Chapter 57 – Paris convinces Mal

I know I have to say something, do something, but the look on Mal’s face is so cool so confident that it’s almost convincing ME. His conviction that I want to be here in his grip is so strong that I have to take a moment to consider whether I do or don’t want to be here. Thankfully it doesn’t take long. No matter how good his lips felt on my nipple, no matter how enticing his hands feel on the flesh of my ass, I don’t want to be a man’s woman. Do I want to be a woman? That’s up in the air, but I don’t want to be a man’s woman. I don’t’ want to be MAL’S woman.

I shift a bit on Mal’s lap, feeling his hardness growing down his thigh and watching his eyes practically glaze over the jiggling of my huge breasts. Not wanting to fight both his hands and his mouth I keep my hands on either side of his head as I stammer out, “Mal, you’re wrong. Just wrong. I like feeling like this, but I don’t want to feel like this with you. It’s not right. More so, it’s just wrong.”

It’s not surprising that Mal doesn’t let me up. With as deep as he believes he’s right, I don’t expect him to just give up. And making him believe what I’m saying is true will be difficult while straddling his legs and flashing my tits in his face. His hands continue to flex and grip my butt as he relaxes back into the couch and grin up at me, “Really? You want to play this out? Okay. We’ve previously established that no real man would have put himself in the position you were in when we met. At minimum, there’s a latent desire to be feminine in you. To desire the touch of a man.”

I try to interrupt, not wanting to even give that much ground. I don’t agree that any establishment has been made that I’m not a real man, that I want to be feminine, and most certainly do not desire the touch of a man. But as I shift and prepare to speak Mal uses our position to emphasize that he’s in complete control here. A simple slap to my hip, the fleshy sound filling the room along with my gasped intake of air, is enough to silence my retort and allow him to continue. “From there you allow me to **** you into an even more compromising position. Mayhap you don’t want to be the bubbly happy perky secretary that I want, but the fact that you CAN play that part indicates that the underlying act, that of being a woman, is true. From there you progress so easily into giving me direct pleasure that it can hardly be called ‘****’.

This time Mal only needs a tap to my hip to silence me and let him go on, “Yes, I’ll freely give you that I did **** the issue, but I only had to use the most minimal threats, and I only had to do it once or twice. And as if the lovely feminine gift of giving pleasure wasn’t indicative enough, you also receive pleasure as a woman. You cried and cooed and came while my fingers danced over your panties that night, long before you were fully presenting as feminine down there. Afterward, while you can claim mistake after mistake, the end result is that you presented yourself AS feminine down there.”

While Mal makes point after point, my hands slowly lose their grip on his head. It’s clear he’s not going to make a move back to my nipple, so I finally let go and let my hands rest on his shoulders. At least there he’ll be less likely to feel me trembling. I KNOW he’s wrong but he’s laying out his points like a lawyer would in a court of law, and if I were on that jury, I’d believe him. At least beyond a reasonable doubt. “It’s natural for women to want their men to work at pleasing them. Some want their man to show off their feathers like a peacock, some want brute strength, some want demonstrations of wealth, while others need confirmations of ingenuity. You, through this prosthetic, showed a desire for ingenuity. I’ll give that it was likely on a subconscious level as it’s clear that you’re struggling with these desires, but it was still there. You stopped me from pleasing you as I had but wanted me to find a new way. And as any good man would, I refuse to let my girl go without pleasure, so I found a way. It was adorably MORE feminine for you to want me to finger you to orgasm rather than rubbing your vestigial penis.”

I can now only stare at Mal, wondering if anybody would believe me verses him. “That brings us to your new act of presenting yourself to me. You have discussions with your gender therapist, your surgeon, your surgeon’s partner, and your surgical gender therapist all regarding your feminizing procedures. You then walk into my office as I’m hearing them describe this to me and demand that I let them do it. I can see where a mistake could be made. A horrible mistake for a man that doesn’t want to be a woman. But that many mistakes? All building off one another? All compounding to the point where a world class team of medical professionals takes a man and changes him into a woman? Face, breasts, hips, waist, skin, hair, and ass. And as much as you complained about the prosthetic that you claimed was a mistake, they had to remove it for your procedures, but then put it back on? Another mistake?”

Mal’s eyes bore into mine for a long moment before he quietly goes on, “That level of mistakes, blunders, and errors, is so unbelievable that were I reading about it in a novel I’d throw the book away and demand a refund from the author as it went beyond unbelievability and into the realm of pure fantasy. So, we won’t even entertain the idea that this wasn’t at least partially voluntary and desired.”

Mal’s hands start moving again, caressing the sensitive skin of my hips and ass before moving up to grip my waist. As I’d had nightmares about, his hands are able to reach completely around me, holding me tight like a toy. “That leads us here. I kiss you, I feel you, I caress you. I undress you and I pull you down onto my lap in an overtly sexual position. I then suckle at your breasts making you gasp and coo and wiggle in my lap so enticingly. And when you stop that, and cry foul, I talk for…” Mal glances around me at the clock then returns his gaze to me, “…fifteen minutes with you still straddling me cowgirl style, bare breasted, and you want to propose that you don’t want to be here?”

I’ve heard that if you gaslight a woman hard enough, present her with fact that are simply wrong over and over again in a convincing manner, that you can make her doubt herself. Doubt the truth that she knows. I never believed that before, thinking it was just some psycho mumbo jumbo. But sitting here and looking into Mal’s cocky grin, I can now believe it. Do I want this? Is there a part of me, buried deep under societies expectations, that wants this?

NO!

