17 February 2013

Prissy Poodle 2

By: Throne

Sunday morning I awoke to find Regina setting up a dog crate at the foot of
the bed.  She also had a bag from the pet store, which was sitting on her
vanity chair.  I got off my dog bed but stayed on all fours without being
told to.  She muttered a distracted 'good girl' while finishing the set-up
of the cage.  Then she spread a blanket across its floor and pointed at the
open door.  "Come on, good girl.  Go into your cage and Mommy will give you
some nice touching."  I didn't speak because I knew she disapproved of
that.  The promise of being touched by my wife's talented hands was
irresistible.  I ducked my head as I entered the portable kennel and then
turned to roll onto my side so she could reach my chest.  But then her cell
phone rang.  Regina slammed the door and locked it.  I whimpered with
disappointment.  She picked up the bag from her chair and sat there,
wearing just panties and a top that barely covered her full bust.  I ogled
her hungrily and my tongue lolled out of my mouth.

"Curt," she said cheerfully. "Are we still on for tonight?  What, my good
girl?  Well, she's still getting used to some changes I've made, so I
thought we might stay here tonight.  Have an evening in," she added, with
promising warmth.  I was horrified but did nothing.  All I could think
about was that chastity and my desperate need.  The phone chat went on for
half an hour, with my wife complimenting Curt's good looks and implying
that she knew he was well endowed.  Jealousy overwhelmed me but I was still
in the grip of my wife's new control.  When she was finally done she
crouched down alongside my crate, giving me another stirring view of her.
Then she reached between the bars and cupped my balls in her hand.  Any
thoughts of protest that had been germinating in my mind were instantly
gone.  I pushed back toward her and made wordless sounds of appreciation.
She gave me a familiar 'good girl' and then said, "But we really need a
proper name for you.  You know, something like Fifi or Poupon.  Do you like
either of those?"  Her face turned stern as she went on, "And a good girl
doesn't try to talk.  A good girl barks when she wants her Mommy to
listen."  So I barked.  I didn't want Regina to withdraw her hand.  She
asked me, "Would you like to be called Fifi?  Poupon?  No?  How about
Mimi?"  As she said the last name she tickled the base of my binky, just
below the chastity, and I barked.  "Awww, she wants to be called Mimi.  How
cute.  I bet Curt will like that name."

My wife decided that she wanted me to be perfect for when Curt arrived.
"After all," she pointed out, "if he's not happy with you I might have to
lock you in the garage.  Mimi wouldn't want that, would she?"  I made a sad
sound.  She had me communicating with a made-up canine vocabulary.  To get
me ready she made me follow her to the bathroom and climb into the tub.
Then Regina washed me all over, again raising my sexual temperature.  She
dried me with a huge towel and I followed her back to the bedroom.  Looking
me over, she said, "I really want you to have that narrow poodle waist, so
let's try something I ordered on-line."  She reached into the bottom drawer
of her dresser and came out with... a corset?  Oh no.  I wanted to object
but my puppy whimper didn't dissuade her.  "I'm doing this for your own
good, Mimi.  Now lie on your back I can put it on you."  She worked it up
my legs and got it around my middle.  Then she commanded, "Roll over" and
had me get back on all fours so she could begin tightening it.  Regina
didn't stop until it was as snug as she could get it.  I felt like I was
being cut in half but when I dared to speak, getting as far as, "But
honey..." she smacked my nose and hushed me.  I understood.  Speaking would
cost me punishment.

Then she had me sit up, not the most comfortable posture with my waist so
compressed, and began to apply make-up, explaining, "I want you to look
like a real prissy sissy poodle, Mimi.  We wouldn't want Curt to feel
threatened by you, now would we?  I made a wuff noise and nodded agreement,
even though I couldn't see how any real man could be scared by me in my
current state.  My wife worked happily, applying cosmetics to my cheeks,
eyes and lips.  Then she produced a pair of oversized false eyelashes and
put them on me.  She had me walk around on hands and knees, telling me to
put a bit of sashay in my hips.  She wanted my presentation to be perfect.
I meekly complied and, after a few tips from her, had everything the way
she wanted it.  Then she opened the closet door to reveal the full length
mirror on its inside.  Looking at the bottom portion of the reflecting
surface, I was horrified to see my image.  Not only was I hairless and
pink-skinned, but with my squeezed midriff, poodle hairstyle, and made over
face, I resembled a cartoon dog.  It was six kinds of humiliating.  After
the initial shock it struck me that Curt was going to see me that way.  I
wanted to crawl away and hide, which I guess was a typical canine reaction.

All too soon our doorbell rang.  My bride surprised me with a pink dog
leash and collar, the latter studded with rhinestones.  She fastened the
collar around my neck and led me toward to the living room.  When she
opened the front door I looked up at Curt, a handsome man in an expensive
suit and overcoat.  He had a full mustache and, despite being neatly
shaved, a hint of beard shadow that suggested how hirsute he was.  He
peered at me for several seconds and then burst out laughing.  I cringed.
I panted nervously.  My wife gave him a warm hug and he returned it with
enthusiasm.  Then she moved her face closer to his and he kissed her, at
first lightly but then, when she rubbed her heavy bust against his broad
chest, with mounting ardor.  All I could do was wait for them to finish,
like the obedient dog I had become.  He draped his coat over the back of a
chair.  My wife led me into the den where she had placed a small oval rug
for me to curl up on.  When she pointed me to it I went and made myself
inconspicuous, or as much so as I could.  The two of them sat on the couch
and chatted.  She suggested ordering Thai take-out and having it delivered.
Curt said that would be fine but because it might be spicy they shouldn't
give any to the dog.  Me.  My wife mentioned that my name was Mimi, which
produced fresh laughter from her date.

The two of them kissed a few more times and began to fondle each other.  I
writhed inside at the sight of my wife encouraging him to paw her as she
did the same to him.  I got a break when they ordered the food, waited for
it, paid, and went to the dining room with the large bag.  I was unhappy to
see that my wife had gotten me two bowls, for water and food.  She said,
"Thirsty, Mimi?  Go ahead.  Take a drink, baby."  With my cheeks hot pink,
I went and lapped up some water.  She snickered and Curt chuckled.  The
corset hurt.  As they sat, Curt said, "I almost forgot.  I bought a chew
toy for Mimi."  He went to his overcoat and returned with a long thick,
flesh-colored dildo, which he held out to me.  In total shame I slunk over
to him and took it between my teeth.  When I was back on my rug I
reluctantly licked and chewed it.  Of course it wasn't made for being
bitten, so I was careful not to leave any marks on it.  My wife thought his
gift was hilariously funny and said so.  He told her he had just gotten an
idea for something even better, that he thought he could have made for me,
but that he would wait and make it a surprise.  Then, as I lay there,
exposed, demeaned, and still mouthing that awful dildo, they relaxed and
enjoyed their meal.

Afterwards they watched some TV.  At one point my wife put on a show about
pets and made me watch along with them while dogs were taught tricks.  She
was inspired to have me sit up, lie down, roll over, beg and bark.  Then
they watched an episode of a reality show about cheating spouses.  Of
course, this episode had to be about a wife's infidelity.  I couldn't miss
the appropriateness of it as she snuggled against Curt and her hand drifted
to his crotch.  Soon she had him unzipped and was working free his cock.
Just my luck, he was hung like a bull.  I shuddered as she kissed and
licked his impressive organ.  Then they mutually decided it was time to
move to the bedroom.  She took my leash and led me to the crate to lock me
inside.  I cowered there while they undressed each other in front of me.
Then they got onto the mattress and my view became limited.  But I had no
trouble hearing them as they talked dirty to each other and she kept
complimenting him on his magnum cock.  The foreplay went on and on but
eventually they proceeded to the main act.  She got on top -- maybe so I
could see more? -- and rode him happily.  Then she laid on her back and he
made love to her expertly, lasting much longer than I had ever been able
to.  I remained in my cage, my penis in its own prison, while he
experienced the privileges now denied to me.

