A Touch Of Mink

She had done it. Sable had not satisfied herself with my looking and acting like a woman. With Darien's help, she had had me altered, transformed into a woman to suit her whim. My heart was pounding in my chest. I was barely able to stifle a scream. For all of the radical changes, there was one more twist of the knife that held my undivided attention. It was the rich, shiny deep cocoa tone of my soft, supple skin.

Somehow, some way, they had made me…Black.

I sagged against the wall and sank to a sitting position. Tears poured down my cheeks. I trembled uncontrollably. I blindly reached for something, anything to cling to, to comfort me. The only 'security blanket' my hand could locate was a stainless steel bedpan on the shelf under the sink. I clutched it to my chest tightly, rocking back and forth, sobbing. My mind could not comprehend the enormity of this monstrous act. I knew what came next. This was just like the plot of at least a hundred of those Fem-Dom horror stories on the Internet. Now that she had me right where she wanted me, she would sell me to some whorehouse or throw me out on the streets to fend for myself, unable to prove I was who I claimed to be. Who would believe it? In the meantime, she would live the life of comfort and privilege my millions would provide. Had me where she wanted me?Like Hell! The jumble of thoughts in my head began to coalesce into a single direction. I was going tofight!

Pressing my back against the wall, I pushed down with my legs, rising to a standing position. Taking one last look in the mirror, I turned to exit the bathroom – and walked right into my loving wife, who was approaching the doorway from the other side. There was a look of horror in her eyes.

"Sweetheart, you're awake! Before you sayanything, there is something I have to explain to y…"

WHANG!

The movement had been pure reflex. My arms had swung sideways at full extension without conscious direction on my part. I listened in wonder to the sound of the bedpan slamming into the side of Sable's head. She sagged against the wall and dropped like a sack of potatoes.

I had to act quickly. She had been alone, but I knew that would not last long. Looking for clothing in the room's small closet would be a waste of time; I hadn't been wearing much when the bitch had sedated me and I doubted she dressed me for the trip to the hospital. I had no idea how long ago that had been; days, weeks, months. I knew I had to get out of this place in a hurry, before I was back in their clutches. Gazing down at my unconscious spouse, I had an inspiration.

Fifteen minutes later, I was making my way through the first-floor lobby and out the door, trying my best to move naturally – at least, 'naturally' for me the way I was now. All the lessons were coming back unbidden; heel-toe, heel-toe, head up, back straight, shoulders back, undulate the hips. Sable had done her job well. She had even been nice enough to provide me with an outfit to wear, right down to the purse and high-heeled shoes – hers. It seemed only fitting; she had gone to all that trouble to make my body a duplicate of hers.

I confirmed I had been in the hospital adjacent to the professional building where Darien Morrissey had her office. I had expected, hoped for that. The two complexes shared a common parking structure. I hurried from level to level, pressing theUnlock button on the key fob repeatedly until I was rewarded with the welcoming double-chirp from our Mercedes coupe. I slipped behind the wheel and brought the powerful engine to life. After pausing at the booth to pay the parking fee, I left the parking lot behind me with a screech of tires, headed for home as fast as I could. My mind was outracing the car, fighting emotion with reason, attempting to settle on a course of action.

I may have inherited my money, but I also learned full well how to manage it. While there was a generously-provisioned joint account from which we drew the means to enjoy our comfortable lifestyle, I had had the presence of mind to put the bulk of my estate in a living trustbefore Sable and I had walked down the aisle. Only I knew where and how to access that wealth. Now, it would be my lifeboat. Lifeboat? More like an attack craft.

The gate opened with its customary smoothness at the touch of the remote, then closed behind me. I was home, safe – for now. I had left Sable out like a light. I had her purse, wallet, keys, car, and clothes. That would buy me a little time. I exited the car, taking the remote control for the gate with me, then unlocked and entered the house.First order of business: immediate security. The home security system – including operation of the main gate – was tied into the desktop computer in my den. I booted up the system, logged on, changed the gate code, then adjusted the remote accordingly. Next, I called the alarm company, recited our security code, and removed Sable's name from the list of the home's authorized entrants. Then, I called the locksmith and expedited the replacement of every lock in the house. They promised to be out before the end of the day.

