Belle Ringer

By Bea

Unlike a lot of today's women, I've always liked my mother. I never was the daughter she wanted. I'm more like my daddy I reckon --the visiting pro athlete who deposited me in mama's sperm bank, then found other matters of interest to pursue. Our family name, nor the town we come from, you won't hear from me. We sure ain't the rich side of the family, but mama still figures that the disgrace she put on our name by carrying a little bastard (me) into town, when there were still plenty who would have been glad to give me their names, was more than enough from our branch of the family tree.

She's shrunk a little, I guess, from the five seven or so that she used to carry. A well built woman, I've heard described as. Nothing close to my five- eleven mind you, but big enough to scare the hell out of me when I was little -- and probably now, if she were to put her mind to it. Not that she ever hit me. How come she didn't, I'll never know, but a sharp glance or a cautionary hand on my arm was all that she ever used.

I must have been a real pain in the ass to bring up. I was a girl, but surely hated being one. I liked the other girls just fine, they just seemed to think differently than me. I was always more comfortable in jeans than a dress. Always happier with a bat or a ball in my hands than needlework and, god help my poor mama, she did try to make a lady out of me, and failed miserably. She didn't fail at teaching me to go after what I want though -- and I think I've done pretty well at that. I think my husband, Ashley, is happy enough. We're well enough off, so I don't see that I've done much harm to anyone, which is more than can be said by some.

I know that, before she gave up on trying to make a lady out of me that my mother was trying like crazy to show the townsfolk - especially the snooty side of our family that, by god, she may not have acted like a lady, but she sure as hell knew how to raise one.

The only time I ever really raised hell with her was at Ashley's mother's yearly picnic. I just hated getting all gussied up in these southern belle dresses of organdy and ribbons, and normally, could talk my way out of wearing them. It never worked for that family picnic though, not until I'd hit the height that no self-respecting belle would ever admit to. Any way, there I'd be, acting "genteel" and watching the boys, these lucky little shits, have a great time.

Ashley, unlike his mother, wasn't a bad person. Truth be told, he was always one of the nicer boys. About two years older than me, he was taller than me until I was about eleven. By the time I was twelve, I was bigger and heavier than him. Being in a real snit at the picnic that year (my mother had got me into one of these huge crinolines) I got him off by himself, then got him into a wrassling match. I think we were both surprised at how easily I put him on his back. Astride him, I then pinned his arms to the ground with my knees, and pulled the hem of the skirt back up so that I could laugh at him. Then I saw a friend of his coming our way and got a great idea. "Here comes Terry Metcalfe, Ashley. Think he's looking for you?" His face got crimson at the thought of being seen, and he pleaded with me to let him up. "Nah." I said. "You don't want him to see you? Turn on your side and curl up into a ball." Saying this, I raised myself just enough to let him do this. Then, giggling like a fool, I spread my crinoline and petticoats all around him so that he was completely hidden, then lowered myself on top of him again.

As it so happened, Terry was looking for him, and asked me if I'd seen him. I said I hadn't, then talked to him for a minute or so, getting the biggest kick from feeling the body underneath me quivering in fear and humiliation. After Terry left, I started talking to Ashley. "You sorry?" I asked. "For what? C'mon, let me up." Came the muffled response from under my dress. "You sorry?" I asked again. I took him a little while, but he finally caught on. After he had admitted he was sorry for a whole mess of (invented) errors of his, and pleaded real prettily to be let up, I finally relented. When I finally let him stand, I was expecting him to maybe start fighting me again, but he didn't. I did notice that he had a very strange expression around his eyes. Being the shit that I was, I didn't even think any more about it, as I found some unattended mint juleps later on and got myself a little tipsy.

The years slid by in softball, basketball, track, swimming, and I had got a pretty good name for myself in sports by the time I was a senior in high school. I had learned one thing to my sorrow. I was the best girl athlete for miles around, but was no match for even the boys in the middle of the athletic pack. This drove me crazy for a while, but I had found a way of getting back at the male sex about the time I was seventeen.

I'd read this article about a couple of girl students in California. Seems they were pretty big girls too, both interested in gender psychology. Got a date set up with a couple of the less aggressive boys, took them out for dinner, opened doors for them, drove them home, treating them just like gentlemen are supposed to treat ladies. By the time the date was over, they had the two boys sitting giggling together in the back seat of the car like a pair of girls.

The whole idea intrigued me. I brought the idea up as a joke to my best friend Thelma (a real raunchy broad, even in these days). She thought the idea was a hoot, and we decided to give it a try. She got Ken, I got David.

It went just like I thought. The boys never knew what hit them. At the drive-in I had my hand down inside his pants inside minutes. As my other arm was around his neck pulling him close to me, he couldn't even struggle. I kissed him, full on the mouth, and he came all over my hand. Halfway through the main feature, I pulled him to me, and repeated the performance. In the meanwhile, Thelma was treating Ken in exactly the same way. At one time, when we both had the boys firmly in our embrace, we even had a little talk to each other, over them, saying how 'cute' and how 'soft' - just like girls - they were. Both boys were real subdued after that. Could hardly look at each other in the eyes, it seemed like. I was driving so, after I dropped off Thelma and Ken, I drove David to a nice lonely lane, took him in my arms, pulled his pants down and mounted him. He struggled a little, but not very much.

In practically no time, I found myself very popular with a certain type of boy - the small uncertain ones who liked to pretend they knew all the answers. I became adept with silk handkerchiefs, and once I got my hands on them, many of them lost any pretense they had at being macho for a long, long, time - at least around me.

Then the family picnic came around again. By this time, mama had quit worrying about my clothes, so I was able to go in a comfortable short pleated skirt and school sweater. I hadn't seen Ashley for about two years as he had been at college the year before, and couldn't make it. Turned out that he was now a drop out. Anyway, I was shocked when I saw him. He was so goddam tiny!

I looked at him, and I knew! So help me, I knew! I remembered the look on his face, the time I had put him down. To prove it to myself, I whispered in his ear that I had a secret to tell him. He got this condescending look on his face that I wiped off the minute I got him alone. I put an arm around him, pulled him in tight, and kissed him full on the mouth. He fought me, just for a second, then his mouth opened and I was in. My tongue roaming aggressively inside his mouth, I felt him start to buckle at the knees.

I let him go then, knowing my prey, ignored him completely for the rest of the day. I think he worried at first what I might do to him. Then I think he worried that I wouldn't do anything at all. Anyhow, he was smart enough to make up to mama. On the way home, she couldn't stop repeating how surprisingly nice Ashley had turned out. She guessed, I think, that I came into it somewhere, but was smart enough not to ask any questions.

Sure enough, two nights later, here comes the bold Ashley in his brand new Buick roadster ( I wonder what his mother would have given him if he had graduated?) with one of their cook's famous pecan pies. Mama made a big fuss over him. He was talked into sitting on the porch with us, as we ate slivers of the pie. Naturally, he sat beside me on the porch, so I gave him a little taste of what I was sure he had come for.

As it got dark, mama started to doze a little. Not sleeping mind you -- just starting to make pauses in the conversation, if you know what I mean. My hand found his thigh, and I felt him stiffen with surprise. Then, mother slightly dozing in front of us, I pulled him under me a little, got my hand inside his pants and had him come in just a few moments.

Initially, I think he was disgusted in the passive role he played, and stayed away for about three days. I'm sure that when he did return, it was to get back some semblance of his male pride. It took me only a moment to have him forget that nonsense. After a month or so it was amazing to me just how submissive he could be. I had figured on it of course, but had decided to take it in easy stages.

Then one night, I went into the next phase. I had set it up perfectly. My room was a mess, I had some ironing to do, and some buttons to sew on a blouse. I had worked on mama until she had grounded me until these chores were done. When Ashley came over, I whined and cried until I had everybody on edge. Finally, I suggested to him that if he'd do my chores for me -- then I'd be very, very, grateful.

He blushed when he finally was fool enough to volunteer. He blushed even more, a few minutes later, standing in front of mama, wearing one of her frilliest aprons with me explaining why he felt that I needed to see Thelma, and that he had offered to do my chores to get me off the hook. Mother tried to look aghast at this development, but there was, I thought, a glint of malice in her eye at seeing the son of her arch enemy brought to such depths. "Danielle! You can't expect poor Ashley to do your chores" (did I still see a glint of enjoyment in these eyes?) "Don't see why not" I retorted "You don't mind, do you Ashley?" He blushed, fingering the frills of the apron skirt "No. But I'd just as soon not..." "Not what?" I growled. "Let the poor boy finish" mama said. "Not what?" I repeated ominously. "Wear this.." He faltered. "She makes me wear them." I explained patiently "and your clothes are a lot more expensive than mine - and need the protection." I added. "But he's a boy" mama said, rubbing it in a little, I thought. "If you've a boy's apron, I guess he can wear that" I conceded. "If you don't, that one suits him as well as it does me." I decided to nail it down, so stared at him coldly. "I'm getting awful tired of this. Either do my chores for me like you promised, or go home! Here!" I continued, pretending impatience "Give me my apron. I'll do my own chores!"

He backed away "No Danny, please. Go on and see Thelma. I know you really need to see her. Go on. Honest, I don't mind." Grinning inside, I allowed this to persuade me. I set off for Thelma's, telling them that I wouldn't be long.

I was gone about two hours. He was just finishing sewing the buttons on the blouse, and looked a lot more at home in the apron by that time. He did blush when mama raved about how well he'd done the chores, and how quickly he'd learned to sew. "A lot quicker and neater than you ever did" she commented.

A month or two later, she had ceased to be impressed though, by that time I guess, Ashley flitting around our house in a frilly apron, doing my chores, wasn't so much of a novelty. I've heard that clothes make the man. It seems true enough to me, though in Ashleys case I think they were his un-making.