They climaxed together.  It was sheer torture for me to listen to them.
And then they rested.  After a while my wife got up and unlocked my crate.
She snapped her fingers and gestured for me to come out.  Regina sat on the
side of the bed and put her feet well apart, giving me a view of her parted
pussy lips and the mess of spunk between them.  She told me, "Look what
Mommy has for Mimi.  A yummy treat.  Doesn't puppy want to lick up all this
nice tasty cream?  Hmmmm?"  I was revolted by the idea of lapping another
man's cum from her body, but by then I was so broken in spirit and, I'll
admit, desperate for any form of sexual contact, that I went straight to
her and began to lick.  Curt sat alongside her and grinned at the spectacle
I was making of myself.  They kissed passionately as I continued to clean
up the thick salty deposit.  He handled her breasts and she rubbed his
balls.  I blinked and was aware of the picture it made, with those absurd
eyelashes.  At long last my wife had a mild orgasm from being tongued so
much and, after I licked her through a long afterglow, declared me to be
done.

In the weeks that followed she kept me in my Mimi role.  Curt visited
often.  The other gift he had thought of turned out to be a tail for me.
It consisted of a dildo that got shoved up my butt, its head big enough
that it wouldn't come out unless someone tugged on it.  There was a poodle
puff of hair on its outside end.  The body of it was a spring, so it swayed
and 'wagged' all the time. The lovers regularly played out variations of
the first night's scenario.  Regina would exaggerate my cosmetics even more
to amuse her lover.  She had me lick her before sex to get her ready for
him.  I was always kept bowed and beribboned, as feminine as she could make
me.  My male ego dwindled to almost nothing.  I was half mad from lack of
sex.  Then, one afternoon, she made me an offer.  Regina would take me out
of chastity for an hour if I would sign some documents that Curt had
prepared, so that she could handle our finances without having to consult
me about anything.  "After all," she pointed out, "I'd feel pretty silly
talking to a French poodle about my money.  I softly made a bark of
agreement.  As I signed the papers I could see that I was forfeiting any
and all claims to our assets.  But I was in such a state that I didn't
challenge her.  When they were all done she had me get on my rug in the
den.  Then, I was unhappy to see, she produced a pair of handcuffs.  Regina
snapped an order at me to put my 'front paws' behind my back.  I sat up on
my knees and did as I was told.  When the cuffs were on she went and got
the key to my chastity from its hiding place.

"Now you're free, Mimi," she congratulated.  "What would you like to do?"
I didn't want to upset her and cause trouble, but I needed to convey that I
had thought I was going to be allowed an orgasm in exchange for all the
wealth and property I had just transferred to her.  I made small sounds
that I hoped would send my message.  She looked at my girlish face with
feigned incomprehension.  I pointed my chin toward my crotch.  In
desperation, I humped my hips, which cost me discomfort because I was in
one of my growing collection of corsets, a lacy red one, and it was the
tightest yet.  Regina let me humiliate myself some more before she at last
said, "Oh, I see.  Mimi wants to have doggy sex.  Is that right?"  I gave
her my best bark of agreement.  "Well," she said musingly, "how can we do
that?  I don't want you rubbing up against anything in the house.  I know.
Let's take Mimi into the yard."  I protested with my eyes but she just got
a leash, a black and yellow striped one, and clipped it to that day's
decorative collar.  I followed her on my knees, to the sliding glass doors
and into he yard.  "How about if Mimi plays her naughty game with that big
rock at the edge of the garden?  Is that where Mimi wants to rub her
binky?"

The idea was disgraceful but I hadn't had relief in too many weeks.  I went
to the jutting rock and mounted it, then began mock intercourse, telling
myself that it would be worth it to ejaculate.  My corset pinched and the
rough stone scraped at my tender member but I refused to quit.  Several
times I brought myself to the edge but I couldn't get past that point.
Then I felt my orgasm approaching.  It was getting closer and closer.  I
looked at the woods that faced me, making sure no one was strolling there
and would see me in my moment of supreme shame.  Then, just as I was about
to cum, I heard a voice behind me.  "What IS that doggie doing?" Curt asked
in an amused tone.  I froze.  My erection wilted and my penis shrank to its
smallest dimensions which, in my case, are very small.  The two of them
embraced and kissed, their hands running all over each other.  I could only
back away from the rock and whimper.  Regina laughed at my plight and
showed me the chastity tube, saying, "Time to put this back on, Mimi.  I
hope my little sissy poodle didn't hurt her binky too much."  As she locked
up my binky I felt a final weight of defeat settle over me.  But there was
still more, and worse, to come.

She went and poured them each a glass of white wine.  They sat on wrought
iron chairs with soft cushions on their seats and backs.  How long had it
been since I had been on a chair?  I wasn't allowed on the furniture. My
wife was so lovely, so incredibly sexy, but I knew her body wasn't for me
and never would be again.  Curt told her, "Remember that piece of property
you gave me the deed to, so I could make inquiries?  Well, I took it to an
investor friend and pointed out to him the potential of the neighborhood
it's in.  The entire area around it is already being developed.  He wants
to buy it and here's the figure he's willing to pay."  He showed her a slip
of paper and her eyes went wide.  She said, "With that much money I would
never need any other income."  He said meaningfully, "Yes, so if there was
anyone here with a job, you could call their company and put in for an
early retirement.  Not that you'd need more money after this sale, but a
partial pension couldn't hurt."  She told him, "How convenient that a
certain retirement package was put into my name recently when I had some
papers signed."  I was devastated.  My wife would be wealthy and I would
have nothing.  I had lost my manhood and every penny I had owned.  The
house and cars were in her name.  She could throw me out and leave me with
nothing.  Regina must have read my mind because she said, pointedly, "It
will be a new life for me... and my Mimi.  Of course I'll keep her, so long
as she behaves perfectly.  I wouldn't want to have to place her with
someone who might mistreat her.  And I don't want to have to have her
fixed.  But I'm sure she won't give me any reason to do anything like
that."

The next week, after the sale of that property went through, Curt gave me
another gift.  This time it was 'paws' that bent my feet forward
uncomfortably and rendered my hands useless.  He and my wife took me for a
long walk through the woods, without a leash, telling me to sniff anything
I found interesting and rub up against trees if I had an itch.  I did both
those things to stay in character and with the hope that demeaning myself
might earn me some small rewards.  We heard voices of several guys who
sounded rather effeminate.  I hoped desperately that they wouldn't come in
our direction.  The idea of them seeing me was nerve wracking.  Luckily we
missed them but Regina said they sounded like some fellows who shared a
house nearby.  Curt suggested she should invite them over sometime.  I
didn't know if he was serious.  After that I wore the paws for part of
every day, usually with my tail.  The possibility of having those guys
visit remained a possibility.

It has been six months since that afternoon in the back yard.  Regina and
Curt like to go out a lot.  They have several dog sitters who take care of
me when they're gone.  There's a big Swedish woman named Helga who is harsh
with me.  She likes to swat my bare bottom with a rolled up newspaper.  She
has taught me a new walk, which is even more swishy.  She takes me for
strolls on a sandy path that runs through the woods and I'm always scared
that someone will spot me.  There have been several near exposures.  Then
there's a gay man, Jimmi, who sits me and fusses with my hair and make-up.
He also loves to give me baths and gets much too free with his hands.  The
worst is Tyra, who is a pre-op transsexual.  She brought a bra with her
that gathers and pushes up the softness of my chest, making it appear that
I have tiny breasts.  Then she put a fake pussy over my chastity and glued
it in place.  She even sold Regina on the idea of leaving it there, so that
now I look more female than male.  My hairless, rosy body is always on
display and I'm never allowed to escape my Mimi identity.  Curt never
ceases to be entertained by my hopeless situation.  I think the idea of me,
Regina's husband, being so conquered, gives him a sexual kick.  And I know
that keeping me this way gets my wife aroused and makes her bed time with
Curt better.  Plus, she can't get enough of my licking before and, worst
for me, after.

So that's it.  I'm a smooth-skinned, super-feminine, prissy poodle.  I'm
horny all the time and my wife still goes out of her way to tease me with
her curvaceous body.  And every time I dare to imagine that my life has
gotten as awful as it possibly can, they dream up something else to make it
even worse.  What frightens me the most is that I'm getting addicted to it
all and, eventually, might come to crave what I now despise.  Imagine
becoming a total sissy poodle with no chance of ever returning to your male
identity.  And loving it.

