A Fly on the Wall.

by Ganymede

A Fly on the Wall is the story of Savannah Martin, a ten-year-old fashion model, and the journey to change gender. With surgery in Mexico depending on meeting certain conditions, the responsibility falls on Grampa.

< < < Savannah is still nine years, five months, and nine days old > > >

If you haven’t read the preceding parts, you should do so before continuing.

It was after 8:00 am when Frank Martin interrupted his morning chores for a cup of coffee. Back at the ranch house, he tiptoed into Savannah’s bedroom. She was in bed, curled up and reading. She turned over, sleepy and face down, tangled in lavender sheets, surrounded by desert-patterned wallpaper and nine-years of plush toys. With no effort at all, he retrieved the D-2 dilator, lubricated the next size up, and inserted it. The bigger dilator went in easily, too easily.

Without warning, Savannah gasped.

“You okay?”

“Tight, Grampa. It’s kinda sore back there, too.”

“You want me to take it out.”

“Uh uh.”

He worried about hurting her during the remaining two hours of his morning chores.

<<>>

With his morning chores done, Frank enjoyed a slow walk from the stables back to the house. As much as the water trough, the Mexican Blue Oaks behind the corral brought birds by the hundreds, which was far from beneficial with a vineyard nearby. That morning, a pair of Northern Cardinals perched on the top rail, pecking at each other. Cardinals were usually long gone by early June. If they ate a few grapes, so what?

Sometime earlier, Karen had parked her red rental Ford Escape by the front porch, where two suitcases and a laptop bag waited. He lugged the biggest and heaviest suitcase to the SUV, opened the rear hatch and laid it down. She was waiting on the porch when he came back to the steps.

“It’s such a nice morning, it’s a pity you have to leave,” he remarked, looking around.

“I’d love to stay longer, Dad; however, I’ve got to get back to New York. Eric wants to see my ROCK sketches.”

“Savy ever get up?”

“She was running around in panties for an hour, helping me pack. She made another pot of coffee,” she added before he could ask.

“She okay?”

“Stop worrying, Dad.”

“When I came back earlier, I put in the D-3. She said she was sore.”

“I already texted Dr. Stein. He had me take it out and check. Apparently, a little soreness is normal with the D-3. The analgesic cream will take care of the worst of it. She should get used to it by tomorrow. If not, he’ll prescribe hydrocortisone acetate suppositories.”

She handed him the first of a half-dozen sheets of paper.

“I used the T-G app to print off some 24-hour schedules for you.”

“This is today’s plan of action, huh?” It was Wednesday, June 5.

Figure 1 Savannah: 24-hour Dilation Schedule for Wednesday June 5

“If only I knew what it meant,” Frank quipped. “Use the T-G app to figure it out, right?”

“It’s self-explanatory, Dad. It’s almost ten o’clock, Dad. She’s just finishing up her second hour with the D-3. Next is playtime for an hour.”

“Playtime is what, exactly?”

“It’s on the app, Dad. You play with her butt. Foreplay and repeated penetration to get her ready for intercourse.”

“You not embarrassed saying that?” Frank was bright red.

“I was embarrassed when Stein send me a video link. I got over it. You might not want to watch it. Then again, you might. You’re supposed to use all of the dilators, and your fingers.”

Frank swallowed, gaping at her ‘self-explanatory’ page, pink and purple in one-hour chunks. Even with the worst of last season’s flu, he wasn’t as hot, or as hoarse.

“So, um, with all the dilators and me, um, what’s supposed to happen?”

“Purple means she should have an anal orgasm. The video is very explicit.”

“You serious?” he mumbled.

He wanted to say more, but there was something going on in his belly, not a sick feeling, anxious. He couldn’t stop thinking he wouldn’t be up to the task. And then what?

When Karen just smiled, he said with a kind of sadistic relief, “After playtime, I see she goes back on the D-1 for four hours.”

“After she douches, she’ll need to relax, Dad. Plus, it gives her sphincter time to close up. Then, there’s a six-hour pattern. She has an hour less of D-2, and an hour more of D-3.” She found Friday’s schedule and showed him. “D-2 replaces D-1, and you start inserting D-4.”

Frank compared the pages. “Is night playtime supposed to be different?”