Naturally, I rewarded him for his efforts by treating him more and more like my girl. If mama was out, I'd get him in the flounciest apron I could find, then fondle him till he about lost his mind. I started calling him "Dolly' or "Pussy". He actually cried a little one time when I called him "Alice", though he was back for more the next night. Naturally, I started pressing it a little more. One night, I was playing his organ with some thing other than the normal handkerchief in my hand. "How's this doll ?" I asked. He moaned in delight, practically swooning into my arms. "How'd you like it like this all the time ?" I asked. "Oh,...ni.i.c.e" he moaned, as he came.

Afterwards, I reminded him of his comment when I handed him a dozen pair of assorted pastel, satin panties. He blushed. "But why ?" He murmured. "This way, I don't have to carry something all the time" I told him firmly, "Anyway, don't you like them? I was sure you would". It took him about a week to realize that, if he didn't wear the panties there was no fun forthcoming.

About then, Thelma came out of the closet, with a little cutie called Mary for a girlfriend. Looking back, it seems incredible that no-one cottoned as to what was going on between them, but there again, the South was never considered as a bastion of advanced thinking to my knowledge. Not in those days anyway.

The four of us got to hanging around together quite a lot, with the roles being pretty well defined. Thelma and I were the guys, Ashley and Mary were the supporting female roles. I started calling him 'Ceel'. I'm pretty sure that at first he was too scared to ask why, just in case he didn't like the answer.

At the same time, his curiosity had to get the better of him. One night, he started joking around in front of Thelma and Mary. "She calls me Ceel 'cause with some tea in me, I become da da S.T.E.E.L " he sang, and flexed his puny little muscles. We all laughed, especially me. "You almost got it!" I chortled "..Almost". Emboldened by my good humor, he had to ask "But, really. Why do you call me Ceel?" "You remind me of someone I used to like a lot" I answered. "I know! I know!" Thelma blurted "But you've got the name wrong Danny, it was 'Sill' Bromley..In the seventh grade..Right?"

"Wrong" I said coldly. "Sill was a real tearabout. Do you see any resemblance between these two: Ceel here and Sill Bromley?" Ashley butted in impatiently "Well, who then?" He asked. I stared at him mockingly "Do you really want to know?" He was in too deep. He'd made an issue of it. Now he couldn't back off. He nodded.

Staring right at him, I answered "I had a friend in sixth grade. Her name was Celia Graves. You look almost like her. At times you act just like her. I called her 'Ceel'. I call you Ceel. Thelma laughed "Wasn't she the one who always wore these little white organdy dresses?.. Yeah! I remember her now. Now that you mention it, put him in one of these little dresses and they'd almost be twins."

But it was Mary who capped the whole episode. While his face was still flaming (it isn't the done thing to ever intimate that a boy could ever wear a dress) she linked her arm into his. "I just hate nicknames too" she said firmly. I think that Celia is a nice name. You don't mind if I call you Celia now and then ..?" And with that, she led him off like a lamb. Another episode in his transformation happened when he told us that his mother was getting anxious to meet the 'mystery' girl he had been spending so much time with. She'd heard rumors ".. About such a pretty little thing ..." We couldn't figure what the hell she was talking about at first. Then it dawned -- she was talking about Mary!!! And to a certain extent, it made sense. You see, when the four of us walked around together, we were something like an old married foursome. The 'guys' up front -- the 'gals' at the back. Thelma and I were buddies from way back and Ashley and Mary made such a lovely couple. It was easy to see how anyone could misunderstand.

When Ashley added that his mother had seemed very pleased that it was a girl he was going with, he'd got quite upset and asked her what she was talking about. She'd stammered out that "..Recently.. He'd started to show some...unmanly.. characteristics" Ashley laughed when he said this, but I was concerned. I don't think he realized that he was starting to come across in a feminine manner. He wasn't 'swish' like one of these gays -- he was just beginning to come across like a natural girl in a lot of ways.

I started thinking. If Ashley were to take Mary home as a 'friend'' it would be no less than the truth and, might give me a little more time to get my plans converted into action. To tell the truth, I had every intention of marrying him -- but I was going to do it in the way that I wanted. If his mother got suspicious too soon, it might wreck everything.

"I've got a great idea" I announced "Take Mary home with you. You don't need to say anything other than that you're friends. She'll think that you're a couple.." "You and me. We're a couple. Why should I lie about it?" He interrupted. "She doesn't like me." I said honestly. "This way, we'll have a little more time to figure out how to tell her that we're a couple."

I liked the fact that he was unwilling to lie to his mama, but I kept pushing the fact that he and Mary were actually close friends. Any assumptions that his mother cared to draw.. And so on. Finally he relented. Of course, he didn't know that I had bribed Mary into insuring his mother thought the way I wanted her to. I had also given her a little tape recorder to see if it would catch any of the conversation.

The ruse, and the recorder, both worked like charms. His mother was so glad to see a pert young thing like Mary, that I could practically hear wedding bells in her voice. Mary never told a single lie but lured his mama on with little bits of truth that she swallowed, then made mouthfuls of in her own mind. I did hear something else on the recorder though. As the afternoon wore on, Ashley started to sound more and more like Mary. He was quickly losing all signs of masculinity, even around his mother. It was time I moved into my final phase, I thought.

At home, I started treating him dreadfully, especially when mama was around. Mind you, I made sure that he was recompensed in the way that he liked when we were alone -- I certainly didn't want to lose him at this stage. I had him tidy up after me, clean my room, dust and vacuum the house, do my washing and ironing, all under a constant barrage of fault finding and criticism. As I knew she would, mama started to voice her opinions of the way I was treating him, around the time that I started using him to run little 'personal' errands to the stores, run my baths for me, hand wash and iron my lingerie. "You're not her maid Ashley." She'd say "Don't stand for her nonsense." I always responded in exactly the same tone, and used the same words "I do not treat him like a maid." Would be all I'd say, and terminate the conversation.

This little talk must have been repeated twenty times over the next week. On a Saturday morning I was finally ready. I had him dusting my room, wearing a frilly apron and, for the first time, a frilled flounced dust cap. When mama saw his little get-up she was fit to be tied. "Danielle!! How can you possibly do this to this nice young man. You are treating him like a maid!"

"Mama" I said heatedly "I am not treating him like a maid." I turned to him. "I don't make you wear that apron or cap, do I? I don't treat you like a maid, do I?" In front of my mother, waving the feather duster around and wearing the absolute symbols of being a maid - the frilled apron and matching dust cap - and with all of her comments ringing in his ears, he really couldn't do much else. His face flamed, and he picked at the apron nervously "W.e.l.l l kinda..." He started.

I acted dumbfounded "You do think it!" I yelled. He had to stand his ground in front of mama, but started wavering "But I know you don't mean it..." I pretended to cry (what a performance!). I know that mama started to figure that something was wrong with this picture, right about then but it was too late. "Get out of my house!" I yelled "I never want to see you again!".

He protested tearfully, but I pulled the apron and cap off him, then threw him out, swearing that I'd never speak to him again.

I didn't respond to his pleading or entreaties for about four days. By that time, he was getting desperate. I finally relented and allowed him to come over. "You really hurt my feelings" I cooed, gently stroking his inner thigh. He snuggled into me "I'm really sorry Danny" he murmured. I pushed him away a little "But you still think it, I know you do" I whined.

"Well you are bossy" he admitted, but added hastily "But that's why I like you". I pushed him away further "I do not treat you like a maid!" I said (hopefully for the last time. I was getting sick of saying it). He was thoroughly confused. The way I normally treated him so opposed to what I was vehemently saying. He said the words I was waiting for. "What am I supposed to say? What do you want me to do?" He balked when he heard my idea- just like I thought he might. A few more strokes on the thigh, kisses and nibbles at his ear, soft words and half made promises, and my idea didn't sound so bad to him after all.

You see, I wanted him to prove to mama that it had been his idea all along to do my chores. To prove to her that I'd never really treated him like a maid before, he was going to volunteer to be a real maid for us the following Saturday. Naturally, I would assist him in getting the uniform, Mary could help with the hair and makeup and so on..

First of all, I had him shave off all of his body hair. He's never been that hairy, but I wanted his mind on the right track. Then, around the house, I had him start wearing full lingerie, just to get used to it. I had him in high heels as well. Naturally, I made damn sure that there was no chance that mama would be around. He was extremely reluctant at first, but gradually slid into an increasing femininity. By Thursday he was adept at walking in heels and giving every appearance that he had worn them all of his life. That night, I had him rehearse the speech that I'd drafted for him.

He'd followed my instructions, telling his mother he'd be away for the weekend. I knew that my mama would be visiting friends until late Friday evening,so had him report in about seven o'clock that night. I had Mary waiting for him. She put his hair up in rollers, but only after he asked her to do it. She took longer than I thought she would as she had to do his nails as well, but she was gone shortly after nine - promising to be over early the next day to brush his hair out. I 'borrowed' one of mama's nightgowns and peignoirs. I made sure that I picked one that she thought too feminine for her, and didn't use. Once I got him in them, he seemed to settle right down and we spent a pleasant hour or so, watching T.V. I got us both into bed and got the light out long before mama was due home. That way, she wouldn't be dropping in for any of her late night chats.

Poor Ashley. I cuddled him and comforted him, but had no intention of letting him get any sexual release. I'd found that, sometimes, I could lose control of him after he got off. Not always, but often enough that I wasn't going to take any chances. This was part of the reason that I'd wanted him to stay over. Left to himself, he might have handled himself, if you know what I mean.