16 February 2013

Announcement of the Winner

By Rosie

The voice of my mother-in-law filled her living room with a formal timbre.

"Ladies, the winner of the best wife contest will now be announced," she
said.

There weren't that many people present, certainly not to justify the
formality of the occasion, especially not this early in the afternoon,
though I liked it. The more formal, the better. Beside me and Marla, my
wife, it was just her mother, the referee and scorekeeper, and Janice and
Stephanie, Marla's older and younger sister. Though their participation in
the contest was a pure formality - the real contest was between Marla and
me. The contest started out as "the best housekeeper contest", but was
renamed to the best wife contest quite early in the game. Even though I
was clearly a husband, not a wife, I didn't mind the implication. On the
contrary, I liked it even more than the original. After all, among the two
of us, either one of us had the same chances of being a good housekeeper,
but when competing who was the better wife between us, the advantage
seemed to be clearly on her side. This, for me, was an even better
motivation to win - after all, the closer we were to Marla's home field
when I beat her, the better.

I wouldn't call myself a naturally competitive person, unlike Marla, but
she has a way of dragging me into contests. Ever since we met, we've been
competing, knowingly or not. In the last couple of years, however, we've
started to make our contests quite formal, drawing out increasingly
complete rules and regulations before each start. In the beginning we also
set a prize, but both of us have soon realized that the real prize was
the
winning itself. Only when we'd drag some of our family or friends into one
of our contests, there would be a symbolic prize.

But not this time. Besides receiving the formal title of the best wife,
there was no other award, which is why I enjoyed the full formality of the
occasion. And of course, because it was hardly a secret that I was the
winner of the contest. Which was both a delight and a huge relief, because
I badly needed a victory. Recently, Marla had whooped my ass in both
tennis and golf, which I had introduced her to, but most importantly, she
made a fool out of me before my co-workers when she won the programmer's
challenge. I improved my record a little by winning what was called as
"other computer skills contest". While she obviously did a better job at
programming, I bested her at keeping track of various versions of
documents, organizing bits of information, retrieving data about contact
information, keeping track of schedules, etc. Winning the best wife title
alone wouldn't be enough to get me back into the lead, but a resounding
victory on her home turf would be more than welcome.

Curiously, the competition had started out between the three sisters, but
I was quickly drawn in to it, simply because of the fact that Marla was
competing somewhere. I was afraid I wouldn't be welcome in what I thought
was an intimate affair shared only by the sister, and their mother as the
referee, none of the contenders protested when I joined.

"The more the merrier," Joanne, my mother-in-law, said.

Whatever my wife does at home, I can do better, I thought and entered the
contest by symbolically donning a frilly apron. In no time, I was cooking
dinners, baking cakes, stewing broths, washing dishes, dusting rooms,
ironing linen with Marla, Janice and Stephanie, under the Joanne's close
scrutiny. Very soon in the game, I realized that it was not a contest on
my own terms - with a fixed set of rules defined at the very beginning -
when they changed the title to the "best wife contest". I didn't protest
though, the closer to Marla's home turf, the better, I though. In fact, it
was Stephanie who protested to the new name, on the grounds that she
wasn't married, and thus technically not a wife. The change wasn't in name
alone, as it turned out, and the competition events took on more and more
wifely attributes. Not only were we required to cook, clean, vacuum and
dust, but we had to do it in increasingly higher heels, increasingly
tighter skirts and other, often ridiculously restrictive garments that no
wife would probably wear at all, much less during cleaning her house.

Since I was more or less the same size as Marla, I borrowed her clothes at
first, and Stephanie's shoes. More often than not, I'd wear the exact
same
clothes as Marla, which was received quite favorably by the referee.

"Now that's a level playing field," she said.

For a while, Stephanie and Janice had to borrow Marla's clothes as well,
until Marla had enough and a new rule was added - the contestants must
compete wearing only their own clothes. It was at that point that I
started doubting the sense of the contest. Shopping for dresses and shoes
was no problem since I already knew what sizes I wore, but being fitted
for a corset made me seriously rethink whether I should carry on or not.

Not for long, though. A couple of taunts from Marla's side were enough to
get me back in the game, more serious than ever. After all, looking at the
total score thus far, I was far ahead of Marla, or her sisters. It would
be a shame to waste it.

When Joanne decided that a good wife should not only perfectly carry out
household chores wrapped in her stiff corsets, tight dresses and on her
high heels, but should do so with an air of elegance, I found my advantage
shrinking rapidly. However, I was determined to win the contest, and
after
mastering the art of make-up, styling my, by that time shoulder-length
hair, speaking in a feminine voice and generally wearing my new clothes
gracefully, I was back in a very comfortable lead.

The contest dragged longer than I had anticipated, and I did have to make
certain sacrifices to remain a competent contender. Beside spending a lot
on the clothes - near the end I practically needed a new outfit for every
event - I had also used up all of my vacation days in order to practice
for the events. But, like all things must come to an end, so did our
contest. There's no denying that it had cost me a lot, much more than the
other contestants, but the fact that I had secured my victory at least
three events before the finish made up for a good part of it.

As good as that felt, it was nothing compared to the excitement I felt as
I counted down the seconds from being announced the winner of the contest.
I took another look around the room. Everyone was dressed up in their
finest clothes. Janice was wearing an elegant full skirted sleeveless
dress, made in white silk that closed with a shirt-like collar around her
neck. Stephanie was looking feminine as ever in a knee length silk dress
with wide, billowing sleeves and a white polka dot print on a black
background. Marla, who came in second - but last in our own personal
contest - still humored us by dressing properly, although in a rather
simple, but still very beautiful red silk dress. Joanne, who insisted that
the event was a formal one despite the protests of everyone else but me,
was dressed the most beautifully of all. She was wearing a black chiffon
blouse over a black satin bustier and a very full floor length silk skirt.
I had to admit that even I, in my own full skirted burgundy taffeta gown
with a black chiffon and lace overlay, hardly come close to her. This
doesn't mean that my outfit went unnoticed, once I had put it on in the
privacy of Joanna's bedroom.

Finally, the wait was over.

"The winner of the best wife contest," Joanna announced, "is Caroline."

Despite the fact that my name was Carl, I knew that I was being announced
as the winner, since I'd been called - and responding to - the feminine
version of my name for a while. Excitedly, I hopped up to my feet, the
taffeta of my gown rustling as I did so. For a moment, I was surprised to
find Joanna taller than me again. During the contest I had gotten used to
the inch or two that my high heels gave me over her height, but now that
she was wearing heels herself, it was a "level playing field", as she
liked to say.

First Joanna congratulates me and draws me into her firm embrace. Then, I
stand next to her, facing the other contestants, beaming with pride. Even
now, I know that my appearance is immaculate, that my hair, now dyed
platinum blonde is framing my perfectly made-up face in a mass of tight
curls and that my quite expensive silicone breast forms are straining at
the bodice of my dress, making a very realistic image of a wife's chest.
Acting on an impulse, I pluck at the material of my skirts with the thumb
and index finger of each hand, and, placing my left foot behind the right,
drop a perfect curtsey.

Marla and her sisters clap enthusiastically, then get up to congratulate
me, making sure that there are no hard feelings between us. In the end,
Joanne presents me with the tiara that was promised to the winner.

We have a couple of drinks, but the formal atmosphere is disintegrating
rapidly. One after the other, Marla, Janice and Stephanie all change into
their day clothes which they wore on their way to Joanne's house.
Stephanie and Marla are in jeans and sweaters while Janice is wearing a
tartan skirt and a black blouse. Even Joanne, with her penchant for formal
attires, is now wearing white slacks and a pink silk blouse. In this
stark
contrast, my party dress makes me stand out unequivocally as the winner,
but this delight is short lived. Soon, Marla's sisters are on their way
home and after I've cleared up the table and tidied Joanna's living room,
it is time for us to go home, too.

The contest is, at last, over. My triumphant mood is swept away by a
feeling of exhaustion and I, despite the advice of both my wife and my
mother-in-law, decide not to take the dress off before going home. Partly
because I want to get as much out of my victory as I can, partly because
I'm too tired to change into the turquoise sweater and skirt set I wore
earlier. I do take off the tiara though.