It was pale pastel purple, lavender, Savannah’s favorite color.

“It’s less intense. Very gentle stimulation, responsive to her emotional needs, not yours. On the app, they call it a ‘love orgasm.’ She needs to associate anal sex with love.” She hesitated. “I want you to be very clear about the difference, Dad.”

“I’ll watch the video so I know what not to do, okay?” Frank managed a feeble smile as heat rushed to his face. “Tonight will be about love, I promise.’

Satisfied she was making some headway, Karen confided, “You were right to say what you did at the clinic, Dad. I know what Stein said, but it’s not worth the doing if she only looks like a girl.”

Frank stared at the page, his thoughts like a mouse plague, frantically running in different directions. The most helter-skelter of all was that someone would make a video about a transgender child having anal orgasms, and then put it on a website.

“Stein makes it sound as if appearance and feeling good are the most important things,” he murmured, now flushed down to his shirt collar. He forced a deep breath. “I want her to be happy, Karen; deep-down, so it makes up for what she won’t have as a woman.”

Karen nodded, blinking tears. “You really do understand.”

He didn’t ask about 10:00 pm thru midnight; either no dilator, or the D-1 until 4:00 am, barely enough for Savannah to feel it. Apparently, Stein cared enough about his patients to make sure they had a good night’s sleep.

“Mom, it’s nearly ten,” Savannah shouted from inside the house.

Frank smiled. “For once, I’d call her screaming at the top of her lungs a very timely interruption. And to think she was whiny two hours ago.”

“You’d be whiny, too, if you had a D-3 jammed inside your butt.”

“I tried to be careful putting it in.”

“Dad, I’m teasing. God only knows, you tease us all the time. I need to get on the road, and you need to start playtime.”

Savannah flung open the front door. Back to her normal full-of-life self, grinning with bright golden curls bouncing. Hot-pink Candy Yum-yum lipstick, iridescent dark-blue eyeshadow, mascara two shades darker, gorgeous. However, Frank gaped at her pastel-purple panties. Nothing else!

With the ever-present iPhone in hand, Savannah pirouetted, fashion superstar blatantly showing off.

“I’m sexy, huh Grampa?”

Minus girl-thong, Grampa was gobsmacked.

“Better stop staring before you embarrass yourself, Dad,” Karen teased. “Hug, Brat.”

Frank still ogled. Without nothing to keep Savannah’s ‘boy-thing’ in place, it stood up, making a noticeable dent in the silky bikini. It was thick at the base, and tiny at the tip, like a railroad spike, only shorter. Though he’d never admit it, he loved seeing it unwavering and proud; it was Savannah’s makeup he wasn’t sure about.

Unaware, Savannah bear-hugged Mom, murmuring endearments, giving lots of goodbye kisses, not wet-smooching like she did with him.

When they parted, she sucked on her bottom lip, tears streaking cheeks. “I wish you could stay, Mommy.”

“You’ll survive! It’s only 17 days until I’m back. If you do what we talked about, the next day we leave for the clinic.”

Karen found a tissue in her handbag and carefully dabbed Savannah’s tear-streaked face. She stepped back, a final dab and she was satisfied. Not about to embarrass Savannah before she left, she wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. Savannah took selfies, mom and daughter posing together.

Having somehow managed to avert his gaze, Frank envied their loving embrace. A mother’s caresses were perfectly acceptable in public. A father doing the same thing, Heaven forbid! If a grandfather did it, he’d be arrested and charged with child abuse.

“Really cute makeup, Savy! You’re getting the hang of it!” Karen admired.

“I’m off-the-scale sexy, huh Mom?’

Karen lifted her chin with her finger, eyes meeting like mother and daughter. “Remember what I said about overdoing it, Savy.”

Savannah sniffled. “I can highlight what nature gave me, I can’t overdo it.”

“No overstatement allowed.”

Karen hesitated, her still arm around Savannah’s bare shoulders. Waiting for as long as possible for a final hug, hoping Savannah’s ‘boy-thing’ would subside. Another Savannah selfie. A sideways glance at Frank.

“I’m depending on you, Dad.”

“I know, Karen.”

Surely, Karen could see that leaving Savannah with him wasn’t smart. She was browner than her last session in front of Bruce’s camera, not even a week ago. She was more graceful, too, preening and very aware of her sensuous nine-year-old body.

