Marti

Marti

by Abe

       Marti  Sheffer, her married name, had from childhood wanted to be an actress, a movie star.  She had married Rudi for two reasons.  Principally, it was because he was wealthy; he could afford to bankroll a movie for her to star in.  Secondly, he was three times her age, and surely he would not want much sex.  Marti didn't much care for sex.  Sex was for casting couches.  She was a good enough actress that she could fake an orgasm, but she had never had a real one.  She was a bit disappointed when Rudi turned out to be more randy than she had assumed, but “not tonight dear” was fairly effective.

       Rudi married Marti for two reasons.  She was young and probably fertile.  She was also beautiful, a trophy wife, arm candy.   Appearance is important.  Marti met the criteria set by the media and the fashion mavens, mostly women, homosexuals, and pedophiles by his reckoning.  She was as tall as he was but weighed only about 50 kilograms, tall and skinny.  Her arms were no thicker than Rudi's wrists, and her legs, untapered, were like stilts.  Her shoulders were wider than her hips.  Her face was childlike, and her dark hair, cut for a movie role, was short, like a man's.  She would have looked great on the cover of Vogue.  Rudi would have preferred a wife with more curves,  one who would not be mistaken at a distance for a male basketball player.  However, his associates appreciated her beauty and counted Rudi to be lucky, or capable, to have married her.

       So, the movie was made and was about to be distributed.  Rudi was hosting a party for cast and crew and industry acquaintances.   Some reporters and paparazzi  were allowed in, on condition that they remain inconspicuous.   He had taken over a restaurant and the ballroom upstairs.  Marti  served her purpose.  With the help of Emil, the homosexual wardrobe maestro, she looked stunning.  Her dress was silky and clinging.  A man would say it was pink or maybe orange; Emil called it coral.  The halter top formed a neckline which plunged to her navel, carefully arranged, with two sided tape, to expose a crescent of breast on each side.  There was no back.  The skirt was taut and clingy, tight across her flat tummy and tight across her compact ass, with no visible panty lines.  The skirt went nearly to the floor, but was slit on each side, almost to the waist, so she could walk.  Coral heels and coral lipstick completed the outfit.  Her dark eyes were accentuated with makeup and eyelashes which took about an hour to apply.

       The meal, downstairs, was buffet style to allow guests to circulate, and there was an open bar, actually three of them, to encourage good cheer.  Rudi and Marti  greeted many of the guests and didn't get a lot to eat, but  Rudi made sure Marti always had a drink, so she was unusually smiling and gracious.  There were some toasts to the movie and all involved.

        After dinner, most of the guests went upstairs to the ballroom.  Marti took the elevator, as she had become unsteady on her five inch heels.  Once upstairs, she lost them and relaxed into more drinking.  A string trio, violin, bass, and piano, played for the guests, and those who were not drinking or talking danced.  “Marti,” said Rudi, “I know you have been wanting to meet Frank.  He would like to dance with you.”  Of course she wanted to meet Frank.  He was nominated for Best Director at last year's Oscars.  The trio played a slow, dreamy number and Marti melted into Frank's arms, flirting as well as she could, given her alcohol level.

       After two dances, Frank brought her back to Rudi.  “I've been reading a script, and I'm thinking Marti might be right for a big part,” said Frank.  It was all according to plan, Rudi's plan.  “I know you used a body double for some of the scenes in your latest movie.  If Rudi wouldn't mind, I'd like to see your breasts.”  With out even looking for Rudi's approval, Marti reached up and undid the clasp behind her neck,  then pulled the fabric away from the sticky tape over her breasts, letting it fall to her waist,.   She seemed oblivious to perhaps 100 guests staring in disbelief.  She had eyes only for Frank.  Her breasts were hardly a handful.  Emil had fitted them with adhesive pads which doubled their size and pushed the flesh inward to form those full crescents that had decorated the plunging neckline.  “If I may,” said Frank, as plucked the pads from Marti's tits.   He looked and frowned.  “If I cast her in the part with those tiny tits, they will think I making kiddieporn.”

       “Tits can be fixed, “ said Rudi.  “You wouldn't mind a little cosmetic surgery, would you my darling?”  Marti grinned and tried to rub her titties against Frank's starched dress shirt.