By the time we get home, the triumphant mood has completely vanished, and
wearing my dress, my former statement of victory, now only feels plain
silly. If anything, it reminds me of the tremendous cost of my recent
victory. I have not only used up all of this year's vacation days, but
also a lot of the next year's, in advance. The wardrobe and the cosmetics
I was required to acquire for the demands of the competition has pretty
much drained up all my savings. But what is eating me the most at the
moment is that I have subjected my body to certain changes which I will
have to reverse before I put on men's clothes again. That said, reversing
some of them will take time, reversing others will take effort. I can't
really do anything but wear long legged and long sleeved clothes until my
body hair grows back. Thanks to the laser treatments and hormone creams
I've been using on my face, it will be an even longer time before my beard
starts to grow again, if at all. Same goes for my eyebrows, which I will
have to mask somehow. The effort will have to go into styling my hair into
a men's haircut. Drastic steps will have to be taken, because I know that
no mater how long I keep washing it, these curls aren't coming out. Not
to
mention the new color. My fingernails will take some serious filing before
they are back to a reasonable length, and free of both color and shine.
Removing my breast forms, which I attached very securely to my chest, will
be nothing but painful, and, if I don't get in time to the store which
sells the solvent for the adhesive, delayed until tomorrow.

The more I think about this, the sillier I feel, wearing my dress yet at
the same time, more and more reluctant to go through the actual process of
changing. When Marla proposes that instead of changing completely, I just
change into a different, less festive dress, I am as much shocked by her
proposal as I am relieved to get out of the dress without going through
the whole process of transformation.

Half an hour later, I am back in the living room, now wearing a green silk
dress with cute, puffed short sleeves. The knee length skirt is a little
tighter than I would like it to be, but at the same time I'm glad to have
swapped my corset for a much more comfortable white satin teddy, clipped
over my pearly white pantyhose that has replaced my black stockings. Of
course, black panties have no place in such an ensemble, though I whish I
had remembered that before I put everything on over them. The shoes I am
wearing are light beige suede pumps with three inch heels that are nicely
accentuated by my milky-coffee print scarf. Actually, the whole outfit is
a little dressier than I had originally intended, but on the other hand, I
have worn this, frankly speaking very expensive, dress only once before.

"What are you going to do with all of your pretty new clothes, honey?"
Marla asks me, as if reading my mind.

"I haven't given it a whole lot of thought," I reply, suddenly aware of
the girlishness of my voice. The competition is over and I can afford to
ignore all those tedious rules of proper deportment, but somehow, the idea
of speaking in my normal, manly voice seems strangely improper as long as
I am dressed like that.

"Well, you've had more important things on your mind," she says, "Anyway,
how do you feel?"

"Mostly tired," I confess, and pause for a bit.

"But good tired, you know? It feels good to even the score, especially
since I beat you on your own turf," I say and confidently lean back into
my chair, crossing my nylon-shod legs as I do so.

"You sure did, I'll give you that," she smiles, "You've sure proven who's
the most wifely between the two of us."

The way she says that makes me feel my confidence suddenly disappearing.

"I know that the contest is over, but while you're still dressed up as the
wife, why don't you make me a nice cup of coffee?" she continues.

It is kind of demeaning, but at the same time, I gladly take the
opportunity to get away from her for a second and regain my composure.



"Thank you, Carol," she says as bring her the steaming cup on a silver
tray with the mandatory lace doily, and all the confidence I've been
building up is shattered by her use of my female name.

"You know, I've been meaning to ask you before, but you seemed so
engrossed in the contest I didn't want to disturb your concentration," she
says, "But now that it's over, I guess there won't be any harm."

She pauses for a second, looking at me.

"What exactly is the point of these contests we've been having?" she
finally asks.

"What do you mean?" I ask wearily, feeling the full impact of her words.
There I am, dressed up completely like a woman, dress, heels and makeup,
my whole body hairless, my eyebrows plucked, my hair permanently curled
and she, the instigator of the competition, is implying that the contest
was pointless?

"You know what it was about," I mutter.

"Of course," she says, "But I want to make sure that you know."

"It was about who makes the better housewife," I say, feeling more and
more ridiculous by the second.

"Yes," she says, pausing for a moment, "Okay, let me ask you this way -
what should we do with the knowledge obtained from this contest?"

"I'm not sure I know what you mean," I say, pushing a stray lock of hair
behind my left ear.

"Let me give you an example," she says, "Tell me, what did we learn in the
last two contests?"

"I uh..." I begin, then a thought crosses my mind. Despite still feeling the
ridiculousness of my outfit, I can feel a tiny surge of confidence as I
remember my latest victory.

"I guess that we learned I can whoop your ass in basic computer skills any
day," I say triumphantly.

"Okay, I guess," Marla sighs, "You can look at it this way. What I learned
is that while you suck at object programming, you do posses certain
secretarial skills. Am I right?"

As soon as it came, the confidence is gone again.

"I guess you can look at it this way, too," I humbly reply.

"I do," she says, "Now the question is, what do you intend to do with the
knowledge."

"I... I don't know," I say, "Get a book on Visual Basic?"

"That might help, a little," she says, "But to tell you the truth, I asked
you that only because I wanted to see if you understand what I'm trying
to
tell you. The question itself is more of a moot point."

"Huh? Why?" I ask.

"Well you see, while you were busy mincing around the house on your high
heels, and making yourself look ladylike in your pretty dresses, I put
this knowledge into action," she says, "Want to know how?"

With a dry mouth, I nod.

"I had a word with your boss and told her that perhaps she should
reconsider who she gives the position of chief developer to," she says,
"After that debacle at your office it didn't take much to convince Sarah
to hire me instead of you."

"You what?" I gulp, "So, what, now you're working in my office?"

"I wouldn't say so," she says, "Because it's not your office anymore,
sweetie."

"You took my job?" I almost cry.

"Not without getting you another one," she says calmly, "Shirley from my
old office has recently been promoted and the boss is looking for a new
secretary. The job's yours if you want it."

I can only stare numbly at her.

 "Sarah would never fire me," I finally mumble.

"No?" she says, "Maybe you should check your work email every once in a
while, even if you're on vacation leave."



As fast as my tight skirt will allow me, I run to my computer and after
what has really been too long, turn it on to check my office email. Sure
enough, there is a series of emails from Sarah, calling me with increasing
urgency to reply until the last one which says I needn't bother replying,
or coming back to the office for that matter.



"Don't cry, sweetie," Marla says as she hugs me. I can't help it and give
in to my emotions, but after a while, I'm alright again and we return to
the living room.

"Well, in case you do want the job," she says, "You have an interview
scheduled tomorrow at ten."

"Okay," I say weakly, then I glance at the clock on the wall. It's five to
one, five minutes until closing time on Sunday. I've completely forgot
about getting the solvent and now there's no way I can get there in time.
Moreover, the store is closed on Mondays.

"Oh, shit," I mutter under my breath.

"Something wrong, sweetie?" she asks.



Depends on how you look at it, honey. But your two questions? What will I
do with the knowledge I got from the contest? And what will I do with my
new clothes? Let's just say that one question answers the other.

Neighbours

By: Rosie

[doorbell]

Hi, mum!
Oh, Leslie! What a pleasant surprise. Come in. Give your old mother a kiss!

[footsteps]

My, you're looking very pretty today.
Thanks, mum. You're looking nice yourself.
You're just saying that to make me feel better about my old age.
Come on, mum, you're not old.
There you go with your sweet talk again. But seriously, that outfit of yours is very becoming.
You like it? Sheila chose it for me.
Sheila, huh? Well, she certainly knows what looks good on you. You're very lucky to have a wife like her, you know. I wish she came by more often.
She's sorry she couldn't come, to. She sends you her love though.
Well, that's sweet of her. Mm! I almost forgot, I had your old room somewhat redecorated. Would you like to see it?
Sure.

[footsteps]

These stairs seem a lot steeper than I remember them to be. I hope I don't break any legs on my way down.
The shoes you're wearing aren't helping, you know.
Yes, I know, they're not very comfortable. But they go so well with the outfit.
I see that. And I suppose Sheila told you to wear them.
Yes, but-
Then it's OK, dear.