“I put the deadline on Grampa’s calendar so he won’t forget.”

“Deadline?” Frank repeated.

“June 20^th. You have a three-day leeway, if we leave on the 23^rd,” Karen explained.

“Stop worrying , Mom. Grampa and me will get it done.”

“Listen Kemo-Savy, getting it done is not what I’m worried about. Dad, I’m depending on you. Don’t let me down.”

<<>>

They watched her drive down the road, a faint dusty haze lingering even when her little red SUV was out of sight. Except for the power poles, it could’ve been a century earlier, when Cimarron was a tiny part of a vast cattle ranch. Now, displaced yuppie mini-mansions, hobby ranches by the score, and vineyards littered the sprawling valley.

“Grampa, remember when I asked you if fucking hurts?”

Frank jerked back to reality, not at all certain when they’d started holding hands. There were two selfies in there somewhere, too. The first selfie for ‘Mom’, they were waving goodbye; Savannah’s smooth lustrous skin, skillfully applied makeup enhancing her natural beauty, Frank’s leathery face grimy from shoveling dung in the barn. In the other selfie, their faces were just inches apart; they might’ve been going to kiss.

“It was only two months ago, Sanny,” he blurted out after what seemed like ages.

Savannah giggled. “Remember what you did with your finger?”

“Kind of hard to forget.” He grinned at her. She really was gorgeous.

“Can we do that during playtime?”

Stunned by brazenness, Frank leaned against the handrail. He stretched, looking over Cimarron Ranch. In his will, all of it went to Savannah. She was the only person he would ever truly love; her mother said as much. It was logical, too, when one of the three horses grazing in the east paddock was officially hers. Every holiday, she helped him tend the grape vines stretching across the next low hill. In late fall, she picked up the acorns from Quercus Arizonica, (Arizona white oak), 50 feet tall, marching beside the road. Great cattle food during the winter, and well-earned pocket money for her.

“Playtime’s whatever you want. It’s just you and me until the weekend, kid,” he mused. He kissed his finger and rubbed Savannah’s forehead, affectionate, not intimate.

He’d give Manuel two days off after he’d worked so hard the previous week, doing his chores, and Frank’s, and cleaning out the barn. With a Mexican family of seven lined up for fertilizing the vines, there’d be no one else around until late on Friday, and more likely the weekend.

“How about you fetch me a cup of coffee, pardner?” She was through the front door before he added, “Better bring Emile and his Dilator gang, too.”

He carried his favorite rocking chair from the sunset side of the wraparound porch to the cool side, partly hidden by yucca plants, yet commanding a view down the road, just in case someone decided to visit. There was a ‘Private Property’ sign on the mechanically closed front gate, and the mail lady knew to call him in advance; however, tourists seemed to think that every vineyard in Elgin was open to visitors.

He squinted to focus. Karen was long gone, probably doing sixty-plus on Route 83, the scenic road to Tucson through the Santa Rita foothills. Besides, her Escape was red. The car parked by his mailbox was a little black two-door sedan, not the mail lady’s white Ford pickup. It was probably a tourist looking for an address, or someone dropping off flyers, yet another yard sale, or an invitation to the opening of a new vineyard.

“I don’t have three arms, Grampa!”

Her tone was enough for Frank to hurry to the front door. He opened it to find her frowning, arms full with her iPhone, a towel, a box of wet wipes, two jars, a bottle of baby oil, a tube of KY… He swiftly extracted a precarious coffee cup and four dilators from under one arm a moment before everything would’ve crashed to the ground.

“You think you have enough stuff?” He closed the door behind her to keep out the flies.

“The app said to use something other than Emile, remember Grampa?”

Grampa remembered just fine. He smiled and led the way to the rocking chair, put his coffee mug and three dilators on an antique oak milking stool he’d salvaged from the barn, and sat down.

“Ah reckon eet’s time to lose them-there panties, kid,” he said in his mock-gruff cowboy’ voice.

Savannah sashayed, fluttering eyelashes and tiny pink tongue playing with her lips as she peeled off her favorite undies, pale pastel-purple bikini slithering down slender legs. She stepped closer to the rocking chair, giggling, suddenly very self-conscious.

“Look at you,” Frank murmured.