Surprisingly enough, he dropped off to sleep before I did. His breathing evened out, and he fitted himself right into my body. I got a smell of the fragrance that mama uses in her lingerie drawer. That, and the satiny feel of the nightgown, and his soft feminine body almost turned me on. I nearly took him but, for the reasons mentioned, left him alone.

In the morning, it was so nice to have her, I mean him, wake up beside me. Again, I nearly made love to him, he was just so pretty. I made him get out of bed and shower (with a nice scented soap). I then had him put on the special lingerie I'd bought. Lustrous black satin bra, panties, full slip, garter belt and black mesh stockings. About then, I could hear mama stirring in the kitchen.

Just as I started to wonder about Mary, she arrived with Thelma in tow. Mama was too polite to ask what the hell they were doing there at that time in the morning, but I heard Mary say that they were here for breakfast - but would it be okay If she came up and saw me first? Celia panicked a little when she realized that Mary was going to see her in lingerie for the first time. I grinned when I saw the feminine logic he used. On went the peignoir -- which was probably the most feminine thing in the room. It wouldn't have made any difference anyway. As far as Mary was concerned, she was here to do a girl's hair. She had seen girls in lingerie before.

She brushed out his hair. She had done a great job. Ashley's hair wasn't that long, but it was decidedly feminine. As soon as she was finished, I shooed her out of the room. Ashley's eyes got big when I pulled the full skirted black taffeta dress out of the closet. I'm not into clothes, but this was gorgeous. He tried to be nonchalant, but I could see him trembling. "Fancy maid's dress" he managed to get out, stammering a little. "You'll love it once it's on." I re-assured him.

The back was all opened up, so I spread it for him "C'mon Ashley baby" I said gently, scared That I might spook him now. "Step into this". Hesitantly, he did. Quickly, I pulled it up on his body and, with just a little urging, got his hands and arms into the sleeves. I started to fasten him in, using the hook and eye fasteners at the back. I couldn't resist teasing him a little now that the battle was all but over. "You really sure you want to do this?" I asked innocently.

"Oh, I guess it's o.k" he replied dully. "You know, after mama's seen you in this dress and being a maid, she'll have a hard time seeing you as a man again." " Oh God Danny, must I?" He whimpered. I kept on imprisoning him in his new clothes and ignored him. "There!" I said briskly. "Just a few more things. Lift up your skirt and we'll get your petticoat on." Helplessly, he did as I said, and I had him step into a multi layer petticoat whose white ruffles would flash a little when he walked. Then his flouncy little apron and a pert, saucy little lace cap in white, with black ribbons got pinned on. The shoes were last.

I made him put on his own makeup. He wasn't that good at it, but I assured him that, with practice, he'd do just fine. I looked at my handiwork -- a pretty little maid. No-one would ever guess that this young girl was, or ever had been, a boy. My plans didn't call for him to be much of one in the future either, I may add. I looked at my watch. "Follow me down in about three minutes, o.k.?" He nodded. "You forgot to curtsey" I reminded him gently. He blushed "Sorry ma'am" he said and curtseyed just as I'd taught him.

I went down to join mama, Thelma, and Mary in the kitchen. Mary, naturally, had some idea of what was going to happen, but that was all. Thelma and mama were totally in the dark. I said hi to Thelma, and gave mama a good morning kiss. She was pleased to see me. "Yo Danny" she said, doing her Rocky Balboa imitation "How's about some breakfast?" "Great idea !" I replied, "Ceel will be down in a minute. I'm sure that she'd love to cook for us all." "Who's Ceel?" Mama asked. Then "I assume this is she?" As Ashley came into the room. Then came the recognition and then the significance of the maid's uniform hit her. "My God Danny! What have you done to this poor boy?" I said nothing, but stared at Ashley. He went into the speech, just the way I'd rehearsed him. Curtseying daintily, but blushing furiously, he described how mama had been mistaken in thinking that I had been treating him like a maid. To convince her of her mistake, he felt that the only way he could do it was to voluntarily, offer to be the housemaid for the day, so here he was. He then surprised me by saying that he didn't like the name Celia. "My name is Ashley" he said "It's just as good a name for a girl as anything else."

My mother shook her head, but I thought I re-detected that small glimmer of malicious pride in her eyes as she gave the son of her arch enemy instructions as to how she liked her breakfast - and watched him curtsey to her in his pretty maid's uniform.

Ashley did very well. Naturally he took some real teasing from Thelma who would run her hand up his dress when he'd pass or snap his bra strap. Actually, as the day wore on he even started to fade into the background. Thelma and Mary left after lunch, and mama took her afternoon nap until afternoon tea about four o'clock. I think she thought that the three places I had Ashley set were for the three of us. I suppose that he thought the same thing. When the doorbell rang, he just stood there like a dummy. "Well, answer it Ashley" I said "and see who's there." Mama glared at me "You can't be letting strangers in here!" I looked back at her calmly "You got to meet your daughter's new mother in law sometime, don't you?" Ashley stood at the door, frozen. His mother stood on the stoop, then brushed by him. "Didn't know you'd got up in the world enough to hire a maid. Is she all there?. Looks like she could use a little train..." She turned back quickly and walked over to Ashley. Her hand swung back, as if to slap him. Instead she cupped his face gently in her hand. "Well, looks like I wasn't too wrong now, was I Ashley?"

I had to admire the old lady. She had a damn sight more spunk than her hoity-toity airs would have ever led me to think. I was intentionally cruel. "Ashley. You can serve us tea now, please." He could no more deny me now than fly. He curtsied and after us three ladies had sat, proceeded to serve us--and very nicely too.

There was some shock, but not much, when I detailed my plan for our marriage. His mother wasn't overly in favor of a Vegas wedding but she relented when she heard that I wanted Ashley to wear my mama's wedding dress -- and that I was pretty sure that Ashley would want her there as matron of honor.

With their money, I had no problem getting through college, especially when I showed a real aptitude for running some of the family's far flung enterprises. Of course, everybody thinks I'm the man of the family, while Ashley is one of the prettier little helpmates that any man could ask for. Now that we're even comfortable in our respective roles, I've started taking her back to the family picnics. In her pretty organdie and ribbons she's the loveliest girl there - a real southern belle.