Next step: secure my war chest. The wall safe yielded fifty thousand; the amount I normally kept there. That would be fine for the locksmith and other immediate needs but not for any long-range plans. There were advantages to owning my own bank – at least, fifty-one percent of it. I had established a series of 'sleeper' accounts which I had revealed to no one. I logged into one through the bank's web site and activated it, then transferred the balance from our joint account to it. That, plus a transfer from one of my accounts in Zurich, brought my balance up to two point five million. Now I was ready to do battle.

In passing, I noted the current date and time on the computer. Three months had elapsed since I had last been there; three months since my wife had betrayed me in a way few could ever contemplate. I had lost three months of my life, time I had spent in limbo and would never get back. What else had it cost me? What else would I never get back – aside from the obvious?

Third step: gather my army. I e-mailed Howard Brightman, my attorney. Howard had been only a little older than my current age and fresh out of law school when his prestigious, politically-connected downtown firm assigned him to the team that handled my parents' account. He had known me all my life. Although he was now a senior partner, it had never occurred to either of us to have someone else handle my legal affairs. He hadn't been particularly thrilled with my choice of brides, but had always been a good and loyal friend and confidant. It grated on me that I could not just pick up the phone and call him. My voice had been altered along with the rest of me. After hearing it in the course of my previous calls, I realized it was certainly attractive enough, even seductive. There was no way Howard would recognize it as mine.

I included personal information in the e-mail, things only he and I would know, to establish my credibility. I would save the impossible-to-believe stuff for the face-to-face meeting I was requesting. I thought back to the 'consultation' Sable and I had had with Darien Morrissey. "What can I say? You were right," the doctor had confessed to my wife. Then, they had…. I wasn't sure what I would arrange with Howard, how terrible a revenge I would exact on the two women and anyone else involved, but I felt I owed him those same words.

Then, I called a private security company I had done business with in the past. I arranged for a half-dozen bodyguards to baby-sit me for the next week. That would give me a chance to get a feel for the force to be arrayed against me – and decide if my 'babysitters' would be needed on a longer basis. Sable had friends who didn't play by the rules. I had to be ready foranything. I hoped the muscle wouldn't be needed, but then, I hadn't thought I would need it that early Friday morning, either.

I found my cell phone on my bedside table – right where I had left it. Bless her heart, she hadn't given it to her newest studmuffin. Then again, which one would she give it to? The phone calls began within a few hours. Sable was at a disadvantage; her cell phone had been in her purse. I could have unplugged the home phones and turned off my cell, but this was entertaining in a perverse way. Caller ID became my best friend. I dismissed the "private caller" calls out-of-hand. From there, it was just a question of seeing who my wife would use as her surrogates.

I took the call from Derek.

"Hey, Sweet Thing," he opened. "I heard you were out of the hospital. How are you feeling?"

"Just fine, Lover," I replied spritely. "I was a little weak at first, but I'm getting better by the minute."

"A littleweak, huh? That's not what I hear."

OK; his call was definitely not a coincidence.

"I was thinkin'," he continued. "What about you and me get together tonight? We need to get re-acquainted."

"Sure, Sugar," I cooed. "It'll be just the two of us - and my six bodyguards to watch over me. It should be real cozy."

Silence; thenclick.

There were other calls from other friends –her friends. The call from Darien Morrissey didn't surprise me; it infuriated me.

"Ms. Fabray, this is June from Doctor Morrissey's office. There seems to have been some misunderstanding at the hospital this morning. The doctor is most upset you left so abruptly, without talking to her first. She wishes to speak to you about it. Please hold and I'll put her on."

Click! I couldn't slam the receiver back into the cradle fast enough to suit me.

Fucking cunt! It wasn't bad enough she had done what she did. She called it a 'misunderstanding' and wanted to lecture me like some child for having the temerity to flee her clutches. Ifthat wasn't bad enough, she had had her receptionist place the call. I despised arrogant, self-absorbed little twits who couldn't be bothered to place their own phone calls.

