By Guest Writer: Mike
Chapter 13 – Part 1 of 3 – Rita Takes Charge
Saturday morning came and with it the promise of another interesting day. My cock tented the sheets and that caused Cynthia to absently rub it, “just to keep me horny,” she joked, like I needed anything other than her in my bed to make that happen. Still, I knew that my three-week denial period had just started, so I brushed Cynthia’s hand away. She laughed and came back at me. She was a dog with a bone. My bone.
Her phone chirped and when she looked at it her face went white. “Shit.”
I couldn’t recall hearing Cynthia swear. “What’s wrong?” I sat up, the sheet falling off my huge chest. I glanced down, seeing my boobs, still not totally used to them, and then back to Cynthia. She had sat up and thrown her legs to the floor. She was looking at her phone with her face contorted into something full of worry and confusion. “Honey, what’s wrong?” I asked again.
“Rita’s coming over.”
“Shit. Come on, get dressed. This is bad.”
Now I was worried. Two swear words back to back and then the assertion that something bad was happening. I got out of bed and opened my own panty drawer. I pulled on a pair of simple white bikini panties with lace trim and a tiny pink flower in the front. They, like all my panties, were extremely feminine. No boring cotton panties for me. I put on a bra, finding the support to be soothing. While the bra put my tits out in the world, like stuffing a sock in your underwear, it also distributed the weight making them more comfortable.
Cynthia donned a pair of jeans, sans panties, and slipped on a Metallica t-shirt. I didn’t have such things to wear; I donned a jean skirt that ended just above my knees and a white camisole. Over the camisole, I slipped on a white button-down blouse that had sleeves that ended half way to my wrists. I ran a brush through my hair and put on some makeup. I was still a man in women’s clothing and the makeup more than hid that fact. Cynthia was all woman; she didn’t need the paint to disguise what she was, and isn’t that what women call makeup: face paint?
Cynthia was pacing behind me as I finished making myself look more like a woman. The makeup softened my features and the color highlighted what I wanted while hiding imperfections. Satisfied, I spun away from the mirror and took Cynthia in my arms. She was trembling. How bad was this? “Honey,” I said, trying to calm her and failing miserably, “Tell me what’s wrong? Did something bad happen to Margarite?”
“She knows you’re Adam.”
“My name’s Amy.” Wasn’t that my name? Did I used to be someone else? That seemed right and wrong and vague and important and now I was confused.
My face made Cynthia smile. It was weak, but it was there, “I love you.” She kissed me. “No matter what happens remember that.”
“You sound like a prisoner going to the gas chamber.”
She let out a heavy sigh, “Maybe I am. Maybe we both are.”
I made us coffee while waiting for our what? Executioner? Cynthia was worried and that had me worried. Did this have anything to do with that picture? I remember thinking that Cynthia had some blackmail fantasies, was that was this about? And what about my name? Was I going to be blackmailed, too? My name is Amy but that wasn’t always the case; I used to be Adam, too. The Wererock, that’s what it was. We had changed my name so that I always thought I was Amy, but the memories were there if I focused on them. I could answer to Adam if I was concentrating, but just hearing it shouted in a crowd and I’d think the caller was talking to someone else. Now, if they yelled out “Amy,” I’d turn without thinking. How did Rita learn my old name?
Cynthia was sitting at the table in the breakfast nook, staring out into my back yard. A few leaves were floating in the pool and beyond that the trees that lined my property stood like silent sentinels. I saw a hawk fly by and perch in a tree, looking down for a meal or taking a break. The scene was peaceful. Cynthia sipped her coffee, her fingers playing with the rim of her cup. She looked tense, her face wrinkled in worry. “She’s your best friend, right?”
Cynthia glanced up at me, “huh?”
“Rita. She’s your best friend, right?”
“Then she’s not coming over to hurt you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
To me that made no sense but right before I could ask her what she meant the doorbell rang. How did Rita know where I lived? That was the question I was asking myself as I went to answer the door. I heard Cynthia behind me, the chair she’d been sitting in sliding against the floor. Opening the door, I saw Rita wearing a pair of tan shorts and a yellow blouse. She saw me and grinned, “You had me fooled, Adam. Good for you.” She smiled at Cynthia, “Oh, and what do you think you’re wearing?”
“What?” Cynthia stopped ten feet from the door, standing in the hallway flanked by the openings between the dining room my unused formal living room.
“May I come in, Adam?”
“Amy. My name is Amy.”