A Blushing Husband

By: A Happy Wife

Stand there dear while I fix your hair a little. Now don’t be that way, I expect you to look nice for my family. Yes I know you don’t think you look nice, but we both know you do. Are those shoes ok with that dress? Try the white ones sweetie. Are you having trouble with the little buckle? Oh I think the shinny black is best, don’t you? You do look sweet. I know men don’t look sweet, but you don’t look very manly too me. Oh don’t be that way. Surely you don’t think you are a man. Remember the last time you tried to be a man? What happened to you? Right, your little penis got locked up. For how long? That’s right six weeks. That was a long time. And you acted like a baby so you looked like a baby. Isn’t that right? I have pictures; do you need to see them? Shall I show them to our guests? I didn’t think you would want that. Oh you are adorable with that little pout. Well maybe other men aren’t adorable but you are. You have your little girl songs all rehearsed don’t you? Ok, I will answer the door and take them all out to the patio. When I give you the signal put in the tape and skip on out. Yes I said skip, and Missy I mean a nice little girly skip. Then you sing "I enjoy being a girl" and you tap dance while you do that number. Your dancing is very cute. The women in your adult tap and ballet class all think your adorable. Don’t be that way they do to like you they bought you that ballet practice skirt, and your velvet shorts for tapping. Well I guess your right they do tease but if you didn’t act that way, so sissy girl they wouldn’t. Anyway when you finish the first number you sing "I feel pretty". Then I want you to hurry your pretty self up stairs and put on your new maid’s dress. Oh you haven’t seen it oh my I know you will love it. Here let me show you. Look at this, it’s powder blue satin with white lace. Just look at the darling blue pumps I got for you to wear with it. You can wear the same petticoats you have on now. And best of all the apron and cap. Have you ever seen so much lace in your life? Well it is a little over the top feminine wise, but so are you sweetums. There’s the door, I’ll let them in.
After the entertainment the conversation continues.
Oh there you are all changed into your maid’s dress. Show it to our guests dear. Oh not like that step up here on this little table. There give us a little curtsy. Oh don’t be so sensitive they are laughing with you not at you. What do you mean you weren’t laughing? What mother? Yes he dose have nice legs and his feet are as pretty as any girls. Sit here Missy and slip off your shoes and show the girls how pretty you keep your feet. Aren’t they darling? I swear I am going to make him wear sandals to work. The girls down there would be so jealous of his feet. Yes Mom he keeps his toes painted all the time now. He can do it himself he does mine. Would you like him to do yours? Oh good, go get you pedicure kit for mom. Now sissy you be sure to give her a nice foot rub too. He is so good at foot rubs; Carl would you like a foot rub too. Oh good sissy why don’t you do Carl’s feet first? They won’t take as long as moms’ Carl won’t want his toes polished; men don’t do that sissy. Carl sissy will remove you shoes and socks. Sissy look at Carl’s big shoes, those are very manly feet aren’t they sissy? Remember when you wore shoes like that? Sissy put you little foot up by Carl’s now put one of your pumps next to one of his big wing tips. Yes see the difference? You are a better sissy than a man, aren’t you dear? I didn’t hear you!
Well don’t mumble I’ll put you over my knee. Would you like our guests to see you get a paddling? What’s that Carl? You would like to see it. Well OK. Would you like to do it? Good Sissy when you are through rubbing his feet Carl is going to spank you. Sissy don’t look that way, it’s out of my hands. Oh stop kissing my feet, you should be kissing Carl’s feet; he is the one who is going to spank you. Oh my look at the tough guy, what do you mean you wouldn’t kiss Carl’s big feet? Carl instruct the girl to begin foot worship. I know you have never served a man’s foot, but you have had plenty of practice with mine. Now get with it, and when Carl is finished get over his lap for the paddling. Put you feet flat on the ground Carl Sissy knows her stuff. Isn’t it nice Carl. It feels good, get that little tongue between each toe, and think of the toes as little penises. Oh Carl likes that. You can come over and get a nice foot job any time you want Carl. Or I can send her over to home. I am sure you can put that talented tongue to work in the privacy of your home. Keep working Sissy, no one said stop and look at me.
Ok Miss fluff it’s time for the punishment. That’s the way, stand in front of Carl and do your thing. Ask him to please punish you, then run and fetch the hairbrush. Oh your back so quickly you must really want Carl to pay attention to your cute backside. Lay over his knees dear. Carl lift her skirts and petties. Oh sissy they are all laughing at your darling panties. I know they are just about the frilliest thing I ever saw. I can’t imagine what it would like to wear such a girly thing as those. Pull her panties down Carl, around her knees would be about right. Yes she dose have a pretty little fanny. Carl I always rub it a little maybe a light pinch here and there. Mom can you see Ok? Sis you can move in and watch our brother spank what used to pass for a husband. Go ahead Carl. Oh Carl got her kicking her feet on the first spank. Look at her squirm just like a girl. Well that wasn’t bad was it? Thank Carl. I think you need corner time, keep those panties around you ankles and hold those skirts up, put your nose right in that corner over there where I can see you. In about a half hour you can finish your work here, Mom’s toes remember?
After Mom’s pedicure and the guests have gone.
Well I thought it was a nice day and I am glad Carl got to know you better. He had been a bit stand offish around you. But I think that’s normal for real men to be apprehensive around sissies like you. Well because you would make men nervous. It might be contagious and no man want’s to be, well like you. Oh don’t cry I know you think you didn’t want to be like this, but I know better. Before you put your nighty on come brush my hair for me.
Oh that was nice here get me ready for bed. Keep my shoes out I want you to polish them before you go to your room. Put my dress in the dry cleaning bag you can take it to the cleaners on your way to work Monday. Unhook my bra dear, oh it feels good to let them be free like that. Why are your hands shaking? Oh you like to see my breasts, that’s so sweet. I’ll bet you would like to have your little princes let out for a while. Well you have been a good girl maybe if you make me happy with your tongue I can let you free. Help me with my panties sweetie. I’ll just lay back here and get comfortable while you do what you do best.
You are good and you made me happy. Why are you dancing around like a puppy? Stand still I know you want out of your gaff. Hold up your skirts and slips while I remove your pretty panties. This is the second time today someone has helped you with your panties. . Would you like it if big manly Carl was going to do what I am going to do? Oh you say no but I think you would like it. Ok honey run and get some newspaper to go on, and keep holding those skirts, I want to see that pretty butt. Back already are we? Place them at my feet sweetie. Now stand here while I undo this little device. Oh my you go girl! Oh dear, is that as big as it gets? And it isn’t very hard is it? You poor thing I’ll bet Carl doesn’t have problems like that. Oh well. Turn sidewise I will hold my soiled panties with my thumb and middle finger around this little penis of yours. Now you move in and out. Well I must say that didn’t take long. You can stop pumping now I think it’s empty, it certainly couldn’t hold much. It’s a good thing you aren’t still trying to please a woman with equipment like that. You’re like a Bee small and quick. Use the panties to wipe up with, lick off the paper and pull up your panties we have to talk about your work. Mark, your boss at the office is coming over tomorrow to take me out to dinner, he may be staying the night. Oh don’t be that way you should have known from the beginning that you didn’t have what it takes to satisfy an experienced woman. I made the right decision when I told you it would be best if you learned to love women the way another woman can. And you do very well in that role. When mark gets here I want you to look nice; he wants to see how you look. Yes I told him about you. Some of the girls have commented on your choice of shoes and slacks they have also noticed your hose when you cross your legs. You always try to blame me for the way you dress, but you are the one in the blue dress and matching pumps aren’t you sugar? Now for tomorrow I want you to wear your cute denim jumper with a white tee. Keep your legs bare use some baby oil on then like the teen-age girls do to make them shine and wear you white Keds. That will be cute and feminine.
Mark has decided to move Cathy into your spot at work. Yes I know you are a manager but Mark and I both think she will be an excellent manager. She is not just a secretary she is a staff assistant and she is very good at it. Well we thought we could just move you to Cathy’s old spot. It is not a girls job, there are no girls jobs or boy jobs if Cathy can manage you can Assist Mark. Yes you will have to serve coffee and cookies at staff meetings, and call Mark MR. and Sir you will also call me Ms and Ma’am, Cathy will of course be treated with the same respect. Your old secretary will now work for Cathy and be senior to you; you will fit yourself into the coffee rotation and take your breaks in the break room with the other girls. Oh I did say other girls didn’t I. Well sissy that is one of the reasons I want you to look nice for Mark. It seems the girls are pretty upset because you get to wear pants at work. They feel that if you insist on wearing women’s clothes you should only get to wear pants on casual days. They don’t mind if I wear them, and now Cathy will be able to also. After all I own the company. Mark feels that it may be easier to just have you in skirts than to risk the office staff being pissed off. Oh stop kissing my feet, the decision has been made.
The day I put you in panties you started in this direction. You have lost your right to bed your own wife, lost access to your own penis, lost your male privilege and now you have lost your pants. And all you can do is stand there in your pretty dress and blush.

Bridal Workout

By: Rosie

I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. Well, not just my chest, but it seems that my whole body is pulsating with the rhythm of my heart. Even though my eyes have long accustomed to the dimly lit anteroom, I don’t even notice Erin beside me anymore. My eyes, my nerves, my mind are all fixed on the door and the moment that Martha will pull it open, starting the great entrance. I don’t even mind wearing Erin’s clothes anymore, all I want to do is to walk in and show myself. Show my progress.

Suddenly, it happens. The door cracks open and before I know it, I am walking, blinded by the bright light, into the room. There are gasps of amazement and I have to do my best fighting the urge to flex my muscles right here and now. But Martha, who I suddenly regard once again as my future mother-in-law, not just my personal trainer, was very clear about that. As my eyes are starting to recognize the silhouettes of the people in the room, I walk as I’ve been instructed, all the way to the end of the room, turn around  and walk back to the center of the room, where Erin has stopped, to face the silhouettes. It is indeed a select audience, as Martha has promised, there’s only my mother and my sister Karen. Well, and Erin’s sister Stephanie, but she sees me regularly, so he doesn’t really count. Erin and I stand side by side for a minute, then I take off my blazer to reveal the muscles on my arm.

It’s more than a wee pang of pride that I feel as I watch Roger’s mother and sister stare at him in amazement. My future son-in-law is standing before them half the size than he was before I took him in my weight loss program. He is wearing a pair of my daughter’s old black dress pants, and a her matching tailored blazer that makes his hips flare out below his now waspishly thin waist. There is no way Erin could put it on anymore, but it fits Roger’s thin arms quite snugly. When Roger finally takes it off, there is another gasp of amazement as he reveals his black satin halter top that tautens invitingly over his now flat belly with every breath he takes, but more importantly, it displays his thin, though shapely arms. There is definitely tone and shape to his muscles, all joints are beautifully rounded, but the muscles, just like the skin that enwraps them, are deliciously soft. Even as I look at him, I’m having a hard time believing that I have managed to turn the shapeless fat fuck he once was into this lithe, slim creature.

Behind him, Erin is also sleeveless in her red satin dress. Even though her fiancé is standing right in front of her, she is fully visible behind his thin silhouette which, rather than conceals, only emphasizes her powerful figure. Erin steps forward and hugs Roger from behind, displaying the bulging muscles on her arms and I feel another not-so-wee pang of pride to see my daughter all developed like that. Of course, she lacks the hourglass figure of the man she is about to marry, but that’s nothing that can’t be fixed by a wide, patent black belt and a full skirt that flares out at her hips.

It was Erin that wanted to lose weight in the first place, and I was only too happy to help her. Of course I wanted my daughter to feel beautiful on her big day, and I wanted her to be healthy, but beside that, as a co-owner of one of the busiest gym’s in town, and a fitness instructor, it was bad publicity for my daughter to go about neglected like that.

I figured that I could use her slimming down to lure more women into my gym, but it soon turned out that Erin wouldn’t give me the before and after pictures I was hoping for. Just like me, she got the weight fever soon enough and was all about gaining weight, rather than losing it. She did take off a lot of her body fat, mind you, though it has been evident that that wasn’t her primary goal. Roger, on the other hand, was a completely different story. I soon found out that he was pliable enough that I could get him not only to do the exercises I wanted, but also follow a strict diet and take any supplement I wanted him to without a question. Once I started feeding him doses of estrogen he became even more trustful of my decisions. As his tearful outbursts of emotions started, he agreed that it would make more sense to carry out his training in the privacy of my own working out space in the basement of my house, rather than in full view of everybody in the gym. Shortly thereafter, Roger moved in with me, and was spending his days doing my housework and working on what he believed was a high intensity body building regime. When he lost enough fat that traces of hardly existent muscles began appearing under his skin, I managed to convince him that he was making great progress, just I had managed to convince him that the shiny leotards I had him wear were regular men’s gym clothes. When the day that he was ready to be shown to the world finally came, he didn’t think it strange that Stephanie put his hair up in rollers until it was a mass of tight, jet black curls, that she filed his nails and covered them with a clear varnish, nor that she plucked his eyebrows into thin arches. When I gave him Erin’s old clothes to wear he trustingly accepted the explanation that I had realized that none of his old clothes fit him too late to get him new ones in time for the show.

We stand together like that, with Erin’s arms around me, for a minute, then my mother gets off her chair and I feel Erin step back.