Savannah followed his eyes down. “Oopsie! I forgot my thong.’”

“No problem, Kemo-Sanny. I’d just have to take it off anyway.”

“I hate when it’s stiff!”

“Then, we’ll pretend it’s not there.”

She glared at it, stubby, yet steadfast. “I wish they cut it off in Stage One.”

“Be careful what you wish for.” It was out before he realized. “If we ignore it, it’ll go away.”

She gave a petulant sigh and plopped onto his lap. She fired up her iPhone while he rearranged her, bare slender thighs spread wide apart, draped over his jeans-covered thighs, suntanned legs dangling down. Instead of exposing a hairless little camel-toe pussy, a proud boyhood jutted up.

“Before you start texting your friends, Sanny, I want you to close your eyes and concentrate.”

“On what, Grampa?”

“For a start, I want you to tell me how to make you feel really good,” Frank whispered in her ear.

With saliva covering his right index finger, he reached under her, avoiding ‘boy-thing’ and balls, lightly caressing back to her anus. Finding a small round hump wasn’t unexpected; it only made sense that the D-3 he’d inserted two hours earlier was still inside her.

He fingered the end of the ring, fascinated that it barely protruded into her anus. It meant the rest of the dilator, six inches long and one inch in diameter, was plugging her rectum, stretching her sphincter, expanding her anus, tantalizing her every move. He got hot just thinking about it.

“Does it still hurt?”

Distracted by her iPhone, she murmured, “Uh uh.”

Frank watched the screen over her head, lips and nose burrowing into golden curls, wondering how her small hand could hold the iPhone and scroll through selfies at the same time. Endless snapshots of Savannah, Mom, and Grampa. She’d also taken a photo of herself on the Jeep’s rear seat, head screwed around, watching his hand holding the D-2, the fingers of his other hand spreading her pale little buttocks, the first inch already inserted into her tightly stretched anus.

“You think it’s hot, Grampa?”

“Delete it,” he grumped.

“Later.”

Frank could see little balls tucked between slender thighs. To take his mind off it, he circled ever so gently around the little silicone hump. He began to tease what was left of Savannah’s pucker. His fingertip was like a feather going around and around, until it started to dry. Shamelessly thrilled, he added more spit and quickly resumed, switching to sliding up and down the tight little butt-crack, tapping on the ring with every pass.

“You’re making me feel warm and fuzzy,” Savannah whispered.

“I think we should take Fred out for a while,” Frank whispered back.

She nodded, not eager, not reluctant, just ready to try something different while she emailed select photos, mostly to her mom.

Carefully, Frank squeezed his little finger into smooth soft buttock, pressing into the loosened rim of her anus until he could fit his fingertip under the ring. With gentle tugs, he began to ease out rest of the ring.

He could tell she wasn’t ready to give it up, not with the thickest part of the dilator locked in her sphincter.

“Just relax, Sanny. When you want him out, try to poop.”

He sounded like Coach Karen, iPhone in hand, converting Stein’s jargon into kid-appropriate instructions for retrieving a dilator.

Savannah looked up at him, making her vampire-princess face. “It’s easier squatting, Grampa.”

Even squatting, he’d had to assist her; five times already, enough to know what to expect; however, each time still seemed like the first. Only a single time with D-3, so far. It was wider, needing a firmer pull to break loose from her sphincter’s grasp.

“Slow and steady, okay?”

Savannah nodded. A steady downward tug, a firm push, a gasp, and D-3 emerged, shiny-wet pastel pink.

“Keep going,” Frank whispered, inserting his little finger all the way through the ring.

With the widest part of the dilator though her sphincter, he was all about keeping it from falling on the porch deck. White streaks of lubricant where it tapered; nothing else after Karen introduced her to douching after retrieval.

The dilator was hot and slippery. He put it on the stool with the others. Savannah was back on her iPhone, scrolling slowly, searching for something among the T-G app instructions covering the screen.

“Does it hurt?”

“Uh uh. Just feels big like before.” She had a smug smile. Before he could ask... “Mommy said to ask if you want to watch Sam’s video.”

Before he could answer, her finger tapped an icon.

On the 5-1/2 inch glorious technicolor high-res screen, it took away his breath. Samantha was a hairless preteen, her partner/boyfriend Hispanic, mid-20s. Both naked, both obviously accustomed to being naked in front of a video camera.

