Call 888-411-1230 for a phone session which plays out the Sissified Sleep Treatment in the story below. Mistress Alexa will give you certain words to fall asleep to, to jump start your transformation.

Dreaming by Vickie Tern

Oh, God, it felt so good! "Push that thing in deeper!" I seemed to cry out. "Deeper! All the way into me!"

Again the same dream, sort of. The fourth or fifth night in a row. Again I'm in bed with a gorgeous hunk of man who's pressing his groin against me from behind, his firm stomach slapping repeatedly against my soft, round buttocks as his thick meat slides into me and bottoms out deep inside, stretching my hole repeatedly, and I roll my ass on it blissfully to make full use of its feel. His hand clutches one of my breasts and presses it close, its fingers tweaking my fat nipple, and the other grips my clit, squeezing it repeatedly. I tense up and enter ecstasy for the third time this session, rigid with unspeakably intense pleasure, and then at last I feel him respond by pulsing far down within me. Filling me with man-juice. So utterly satisfying! Suddenly I'm no longer merely moist but slick and slippery, my insides lubricated by his cum! Drenched! I nearly faint with the joy of it as his softening flesh slips out of me!

"Oh, God!" I cry out as I realize that my own cum is spewing all over the bed sheets, not in my dream but for real, and I wake up just enough to realize it isn't a man on top of me but Laura, my wife Laura, still clutching my breasts, both of them -- my slack pectoral muscles really, barely anything there, but it did seem as if they were breasts. She was caressing their nipple tips with her fingertips, and it was divine! I was rotating my ass against her smooth belly, not some man's. The strap-on dildo she'd shoved into my butt had just somehow discharged a warm, viscous goop that filled me to overflowing.

"Oh, God!" I heard myself say aloud in a high voice, as if I were a real girl. "I do love this! I do!" I felt rapturous. I wriggled once more on the dildo.

"You see?" she whispered into my ear. "You do love it. Like me. Like any woman, you crave it! I've so wanted you to know first hand how women feel! Why we love it! You have no idea how satisfying this is! How exciting. So no more talk, sweetheart, tonight it all becomes real! After tonight, I promise you, you'll never look back! After tonight we'll live together in an altogether new way, much closer, forever and ever!"

I lay there in the afterglow, accepting as a fact that I'd just been fucked as if by a man, in my imagination anyhow, and that this time I'd felt no repugnance whatever. Only desire and gratitude as his cock had slid into me and filled me, completed me, and I'd moved my rear around on it, helpless, pinioned by its mass, feeling its heat, reaching for and exulting in its thickness. Exulting in my own femininity.

Knowing it was Laura the whole time? No, to be honest, this time I'd genuinely thought I was a woman with a man. Not Cary playing at being Carol, the way I'd been Carol for months now. Not a self-conscious cooperative husband pretending to be Carol, to please her and increasingly if inexplicably to satisfy himself, but actually Laura's dearest companion and house mate, her girlfriend Carol, the real thing. And Laura hadn't been Laura pretending to be a man this time. She'd seemed an actual man fucking me, making me feel like a real woman and glad of it. In my half-dream, anyhow. "

Whatever you did this time," I told Laura. "It felt the way you've been telling me it should feel. Not perverse, like our first time. Not servicing some weird desire you'd come up with. Not deliberately violating or humiliating my manhood, my masculine self. This time it seemed more ... more of a delicious opportunity. A privilege. I loved it! I was a woman, and that thing in me felt like my due, and I absolutely loved it. I was grateful the whole time! It felt so good! So very good!"

She was still on top of me, looking down at me from under her heavy lashes, a slight smile on her lips. "Oh, that's so lovely!" she replied. She seemed almost exulting. "I've so wanted to share that feeling with you! So you'd know what it's like! Why I love it so much and always want more! Now you too! Sweetheart, you're ready. At last! At last, from now on we'll both get enough of what we want. It's time!"

She'd never gotten enough before? Of lovemaking? We made love often! That last puzzled me.

She sensed it and clutched again at my chest -- my pectorals, though for months now she'd been calling them my breasts -- holding one in each hand, molding the skin over and over. "Hold still, sweetheart. I'll be gentle." Then she slowly withdrew her huge fake cock from inside me and let it rest against my crack, its tip just barely prying my ass cheeks apart. Gently. It was warm and wet. She kissed my shoulder.

"Can you still feel my stiff penis, Carol?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Don't resist," she advised me quietly. "Yield into it. You'll make me so happy!"

As she said that I felt an urge to press back against it and take it back into myself and slide my slippery ass up and down around it again. Slip it back into my ass and fuck it some more! Frenziedly! I resisted. I'm not that kind of girl! I'm not even a girl! And no way gay! I love women, their feel, their softness pressing on me! Like Laura's.

But what I'd just felt in my dream had been hard and hairy and relentless and ... reassuring! Comforting in its strength. Protective. And there it was again, that feeling, that smug satisfaction telling me, 'Be a real girl again! Slip that delicious cock into your body again. Snuggle yourself all around it! Make yourself complete! Take it in anywhere it fits!'