“My, you’ve grown,” she says to me.

“Actually, mom,” I smile awkwardly, “I’m wearing high heels.”

I pull the left leg of my pants to reveal my black, four inch heeled pump. Martha gave me these shoes so that they would bring out the muscles on my thighs and calves, and also because we realized too late that my pants were a bit too long.

“It wasn’t your height I was talking about,” mom says, then drops her eyes to my chest.

I feel a surge of pride and I push my chest forward.

“Oh, God,” she breaths, “Are they real?”

Before I can answer, her hand is on my pecs.

I can’t help it, I know Martha will be mad at me, but I simply have to do it. Just like Martha has trained me to do for dozens of times, I pump my arms in toward the center of my chest, then I bring my shoulders in toward the center of my chest. I should have done a quick exercise or two before, to get the blood flowing, but as it is, all I can do is to clench my hands together, hoping to flex my pecs as much as I can.

Before I succeed to, my mother’s hand moves to my left triceps.

“So soft,” she whispers.

“Just give me a minute,” I say, fighting tears of shame. It’s not fair, not only I hadn’t done any pre-warm exercises, but she’s not even feeling the muscle group I’m flexing.

“I meant your skin,” she says, “It’s so soft.”

“Oh,” I say, “Well, I’m oiled up a bit.”

“I see,” she mutters, then her hand is back on my pectorals.

“Yes, yes,” Diane says, as she fondles her son’s budding breasts, “They’re definitely getting harder.”

Roger proudly juts his chest forward again, exposing his swollen nipples through the black satin.

“I’m glad to hear something does,” Erin mutters, just loud enough for me to hear her.

“Erin!” I hiss at her and she shrugs apologetically.

“Sorry,” she whispers back, but I can’t really blame her. The heavy hormone treatment does take its toll, I suppose.

“You guys said you had something for me,” Erin turns to Diane and Karen.

“About that…” Diane says, then turns to Karen.

“No, we don’t,” she says to Erin, “Sorry. I know we said we did, but it turns out we screwed up, so…”

“Oh,” Erin says, not hiding the disappointment in her voice.

“Oh dear,” Diane sighs.

“This is embarrassing,” she says, “We asked your mother for your measurements, because we wanted to have a wedding dress made for you. She gave us the measurements of both of you, and we mixed them up.”

“It was an honest mistake,” Karen says defensively.

“Karen!” Diane hisses at her.

“Well, it was,” she pouts.

“Anyhow,” Diane turns back to Erin and me, “We had the wedding dress made in Roger’s size, not yours. Never mind, we’ll take it back.”

“Hold on,” I say, “Let us see it, first.”

Karen pulls out the dress from a black garment bag and it’s Erin’s turn and mine to gasp in astonishment this time. It really is a wonderful gown.

“It would be such a shame if no one wore that dress,” I say.

“Well, there’s no way Erin can put it on,” Karen says.

“It’s not what I meant,” I say.

“I wonder…” Diane mutters and as if on cue, Stephanie takes the dress in one hand, grabs Roger with the other and leads him out of the room.

“Actually, Martha?” Diane says, “I really don’t think this is such a good idea…”

“Why not?” I say, looking her in the eyes.

“In fact,” she begins, then pauses as I lean closer towards her, “I think it’s time Roger moved back to my house…”

“That’s up to Roger, of course,” I say, “But let him try on the wedding gown first.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I take some pictures,” Stephanie says to Roger as she leads him back to the room, dressed in the bridal gown, “This will be good publicity for my beauty salon, and I don’t get to do too many bridal makeup jobs.”

Posing for Stephanie, Roger looks as if he’s floating on a cloud of white satin, chiffon and lace. Even with the full makeup, his face strangely doesn’t look much different than before. When Stephanie puts her camera down, he gives his mother an accusing glare.

“Oh, Roger,” Diane moans out loud, “I swear, this was honestly the furthest from our intentions.”

“Don’t worry about it too much,” I say to Diane, feeling her shiver as I place my palm on her nylon-clad knee, “I don’t think he was really that comfortable in Erin’s old pants before.”

“Actually, Martha,” Roger speaks out in his soft voice, “I would prefer to be back in Erin’s pants after all.”

I flash him a kind, but dismissive smile, then turn back to Diane.

“He does look lovely, though,” I say to her.

“Seriously, though,” he says again, “Stephanie promised me I wouldn’t have to wear this dress longer than just to see if it fits.”

Slowly, I turn to face him again, though I don’t take off my hand of Diane’s knee.

“And?” I say, “Does it fit?”

“To a T, mummy,” Stephanie says happily.

“Well then, I guess it’s best if you help him take it off,” I say, “But Roger, it really is time you stopped wearing Erin’s old pants.”

“Erin, honey?” I say, “Why don’t you take Karen and see if you can find a dress of yours that would fit Roger?”

With a quick nod of her head, Erin takes Karen by her hand and leads her out of the room, leaving me alone with Diane.

“Well,” I say, sliding my hand up her thigh, “Looks like you won’t have to take the dress back, after all.”

Whine With Dinner

by: Anonymous Writer
















Grant Wellsley and his wife Editha had been seated at their usual table

near the center of the elegant and expensive downtown New York

restaurant. They had ordered their drinks, selected their dinner and

were now relaxing. They had been out on the town and had been to the

early show of one of the top plays on Broadway. Now, it was dinner and

drinks to end the luxurious evening. The club owner entered the room to

talk to the maitre'd as a few other staff looked on. This establishment

had been Grant Wellsley's nearly nightly haunt for decades, usually for

drinks and sometimes for an elegant dinner and then conversation with

several other of the town's billionaire class and captains of industry.

But, Grant usually had a young lady on his arm while his wife Editha was

relegated to home, busy with her social calendar which consisted of

ladies clubs and get-togethers. Of course Grant would bring his wife to

the club but rarely. Tonight they came to dinner as a couple and were

now at their table enjoying the atmosphere. The only strange thing was

that Grant Wellsley hadn't been seen much lately. Matter of fact he

hadn't been in for dinner at "The Densmore Club" in over a year and a

half.