[door creaking]

Drat! Of all the business I had in here, I forgot to have the hinges oiled. And to think I started it almost exclusively because of the creaking.
I could oil it for you, if you wanted.
Maybe another day, dear, when you're dressed more appropriately for that line of work. Anyway - what do you think?
Oh, this is very nice. I love the way you had only a few changes done, but it seems it's a different room altogether. This is still my old bed, right?
It is. Looking for something?
My old... Hey, where are my comic books? You didn't- . .?
Relax, I put them in a box and took it to the empty room next door. You can go read them if you like.
I don't really read them-
Then why are they so important to you?
I expect them to gain collectable value and make me filthy rich any day now.
Good plan. In the meantime, do you plan on doing any work or are you going to just sit on the beach to have a nice tan, when you appear at the auction?
Very funny, mother, I-
Hush! Look there, quick!
Where?
Out the window! Do you see them?
Who?
Those two, that couple.
Right across the street?
Yes.
What about them?
They've just moved in. Few days ago. Just take a look at them.
O-kayy. Can we go down now? I'm dying for some tea.

[footsteps]

Would you be so kind as to make the tea? I think I should rest a little.
Of course, mum.
And put an apron on.
Oh, come on, it's only tea I'll be making.
Don't argue with me. And I don't suppose you want to get Sheila angry by ruining your clothes, do you?
Mum, I don't-
I'll be in the living room.
[footdsteps]

[shouting] Are there any crumpets?
[shouting] Yes, but there's a lovely walnut cake in the fridge, that'll do better.

[footsteps]
[clutter of cutlery]

There we go.
Thanks dear. Why such a small slice for you?
I'm watching my figure, you know, I-
Is that Sheila's idea?
No! Well, yes. How did you know?
A mother knows, son. She's right, anyway. You were getting a little pudgy.
It's hard to resist though, it's such a lovely cake.
Well you're not getting any more of it, young man. I don't want to get into Sheila's bad books.
Oh, enough with this Sheila stuff. Can we talk about something else?
It's lovely tea you made, dear.
There's not much to preparing tea, you know that.
So modest.
Just say whatever you've been meaning to say, mother.
What makes you think I was going to say anything?
I know you, you always get that expression when you're about to say something you think is awkward.
Oh. Well then, that couple across the street?
Yes?
What do you make of them?
I don't know. Just a couple, I guess. I've only seen them for maybe thirty seconds, I can't really claim to know them.
But didn't you see?
What?
How much taller she is than him? How much bigger? He almost seems like a child dotting along beside her.
So?
You mean that's perfectly normal?
Well, if you haven't noticed, Sheila is quite taller than me, too. Are you implying there's something wrong with our relationship?
Oh, good heavens, not at all. You two look absolutely lovely together. It's just that...
Go on.
In my days, it was the men who were the big and strong, and the women who were the dainty ones. I guess it's the other way around now.
You can't possibly come to a conclusion like that only by seeing two couples. I'm sure there are still lots of strong men and dainty women to keep you happy.
Oh, don't get so excited. Why, you're blushing!  Was it something I said?
Well, I don't really appreciate being called dainty. I mean, I know I'm not as big as strong as the average man is, but dainty...?
I'm sorry dear, didn't mean to embarrass you.
It's all right, mum, just... Oh. You've got that expression again. Go on, say it.
Do you stand on your toes when she kisses you?
I can't tell you that.
Why not?
It's embarrassing.
Oh, come on. How bad can it be to tell me a little thing like that?
I don't want to talk about it. And don't look at me like that, it's not going to work.
[pause]
Oh, all right. But I'll answer just one question, so better choose it carefully.
Hmm... Got one: tell me, how you two kiss. In detail.
In detail, huh? Well, it goes like this: first we pout our lips, like so, than we move closer together, so that - OUCH! You kicked me!
Did I? Terribly sorry dear, must have been an accident.
Right in the shin, with your pointy shoe. That really hurt, you know. And it was completely unnecessary, I was only joking, for Christ's sake! Yes, I do have to stand on my toes. How else can I reach her lips?
Do you like it, standing on your tiptoes for her?
I said one question. Well, yes. It was kind of strange at first, but I got used to it. I kind of sink into her when she kisses me. Put my arms around her neck, tilt my head back. Lately, I find myself bending my right leg back at the knee.
Does she like that?
The knee? I don't think she notices it. But the arms around her neck get her excited. Sometimes, she even lifts me off the ground a bit.
Well, I'll be! And still you don't think you're dainty.
Oh, mummy-
Shh, sweetie. There's nothing wrong with being dainty, no need to be ashamed.

I should be going now.
So soon? It seems you just got here?
No, really. I told Sheila I wouldn't be late.
Oh, I wouldn't want to keep her waiting. You better hurry home to stand on your toes again.
Tease all you want. I'm not standing on my toes for you.
There's no need to. Tell me, does she ever grab your backside like this-
Mum! Stop it. Of course she does. What kind of a woman do you think she is?

It's been nice seeing you.
You too. Two things before you leave, though.
Yes?
Number one: take off that apron you're wearing.
What? Oh sweet lord, I completely forgot about it. Here. What's number two?
A goodbye kiss.

[muffled] I think you're overdoing it. There may be people watching.
Well let them see. I'm not ashamed to kiss my son in public. Wait, let me get some tissues, I better wipe off that lipstick I've smeared across your face. Wouldn't want Sheila to think you've been whoring around, now would we?

See you soon, mum!
Drive safely.

* * *

[doorbell]

Hello, dear. Come in.
Wow!
Is this the way to greet your mother, young man?
I'm sorry. But you really surprised me. I didn't expect you to be so dolled up.
Well, you were the one who was dolled up the last time. I didn't want to be underdressed again.
I wasn't-
Oh, shush. You looked lovely. You do today, too, as a matter of fact.
Why thank you. You know, that dress is very becoming.
You like it?
Sure. I just don't remember you wearing it.
That's perfectly understandable.
Oh mother. Tell me you didn't-
Buy a new dress just because you're visiting?
You did though, didn't you?
Oh, it's been ages since I bought one. And I hardly go anywhere these days...
It's pure silk, isn't it? Must have cost a fortune.
Well I happen to find it very nice if we put something more formal on for our little get-togethers. It gives them a little more special meaning. And it's not like you visit me every day.
Come on, I was here only last week. You know I'm trying my best. Oh, look. You've even had your hair done.
So you've noticed. Finally.
It was the first thing I've noticed on you. But this purple dress of yours took my mind of it.
See? That makes it worth the price, no matter how high. Anyway, I'm glad you mentioned hair. You won't believe what I heard at the hairdresser's.
What?
The couple across the street, the Robertsons?
What about them?
Robertson is her family name, not his. So they're Mrs. and Mr. Jenny Robertson. Bit like you and Sheila, right?
Not quite. I did take Sheila's surname, but just added it next to mine. She did the same. You know that.
Oh, of course I know my own son's new surname. I'm just surprised Sheila didn't go for Mrs. and Mr. Sheila Boyle.
She did, actually.
Really? You managed to change her mind?
Yes. Why do you find that so hard to believe?
No reason. Tell me, how did you do it?
I told her that by adding each other's surnames we display our love, like we do with the wedding rings, only it works on a different level.
That's sweet. I'm proud of you.
Well, I'm not. It's just some rubbish I made up because I was to ashamed to take on her name.
Why? Whatever for?
What would people say? I mean, look at the couple next door, even you are talking about it-
Oh don't mind that! If I let that worry me, I wouldn't do half the things I did in my life, including giving birth to you. As a matter of fact, I think it's beautiful if a man takes on his wife's name. It's just unusual, that's all.
But if I did become Mr. Sheila Boyle, wouldn't you be hurt because I gave up your name?
Don't be silly. I gave up MY name when I married your dad. You'll always be my son, regardless of the name you bear.
Oh mummy-
Leslie, are you crying?
No...
Oh, my sweet little baby. Come here, sit on my lap.
I can't sit in your lap, mummy, come on.
Of course you can, come here.
[rustling of silk]

There, there. It feels nice, doesn't it? Just like when you were little. Go on, cry if you have to. Let it all out.
[sobbing] You know, I really did want to take her name. I wanted to surrender to her so badly. It's just that-
[wailing] I let my stupid pride get in the way!
Shhh. Don't worry, baby, everything's going to be all right.