I shake my head violently enough to clear it that my hair whips Mal in the face. He can say whatever he wants but he is NOT in my head and I do NOT want this. After a deep sigh I fight the urge to look away from Mal’s convincing eyes and say, “That’s all fine and good Mal. It sounds convincing. If you were to tell that to me as a stranger, I’d believe it. But I’m not a stranger. I’m the MAN sitting in your lap. I’m the MAN that’s been surgically scarred. I’m the MAN who’s had to act like a woman for going on six FUCKING months now. And I’m the MAN that’s blackmailed legally and morally into staying this way by both the corporation I work for and the very man trying desperately to believe that I sexually want him.”

I close my eyes and focus myself again. I hate admitting any of this, especially to Mal but he does read people so well and if I hold back, I know that he’ll sense it and believe I’m holding back some latent desire to sexually be with him. When I’m ready I open my eyes and continue softly, “Can I honestly say that I haven’t found joy in playing at being a woman? No. Even sexually. I enjoy the sex I have with both Grace and Trixie. Girl on girl. It’s erotic and sexy and confusing and hot and… and yeah, it’s something I’m okay exploring. But I do not like men. I do not like being touched by men. I can fully take away the fact that you are black mailing me, that you’re the very one forcing me to be here and not letting me run screaming out of this office right now… and I’d STILL not want to be here because you’re a MAN. Like me.”

Mal’s hands flex around my waist, as if I needed another reminder of my now permanently changed feminized body, but his eyes show he’s considering what I said. As much as I believe Mal to be cruel and wrong and evil for blackmailing me into this position, I have to admit that being this close to him has let me learn a lot about his inner workings. He certainly doesn’t see himself as a ‘badguy’. He can certainly justify doing a lot of bad things, but there are lines he doesn’t cross and the longer he thinks about this, the more I believe I’ve established one of those lines. While I don’t like the idea of manipulating people like Mal does, I know it’s a skill set that he’s taught me. I just happen to hate the toolset I have to use to manipulate. Softening my stiff posture in Mal’s lap I slowly bring my hand up along Mal’s neck and run my fingers through his hair in an affectionate manner, “Look, I’m sorry that I look like this now. I know you say it’s fantastical to occur the way it did, but it WAS a comedy of errors that gave me this body. I didn’t want it and I know it’s like throwing a big red cape in front of a bull like you. We don’t have to change what we’ve been doing. I know you can’t go get sexual pleasure like you used to and that your wife isn’t helping, so I’ll still… do… you know… that. But there’s no more to be had here. I just don’t like men and you don’t want to **** that on me. Do you?”

Just like that, the last bit of Mal’s resistance melts away. He too relaxes under me, releasing my waist and resting his hands on my thighs, “No. I don’t fully believe you Paris, but I won’t **** you to move faster than you want. Now I’m afraid you know just how excited this has made me and we DO have a busy day ahead so…”

I expect Mal to let me get up and get dressed while he pulls his pants down but he simply pushes me back until my butt is resting more on his knees than his lap. With deft hands and minimal shifting around he opens his pants and pulls out his cock. I hate that I’ve seen it so many times that I can recognize when it’s harder than normal. He really IS turned on right now.

Even as I consider Mal’s level of arousal, he grabs my wrists and pulls my hands to his cock. I can only hope that this position, me topless on Mal’s lap, isn’t the new ‘office handjob’ position that Mal wants. But not wanting to fight any more, wanting to get this over with and get the day going, I slowly start working my hands up and down his girthy length. Instead of relaxing back into the couch, Mal leans a bit forward, moving his hands again to caress, grip, and knead my ass. Which itself is easier now that half of my butt is hanging off his knees and feels enticingly good.

After giving an inadvertent extra show of my breasts wiggling and jiggling by bending backward to reach the lotion and lube up my hands, I proceed to work Mal over. In our previous most common hand job position, with me sitting next to Mal, I was able to direct my face downward and avoid looking at Mal or letting him see my eyes. I let him think I was staring at his cock while in fact I’d direct my eyes almost anywhere else. His pants, the couch cushion, my elbows… anything other than looking at his manhood and certainly not looking into his face. But now, sitting on his knees with one hand gliding up and down his cock and the other cupping and holding his heavy balls, I have only two options as we’re now face to face. I can either look at the man I’m jacking off in the eyes or direct my gaze downward. But if I look down, I have to look at his cock as he’ll see exactly where I’m looking.

Neither situation is desirable. Looking into Mal’s eyes is like being hypnotized by a snake. I can see more clearly what he likes, what pleases him, and I can’t help but learn from it. To emphasize my new lessons and make him feel even better. Looking at his cock pointing back up at me is to see my own small, dainty, long fingered, hands working over a porn sized cock. Neither offer any kind of mental escape from the action I’m performing. Neither let me be an innocent bystander to Mal getting a hand job from a bare breasted sexy blonde secretary. Both **** me to acknowledge that I AM that bare breasted sexy blonde secretary.

There are so few victories in my life these days that I take them whenever I can. The fact that Mal obviously wanted this hand job to last, and that I denied him that means it’s a victory for me. Even if that victory means I’m getting really really good at giving Mal a hand job. When he’s finally shot his load and I have it cleaned up he releases me from his lap where I can pull my skirt down and start getting my bra and blouse back on. As I straighten my clothes Mal moves behind his desk and slips back into his jacket. His words come out as calm as ever, as if he hadn’t just had a stripper in his lap for the last hour, “I thought we’d talked about your glasses before. I don’t want you wearing them in the office. Take them off.”

I look back at Mal with a smirk and get one last little victory, “Tough. The eye lift they gave me made it so that I can’t wear my contacts. Unless you want me nearly blind, I have to wear my glasses.” Taking a page out of Mal’s book I continue as if what I said wasn’t going to royally piss him off, “I’ll get you a fresh cup of coffee and then get to work.”