Of course stock markets ebb and flow, new opportunities come and go but Grant had been particularly hard hit on his latest business dealings. His once thirty billion dollar fortune had plummeted to less than two billion in only the past five years. He'd become more of a playboy than a businessman and once his actions threatened the family one-percent lifestyle his mother-in-law finally stepped in and made her decision. Not everyone knew that it was Editha and her mother who really controlled the Wellsley fortune, matter of fact, Grant's last name had been changed from Hawthorne to Wellsley when he and Editha were married thirty years earlier. This fact was kept quiet and life went on with all appearing normal. As Grant sipped his double scotch on the rocks Editha finished her Pink Lady and gestured the waiter. "I'd like another round of drinks and we'd like another table please. Something in a quiet booth, I'm feeling a draft young man," she said. Soon they were seated in a darker more secluded booth. Another round of drinks soon arrived at the table. The talk at the front of the establishment continued in earnest. The owner Sam Densmore chatted with his matre'd and his top waiter. "How long has it been Mr. Densmore? Mr. Wellsley hasn't been here in over a year and a half," the matre'd wondered aloud. "Did you notice the moustache and sideburns he's always had are gone. And what kind of glasses are those, women's glasses?" Sam returned. "His skin looks smoother. Has he had a face lift? And I can't believe he's started wearing earrings. And his hair. Once a grey salt and pepper he's now a blonde? His hair's the same length but now seems to have a bit of a wave to it. And, he must have lost a good thirty pounds," Sam finished as he wondered aloud. What nobody could realize was that female hormones could work wonders on the male figure and the male psyche. Grant's once masculine frame had vanished, his breasts had budded, his waist had slimmed and his hips had widened and rounded considerably. Editha was now the one in charge. Grant wasn't his powerful self as he had been. He was still a presence but now took his cue from his wife. "I guess his failings in business caused his wife to put her foot down. They're still billionaires though," Sam finished as the matre'd and head waiter looked on at the distant booth before getting back to serving the arriving diners. Everyone had seen Grant's standard evening tuxedo, the standard upscale attire he always wore on evenings out but they didn't look closely enough. For now, Grant was wearing a large size of woman's shoes! Low heeled black patent leather slip on pumps that had a little silver fob at the front. The shoes could pass for unisex but just barely. And nobody noticed Grants tuxedo slacks either. They looked the same as always but were more tailored now and if one was to look closer they would have noticed there was no longer a front zipper. The zipper was now situated on the side in a most feminine fashion but luckily was hidden by the black cummerbund and tailored tuxedo jacket he wore. Editha was dressed in elegant fashion as well, her makeup and hair set properly and elegantly done in a vintage style, expensive jewelry and a full length layered blue nylon chiffon evening gown and matching clutch purse, with a mink wrap that had been left at the coat check stand. All appeared normal but at the secluded booth a more private conversation was taking place. "I should have made you wear this evening gown tonight, isn't that right princess?" Editha said in a mocking authoritative tone as Grant clutched his linen dinner napkin to dab his upper lip nervously. "You have a bit of a shine dear, should I get out the powder for you? Maybe add some lovely mascara and eyeshadow? And oh, how about some of my lovely gloss red lipstick? Do you like the shade dear?" She chuckled as she lifted her clutch purse to the table, opened it and began rummaging in a threatening manner as she relished her new control, taken back under her mother's orders. She took out her lipstick, Grant squirmed as she rolled the tube up and began applying the gloss red lipstick to her lips in broad heavy strokes. "You, don't prefer makeup this evening princess? Well, for now I guess I can understand," She mocked as she finished with the lipstick then put the purse away again as Grant breathed a sigh of relief. There would be no more adulterous behavior no more business mistakes now, because Grant was under mother's and Editha's full and absolute control. He hadn't initiated this night out, he'd been forced out. And in this new arrangement he had soon learned that, to get along you go along. Grant knew he was too old and set in his ways to end up penniless and on the street. The humiliation of his situation was more than unpleasant to be sure, but, the thought of being on the street made his head spin. Half way through their second drinks Editha opened her clutch purse and took out a cigarette and holder and a gold lighter with a ruby in a little gold medallion affixed to the side. Grant became immediately nervous as she lit her cigarette. He watched as she held the lighter and then gasped and squirmed in his seat as Editha slid the ruby on the lighter up. The ruby was a switch she could turn on and off, it was a remote control to make absolutely sure that Grant would always know his place. "I...I'm doing as you asked, please, please turn that off," He gasped. Finally, Editha switched the ruby off, the little red ruby light now dark once again as she chuckled and put the lighter back into her purse then after clicking the clutch closed she put it beside her in the booth. Grant was now only slightly red faced, only slightly flustered as he wiped his brow and upper lip with the linen napkin once again before setting it aside. It was then that Sam arrived with an expensive bottle of wine. "So nice to see you again Mr. And Mrs. Wellsley!" he beamed. "I hear that you'll be relocating," he said sadly. "It will be a shame to lose such a longtime and generous customer." "Yes, we will be moving to San Francisco later next week," Grant returned. "Editha's mother lives there, it's where the company was founded." "Sounds like quite a change. What will you be doing there?" Sam added. "Well, it seems that I will be retiring. I'll be staying around the house mostly, helping out with things while Editha continues on with the business," Grant replied with as much dignity as he could muster. "You do look healthy though Mr. Wellsley. Must be the clean shaven look. Your skin looks smoother but those little diamond stud earrings?" Sam asked. "Ah, trying to appear a bit younger, more hip. But at least I'm past the face lift," Grant said trying to pass it off as he noticed Sam looking his hair over. "Ah, that's it, a face lift! I thought so," Sam returned seemingly satisfied. That would explain the smooth skin and no wrinkles for a man in his late fifties. It went with the loss of thirty pounds as well. Finally, Sam finished his farewell and wished the couple well telling them they were welcome back anytime. He smiled as he left. And that for now was it. Prying eyes looked no further as the diners continued their drinks and small talk. Editha and Grant were now able to continue their quiet evening. "There's still that last bit of masculinity we need to overcome darling but after your appointment for your castration in another two weeks once we're in San Francisco I am quite sure you'll continue coming along just fine," She said smiling, nearly beside herself with satisfaction now. Grant Wellsley had been a rich and powerful man, a ruthless businessman, at least he had been. Nobody talked back or talked down to him, no one dared because a meeting or a phone call would be all it took to ruin someone's business or career. That is why nobody mentioned the feminine style of Grant's shoes that evening. That is why they didn't mention his smooth skin and lack of moustache, or the diamond stud earrings in each earlobe. And they didn't mention his new eyeglasses that had gone from black horn rims to a beige frame with jewel encrusted edges. They were women's frames but although they didn't look overly feminine they certainly weren't glasses any man would ever wear. And just above the glasses, the once dark bushy eyebrows were now dyed the same blonde as his hair color and trimmed tight and although not plucked into a high and feminine arch, the brows were feminine indeed. And the now blond-ish wavy hair style was a bit different too. Secretly, it was a woman's dye and hair set trimmed short! And when he handed out tips the waiter staff failed to note Grant's now well manicured fingernails, all trimmed and filed into smooth ovals with unmistakable clear gloss on each nail with just a trace of pale pink. Finally, the heavy masculine cologne he always wore had been replaced by a sedate woman's perfume, the slight floral scent not as strong as some but it was definitely not a masculine scent. It appeared that Editha had either initiated or readily approved Grant's new "metro-sexual" look. But it went far, far beyond that. Editha smoothed her gown and crossed her nylon stockinged legs with a whispering zip. She touched her well lacquered hair set with her palm before reaching for another sip of her Pink Lady. She picked up the glass and gazed upon her efforts. "You look lovely this evening darling. Simply lovely. Do you feel feminine now, hummm?" She tittered in a feminine lilting tone. When Grant didn't answer quickly enough she reached back into her purse and produced her lighter once again and teased the ruby switch with her long, gloss red fingernail. Grant took immediate notice. "Yes. Yes, I feel...I feel f...feminine dear," he gasped nervously as Editha tittered toying with the ruby switch at the side of the lighter. "I imagine you do precious," she giggled. "Enjoy your last night out. Within a few more weeks after we move in with mother and after your full reassignment that will finally make you into a woman, you'll take over duties full time as mother's maid I can assure you all those nasty masculine thoughts will soon fade away," She said with certainty. "Then we'll be quietly divorced and you'll have your name changed from Grant Wellsley back to Hawthorne, of course you won't be Grant any longer. Mother has chosen Ms. Joyce for your new name. Such a more suitable name for a proper and feminine lady don't you agree princess?" She giggled still holding the lighter. She then switched the switch on causing the ruby to glow red, the remote control sending out the activation signal. "Yes, you're going to become a regular lady." Grant went rigid momentarily and gasped in wide eyed surprise at the effect of Editha's activating the switch. She smiled with satisfaction as he squirmed in his seat. He was soon dabbing the sweat from his upper lip with the linen napkin once again and wiping his brow then setting his hands back down he gripped the napkin tightly and sat as quietly as he could. No one seated in the restaurant or waiting the tables or bringing drinks could know the full effect of Editha's remote control device. She'd had seen to it that Grant had been cleaned inside and out, finishing with a floral scented bubble bath. Then, before dressing for the evening she'd made sure to insert the plug fully into Grant's bottom. She'd trained Grant for over the past year and now, he could with only a little effort be fitted for a life sized phallic shaped plug. The plug fit tight and secure, the deep end of the shaft pressing firmly against Grant's prostate. Once the plug was activated Grant's milking procedure would be by remote control and hands free which delighted Editha, especially now out in public where Grant would just have to sit and endure his latest milking to it's greatest effect. And there he sat, under Editha's total control. And under the expensive tuxedo, beyond the ladies black flat pumps, the ladies side zip tuxedo slacks and beyond all the other feminine touches were what Editha considered proper under things. Grant had of course been Naired and waxed smooth below his trimmed and plucked eyebrows, not a hair remained on his body with the exception of a little triangle shaped trim below, which was also dyed a blonde that matched his new hair style. He'd already had a pedicure, each toenail trimmed then buffed and polished in a high gloss red. She'd made sure he dressed properly for the evening. After the snug fitting remote control plug came white, lace trimmed ladies nylon briefs. A pad was inserted into the panties and Grant's now atrophied testes were pushed deeply inside him before his flaccid manhood was pulled back tight. After the panties were pulled and smoothed up high and tight on his waist she added nude support pantyhose. A sturdy six strap garter belt came next followed by opera length sheer vintage ladies hose. Once the stockings were gartered high and tight and wrinkle free a sturdy and tight high waist white panty girdle was fitted and pulled tight until Grant's crotch was smooth, the center seam of the girdle cinched tight giving him the appearance of woman's vaginal lips! A white nylon pants liner came next. It was a bit like pyjama bottoms but these were long and lace trimmed at the cuffs, designed to move easier and feel even silkier under any type of slacks. The sensation was unmistakably feminine. And then came the white, lace trimmed playtex cross-your-heart brassiere! By now Editha's addition of the pink female hormone pills that Grant now took with each breakfast with a vitamin had caused him to blossom. She nearly swooned with excitement as she fitted the 40 "B" cup brassiere on him, easing the budding breasts into the lace trimmed satin cups, hooking the back and then adjusting the straps gave her satisfaction to no end. When she finished with a lace trimmed white nylon camisole and fussed with the straps she knew that with the way Grant looked now, he wouldn't be running around with other women ever again! She was now satisfied he could finish dressing himself. The starched tuxedo shirt came next, then the side zipper slacks and slender belt and cumber bund. Then a five button vest and finally the tuxedo jacket, cut in a loose double breasted look to hide his now feminized chest.. Black dress socks went over the ladies hosiery. He finished by slipping into the ladies black, flat pumps. They'd then left by limo for the evenings activities. Editha then switched the ruby switch to the next setting. She put another cigarette into her filtered holder, lit it then as the smoke curled up from the cigarette she sat back to watch and enjoy her efforts. Grant grunted, his hips and bottom seemed to undulate back and forth now. His face reddened as he gasped through clenched teeth. "Feel how silky all your pretty, lacy nylon under things are as you wiggle in your seat princess? Hummm? Such a feminine sensation," She chuckled mockingly. "My little precious being stimulated. I imagine your little nipples are all nice and erect now under the camisole and in the cups of your lacy new bra. Mmmmm, it must just feel so delicious doesn't it darling?" She cooed as she looked on. Grant's eye's rolled, his eyelids fluttered, his face reddened as he gasped while wiping his lips and forehead once again, and all the while he continued to squirm in his seat, his wide hips wiggling, undulating involuntarily now from the plug's massaging action as it sent silent vibrating waves pulsing against his prostate, waves that encompassed and massaged working him higher and higher to a fever pitch. "Don't make a scene now darling," Editha cautioned with a lilting giggle. "I want to make sure you have as feminine an experience as possible. Isn't it delicious?" "Unnghhhh, plea, please Editha," Grant blubbered and grunted at his limit of composure as his wide hips continued to undulate slightly grinding into the seat. Then suddenly, The club's owner Sam Densmore returned to the table! Editha reached into her clutch purse and quickly switched the ruby switch off allowing Grant to sigh in relief. "Is something wrong Mr. Wellsley?" Sam asked after seeing Grant wiggle in his chair and wiping his brow with the linen napkin. "No, no," Grant replied as he composed himself, his masculine demeanor returning if for only a fleeting moment. "I just swallowed wrong, a bit of acid reflux I guess. But I feel better now," he replied as his calmness returned. Then Sam asked for his new address so they might keep in touch. Grant wrote out the address on the corner of a menu, Sam thanked him once again then left the table. "My little priss. Pretending to actually act like the man you used to be," Editha hissed as a thin vengeful smile crossed her lips and she reached back into her purse once again and clicked the ruby switch back on, but this time to it's highest setting! Grant grunted and swooned once again, helpless. "We can't have that now can we? One way or another you're going to learn to be feminine, submissive, ladylike, and demure. We're going to purge you of all those masculine thoughts and actions, aren't we sweetie?" she cooed in a feminine lilt. This time Grant gasped louder, his hips bucked forward and he was forced to hold the table with both hands. A few diners were now starting to glance trying not to stare but as Grant mustered his will to fight the sensations of his milking they began looking away, all to Editha's enjoyment. "Once we get moved, mother will get started on you. Your credit cards will be gone as will all your accounts and any access to money. Your male clothing wardrobe, gone, all of it. Your atrophied little testes will soon be clipped and that will allow us to have your papers changed to show you as a female. Then you'll start taking female hormones full strength and living full time as a woman, and to keep busy you'll become a proper house maid. And once the lovely Joyce Hawthorne heals up from her reassignment surgeries, Grant will simple cease to exist," She said with relish, spelling out Grants future. "But of course, I suppose you could fight us, but would you really want to start over at your age darling? Over the years you've managed to alienate and hurt most every business associate you ever had. I imagine you might have a lot of trouble even finding a job now. Fast food? Or maybe a hotel maid? That would be so tragic," She chuckled as Grant writhed. "After a few more years with mother's training, you'll be a proper and very ladylike woman's maid, all prim and proper. Yes princess, you're going to forget what it was ever like to have worn pants or even what it was like being a man." "So, come on sweetie, mmmmmm. Yes." She smiled with a knowing wink. "Just a little bit more precious. Mmmmm, feels so goooood doesn't it? Closer, closer darling. Yes," she chuckled. Grant couldn't escape, his hips wiggled and bucked in the dark booth until finally Editha got her wish. Grant's pad had been wired to sense moisture, the green light on the lighter began to blink, then finally stayed lit to indicate that Grant's prostate had now been fully milked. The weak and watery emission soaking the maxi-pad in the vintage ladies panties had signaled the little green light. Editha switched the switch off fully then put the lighter back into her clutch, snapped the clasp on the purse closed and then set her clutch purse back beside her in the booth. She touched the side of her hair set again and adjusted herself in her seat. And as she reached for the last sip of her Pink Lady the waiting staff arrived with their evening meal and set the shrimp cocktail and salad in front of Editha. They set a plate of prime rib, baby potatoes with sour cream and asparagus spears in front of Grant. As the waiter left the table Grant, although hungry, slid the plate away. His thoughts were now elsewhere.