Rita smiled and crossed into the room. From where I stood, I thought Rita exuded confidence and maybe a bit of malice. She was playing a game, but I didn’t know what it was. It felt like she was toying with us. Maybe she was. Then again, maybe it wasn’t a game.
“Let’s have a little chat, shall we?” Rita said. She walked through my house, glancing into the living room and the dining room. She walked into the kitchen and past it into the great room. The TV was off, staring back into the room. Rita sat on the couch and motioned Cynthia and I to sit beside her as she tapped the cushions on either side with the flat of her hands. “Come on, we have a busy weekend ahead of us.”
I didn’t like the sound of that nor did I like the victorious smile on Rita’s face. Cynthia took my hand and pulled me behind her. She took the seat to Rita’s right, I took the one on the opposite side closest to the kitchen.
“Rita,” Cynthia began, “This isn’t a good time.”
“Hush, you wanted this.”
By what Rita said I knew that whatever was happening started a long time ago. “Can I get you a cup of coffee or some water?”
“What a lovely hostess,” Rita remarked, looking at me. I don’t know who she saw. Was it Amy or Adam? “Coffee would be great. Milk and sugar please. A lot of sugar. I like it sweet.”
“Hush, I’m talking to Adam.”
“My name is Amy.” Why was it so hard for her to get it right? I got up and made Margarite a cup of coffee. Both she and Cynthia watched my every move. Rita’s eyes were predatory; Cynthia looked a bit frightened and maybe a bit hopeful, too. Something was going on and it was between Rita and Cynthia; I was just collateral damage. I refreshed Cynthia’s coffee and brought both cups back to the two ladies sitting on my couch. I returned to the kitchen to get a cup for myself; I felt I would need it.
Rita sipped her coffee, “You will make a lovely wife to Cynthia, dear. I approve.”
“Thanks?” What else could I say. That was an upgrade to her telling me she didn’t like me much.
Rita reached over and poked my chest. “Are those real?”
“What are you doing?” Cynthia asked, surprised by Rita’s actions every bit as much as I was.
Rita turned to Cynthia, “Why are you wearing pants and why are you not sitting right?”
“Rita, please. Don’t.” The idea that whatever was happening started long ago returned. Rita and Cynthia were best friends, that’s how she was introduced. Surely Rita knew all about Cynthia and if so, did she know about her kinks and fetishes? She’d admitted them at lunch the other day but was that the first-time Rita had heard of it? Surely, she did know or at least suspect, and that photo I had her send, was that the catalyst for this visit today? Had I set this in motion or was it something that had been brewing long before Cynthia met me? The stone didn’t enter my mind for another few minutes but thinking about it after the fact I was certain that everything that Rita did was orchestrated by whatever magic lived inside that rock.
Rita glared at Cynthia. They had a conversation that lasted about ten seconds without a single word being spoken. Cynthia stood up and pulled off her pants. “What a slut,” Rita laughed, “Where are your panties?”
Cynthia said nothing. She just sat back down and spread her legs.
“Well,” Rita said, “That was easy. I didn’t even have to threaten you. Still.” She rubbed her chin like she was thinking of something to do but sitting next to her and watching the scene play out I knew she’d had it all planned before she even rang my bell. Rita turned to me, “Go get her cell phone.”
I hesitated until I saw Cynthia give me a nod. I took a sip of coffee and then made my way to the master suite. Cynthia’s phone was sitting on the nightstand. I unplugged it from the charger and returned it to Cynthia. Rita had been holding out her hand but I didn’t give it to her. Maybe that was stupid, but Cynthia was my girl every bit as much as I was hers and I wasn’t going to give Cynthia’s phone away. Only she could do that.
Cynthia took the phone and, after unlocking it, handed the phone to Rita. Rita handed the phone back to me. “Take a picture of her pussy for me, Adam.”
I didn’t bother to correct her this time. She knew my name; she was purposefully being obstinate. I glanced at Cynthia who gave me another little nod. I’m sure Rita noticed it but she kept quiet. I opened the camera and took a picture of Cynthia’s pussy that was sitting open and exposed. I handed the phone back to Cynthia.
“Now, why don’t you send that picture to Derek.” She looked at me, “Isn’t that what you threatened her with?”
Cynthia shook her head, “No. Do you know how slimy he is?”
“Yes. You’ve told me hundreds of times. Just like you’ve told me all your dirty little fantasies. So, you’re going to send that picture. That one picture that doesn’t show your face or your tits. He might think it’s you, but he won’t know for sure. Then, after you send it, we’re all going to have a nice little chat. Well, I’ll do most of the talking. Although,” she glanced at me, “I’m sure you’ll both answer all my questions, so I guess you’ll be talking, too.” She grinned. “Come on, send the picture.”