       Frank pushed her away and said, “My dear Marti, let me see the rest of you.”  Without hesitation but with some fumbling and help from Rudi, Marti  got the skirt off and stood there naked.  It was clear there were no panty lines because there were no panties.  Further, Emil had insisted on a Brazilian wax job to avoid dark shadows or fuzzy bulges in that tight skirt.  Frank expressed his approval and added, “Marti, let me see how you move.  Do a dance for me.”  The trio began to play the Godfather theme, and Marti danced, her arms away from her body, her hips moving, almost like a hula or, for those who remember the 60's, like the twist.  At a signal from Rudi, they switched to the Bacchanal from Samson and Delilah, and Marti went wild, stamping and gesturing, thrusting her pelvis, trying to imitate a mid-eastern whore.  All the time, her eyes were fixed on Frank, who took it all in with enthusiasm.  So did the guests, who had found their cameras and cell phones.  Rudi led Marti off stage,  out of sight, and most of the guests began to leave.  Too many couldn't wait to get on-line.

       The next morning, even before she had recovered from her hangover, Marti checked herself into the clinic run by Dr. Cardoso.  She was oblivious to the fact that, overnight, her reputation had been so thoroughly trashed that only a pornographer would hire her.

She thought she was there for a boob job, prior to a starring role in Frank's next production.  She was sure Rudi's millions would be well invested in advancing her career.  She was wrong.

       Dr. Cardoso had a blue-eyed nurse,  Miss McPherson, usually addressed as Nurse.  She took Marti in tow, removing her clothes, the coral dress and a bathrobe,  and losing them.  “Marti, you look a fright, in no condition for surgery.  Come, spend some time in our spa.”  Nurse fed Marti  some vegetable juice and immersed her in a hot tub.  Then, wearing a bikini, Nurse washed Marti, paying particular attention to her breasts.

       “Hey, I don't do lesbian,” protested Marti.

       “Listen, Marti.  You are here for elective surgery.  If you want your breasts fixed, then let me examine and condition them first.  If it bothers you that I am a woman, close your eyes.  In fact, I'm going to fit you with a mask.”  To Marti's surprise,  after she had dried off Marti,  Nurse tied Marti's hands behind her back and fitted a  blindfold mask on her head.  “Now, you will do what you are told.  Stand here, feet apart, and hold still until told to move.”  Nurse began to very gently move her palms over Marti's nipples, trying to tease them into becoming erect.  Marti decided she didn't like that, and she stepped back, though there was no way she could escape.  “I told you not to move,” said Nurse, and she emphasized her point by slashing at Marti's ass with a cane, leaving a pink double welt.  After a brief spell of crying, Marti agreed to stand still.  Nurse ran a finger tip along Marti's genital cleft, finding it dry.  Then she resumed her massage of the breasts.  She gently squeezed them, though they were not even a handful, and teased the nipples.   After a while, even though Marti protested that her breasts were sore,  when Nurse touched the nipples they became erect, like pink pencil erasers.  Nurse repeated her quick reconnaissance between the legs and left to fetch Doctor Cardoso.

       Together, they untied Marti's hands and installed her on a gynecological examination table, strapped down in the lithotomy position, knees bent and legs spread.  The doctor palpated the mammaries for some time, finally saying that they were not yet ready for surgery.   Then he did a pelvic examination.  “Are you satisfied with your vulva?” he asked.  “Your labia majora are rather thin, and your labia minora hang down between them.  If you don't like the appearance,  we could do a labiaplasty to  reduce the inner lips, or we could plump up the outer lips, to give you a girlish, a virginal  appearance.  I'm sure your husband will pay for whatever you wish.”  With a gloved finger, he pressed on the clitoris.  Marti complained that it was uncomfortable.  “Well, we could resection the clitoral hood, give it more room to enjoy, if you choose.”  Marti was getting anxious, and she said that she would have to talk it over with  her husband.  She was buying time, to find out what Frank wanted.  She didn't know that Rudi had been watching the whole  time.

       The doctor resumed his examination, sliding his gloved fingers into Marti's vagina and feeling for a G-spot.   “She is sexually non-responsive, not at all damp.  This calls for additional treatment.”  He injected estrogen into each buttock, noting the tender welts that Nurse had put there.  Then he added a touch of testosterone, to hype her libido.  “Nurse, I prescribe hydrotherapy, vaginal irrigation.”