Laura's voice joined in. "Yield to your desires, sweetheart. Yield! Do what you feel you must do!"

I had to! But not with my ass yet again -- that was way too sore. So I wriggled down under the covers and felt for her cock where it was strapped against her mound, and wiped it gently with the damp cloth she handed me, and then grasped it gently in one manicured hand and lined it up with my face and then licked it. Crown, sides, velvety and veined underside, and wrinkled balls. Lovely, so pink and smooth, that tower! A perfect facsimile of a very large cock. So I took it into my mouth and swallowed it as far down my throat as it would fit. Easily, after all the weeks of deep throat practice I'd had, Laura encouraging me most nights, always before she was willing to fuck me with it. My lips closed on the base of its shank.

"Yes, sweetheart. Yield to your desires! Suck." My head rose and fell over it, and my mouth licked and sucked. Heavenly!

She sighed, contented. As I would have if it were my cock and it was Laura sucking on it. As I'd always sighed in the early years of our marriage, when our lovemaking had always begun with a gentle blow job. She was feeling what I'd felt then, sort of. I supposed. The other end of the dildo was tugging and pushing gently in and out of her pussy and rubbing against her clit as I bobbed and slid my head up and down on it. Yet another orgasm was rising up in her, and then her body clenched again! A series of high, throaty cries, and then "Oh, lovely," she declared at last in a high, breathy voice. Then "You're so very wonderful, my sweet Carol! Now we both need to sleep some more, you dear girl. Sleep."

I did.

When I awoke it was full daylight and late morning, my cheek still lying on her plump, smooth tummy, her cock still firm of course, its crown dawdling against my lips. Had I sucked on it all night? I suppose so, some of the night anyhow. I rolled my eyes up to see if she was awake. She was, looking down on me with such warm affection!

"So, no more uncertainty, darling? No more hesitating? We're of one mind? You're ready for the real thing now? Ready to complete yourself?"

My face sobered up. She saw, and her face sobered up too. She seemed disappointed. "You promised! I've honored all your desires. Now you have to honor mine."

All true. "No, no, I'm fine!" I said hastily. "I'll do it!" She relaxed, reassured.

Yet I still felt vaguely ... compelled. Tricked? These hadn't been my desires originally, not when we first began this ... role-shifting, this 'expanding of our horizons' as she called it. Becoming each other to better understand each other was how she'd put it. Meaning, me more like her. How many months ago? Has it been a year? Each night for more than a year spent sleeping in earphones, listening to recorded relaxation music and soothing, reassuring female voices. Even when I was on the road, staying in motels. If I missed even one I'd feel terrible, as if I'd betrayed her, so I never dared miss one. It had become a routine. Each evening after dinner I'd practice something or another, moving or sounding or looking the ways she showed me, and then we'd go to bed and she'd ask me a few questions and I'd answer them the way I remembered I should. Then I'd put on my earphones and the music and voices would begin, providing me with those answers again, and I'd sleep soundly.

It worked! For years I'd had trouble falling asleep. I'd been feeling guilty, sometimes for ignoring her, sometimes for not satisfying her, mostly for misunderstanding her and how she feels about all sorts of things. For spending too much time with the guys and not enough with her. She seemed to think so anyway, and those were the subjects discussed by the first female voices I'd heard when Dr. Marcus first recommended those recordings to help me sleep and -- as she put it -- to improve our marriage. Our 'togetherness.' Gradually I'd learned how to be a better partner for her, more sympathetic, more sensitive to her feelings and desires. And little by little I'd felt deeper satisfaction when I yielded to those desires, understood them, made them my own. Now, most of them were my own! Especially while I was asleep and dreaming. Even a desire to be fucked by a man, apparently!

"That dream seemed so real this time," I said. "I dreamt I was a woman, and a man was ... being passionate with me, and it felt ... simply marvelous! So very ... I just can't say! Am I turning queer? Is that a new recording? Maybe you slipped something into my wine last night?"

She looked offended. "Oh, my dearest, how can you think that? Not at all! No, your program suggests new desires while reinforcing the old ones, all so you'll know all the more about how women feel, what pleases us, how you can share those feelings and pleasures with us. That's all. Last night was no different from any other. We had dinner as we always do. Then we went into the living room as we always do and you practiced as you always do, last night it was just sitting and standing and walking as women do, as if your hips were wider and your torso ... heavier and more thrust forward. The way ours are. You asked me for your pills, the way you have to every night or you don't get them, and we tried on makeup and ... appreciated each other's bodies, as we always do. Same as always. You don't remember?"