I spent all of Tuesday morning at the beauty salon. I did not go to Sasha's; I didn't think that would be a good idea just yet. I had seen the salon on my way home Monday morning. It had struck me as odd to see attractive Latina and African-American women going in and out of a salon on a Monday, when other salons were closed. Upon completion of my other business Monday afternoon, I found the number through Directory Assistance and made an appointment.

On a lark, I had dressed in the same leopard-print leather top and miniskirt outfit I had worn on my first trip to Sasha's salon, right down to the jauntily-positioned wide-brimmed leopard hat and clutch. If anything, the outfit fit my curves better now than before. My titties spilled out spectacularly over the already-revealing top. I had to admit, it felt good to strut self-assuredly in those outrageously-high stiletto heels again. I chatted with Sadie, the salon's owner, while she worked on my hair and her nail tech re-applied the over-the-top nails the hospital had evidently removed. The esthetician confirmed she had, indeed been open the previous day.

"I just got this place," Sadie beamed proudly. "I've only been open a month. Maybe later on I'll close on Mondays. Right now, I want the business. Girl, you areway too underdone for the way you are dressed. Let me do you up right."

I liked her attitude. I certainly appreciated the work she was doing to rebuild my self-confidence. After all the trauma of the previous day, it felt good to feel good about myself again. For now, I would set aside my complex inner rationale for feeling good aboutthis self and just enjoy the moment. When she was done, my reflection in the mirror echoed the overstated, alluring style Sable had instilled in me months before. I felt like a million dollars. I didn't tip Sadie quite that much, but I made certain she knew I appreciated her hard work. I'm pretty sure it made her day, financially.

I met Howie Brightman at an open-air café for lunch. He had been seated at a table next to the sidewalk, the two separated only by the low wrought-iron fence. I could feel his eyes riveted on me as I strutted proudly by him on my way to the entrance. Dressed, made up and coiffed as I was, I was certain he thought I was a hooker. I played the game, glancing sideways at him, smiling, and winking. As I passed, my tush undulated like it was on rails. He was dumbfounded when the waiter seated me at his table moments later.

You can imagine how difficult it was to convince him I was me. When I finally did, and explained how I came to be the way I was, I thought he was going to have a stroke. If Sable had been a man, he would have ripped outher balls. He knew the consent waiver I had signed would be their principle defense. He would subpoena the form and put it under the proverbial microscope.

He would also rattle Darien Morrissey's cage; send her a copy of the complaint he would file with the state board of medical regulation, the American Medical Association, the State and U.S. Attorney's offices, and the news departments of the major broadcast and cable networks. He admonished me I might have to go public in order to pursue her – and it would get ugly. If we went through with it, she might not be prosecuted. She might not even lose her license to practice Medicine. She woulddefinitely get 'face time' before the cameras – in a decidedly unflattering light. Howie wanted to see howthat would impact her practice.

My divorce from Sable was a given. Even now, in this 'anything goes' era, there is some behavior in a relationship that simply cannot be excused or explained away. He didn't see how any judge or jury couldnot agree Sable had crossed the line. He promised to return to the office after lunch and begin drawing up the papers.

Throughout our meal and discussions, Howie had had his eyes glued to me with what seemed like much more than professional courtesy. A girl picks up on such things.Howie, what is on your mind? I thought.Let's find out. I opened my purse and removed my compact, lipstick and lip brush. Crossing one leg over the other with a subtle rasp of stocking-on-stocking, I applied a thick, creamy coat of Burgundy Cherry lipstick to my overfull lips. I peered over the top of my compact mirror to see Howie staring at me incredulously – along with most of the men within line of sight. The bedazzled attorney became aware of my return gaze and flushed with embarrassment.

"I don't even know what to call you," he intoned with embarrassment. "It just doesn't seem appropriate to call you…"

"Mink," I interjected with a small shrug of my shoulders, "and I would be delighted if you called me that. I really don't see how I can use my boy name anymore. What's the point?"