Cynthia struggled with the command and that’s what it was. A command. An order.
“The more you defy me, the more revealing those pictures will be.” She snatched the phone from Cynthia’s hands and snapped a new picture of Cynthia sitting with her legs obscenely splayed and her face wearing a look of shock. “Now, send the one Adam took or the one I took. Your choice. In thirty seconds, I’m sending both.” She looked at the three-foot clock I had hanging on the wall, marking the second hand. She began humming the Jeopardy theme song just to make her point.
Cynthia, her hands shaking, texted Derek that obscene picture of her pussy. I could see the shame on her face and felt my heart break a little bit. Still, she bravely sat with her legs splayed and from my seat I could tell she was excited.
“Darn,” Rita said, “I didn’t get to thirty seconds.” She took a sip of her coffee and turned to me. “Let me see those titties.”
Another glance at Cynthia made Rita snap. “If you keep doing that, the pictures she sends will go to more than just her slimy ex-boss. Maybe I’ll have her post the pictures to the internet. Or her dad.” Cynthia blanched but gave me a nod just the same. Was that a go ahead to obey Rita fully or just take off my top and bra? I was confused and a little bit scared but, mostly I felt bad for Cynthia. How had this morning gone so wrong so fast?
I stripped off my blouse, camisole and bra and sat topless in front of Rita. Cynthia was still sitting on the couch with her legs spread about a mile apart. Glancing at Cynthia caused your eyes to drift to the apex of her thighs and the glistening flesh there. She was wet. Cynthia was humiliated and that shame was fueling her fantasies and making her pussy grow damp. At least she was enjoying part of this.
Rita poked my tits, lifting one and then the other. “They’re real. How did you do that?” I kept quiet, not willing to answer that question.
Cynthia’s phone beeped.
Rita kept playing with my boobs. “You have the biggest rack in the room. Unbelievable.” She pinched my nipples, just to make them hard. “They’re not falsies; they’re real. Astounding. Tell me, what do you have between your legs.” She looked at Cynthia who sat silently holding her undignified pose. “Do you have a wet pussy, too?”
That seemed to surprise Margarite, “Why not?”
I answered that question with ease, “I’m a man.”
“No. You’re not.” She lifted my tits again as if to prove her point. “How did you do this, Adam?” Dropping my boobs, she turned back to Cynthia, smiling that predatory grin again, “And you, little miss no chest. Don’t think I didn’t notice that your own boobs have somehow gotten a bit bigger? You’ve bitched about them so many times, but not anymore, right?” She snorted. “I bet those are just as real as his.”
We both kept quiet causing Rita to let out a little sigh. “Cynthia, dear, care to answer that question?”
“Tell you what. You can show me how you did it or we can have a nice little photo shoot. I’ll even invite Derek over and let him direct. Maybe even let him get in a few of the pictures; make it a real X-rated shoot if you catch my drift.” She wasn’t subtle, that was certain. “So, how did you do it?”
“Please,” Cynthia whimpered.
“Oh, shut up. You wanted this. You practically begged for it.” I learned a bit about their past as I listened to Rita lay out what she knew and why she was there. “How many times have you hinted at all the things you wanted me to do? God,” she didn’t sound happy but she didn’t sound angry either. She sounded amused, like a lawyer that had just caught the defendant in a lie, “How many times have you made some stupid bet just to wind up naked with no choice? I didn’t figure it out until after our visit the other day, but I’ve figured it out now. Well, I’m not giving you a choice in this.” She glanced at me and then back to Cynthia, “And Adam here. Adam didn’t have boobs when you met him. Yes, him. You told me all about him, remember. The man of your dreams, blah, blah, blah. Yet the other day you introduced me to your fiancé, Amy. How did Adam become Amy?” She hoisted my boobs again to make her point. “These are real. That doesn’t just happen.”
Cynthia’s phone beeped again, stopping Rita’s tirade.
“Well, you wanted me to embarrass you, so that’s going to happen.” She glared at Cynthia, “To both of you. Got it.”
Cynthia’s phone chirped again. Rita picked it up. “Derek wants to know if that’s you in the picture. See, he’s not sure. Let’s set him straight, shall we?” She punched a few buttons, setting the second picture to go to Derek. She showed the screen to Cynthia, “Shall I hit send or are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“It’s a rock.”
“Cynthia,” I said, suddenly very afraid.