Savannah turned up the volume. Embarrassed, Frank made her turn it off. He could feel her thigh muscles, gluteous muscles, belly muscles tightening as she squirmed in his lap, sexually aroused by the scene unfolding on her iPhone, at the same time trying to adjust to the empty feeling inside her.

“It’s hot, huh Grampa?”

Savannah radiated heat with each pint-sized quiver of excitement. Frank felt sweaty, each touch of Savannah’s smooth skin searing his fingertips. Filling his lungs took concentration away from the screen. He expected the man’s erect penis to slide into Samantha’s slimy hole; it didn’t. Instead, it was a massive D-5 dilator. Surprisingly, Samantha’s ‘boy-thing’ was the reverse of Savannah’s stubbornly erect ‘boy-thing, pitiful really.

Unable to resist, Frank felt underneath. Nature was trying to tighten up what felt like a gaping hole, clutching, pinching against his intrusive fingertip. Surely, Savannah’s little hole was as slimy as what was now in vivid close-up on her iPhone. Impossible that a little body could stretch that big, that something as large as a D-5 could slide back and forth.

“Seeing it makes you feel tingly inside, doesn’t it?” he murmured in Savannah’s ear.

“Uh huh. Put your finger in, Grampa.”

He was about to try for a fingertip when nature achieved success in a rush, Savannah’s little ass-pussy closing up like a clamshell. He quickly added saliva to his left index finger, circling again, doing his to convince the little anus to loosen up.

“That’s enough video, Sanny,” he said firmly, drawing the line at the child’s frantic pelvic thrusts.

“What if we make our own video, Grampa?” Savannah muttered. “I know how.”

“Maybe.” It was beyond his wildest fantasy. He almost said ‘next time.’ Maybe the day after…

He brought his right index finger to his mouth. Sheer disbelief that he was tasting ass-pussy. Salivating shamelessly. Inhaling deeply. There was even more aware of the musky scent than the previous times he’d touched her there. The smell was nothing like his ex-wife’s vagina. It always reminded him of going into a Mexican fish market, sun blazing down on the metal deck roof, flies everywhere.

“Go in more, Grampa.”

He switched fingers and Savannah’s breathing slowed, submitting to his loving, very deliberate rubbing, prodding into the sensitive aperture. Already far more elastic than it was a day ago. Fond memories from the return trip; he had to convince himself it was only two days ago.

With every careful prod, Savannah’s pleasure slowly intensified, steadily growing stronger. Anyone could see it. Legs twitchy, little hands making fists, little fingers rasping his hairy arms, urging him on, too aroused to even look at her iPhone.

“It’s good, huh Sanny?” He kissed her ear, nuzzling around her neck, daring himself to suck hard enough to leave a hickey.

Savannah sighed, eyes closed. “Push in more, Grampa.”

Frank pushed, still very cautious, yet feeling the tiny anus accept his fingertip without a struggle. He wriggled his finger, still pushing in, pulling out, massaging. It was enough to make her twitch, gasp, hold her breath. It wasn’t because she was so small, or his finger was so large; it was because he was doing it!

“You really like this, don’t you Sanny.”

“Uh huh.”

He twisted his finger, very aware of the surprisingly strong muscle just inside. Not grasping, not yielding either. He carefully withdrew his finger, his left index finger loaded and ready with saliva. Slippery, it slid in, back out, and in again. No wincing, yet there was noticeable tension in Savannah’s lower abdomen. She might’ve been straining down, even though his finger wasn’t in far enough. Wriggling her pelvis like the preteen on her iPhone, elasticity compensating, deliberately relaxing, opening up for him, dilating just right.

“Exactly, how does it make you feel, Sanny?”

Karen said to ask about feelings, get her vocalizing sensations so he knew what to do for her to enjoy it. No shame, no guilt, no embarrassment, if they were open talking about it.

“Kinda funny. Keep going in and out, only deeper.”

Frank’s other index finger took over, switching seamlessly on the outstroke. She giggled nervously as it penetrated still deeper. Suddenly, her sphincter offered no resistance at all.

“Your finger is effing my butt, Grampa.”

“Uh huh.”

