Trading Places

Tara’s Tale

Let’s trip back to 1986. That’s when this wonderful life of mine really started.

Even though we were only high school seniors, Eric and I were like an old married couple already. We’d been steady for nearly three years, and we’d even lived together for two months, having shared an apartment since we turned eighteen. Unfortunately, also like an old married couple we’d begun to bicker a lot, and our sex life had grown ever more unsatisfying. But finally I saw my chance to solve both those problems. Adroitly I maneuvered Eric to right where I wanted him. Then I began putting into play a plan I’d already devised with a few friends of mine on the cheerleading squad.

Actually, we were more than just ‘friends’. Unbeknownst to Eric, I’d been bisexual for six months, cheating on him with a growing assortment of lesbian lovers.

I really had no choice in the matter – as I said, our sex life had become supremely unsatisfying. Football hero that he was, Eric’s most important equipment was unfortunately junior varsity. Even worse, he’d developed an incorrigible problem with it: premature ejaculation.

I never blamed him personally for either of these deficiencies. After all, we are how we are made. And was I not the homecoming queen, and the hottest girl in school? My hair was then and still is a thick burnished bronze, my skin flawless and tanned and my eyes a dark cobalt blue. My body has always been effortlessly fit and my ass and tits the envy of everyone. What male in the world could possibly keep from coming at the sight of me unclothed and closing in on him?

Still, endless sexual frustration is intolerable – at least for me. For certain significant others it may be exactly what they deserve. Anyway, I eventually found I that could only get off properly by riding Eric’s face.

He learned to be good with his lips and tongue, no doubt. And even better was the overpowering thrill I felt at holding him down, burying my fists in his hair, grinding my crotch in his face and even fucking his outthrust tongue. Yet soon even this wasn’t enough. I needed a proper cock, goddamn it! Luckily I then learned of a certain cheerleader’s clique that had suffered similarly, and had henceforth discovered some amazingly fulfilling accommodation.

I met them, joined them, and despite my lifelong heterosexuality, I quickly discovered an unquenchable thirst for having my pussy pounded with a big old strap-on dildo. More surprising still, after a period of delighted experimentation, I developed an even more insane craving for doing the pounding myself. Soaking up my classmates’ feminist wisdom, I eventually became so dominant that I wanted nothing more than to forcibly feminize my supposedly stud-boy football player boyfriend. I’d teach him how to use a fucking cock! The more he annoyed and disappointed me, the more determined I became to turn him into my submissive little lifelong sissy slave she-male slut-boy. And finally he gave me the opportunity.

“Come on,” he griped. “We’re going to be late! Why does it always take you so long to get ready? Curling your hair, making up your face, dressing and undressing over and over again, it never ends!

“Not that I want to go to this party anyways,” he immediately averred. “Your friends are always making innuendos about my dick, and that other little problem I have. Did you really have to tell everyone? I can’t go anywhere without hearing about the alpha male ape with the sub-zed dick. If we have to go, I want to get it over with already.”

Pissed off at his badgering, I was opening my mouth to tell him so. But then inspiration struck, and opportunity blossomed.

It was time to put an end to such tiresome bickering – and so much else – forever. Casually, giving no hint of my duplicity, I laid my trap.

“It takes time for me to look my best. You should appreciate it Eric: who else has such a hot girlfriend? We are the best-looking couple in school. We have an image to maintain. But I’ll tell you what: if you really don’t want to go to this party, we can stay home tonight. But that’s only on the condition that you let me live out a particular kinky thrill of mine. Let me show you what an hour or more of proper female care can do. Let me curl your hair, and make up your face. I’ve always wanted to see how pretty you might be with the benefit of a woman’s professional touch.

“It’ll probably turn me on so much I’ll go nuts, and fuck your ever-loving brains out,” I purred, “And who knows? You might find it exciting too. So decide, Eric. It’s either that, or we go to the party, my friends all ridicule you mercilessly, and afterwards I cut you off completely: no more sex forever. What do you say?”

Utterly confounded, Eric gaped at me.

“You…you wouldn’t…use sex as a weapon?”

Oh, yeah baby! In ways you can’t possibly conceive! Still, keeping this thought to mysel