House Husband/Wife

By: Judith Gold

On our honeymoon I got my first inkling that my new bride and the love of my life was not quite what I had expected. Yes we consummated the marriage, though she insisted she wanted to be on top during intercourse. It's not like I was going to crush her or anything. I'm only five foot six and at the time weighed about 140 pounds. I realize now that being on top put her in control and that was her primary motivation. I met Karen Clarkson while in college. It was my senior year and I was majoring in accounting. Karen, who had a degree in Petroleum Engineering, was in graduate school finishing her MBA. We both graduated in June. I was 21 and she was 28. We were married that summer and I moved into her large and luxurious home. Karen went to work for an oil exploration and production company at a mid six figure salary. I found a job as an accountant for a small construction company at a salary about one tenth of what my wife was making. My accounting job was pretty basic. I put in my time from 8:30 to 4:30 five days a week. I actually had to punch a time clock since the managers were usually out of the office at their construction job sites. Karen on the other hand often worked well into the evening and did a lot of traveling to visit drilling operations in South America and the Middle East. Because of Karen's heavy work load, most of the housework fell to me. I did all the laundry and ironing, the cleaning and most of the cooking. I know it sounds like a role reversal from the traditional 'husband is head of the house' arrangement. But Karen's high income let us both enjoy luxuries that I never could have experienced on my salary. It seemed like I was always horny, but Karen wasn't that enthusiastic about sex and it quickly became a once a week thing on Saturday nights. She remained firmly in charge of things, always on top and in control. After a couple months of marriage one night in bed I started petting Karen hoping to arouse her interest even though it was a week night. "What are you doing Harold? It's only Tuesday, not Saturday." "I ... I was hoping maybe we could ... you know." "Could do something different? Are you looking for a little variety in the bedroom dear?" "Um ... yes. Something different from our usual Saturday night love making." "Oh Harold, that's a great idea. Why don't you just crawl under the covers and use your mouth and tongue to give me pleasure?" "Um ... but we've never done that. I don't like the idea of putting my mouth down there." "Well maybe I don't like the idea of you sticking your little penis inside me and filling me with that disgusting sticky stuff either Harold. Maybe we should just forget about having intercourse in the future." "No. No. I want to keep having sex with you Karen." "Good girl. Now do as I say and get your face between my legs Harold." I was stuck. The idea of going down on her seemed repulsive to me, even though I had never actually tried it. But if I didn't do it, she was going to cut me off. I swallowed my pride and pulled back the bed covers. She spread her legs and using her hands guided my face to her pussy. I wasn't quite sure what to do, but Karen let me know what she liked and disliked by the moans of pleasure she emitted. It took a while but I was able to bring her to a climax which she seemed to enjoy very much. I carefully pulled away and returned to my side of the bed. I could taste her in my mouth and my face was sticky. "Go brush your teeth and wash you face Harold. You smell like day old tuna fish." I did as instructed, thankful to remove the evidence of my oral service to my wife. When I returned to bed I had an erection, hopeful that she would reciprocate. Alas, she was already asleep. I slept poorly that night as I remained sexually frustrated. The next morning we were having our coffee in the kitchen. "Harold dear, did you enjoy what we did last night?" I hate it when she asks me questions like that. If I say yes, she'll expect me to do it again. If I say no, she'll be mad at me and probably not want to have sex Saturday night. After a pause I finally said, "Yes I enjoyed it." "I'm so glad to hear that Harold. I know you're inexperienced when it comes to pleasing women orally, but I'm sure your technique will improve with lots of practice. Oh, and we've got to do something about your scratchy whiskers. From now on I want you to shave closely in the evening before we go to bed. That should help, though I think permanent beard removal will be best in the long run." "How the hell do you permanently remove a man's beard?" "Electrolysis will take care of that Harold. I've had a few unwanted facial hairs removed that way. It's a bit painful and expensive but we can easily afford it, and it will make things so much better when I feel your nice smooth face against my flesh. The treatments will probably take several weeks, so I want you to get started right away. Don't you agree?" Shit another trick question. "Yes dear, I guess it it's that important to you I can do the hair removal thing. It might be nice to not have to shave every day." "Yes darling. Instead of wasting time shaving every morning and night, you can spend that time doing housework for us. I'll make the arrangements today. Scheduling might be a problem since I doubt if your employer will give you time off for a cosmetic procedure. Sometimes I think we would be better off if you quit your silly little accounting job and spent your days taking care of my home and working on self- improvement activities." "I know I don't make that much money Karen, and with your high income we don't really need my income to make ends meet. I realize I'm just getting started on my career, but I already know there are no ladder rungs for me to climb at the construction company. They don't even call me an accountant. My official job title is Assistant Bookkeeper." "I think you should resign Harold. You're much more valuable to me here at home than the few dollars you earn as a bookkeeper. I want you to walk into your manager's office this morning and give them notice. Do you agree?" "I ... yes if that's what you want, I'd be pleased to quit and just be your full time house husband." "Good girl Harold." "I wish you wouldn't say that good girl stuff to me Karen." "Harold, I meant it as a compliment. Don't you like it when I compliment you?" "Well yes everyone likes to receive compliments. I'm glad you think I'm doing the right thing, or as you say, being a good girl and all." "I've got to run. Big meeting this morning. Hopefully they'll not require two weeks notice and you can come back home this morning and start being my sweet little housewife. Bye dear." I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I was excited by prospect of not having to punch that damn time clock anymore. And I actually don't mind doing housework. I guess in a way I am her "little housewife". I'm small physically; five foot six, to Karen's five eleven. And of course she wears high heels with her power suits which adds another three or four inches to our height difference. I went to work that morning and told my boss I was quitting. He handed me a cardboard box and told me to gather up my personal things and get out. So much for two weeks notice. I was back home by ten. I decided to busy myself with cleaning and laundry. I changed and laundered our bed linens. As I was peeling off the bed sheets I thought about the night before; about serving her orally. She seemed to really like that. She wanted me to get my beard removed. I wondered how often she would want oral sex. I wondered if she would let me put my penis in her mouth. About two in the afternoon I drove to the market and picked up some groceries for our evening meal. Now that I'm going to be home all day I can spend more time fixing nicer meals for us. I made a beef roast with roasted potatoes and a side salad. I hoped Karen would be pleased with my efforts. Back home I got a text message from my wife. "Mayfair Clinic, 212 Paulson Ave, 9 am tomorrow." I went on line and searched for Mayfair Clinic. As I expected, it was a place that specialized in hair removal. Karen arrived home about six. I opened a bottle of red wine and poured her a glass. There was already an opened bottle of white in the refrigerator and I poured a glass of that for myself. I carried our drinks into the den where Karen was curled up on the couch having kicked off her high heels. "Thanks darling. A glass of wine is just what I need after my day at work. So tell me Harold, how was your day at work?" I laughed. "Well it wasn't really a day; more like half an hour. I spent most of the day here doing housework." "What exactly did you do darling?" "I cleaned the kitchen and did a load of dishes. Then I changed sheets on our bed; washed and ironed the dirty ones. I did a load of whites; socks, underwear, hankies. I went to the market and got some groceries. Then I started supper, which is ready whenever you are." "Sounds like you had a busy and productive day Harold. I'm glad you changed my bed linens. Now that you have the time, I expect fresh sheets on my bed every night ok?" "Um ... yes if that's what you want." "Good girl. Now come over here. I want to snuggle." There she goes again with that good girl crap. I know it's her way of complimenting me, but I wish she wouldn't refer to me as a damn girl all the time. It's not like I'm wearing dresses. I sat next to her on the couch and she wrapped an arm around my waist. She took a pinch of my belly fat between her thumb and forefinger. "What's your waist size Harold." "Thirty two inches. I wear 32-28 pants." "I think I read somewhere that your waist would be no larger than your inseam?" "I've never heard that, but if you say so." "So we really need to work on getting your waist down to 28 inches, or even less. Don't you agree Harold?" Fuck, another trick question. "Yes I guess a smaller waist would be an improvement." "Good girl. I'm glad we're in agreement on that. You're five foot six inches tall." "Close to that yes. More like five, five and a half." "And your current weight is 140?" "Last time I checked it was 142." "Hand me my laptop Harold." She fiddled with her