[yawning]
Where am I? Oh. What happened?
You fell asleep. I didn't want to wake you up, so I just covered you.
What time is it?
Five to eight.
Five to eight? You shouldn't have let me sleep that long. I should have been home ages ago.
Don't worry about that. Sheila called to ask about you, I told her you were so tired you fell asleep on the couch.
What did she say?
She told me to let you sleep. She only wanted to know when you are coming home.
Still, I think I'm going to head home anyway.
That's all right dear. Just wash your face from all that crying...

When you spoke to her on the phone, you didn't mention...
Of course not, what kind of a babbling old woman do you take me for? I'm a little insulted, you know.
I'm sorry, mummy. But-
It's OK, dear, I imagine how you must feel. What are you going to do about it, anyway?
Don't know. It's kinda late to tell her now.
Don't worry. I'm sure we'll think of something. Take care now.
Bye, mummy.

* * *

Well, hello there, strangers! Oh, Sheila, it's been so long. Come here, give me a hug!
Hello Margaret. Sorry for not coming before. Work, you know.
I know, I know. Leslie told me all about it. He can't stop talking about you. Leslie! Give your mother a hug.
Hello, mummy.
Let's go in, shall we. Oh, how adorable you two look today! I have to compliment on how you've been dressing my son. Very nice. Stylish.
Oh, it's not that I'm dressing him up, just helping him pick the right colors and such. You look very nice, too, Margaret. Doesn't she, honey?
Sure. Mummy? Yes?
You didn't buy a new dress again, did you?
Of course I did. Now come in, let's have some tea. You wouldn't mind making some, Leslie, would you? Sheila and I have so much catching up to do.
Sure, mummy.
We'll be it the garden.

[footsteps]

Have you moved the bench, Margaret?
Yes, I had it face the other way now. You know, start showing my face to the sun. That and the Robertsons across the street.
The Robertsons?
The couple across the street. Hasn't Leslie told you about them?
He has mentioned them, not by the name though.
[footsteps]
Well, here's the tea, ladies.
Want to be mother, darling?
Okay mummy, but it'll be awkward drinking our tea sitting on that bench.
Well, you don't have to sit on the bench, if you don't want to.
Even if I did, you hardly left any room. So, you've moved spying on them up a notch?
Just take that chair. I know it's not as comfortable... Anyway, it's hardly spying.
Oh sure. You just happen to drink tea facing their house every day.
Like I said, I'm catching some rays. And they certainly don't make much effort in hiding their business. You know what they did just the other day?
O, brother, what now-
Leslie! You mind? I want to hear.
See, Sheila knows how to talk to elderly people. Now. I believe they had sex in the garden.
In the garden? Really?
Yes, in plain view.
What do you mean you believe, mom?
Well, I'm not one hundred per cent sure they were having an intercourse - they weren't completely exposed, but even so-
Didn't you have even the dignity to leave?
Leslie! Stop interrupting your mother. Do tell more, Margaret.
I'm not going to leave my sunny garden just because a couple across the street is making love, mind you. Anyway, if you'll stop jumping in my words, I'd like to start at the beginning. Promise to be a good boy?
Yes, mummy, sorry.
Well. Now. As I said, I was having my tea right here as they came out to their garden. Each one had their own book, it looked like nothing special, husband and wife reading on a quiet afternoon. But Jane, that's her name, was feeling a bit amorous. Started running her foot up his legs, making kissy faces at him and such. I thought, 'they're going inside anytime now, show's over'. They didn't, though. She moved to his deck chair, making moves on him. You know, caressing, kissing. He didn't' seem to enthusiastic. Trying to keep her off, turning his head away from her mouth. It didn't stop her. Just the opposite, as a matter of fact. She took hold of his head by the chin and planted a long kiss on his mouth. I think I heard him say 'at least let's go inside', but I'm not too sure. Anyway, she wouldn't have any of that. She climbed on him, held his hands against the chair so he couldn't move. And with just one hand! She used the other to undo his trousers, I think. She had a very full skirt on, so she spread it over him. Started rocking over him. After a while she let go of his hands. He had more or less resigned to the situation by then, he didn't try to push her off, rather started reaching for her breasts and hips and so. After they finished, she slid off him, buttoned him up, kissed him, and then went inside.
My, some neighbours you've got here, Margaret! And all this while you were watching! They didn't see you, did they?
Here's the funny thing. I'm pretty much sure they did. Jane kept looking at me occasionally while they were doing it.
Oh, mummy, what will you say to them when you meet them?
I have met them, dear-
After that performance?
No, unfortunately. But why should I be ashamed of watching them?  I was outside before them, they were perfectly aware of me. If they are comfortable, or at least she is, at being intimate in public, I don't see why it should bother me.
So, what are they like?
Jane is very nice. Well mannered, intelligent. Has a very pleasant voice. Can't say much about Donald, he kept quiet most of the time.
How did you meet them?
Went over for tea. And speaking of them, they're up to something again.
How can you tell?
Look behind you, dear. She's just opened the window and Donald has a rather nervous expression.
Poor man, see how he's running about the room. Like he was in some sort of a trap.
You're not that far off, Sheila. I wonder what Jane's got in store for him today.
How can you two sit here and watch-
Don't be such a killjoy, Leslie. Oh, look, he's spreading some quilts across the window sill. Maybe he's just changing the bedspreads or something.
I wouldn't bet on that. See how he's all frozen up now that she's entered the room.
My, she's certainly feeling amorous, as you've put it.
Yes, and look at how she towers above him. As if he's shrunk.
Well, there go the trousers, I guess. You think she'll make love to him on the window sill?
I wonder what that's going to be like. Look, look, she's turned him around.
She's got him leant through the window as if he were the woman.
You don't suppose she's... that she's actually a man?
Whatever for?
What is she... how are they, you know?
Well, I'm certainly not watching, I'm going inside- OW! Mummy, let go of my arm, you're hurting me.
I'm sorry dear, but I think you should stay and watch. Might be educational for you.
I can't sit on this chair twisting my neck like that, I'll be all cramped up.
Sit in my lap, then.
Please, mummy, not in front of Sheila.
Oh, silly me. Completely forgot. Sit in her lap, then.
Mummy, please, you're embarrassing me.
Just get your ass over here, Leslie. Nothing we haven't done before.
[rustling of silk]
Just put your arm here. Now move a little to the left, so that I can see... yes. Perfect. Did I miss anything?
Don't know what to say. They're certainly going at it. She is, at any rate. So she's taking him from behind. Must be wearing a strap-on, then.
She's ramming into him, that's for sure.
She's sodomizing him.
She's shoving it up his ass.
She's fucking his brain out.
Mom! Where did you learn to talk like that?
Shh. Just be quiet in your wife's lap there, dear. Are you sure you're watching all this?
Well, yes, you made me stay, remember?
Not looking away?
No. Though I don't much enjoy this humiliation of the poor man.
Just be thankful Sheila doesn't take you the same way.
What makes you think I don't, Margaret?
Oh, Sheila, stop joking, this isn't funny!
Sorry honey. He's such a doll Margaret. So sensitive.
He is, isn't he? Hasn't changed much since he was a little child. Well, they're just about wrapping it up.
Thank god. Pass me my teacup, please.
Here you go. But admit that it wasn't so bad.
Maybe, I-
Look, you two, she's waving at us. I'll wave back. Hello-
[clatter of porcelain]
Ow! Mummy! Look what you've done. Spilled tea all over me. Ow, hot!
Well get off Sheila's lap, quickly! You okay, Sheila?
Yes, yes, I'm fine.
Don't just stand there, get your clothes off, silly! I'll get a rag, then we'll try to find some of your old clothes.

[footsteps]
Leslie!  I can't believe you made such a fuss! As if you can't watch a couple making love in a perfectly natural way - then practically crying over a little tea splashed on you.!
I'm sorry Sheila.
Should be too!  Now you'd better behave for the rest of the time we're here!
Yes dear.