However, Savannah was back on her iPhone again, some kind of multiplayer Hollywood star game

After watching only a minute of video, he intended to go the rest of the way slowly, delaying the inevitable penetration in favor of careful stretching. Levering from side to side and up and down, twisting his finger through the muscle. With only a few wavering spasms, it seemed to be working.

“Do that more,” Savannah murmured, her arms pressed into her tummy, hunched forward, looking down at her iPhone, ocassionally peeking where his hand disappeared under her rump.

“I’m running out of spit. You want to try baby oil?” Frank said.

“I don’t want it on my iPhone. Use Vaseline, Grampa,” she said with nine-year-old stubbornness.

“Let’s hope the app is right about it lasting longer.”

Meekly, he snapped the lid off the jar and scooped up a lump. He deposited it right on top of the puckered depression. It was greasy, not nearly as slippery as EMIL. Still, it beat his saliva hands down. Circling again, he pushed the glob inside her anus, strangely aware that it made a huge difference. His finger sunk in to the second joint. Almost two inches. Halfway.

Savannah whispered. “I think I can feel your knuckle.”

“I want you to squeeze on my finger, Sanny. As tight as you can. That’s good. Can you go any tighter?”

Savannah abandoned her game, something about Kim Kardashian, gritted her teeth, clenched her eyes, and did her best to bite off his finger.

“Now relax.”

Frank pushed again. His finger reached deeper into the void, hot, sleek, slick. It was surprisingly slimy when he rotated his wrist. He went in and out, meeting little resistance, yet watching her face, just in case. Twisting, too, deliberately loosening her up, though not nearly enough, definitely not big enough to reinsert D-4.

“I want D-3 again, Grampa.”

He held D-3 by its ring. She dipped three little fingers into the Vaseline jar, collecting enough for all five dilatators. She slathered it over the middle-sized one as it swung to and fro.

“If you’re worried about getting your iPhone greasy, you can wipe it off on my T-shirt, Sanny.”

Morning playtime wasn’t for him to satisfy his debauched desires; however, years of one-sided lust demanded otherwise.

“… or you can use it to make your ‘boy-thing’ feel nice.”

She turned half-around, looking up at him, not frowning, not perturbed, almost curious, as if she expected him to say it, seeming unaware that he’d positioned the tip of D-3 against her anus, ready to push it in.

“I promise it’ll feel really good if you rub yours the same way you rub mine,” he confided.

Her gaze was as relentless as her iPhone was useless, clutched against her tummy so he couldn’t see what was on it, her greasy hand precariously close to the much-despised little lever between her thighs.

At the same time, the indefatigable dilator was slowly going in, the inward pressure from his thumb not much at all. He expected resistance, even a struggle, just a muffled sigh. He wondered what was going through her mind. Surely, she could feel it, relentlessly expanding inside her. Unstoppable, inescapable dilation, stretching her anus and sphincter, the silicone shaft slowly filling her rectum.

Suddenly, Savannah gasped, tightened, whimpered, and relaxed. “Big, Grampa.”

“Pinch on the tip, Sanny. You enjoy doing that,” he whispered.

Anything to distract her, anything to convince himself he hadn’t breeched his agreement with Karen. In those few unsettling seconds before she looked at her iPhone again, he had a strange sense that she wanted to ask him to rub it.

“Do you want me to do it?”

Savannah barely nodded, peering at the screen, trying to read a text message that only just arrived.

He stroked her thigh, clumsily working toward her ‘boy-thing’, his right hand finishing the insertion. With his index finger looped through the ring, it was impossible for it to go any farther, but it must have. Or something happened inside her, because she let out a very long groan.

“Grammmmpaaaa.”

Frank was sure he’d hurt her.

Savannah shuddered, squirming in his lap. Her sphincter grabbed the dilator and tried to pull it inside. Instead, Frank yanked back. Not all the way out, close to it. A moment later, he rammed it back, not too hard, just right.

“Fuck! Oh fuck!”

The sound of ecstasy from the mouth of a precocious nine-year-old.

Instinct took over. In and out pumping, fucking her with a metronome rhythm that was slow at first, gradually picking up speed as the muscle weakened. He rubbed the little lever, too. More like vibrating, gripping it between his thumb and index finger, his wrist jerking rapidly.