"The point is," he responded with an edge of venom, "they are not going to get away with this. I will make it my personal mission in life to see you get justice."

I raised one eyebrow and smiled a bemused smile.

"Dear,sweet Howie, I can always count on you to look out for my best interests. The fact is, they havealready gotten away with it. What's done is done, whatever we may do about it now. Having said that, I can't think of anyone I would rather have on my side. You are the best of the best and a consummate professional. I wonder; is that your…only interest?"

He blushed again.

"For what it's worth," he began slowly, I think you make a…really attractive woman. I can't believe I said that. I hope it doesn't offend you."

I was beginning to see my attorney in a whole new light. He was still in his forties and obviously worked hard at maintaining his trim, firm body. The demands of his profession had wreaked havoc on his marriage years before. I knew he had never re-married, and if he was in a relationship, he had never discussed it with me. My instincts now told me our lunch together had sated one hunger – and fanned another. I had always considered him distinguished-looking and personable. Now, I realized he was… more than that. It took only a moment to move my chair next to his. I gently placed my hand on his and squeezed lightly. He made no attempt to remove it.

"It doesn't, really," I confided. "In fact, I find it…flattering."

I arched my back, thrusting my fantastic new titties out suggestively. I held my forearms up limply, bent at the elbows, and gently swept my hands down and out in a classic "look at me" motion.

"You like?" I asked.

I seemed to be very good at making Howie blush. He glanced around furtively.

"Yes, very much. It's just that… I mean… well, you look like such a…slut."

He had murmured the last wordsotto voz, as if not wanting to be overheard.

I didn't have much experience with men – not this way – but I was learning fast. Most women would have taken that remark as a mortal insult. Some men would have intended it as such and let the woman know, spitting out the words in no uncertain terms. Howie had not done that. He was coming across like some awkward, conflicted schoolboy who couldn't find the right words to express what he really felt. Perhaps there is something to 'female intuition' after all. My companion had just revealed more about his inner self to me than he would care to admit – at least, that was the way it seemed to me. Just to be sure of his intentions, I snaked my other hand into his lap and rested it on his inner thigh. The bulge I found there confirmed my suspicions. He made no attempt to removethat hand, either. I began to gently massage his raging hard-on, smiling coyly.

"I don'thave to," I purred. "Ichoose to. This is me now, for better or worse. I would like to find some way to thank you for being so… understanding."

Hormones were kicking into high gear. I massaged his dong more firmly. It responded by growing larger.Hmmm, that has to be uncomfortable – being in that cramped, confining little cage. I've got a place for you, Big Boy, where you can stretch out as much as you want!

"You could take me to dinner some night this week – unless you desire something more…immediate."

I felt the sudden twitch beneath my fingertips.Hit it right on the head, didn't I? Sorry, Lover; you read like an open book. Howie just sat, staring at me in utter disbelief.

"You would dothat?"

I winked at him again.

"The question is," I smirked, "wouldyou?"

He would, and did – in a stall in the restaurant's Men's room. We made quite a sight; the respectable, oh-so-proper attorney and his Nouveau-Black bitch, humping each other like teenagers in the narrow confines. We began with me sitting on the toilet seat and him standing before me. I inhaled his rigid member and worked it with my lips and tongue. My companion revealed he had never before been blown by a woman who really knew how, let alone one with a pierced tongue. He flooded my mouth with what seemed to be ten years' worth of pent-up desire. I swallowed every drop, licking my lips clean. Then it was my turn.

He sat on the toilet seat with me straddling his lap. My sinfully-short skirt was hiked up around my hips. My halter-top was bunched up above my naked tittites. My thong was a tattered shred of fabric on the floor. Meanwhile, other patrons passed by in the hallway mere feet away. Two male diners actually entered, used the urinal, washed their hands and left. We didn't even break stride. I'm certain they got and earful – and, most likely, enjoyed the show. Howie might not have been quite as large as Derek, but he was more than respectable inthat department, too. Perhaps he had a bad case of 'blue balls' and the stallion was stretching his legs, as I had alluded to earlier. I couldn't imagine anyone I would rather give up my newly-crafted virginity to.