Chapter 3: The Players Take The Field

There are, perhaps, a half-dozen places in the city to get a really good "big piece of meat" — at least, of the gastronomic variety. Morton's on North State Street is one of those, and a great place to see and be seen by everyone who is anyone. We valet-ed the Mercedes, then made our way inside. There was a moment at the coat check when I thought I would need a crowbar to pry the fur from Dianna's grasp. I quietly reassured her: a) it was only for a little while, b) wearing it into the dining area was just too ostentatious, even for us, and c) it would be there, waiting for her, upon our departure. She grudgingly assented, like a petulant child.

The hostess checked the reservation list for our name, then excused herself to check on the availability of our table. After she left, I leaned over and whispered into Dianna's ear.

"Lisa?" I asked pensively.

Her eyes danced.

"Lisa Layne, to be precise," she returned. I think it's absolutely perfect for you."

I thought back about all that had transpired in such a short time; the sex, the lingerie, the breasts, the corseting, the stockings. Now, she had just committed me to model with her, totally en femme, in front of an audience.

"Dianna, I don't know if I can..."

She turned fully to face me, pressed her body against mine and kissed my lips delicately. Meanwhile, hidden from view between our bodies, her hand massaged my raging hard- on.

"Just tell me to stop and I will," she murmured, fixing my gaze with her own.

I wasn't certain if she meant stop massaging my cock, stop feminizing me, or stop seeing me altogether. Was there a difference to her? What had I gotten myself into? When you got right down to it, was it really all that bad — or just... different? Who did it actually hurt? My marriage was a shambles and Susan, my once-in-a-lifetime love, was lost. Then, lightning had struck twice. This provocative, kinky woman promised a new, different, and utterly thrilling kind of relationship. Had I really, truly hated any part of it until now? Was I so willing to throw Dianna away, too?

"I can't," I replied. "I won't."

After I thought about it a moment longer, I continued with more resolve.

"I don't want to."

"You don't want to what, Lover?" she questioned softly.

Just let go...

"I don't want to... stop."

She smiled triumphantly and squeezed my aching cock in appreciation.

"As you wish, My Sweet," she purred.

The patrons and staff at Morton's are no strangers to Grand Entrances. Still, Dianna turned an entire roomful of heads as we were seated for dinner. The subdued overhead lighting still managed to ignite her sequined torso in a subtle flash of lights. Every male eye was riveted to her exaggerated, undulating, feline strut. She steadfastly avowed that, while dates had taken her out to dinner many times before, she had never been to this place, nor caused this much of a reaction before. I found that hard to believe, coming from a woman as drop-dead gorgeous as my companion. Still, I couldn't begin to describe how proud I was to have the fabulous brunette by my side and told her so.

"There you go again, Baby," she murmured, "pushing all the right buttons. A girl could get used to this."

"I'm counting on it," I smirked, as I seated her, then took my own chair.

She feigned a pique of indignation.

"Do you think you can buy my affections so easily?" she probed pointedly.

I shrugged my shoulders, smiled good-naturedly, and held up both hands, palms up, in a classic Who, me? gesture. She smiled, winked, then squeezed one hand in hers.

"Well, it's working," she continued. "Don't stop. I enjoy being pampered in the manner to which I hope to become accustomed. Seriously, there are no words to express what this day has meant to me. No one has ever, ever indulged me this lavishly, whatever their motive. This goes way beyond Pretty Woman."

"You don't have a fire escape," I pointed out, "and I haven't whisked you away in a limo yet."

"No?" She countered. "What do you call that little runabout we have been tooling around in all day? Should I expect to see a 'My other car is a Gulfstream V' bumper sticker in an attempt to really impress me?"

"Hmmm," I mulled. "Well, if that's what it takes..."

Dianna affected a glare of pure venom, then smiled and took my hand in both of hers.

"Stop that!" she asserted. "I meant what I said; the lingerie, corset, dress, heels, jewels, salon, and that fabulous fur... I adore every stitch, strand, and pelt — and adore you for treating me like a goddess."

"I'm glad you are enjoying it," I asserted. "You wear it all so well."

Under the table, she casually stroked the inside of my leg with her sandal-clad foot.

"Speaking of which," she smirked, "I am going quietly crazy thinking of you sitting there in lingerie, corset, and stockings — just for me. Your big, beautiful titties thrust out so alluringly."

That embarrassed me. I envisioned every other diner in the room undressing me with their eyes, reveling in my lurid secret. Dianna read my thoughts. She smiled, shook her head imperceptively, and squeezed my hand reassuringly.

"No, they can't see them," she confided, "although I would really like them to. Even without makeup and a dress, you are stunning. I have this irresistible urge to reach across the table, unbutton your coat, then unbutton the top three buttons of your blouse, spread the lapels wide, and show off your deep, luscious cleavage. I want the whole, wide world to know you are my little bimbo, and that you are doing all this for me."

"Do you really mean that?" I questioned. "I mean, we have known each other such a short time..."