       Someone, Marti didn't know who, massaged her breasts while Nurse directed a stream of warm water at Marti's cunt.  Sometimes the stream ran lengthwise, like a river running through a canyon,  while other times the jet was aimed to penetrate and fill the vagina, and other times it was aimed at the clitoris, mainly impacting the hood.  Marti put up with it but, unbelievably,  did not have an orgasm.  It was late afternoon before Nurse gave up and led Marti to her  private room and brought a meal.  When Marti  didn't have much appetite, Doctor Cardoso prescribed liquid supplements, basically milkshakes.  Marti spent the evening in bed, in her hospital gown, watching TV and contemplating her bruised bottom and tender breasts.  The network news programs ignored her spectacle at the party, and she  didn't catch the extensive comments on Entertainment Tonight. 

       The next morning, after breakfast,  things got serious.  She was moved into an operating room and sedated.  When she was again aware, she discovered she was in bondage, unable to move much.  Her arms were tied above her head, while her feet were secured to the floor, spread about ameter apart.  She was again blindfolded, otherwise naked but for a belt around her waist.  She sensed that Rudi was there.  Perhaps it was his familiar odor.  She was sure when he spoke to her.  “Marti, you signed yourself into this clinic so that you might become attractive to Frank.  I suspect you would fuck him blind to get a part in one of his movies.  Well, you won't leave here until  you do become more attractive, to me.  I'm not really concerned about the size of your breasts.  Nature will take care of that when the hormones take effect.  I am concerned that you should find your breasts a source of pleasure,  when I play with them or when you breastfeed our child.  Forget your trick of faking orgasms.  I want my wife to have real orgasms,  belly churning, cunt squirting orgasms, whenever I choose to give them to her.   You are going to learn to have the real thing, almost on command, and don't try to fake it, because Dr. Cardoso will know.  Actually, you have already had an orgasm, but you wouldn't know, because you were unconscious.

       Marti could hardly comprehend.  She had heard women boast about how their vibrator was their best friend, but she couldn't see herself  reveling in the big O.  Rudi  was old and paunchy, not the sort of stud one reads of in novels.  She had never had an orgasm, that she could remember, and she didn't see how she could learn to have one on command.

       As if reading her mind, Rudi said, “Operant conditioning.”  He started to caress her breasts, and she began to complain that it hurt, when suddenly she was overwhelmed with unfamiliar sensations.  Her cunt was twitching and leaking fluid.  Then her body stiffened and her insides exploded in pandemonium.  Her brain seemed overwhelmed with pleasure, a feeling of well being, as if she had taken a hit of cocaine, perhaps.  Unable to stop it, she writhed in her bondage, shuddering inside, then going limp and hanging from her upraised arms.

       Dr. Cardoso said, “Our  little experiment goes well.  I placed the electrodes just right.  So, stimulus, involuntary response, repeated and repeated, for days, perhaps, and she will become conditioned.  Stimulus and response without needing the electrical stimulation of the spinal cord.  We will be able to take the belt off, and she will be fixed for life.   I suggest, since money is no object, that she be conditioned to respond to a variety of stimuli.  For example, your voice command.”

       Nurse commented, “And a good spanking or caning.  Old tradition in Scottish boarding schools.”   Marti was overwhelmed.  She just gave in and endured.  Rudi continued to knead or kiss or pinch her nipples or breasts, all the while murmuring loving things in her ear, reminding her how beautiful she was becoming, how her womanhood was being fulfilled.  Then the electrical stimulation of her spine would pop her into a huge orgasm.  She had  more than a dozen.  Her inner thighs were wet with pussy juice, and the unaccustomed muscles of her vagina were  fatigued.  They let her rest, slackening the ropes on her arms so she could sit and drink a breakfast milkshake.

       Then there was another session.  This time, as she stood with her legs spread and her arms raised, Rudi  would work on her clitoris, rubbing the hood, kissing it, and then, of course, the crashing orgasm would follow.  It went on for hours, until Rudi was called away by a phone call.  Nurse took over.  Whack, with a leather paddle.  It hurt but did not leave brilliant welts.   The conditioning went on until Rudi  returned.  Then it was back to the clitoral stimulation.  Another liquid meal, lots of calories, and another session, this time with a rubber dildo inserted into her vagina.  Rudi, of course, couldn't last all afternoon, even with Viagra, but he simulated sex with a rubber stand-in.