[footsteps]

What are you doing still dressed?
I didn't want to strip in front of the Robertsons-
 Oh, for goodness sake!  Now get your blouse off. There you go, Leslie. Oh, drat, your skirt is wet too. Here, let me help you. You'll have to take off your slip as well.
Um, sure.
You know, instead of getting you your old stuff, as little as it's left here, I have a better idea. Let's see how my dress looks on you?
The purple one you wore the last time?
The very same one, dear.
Oh, I've been dying to try it on ever since I've seen it. Can I have the shoes, too?
Of course.  Let me get them.

[footsteps]

Leslie?  I think it would be a nice idea. .
What?
Once you have your dress on?  Why don't you just take a walk across the street, introduce yourself - then invite them to tea sometime next week.  They look like SUCH a lovely couple.  I'm sure we'd be very compatible.

Prissy Poodle

By: Throne

My wife Regina has a natural talent for manipulation.  We had been married
for a short while when she started hinting that we might experiment a
little with our sex life.  Well, she's a real beauty, with a full figure
that she's unapologetic about, and which turns me on no end.  Just seeing
her generous curves when she's around the house, cooking or folding
laundry, or even simply sitting at the computer, drives me wild.  So, with
the possibility of adding some extra spice to our lovemaking, I agreed.
What had I expected?  Maybe her buying extra hot lingerie.  Or me massaging
her with scented oils.  Something like that.  So I was surprised and put
off balance when she said I should remove all my body hair.  "Come on,"
Regina said in her most sultry voice.  "I'd really love to get my hands all
over your body if it was smooth and hairless.  It would be soooo exciting."
Well, hearing her say that did the trick.  It turned out she had already
purchased an excellent depilatory cream for me to use.  I got into the
shower and spread it generously, everywhere from just below my eyebrows.  I
had to stand there for ten minutes while it worked, with her in the room.
That was sort of uncomfortable because I'd always been self-conscious about
my slender and soft body, as well as my below average sized genitals.  I
fussed with my collar-length hair, which had gotten that long because she
kept discouraging me from getting it cut.

When it was time to shower off I was further disturbed to see all my body
hair accumulating on the drain cover.  I tried to voice my concern to my
wife but she just said not to worry, that the pipes wouldn't get clogged.
"After all, Terry," she reassured me, "you didn't have much hair on you to
begin with."  Actually, what I had been concerned about was how she might
think of me after such a change, and the belated realization that I
wouldn't want anyone else to see me that way.  I went to the bedroom with
one towel around my waist and another draped over my shoulders, covering
myself the best I could.  Regina was sitting on the edge of our bed, fully
dressed, with a sly smile on her pretty face.  I felt uncomfortable in my
new state and even more so when she told me to put the towels over the back
of her vanity chair.  I blushed as I discarded them.

"Very nice," she commented.  "Come here and let me feel."  I went to her
hesitantly and she reached up to run her fingers up and down my narrow
chest.  I shivered and felt my penis twitch.  She stroked the area below my
navel and the tops of my thighs.  I couldn't help getting stiff.  When my
member rose to its full unimpressive four slim inches, she lightly petted
its underside, saying, "You know, without any hair down there, your binky
looks even smaller than usual."  Binky?  Where had that unflattering term
come from?  I didn't have time to think about that because my passion was
mounting.  Regina kept touching me, bringing me to the heights of arousal
and then backing off and allowing me to catch my breath.  She did that over
and over, making me stand there and squirm, physically and mentally, while
she made more remarks about my lack of hirsuteness, using words like 'cute'
and 'sweet' and even 'pretty'.

Then she stood up and suggested that I undress her.  My hands were unsteady
as I got Regina out of her blouse and skirt, knelt to remove her stockings,
and set everything aside.  Then I gently got her out of her bra and panties
and stood there waiting to see what came next.  Being naked and denuded of
hair made me feel submissive, unable to oppose her.  She put her arms
around my shoulders and hugged me close, her heavy breasts pressed warmly
against my front.  I whimpered with need and she chuckled.  "Do you want to
have a little fun, baby?" she asked.  I nodded and managed a choked, "Yes."
"Well, I'm always nice to you, aren't I?"  Again I nodded.  "And if I do
something for you, you'll do something for me.  Right?"  It sounded like I
was working to earn a reward, but my thinking was colored by lust and I
simply told her, "Whatever you want."  She said, "Good boy."  Regina laid
back on the bed and parted her long legs.  She said I should get into
position and I did, but then she suggested, "I don't want your fun to be
all over right away, and you're really worked up, so why don't you touch me
with just the tip of your little binky."  My horniness was at a frightening
peak and I didn't want to ruin her mood and risk my chance.

So, keeping my upper body elevated on straightened arms, I let only the
sensitized end of my penis meet the moist, warm, slippery entrance of her
womanhood.  I sighed loudly.  Regina moved her hips, taking the initiative,
controlling my stimulation.  After several minutes of that she reached up
and lightly fingered my nipples.  I moaned and threw back my head.  She
didn't stop.  It went on and on and on.  All at once she gave my chest
extra attention, making my sexual pulse race, and I was suddenly squirting
my limited amount of spunk.  I hadn't even gotten inside.  My embarrassment
was overwhelming.  But Regina only smirked at me and pulled me down on top
of her.  I lay there, cheeks flushed, knowing I hadn't satisfied her.  I
could finish her another way but had never liked the idea of providing oral
sex and couldn't have anyway, not without her cleaning up.  She held me and
patted my back consolingly, which only made me feel more of a failure.
Then she said, "You can make it up to me later."

Well, 'later' came the next evening.  We had just been talking about my
loss of body hair and she mentioned that the lotion I had used would
prevent it from growing back for at least a month, which was a shock to me.
Then she brought up another idea she'd had for experimentation.  Regina
said she had ordered a chastity device on line and wanted to try it.  I
said, "But, dear, how could we have sex if you were wearing one of those
things?"  She snickered and said, "Not me, Terry.  You.  It's a simple tube
that goes over your binky.  I was able to find one small enough to fit you.
So let's try it."  After my failure of the night before, along with her
reminder of how my smaller than average penis size, I said I would put it
on.  After all, I encouraged myself, if I didn't like it I could always
take it off.  So she got out the device and had me strip.  I had to go to
the fridge to get an ice pack so I could shrink my erection if I got one.
Hurrying through the house without a stitch on me brought magnified the
feeling of surrender to my wife.  When I got back she let me stand there
feeling awkward for several minutes while she turned the open-framework
tube this way and that.  At last she used the ice pack -- just to be sure,
she said -- and slid the miniature cage over my member.  To my surprise she
produced a small padlock, passed it through a ring that closed around the
top of my scrotum, and clicked it shut.  I wouldn't be able to take it off.

"B... but, honey," I said weakly.  "You'll have to be really careful not to
lose that key."  "I know," she said in a mock serious voice.  "If you
couldn't get your relief for a few days, you'd be a total mess.  And if I
just hid the key, you'd probably do anything I wanted if you thought it
would get you unlocked."  The truth of that hit me hard.  I said numbly,
"Anything you wanted."  She laughed, breaking my somber mood, and said,
"Now let's have some fun.  I want to run my hands all over your smooth,
pink, soft body."  She got me into bed again and took her time enjoying the
feel of my now satiny skin.  I wriggled under her touch.  When she licked
her fingertips and applied them to my nipples I squealed.  It felt so
strange not to be able to get hard.  It was uncomfortable.  But she didn't
relent.  And I knew without asking that she had no intention of freeing me
that night.  Regina didn't stop until I was sobbing with need.  Then she
hugged me close to her and we cuddled, with her stroking my back and making
soothing sounds.  I was confused but hopeful.  I mean, how far could she
take something like that?  We were just experimenting, right?

The next day was Saturday.  There was no mention of sex.  Regina wanted to
go to the mall so I took her.  She spent time in the big lingerie store,
going through their plus size department.  For me that was like being in
sex heaven... except that I was still in chastity.  She selected a filmy
baby-doll nighty and held it up in front of her.  "Would you like to buy
this for me?"  I pictured her wearing it and said I definitely would.  Then
she wanted to know, "Would you like me to model it for you later?"  Again I
was very clear that I did.  That was when she surprised me by asking, "And
what would I get in return?"  Standing there in the middle of that store,
with people all around us, I was uneasy talking about something so
intimate.  I inquired cautiously, "Well... I mean... what were you thinking
of?"  "You know how you don't do oral for me?  Let's change that.  You need
to try it and see what happens."  I was startled.  She new I had no desire
to do that for her.  But now I had to think about being in chastity, about
her holding the key, and about how eager I was to be free.  So I told her,
"If that's what you'd like to try, you know, just to see how it goes, we
could do that."  She patted me atop the head and again said, "Good boy."