Fact is, I didn't. For months I haven't remembered any of our evenings at home. We'd begun with those recordings to recondition me, that much I knew. As a desperate measure for my insomnia, and also because we'd been quarreling. It was an alternative to divorce. She'd been complaining that I'd become increasingly domineering and that some of my attitudes toward women had driven her away from me toward ... well, at one point she'd wondered aloud if she still had any love left for me at all. I never understood what she was talking about -- I'd always loved and respected women, especially her. Domineering? My mother had been a real estate executive who'd supported and raised us after my father abandoned his family. My older sister had always made sure that I respected her, as only older sisters can. I was meek enough in the presence of women, a perfect gentleman I always thought, though friends sometimes called it 'pussywhipped.' Yet, a few years into our marriage Laura told me I was becoming intolerable, and that her friend Charlotte had recommended a marriage counselor to her, a Dr. Marcus, who offered hope. Dr. Marcus counseled us together and separately, and then recommended this ongoing course of treatment. It worked, it was now my routine. Laura now felt 'liberated' from me and yet closer to me than ever. These days we were always affectionate with each other.

What treatment? The counselor had conditioned me to respond appropriately to certain words, and Laura used one or another of them each night. After dinner we'd settle into the living room and I'd practice moving the way she moved, feet close together and elbows against my ribs for example, or standing with toes slightly pointing toward each other, seemingly childlike and vulnerable, the way female models do. Sometimes talking the way she talked, using words like "precious" and "adorable," substituting higher and more mellifluous tones for my usual bass rumble, learning to giggle like a girl instead of grin knowingly like a man. All to better imagine and feel whatever she was feeling. After a few weeks of this, when we went to bed she'd invite me to kiss her crotch, even to make love to it with my mouth "as women do with each other," and I'd find I couldn't not do it! Nor stop doing it until she asked -- once she fell asleep with me licking down there, and woke in the morning to find me still at it, my tongue raw!

Always, as we settled in to sleep, she'd put a disk into her laptop or cue her iPad, adjust my earphones, and send me drifting off to sleep. I'd hear music and a woman's soothing voice and feel deeply content, and then come awake at daybreak! If it was a weekday I'd hurry to get breakfast in bed for her and then dress to get to work. At first to shave, choose which suit and freshly laundered shirt and tie, comb, then leave. More recently to shed my babydolls and shower off my previous evening's perfume, then choose an appropriately chic outfit and brush my hair into a restrained ponytail instead of the shaped bangs and loose flow Laura preferred for me whenever I was home. Just last week's visit to the salon, Elaine styled my hair for 24/7 easy care, to wear practically any way it falls and still look cute. I've found that much easier, and now need no more time than Laura to prepare for the day, select a suitable outfit and fix my face and so on.

"You do remember, I hope," Laura said as she looked me straight in the eye, confirming her own words. "This is the weekend we go clubbing. At last! We've been preparing you for quite a while, and the day has arrived. Maybe your dream anticipated it? Last night you did seem incredibly eager -- you pleaded for my cock, and you lubricated your own pussy and pushed your own fingers in and out of yourself while I was strapping it on, you simply couldn't wait for me!" She smiled indulgently, to let me know she altogether approved of that kind of behavior. "I know how you felt -- I'm that way sometimes too!"

I couldn't remember any of it. "Was I in some kind of trance?"

She nodded, and smiled to herself. Then to reassure me. "You could call it that, but no different from most nights. Same as always, honey, pretty much. Same as for a long time now. Though the effect is cumulative they say. Each evening you're a little more so."

"But this time my ... desires seemed so overwhelming! My body felt absolutely dedicated to the ... the man I was dreaming about! I thought I was a real woman!"

"Yes," she said. "I could tell. It was wonderful! You went wild with delight while I was fucking you. You yielded to my every wish without hesitation. You loved doing everything I suggested, uninhibitedly! You even ... well, never mind!"

"But how? Why? After all my ... resistance earlier, why should I have ...?"

"Oh, sweetheart, don't fool yourself any longer. Your 'resistance' in defense of those last traces of your supposed manhood? Your token shows of masculinity long gone? That's what we've been trying to overcome all these months! All that male stubbornness and possessiveness. And we've succeeded! You've brought out all your naturally girly tendencies and desires, even the ones you weren't aware of. You've come to love feminine things the way I do, now that you understand you always have loved them."

"I guess."


You know now that you come by female attributes as naturally as I do. Remember how you told me that once when you were twelve and alone in the house you tried on your sister's bra and panties?"

"I was curious how they'd feel, that's all. But I did it only once!"

"Because she caught you and threatened to tell if you did it again. Wasn't that so?"

It was so, and she knew that. I said nothing.

"But afterward, you dreamed about dressing up in all her clothes! Only in your imagination, but vividly! That was exciting too, wasn't it?"

I couldn't deny it. To move through the house with my sister's authority and self assurance, those were things I envied her. But also her clothes. To feel I was inside a pair of sexy panties was like feeling myself inside a sexy woman. Almost. The next best thing for a horny teenager. It felt incredibly erotic. I'd often beat off imagining I was hugging one or another of the girls in my high school class, or had actually become one of them. Imagining I had their figures, their beautiful thrusting boobs easily grasped by my hands any time at all, if I dared. True enough, I'd wanted to be a girl sometimes back then. To be inside one and feel she was inside me. "Yes," I said in as neutral a tone as possible. "Some."


Read the rest of Vickie Tern's story on (c) 2012 by Vickie Tern