       At some point, after another milkshake, Marti complained that she had to go number two.  (Her number ones had cascaded onto the tiled floor mixed with pussy juice)  Nurse did not release her.  Instead, she inserted an enema nozzle, held in place with an inflated balloon, and she slowly filled Marti's rectum, giving her a monster orgasm as the fluid flowed in.  The anus and intestines contract during orgasm, and Marti cried out in pain or surprise.  Nurse yanked out the nozzle, without deflating the balloon, and, as “number two” spewed out, Marti was subjected to another orgasm.

       Rudi was amused and entertained by the whole set of procedures.  He didn't really want to hurt Marti, but he let Nurse administer enemas or cane Marti's tight buns, or put clamps on her nipples, all the while exhausting her with forced orgasms.  When Marti was released and put to bed, she would fall asleep instantly, in spite of sore tits, bruised buttocks, and aching cunt muscles.

       Marti lost track of the time.  It seemed all her waking moments were spent in bondage, blindfolded, and subjected to involuntary orgasms or other torments, such as injections in her tits. 

The consolation was that she actually enjoyed the orgasms, became “addicted” to sexual stimulation, even the whippings.  She didn't realize when they turned off the belt and she came anyway, just by having  Rudi squeeze a tit and say “Come now,” or when Nurse  sodomized her with an enema hose.  Just being blindfolded and trussed up with her arms up and her legs spread made her feel sexy, and she could hardly wait for the nipple play or the clit rubbing or the cunt stuffing before she  experience that blissful paroxysm which confirmed her femininity.

       The day came for her final exam.  The belt was gone.  Her breasts had grown, a little, and had never been operated on.  She had gained a little weight, which Rudi liked.   She was, he said, more squeezable.  They brought her into the “torture chamber”, as she thought of it, and Rudi told her to close her eyes, in lieu of a blindfold.  Already her cunt got damp.  “Raise your arms and spread your legs.  She did, eagerly anticipating  an orgasm.  Rudi stood close to her and easily slid his erect penis into its proper place.  Marti panted with excitement, straining to keep her arms up, as he stroked her now fully toned vaginal muscles.  She couldn't help vocalizing, and she uncontrollably  squeezed his dick until he ejaculated inside her and she gushed her own secretions.  Rudi told the doctor he was satisfied with the clinic's treatment of his wife.

       They gave Marti a simple dress, no underwear, and she and Rudi had an ordinary breakfast together in the cafe' near the clinic.  Afterward, Rudi whispered to her, “Ready for another orgasm?”

       “Yes, please,” she replied.  He took her to the restroom for the handicapped, where the stall was  larger than normal.  He sat on the toilet seat and put her over his lap.  He pulled up her skirt and ran his hands over her still bruised buns.  Then he spanked her, hard, with his open hand.  She giggled.  He smacked her again and again, pausing when his hand began to get sore.  “More,” she whispered, “harder.”  He surprised her by shoving his hand between her legs,  slipping his hand into her sodden cunt, and pressing her G-spot.   She screamed and gushed, wetting her skirt and the leg of his pants.  Someone called from outside, wanting to know if everything was all right.  “Yes, “ she replied.  “I was just surprised to find I had wet myself.  I'll be out as soon as I can clean up.”  Rudi helped her up off his lap, but she whispered, “How about another, lover?”  He stood her up and squeezed both breasts, hard.  She  squealed and wet herself gain.

       After a final  examination by Doctor Cardoso, a very orgasmic pelvic exam and another orgasmic enema, she was signed out of the clinic.  Rudi had sent for some of her clothes – she would never wear the coral number again – and they flew to Rudi's chalet on Lake Como.   They enjoyed themselves immensely.

       A while later, Frank paid a visit, taking the train from Paris.  Marti met him, wearing a loose summer frock.  “We're almost ready to shoot,” he said.  “Did you read the script I sent?”

“Yes, I liked it,” she replied.

“Ready for the part?”

“No, not yet,” she replied, smoothing her dress to show off her baby bump.