At home she undressed and spent the rest of the day in just brief panties
and a cropped top with no bra underneath.  My need doubled as I watched her
make a sandwich, pour a glass of milk, and take a bag of chips out of the
cabinet.  Everything she did showed her off to me.  By the time she was
ready to hit the bedroom, around eight, I was totally distracted by
yearning.  She made me get naked.  Regina slipped off her panties.  Then
she surprised me by tossing them across the room and calling out, "Fetch!"
I went after them and carried them back to her.  She accepted them and got
ready to throw them again, first saying, "This time you can pick them up
with your mouth, like a good boy."  You've heard about how guys think with
their dicks?  Well, when your dick is in chastity it can really change the
way you think.  The panties went flying and I rushed after them, got down
on the floor, and snatched them up in my teeth.  Regina was pleased but she
told me, "One last time, but now you're going to bring them back on all
fours.  GO!"  Without thinking I did it.  When I was at her feet she
stroked my shoulder and repeated that 'good boy'.  Then she finished
undressing and put on the nighty.  It was sheer and being able to glimpse
her through the material was maddening.  All I wanted to do was have sex
but that was impossible unless she used the key.

My wife laid back on the bed and spread her thighs.  She grinned at me and
said, "You saw the nighty.  Time to pay."  I braced myself for the unwanted
task.  She purred contentedly as I got into place.  Then I forced myself to
use my mouth on her.  It shouldn't have excited me but, as deprived of sex
as I felt, it got me hard right away.  Soon I was caught up in giving her
pleasure, all the while telling myself that this was how I would earn my
release and regain my privileges in bed.  Regina was rocked by one orgasm
and then, after plenty more effort from me, a second.  She exhaled and told
me that was enough, and that I could move up alongside her.  Then she went
back into cuddling mode.  She even toyed with my nipples and whispered in
my ear that it had been wonderful for her.  That was small consolation as
my balls began to ache.  She put her hand over the chastity tube and said,
"How's your little binky doing, Terry?" I whimpered but lied that
everything was all right.  She moved her hands in slow motion over my
smooth skin and told me, "If you keep being such a good boy, I might be
tempted to go get that key and let you out of your tube.  Maybe."

Sunday morning she announced that if I stayed naked all day she would give
me a special treat.  Despite my discomfort, I said yes.  I was full of
anticipation and ready to cooperate.  By 'treat' she must mean an
unlocking.  I cleaned the kitchen and made her lunch.  She had on tight
slacks and a low cut top, plus sandals with two inch heels.  I couldn't
stop sneaking peeks at her.  I know that sounds strange, me feeling I
couldn't just gape at her the way I wanted to, but I was slipping deeper
into the new role she seemed to be steering me toward.  After lunch Regina
made me stand in front of her while she gave me a long evaluating look.
Finally she decided, "You really don't look very masculine, with no body
hair, all that rosy skin on display, and your little binky hidden in the
chastity.  I want to do something that'll bring your new look together."
She thought for a moment and then said brightly, "I know exactly the
thing."  Regina left the room, her round bottom rolling, hypnotizing me,
and soon returned carrying several rolls of ribbon and a pair of scissors.
She went to work and produced a big yellow bow that she tied around my
neck, to one side, so that it rested on my shoulder.  Then she made a
smaller one in red and tied it over my genitals, further obscuring them.

With a laugh she announced, "You look less like a man and more like a
pampered pet.  Like a prize poodle."  I felt my cheeks get hot from shame
but, at the same time, thought that maybe by giving in I could gain her
sympathy.  So I put my hands up like paws and held them in front of me.
Regina praised me with, "Good boy.  Very good boy."  As foolish as I knew I
looked, it might be worth it to do whatever she wanted if it would get me
out of that frustrating chastity.  My wife came up to me, took my head
between her hands, and pressed my face into her deep cleavage.  A current
of sexual electricity ran down my spine and into my binky.  I mean my
penis.  I was grateful for the small treat she was giving me.  Regina added
a bit of nipple play and then stepped away.  I stood before her, reduced to
powerlessness, but determined to stay the course.  We spent the rest of the
day with her teasing me in various ways and hinting that I might earn more
rewards, and me willingly playing along, even finding myself caught up in
her game and trying to win, even if there was no prize guaranteed.

For the next week it went on like that.  Whenever I was home, staying nude
would earn me small rewards.  Every night I had my face between her thighs
and gave her all the orgasms she wanted.  By the end of the week she wasn't
finishing those sessions with the cuddles I had come to expect, and I got
somewhat sulky, but still I was drawn deeper into her plan.  The second
weekend she informed me that if I stayed down on all fours she would play
with my nipples more.  I had become dependent on that for the sexual input
I craved so, even though I knew I would be left unfulfilled, I began going
everywhere in the house on hands and knees.  When it was time for me to
have my chest played with, I had to sit up and beg like a dog.  On Saturday
afternoon she put a blanket by her lounge chair in the yard and told me I
could lie on it while she chatted on the phone.  I was shaken by the idea
of being outside in my new identity but was too deep into the role to
object.  The only thing behind our home was a large wooded area, so I might
not be spotted --I hoped.  I had to curl up near her feet, aware the entire
time of her inviting body so nearby, and listen to her chat with her
girlfriends.  I couldn't stop inventorying my predicament, and how I was
hairless and rosy-skinned, wearing ribbons now on my wrists and ankles too,
being made to act canine, and serving as a sex slave to my wife while I
stayed in chastity and got ever more anxious for relief.

It was the last phone call that day, however, that changed everything.  I
pieced together from her end of the conversation that she had run into an
old boyfriend, Curt, at the mall one day, and he had taken her to lunch.
Regina was flirtatious with him as I listened with deepening concern.  I
started to say something at one point and she shushed me, snapping, "No
talk."  Instead of being insulted, I worried that my outburst might have
cost me my next teasing session.  She had a long gab with Curt and at the
end said they would get together soon.  I put my chin on my crossed hands,
realizing even as I did it that the pose was more appropriate for a dog.
That evening Regina got out her hair styling stuff, combs and brushes and
spray, and went to work on my hair, which she hadn't been letting me even
get trimmed.  Soon I had what she called a poodle cut.  It was full on top,
straight on the sides, and puffed up at the bottom, where it touched my
shoulders.  OMG, it really did look like a poodle.  Again I tried to speak
and she raised her hand to me.  I instantly closed my mouth.  She said,
"Good girl," and rolled my bare nipples between her thumbs and forefingers,
leaving me gasping.  But she had called me 'good GIRL'.  I came out of the
spell she had me under for a minute and realized that Regina had been
making me more and more feminine.  I mean, I had been aware of it, but with
the chastity and the way she used my need against me, I hadn't been
thinking clearly about it.

That night at bedtime, as I entered our room on all fours, I was appalled
to see, alongside the bed, a doggie bed.  As I reached it I smelled
something flowery and bent my head to sniff.  There was perfume sprayed
onto the fuzzy pink oval.  My wife challenged me with an imposing look.  I
meekly crawled onto the floor bed and curled up, like a good dog.  She
smiled and said, "That's my girl.  Get a good night's sleep and there'll be
some new treats in the morning.  I lay there, shamefully aware of my
unmanly look.  My mind was filled with thoughts about Curt.  Regina had
always been a very sensual woman.  But with my small binky I had never been
able to give her the climaxes she wanted.  And my past refusal to provide
oral hadn't helped my position.  Now she was on the verge of seeing some
guy she had gone with in the past.  I lay there, so close and yet so far
away from the sexiest woman I had ever known.  My hands went to my crotch
and, behind today's bow, a neat, full lavender one, I felt my smooth,
almost satiny skin.  There was no sign of new hair growth.  I sniffled and
tried to go to sleep but instead just lay there for an hour, wishing my
wife would wake up and -- not let me out of chastity and have sex with me -
- but tease me to distraction, make me lick her pussy, and then tell me I
was a good girl.  What was happening to me?