my exposed nipple. I threw my hair back, my fingers in a flurry, riding my clit right to the edge of the cliff, thinking of my husband's thick cock pummeling me. And then, in a series of tight figure-eights, brilliantly executed by my tiny fingers, I took myself over the edge.
My body snatched forward in a jolt, teeth clenching hard to the hand towel which was now wet with my drooling, muffled moans, and I came in multiples, the flesh of my tits and naked ass bouncing and rolling in waves with my eruption.
Oh, Sam.
.
.
.
Thank you for reading! Have a great weekend.
Comments
Gaius Marius Titus
This is amazing you’re best series this far and I can’t wait to read more and see the series continue.
I’m so glad you’re enjoying it!