"A week, a month, a lifetime," she interjected, "it makes no difference. Lisa — and I will call you that from now on — I have been with dozens, hundreds of men. None of them, no matter how important, how wealthy, how big, do to me, for me, what you do. When it's right, it's right; you just know it. How do you feel?"

"It's... I don't know what to say," I expressed. This is all so new, so... vastly different than anything I have ever experienced before. I should be... ashamed, angry, something."

Dianna surreptitiously placed one hand in my lap and massaged my inner thigh.

"Uh-huh," she cooed. "Then why is your cock so hard, it is threatening to rip right through your pants?"

I couldn't argue with that.

"That's just it," I replied, searching for the right words. "It is so daring, wicked, depraved, and... well, scary. As I said, I couldn't get you out of my mind all week. Since last night, I have been on an incredible, non-stop thrill ride. All this emotion, yet I hardly know anything about you. I feel like I want to... inhale everything I possibly can, to learn what makes you, you. I mean... who were you, before all this?"

I instantly regretted my words. Her eyes flashed in anger.

"What difference does that make?" she hissed. "I am not that person anymore. I never really was. I have spent my entire life wishing, dreaming, scheming, then busting my butt to become who you see before you. This is who I am, who I have always been in my heart. If there is anything you don't like about me, Sugar, get out now. I have done all the changing I am going to do."

It was time to do industrial-strength damage control. I surreptitiously reached under the tablecloth, up her skirt, found her engorged clit inside the calfskin thong, and massaged it gently. As I had hoped, the sensuous hide, rubbing against her sensitive parts, had an erotic effect. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes glazed over.

"I'm deeply sorry, Honey," I apologized. "I meant no disrespect. I feel like I've known you forever, but it's been barely more than a week. I am just getting out of a bad relationship. I didn't expect to have everything I have ever wanted — things I didn't even know I wanted — dropped in my lap so soon. I am desperately afraid the clock is going to strike Midnight and I will turn back into a pumpkin."

Dianna considered my words for a moment. Perhaps it was the words themselves, or my tone of voice. Perhaps it was the earnest look in my eyes. Whatever the clue, her visage softened. Her whole body relaxed, allowing my ministrations to have the desired effect.

"I'm sorry, too," she intoned. "I feel exactly the same way. I am just so used to tricks throwing my past in my face, as though I was something less than human. I didn't expect you to be the person you are, either. Sometimes we just get lucky. Now that we have — both of us — I don't ever want to be without you again."

I felt a huge weight lift from my shoulders. I smiled and squeezed her hand.

"I just don't see what you see in me," I lamented, "compared to the other guys you have known."

"Don't worry," Dianna mused, "you will."

"Would you really want me as 'Lisa'?" I inquired.

She squeezed my hand back authoritatively.

"As far as I'm concerned," my companion avowed, "you already are, just as I have always been the 'me' you see before you. Paul saw that in you, too, and he is a great judge of femininity - for a man. Kitty has seen to that. They have a very kinky relationship — just like us. The task before us is to help the conscious 'you' catch up with the sub-conscious 'you' — that is, if you are willing."

"How far will we go with this?" I asked nervously.

My lover merely shrugged her shoulders a little and smiled coyly.

"Who knows?" she observed. "I have transformed boys into girls before — and enjoyed the results along the way. Then, I was doing it to help them attain their own goals for femininity, just as I had. This is the first time I have had an emotional stake in the process. There are certain things you will need to do and learn if you want to model with me. I already know what to do about that. As for the rest... I honestly don't know yet how much I — we — will want to do. We will just have to make up the rules as we go."

Her foot casually stroked my stocking-clad leg under the table in emphasis.

"I do know," my lover stated with authority, "we have come a long way in a very short time."

"But what if we go so far that my cock, well..."

I didn't know how to continue that line of thought in words. It was so extreme. Yet, I knew it was at least a possibility. Dianna's eyes twinkled.

"Would you like that?" She inquired playfully. "Would you like to be my soft, submissive little sissy? I can make it happen. I think that would be sooooooo exciting..."

"No, no, no," I gushed - a little too quickly. "I was just asking 'what if?' I know I can please you without it, but... well, wouldn't you miss having a cock fill you?"

My companion turned serious and took a deep breath.

"Listen to me very carefully, Lisa," she intoned. "I don't want there to be any mistake or misunderstanding between us. If I want cock, I will have cock. That... won't... change. I am what I am and I will do what I do. That won't change, either. Cock doesn't define my personal relationships; it is merely my business. As it happens, it is also a need, like eating sleeping, and breathing. I can satisfy my needs anywhere. You satisfy my wants, my desires.

"Your 'equipment', or possible future lack thereof, is inconsequential. You have already proven beyond doubt you can satisfy me in ways no cock ever could or ever will. In turn, we have proven I can satisfy your desires quite nicely. Do not get stuck on stupid about me having sex with men. They are no threat to you, to us. I may not always be in a position to tell you about it beforehand. If I'm dating, or see a guy who makes me ooze, I will have him; that's what I do. I promise I will tell you about it later — not because I want you to feel jealous or hurt, but because I want you to be as excited, as turned on by it as I am."