computer for a while and then said, "You have a Body Mass Index of 23.3. While that's not considered obese, it is on the high end of the normal range. At your age I want you on the lower end of the normal range, which would be a BMI of 18.5. For your height, a weight of 113 pounds will yield an 18.5 BMI. Looks like you need to lose thirty pounds love. I'll have to design a strict program of diet and exercise for you. How does that sound?" "Karen I haven't weighed 113 pounds since grade school. I'll be as skinny as a rail at that weight." "Nonsense Harold. At 113 pounds you'll be pleasingly slim and all that body fat will have turned into muscle. I'll have a hard time keeping my hands off you in the bedroom once you've slimmed down and firmed up." "I'll try honey, but you know when I'm working in the kitchen it seems like I'm always tasting or snacking on something. I don't seem to have much self control when it comes to eating." "Don't worry about your lack of self control. I'm sure that we can find ways to control your eating even when I'm not around. Now, I'm getting hungry. Set up one place setting in the dining room for me and then you can serve dinner." "One place setting? What about me?" "You'll serve me in the dining room. When I'm finished you can clear the table and then eat in the kitchen. What did you make for tonight?" "Roast beef, potatoes and a salad." "That sounds delicious Harold. You may eat a nice salad and a small portion of meat, but no potatoes. Your new diet just started. Oh and no more wine either; too many calories in alcohol." Damn, she's treating me like I was a maid, not her husband. Serve her first; then eat alone in the kitchen. "Yes dear." I served her supper in the dining room. I turned to head back to the kitchen. "Where are you going?" "Back to the kitchen." "No. Stand over by the side table and wait in case I need anything else." So I stood, watching Karen eat while my stomach growled with hunger. She emptied her wine glass, looked up at me and pointed her finger at the empty glass. I refilled her glass and resumed my wait. Finally she stood and said I could clear. She returned to the den while I went to the kitchen to eat my salad and clean up everything. After the kitchen was put back together and the dishes washed I walked into the den. Karen was busy on her computer. I walked around behind her and started to give her a little neck rub. I glanced down at the screen. There were photos of people dressed in black leather garments; what I thought of as fetish garments. "You thinking of buying a leather dress Karen?" "No darling, I'm actually shopping for things for you." "I'm not really into leather." "Oh I know that Harold. The things I'm ordering are for function, not fashion. Now, be a good girl and go shave your face nice and close. I'm in the mood for a little loving again tonight." I wanted to ask her what she was buying for me, but decided not to press it, figuring I would find out when the merchandise arrived. I shaved extra close again and crawled under the covers just as Karen came up from downstairs. She stood in front of me and did sort of a strip tease as she removed her jacket, skirt and blouse, followed by her bra, panties and panty hose. I was surprised to see that she no longer had any pubic hair; she must have shaved it off since last night. Instead of lying on her side of the bed she crawled up over the top of me and straddled me. She slowly slid forward and lowered her pussy against my face. It was just like when we have intercourse. She was on top. She was in control. When she finished she rolled off and I went to the bathroom to wash and brush. By the time I returned to our bed she was asleep again. So much for my dreaming that she would let me put my penis in her mouth. The next morning Karen left for a business trip and I went to my first appointment at Mayfair Clinic. Karen was right. Electrolysis is a very slow and painful process. The woman who worked on my face told me it would take about a dozen visits to finish my whole face. She made one hour appointments for me for every Monday, Wednesday and Friday at 9 am. With Karen away on business I was left alone for two nights. I was so horny that I resorted to masturbating for some sexual relief. I hadn't masturbated since before our marriage and frankly I felt kind of guilty about doing it. It was almost as if I was being unfaithful to my wife. With Karen gone there wasn't that much housework to do and I was finished with everything that needed to be done by noon. Then I got a text from Karen. There would be a treadmill delivered that afternoon. I was to let the men in and have them set the machine up in the basement. She said that some packages would be delivered and that I was to leave them unopened until her return. Finally there was a file attached which was a rather detailed set of menus for me to follow as part of my new diet. Even when out of town it seemed like Karen was asserting her control over me. The treadmill was installed and I put on an old pair of sneakers and tried it out. In about ten minutes I had worked up a nice sweat and was panting. It reminded me of how out of shape I was. I had just finished my second appointment at Mayfair when Karen arrived home from her business trip. I greeted her at the front door and we embraced. I had to stand on my tiptoes to compensate for the height difference and her high heels. "How was your trip dear?" "Oh just wonderful. Packed in coach on the plane like a bunch of sardines. Sitting next to some fat fuck who spilled over into my space. The business meetings went well but the coming and going is a real pain in the ass. Maybe next time I can use the company jet, but our Chairman was using it so I had to fly with the unwashed. So were you a good girl while I was gone?" "Well I had two appointments at Mayfair. She said I will need like a dozen sessions to get rid of everything." "Be sure to tell her I want that little patch of chest hair removed as well dear." "Um ... yes dear." "Have you tried the treadmill yet?" "Yes I tried it out yesterday. It really makes you work; makes you sweat." "Yes it will sweat out some of that extra weight you're carrying. What else did you do while I was gone?" "Not much really. The house doesn't require as much work when it's just me here." "You didn't really answer my earlier question Harold. Were you a good girl while I was gone?" "Actually I did something I kind of regretted after the fact." "What was that dear?" "I ... I masturbated." "And why did you regret doing that?" "Well it just seemed sort of unfaithful for me to get sexual pleasure without my wife." "How often have you engaged in that disgusting practice?" "Only the one time. Since we got married I never did it until yesterday." "Once more you've demonstrated a serious lack of self control. It seems I'm going to have to take control of that too. Thankfully a man's penis is quite easy to control, just as his over-eating can be controlled. Fortunately I already anticipated this." "By the way, there are three parcels in the den. I didn't open them." "Well we may as well get started; there's no time like the present." I followed Karen into the den. She sent me to the kitchen for a knife and scissors to open the packages. I sat on the couch curious as to just what she bought for me. I was both excited and a little fearful not knowing what I was getting. "Be a good girl and get undressed for me Harold." I slipped off my loafers and took off my slacks and shirt, sitting in just my socks and underpants. "Take everything off please." I removed my socks and underpants. My penis was limp and embarrassingly small. "First we'll try on your new waist cinch." She held up a rather formidable looking black leather garment which she wrapped around my waist. There were metal fasteners in front and heavy laces running the length of the back sort of like an old fashion corset. I had to suck my stomach in for her to get it fastened in front. Then she started pulling out the laces in back, further constricting my stomach. The cinch was very rigid because vertical steel stays were sewn in every couple inches. Once I was laced I could no longer really bend or twist at the waist. "I can see an improvement in your posture already dear. You're standing much straighter than normal." "It feels hot inside this thing Karen." "Yes it is designed to trap body heat which will aid in reducing your waist. The leather cinch is lined in heavy rubber that doesn't breathe. This will protect the fine leather from your body sweat that would damage the leather." "It feels too tight Karen. Can you loosen the laces some please?" "On the contrary dear. We'll let you wear it like this for about an hour. The cinch should settle in and then we can retighten your laces." There were eight leather straps hanging down from the bottom of the cinch reaching almost to mid thigh. "What are the straps for Karen?" "Those are your garter straps love. If you want to wear nylon stockings you'll need garters to hold them up." "Why would I ever want to wear nylon stockings?" "To please me of course. If I want my little housewife to wear stockings, surely she will want to wear them as well to please me. Don't you agree?" Another trick question. "Yes darling, I suppose if you really wanted me to wear nylon stockings I would do that for you." "Good girl! Run up to our bedroom. In the top right hand drawer of my dresser there should be some packages of new stockings. Bring a package back here." I walked upstairs to our bedroom wearing the beastly leather waist cinch and nothing else. I found the stockings and returned to the den. "You've watched me dress often enough. I assume you know how to put on a pair of nylons?" "Yes I guess so. You roll them first and then start at the toe and unroll them up your leg, right?" "Show me." I spent the next few minutes rolling nylon stockings up my legs for the first time in my life. They were very clingy and actually felt kind of nice wrapped around my legs and thighs. Karen showed me how the metal and rubber garter tabs worked and I fastened four garters to the top of each stocking. "You look very nice in stockings Harold. I'm so glad you asked me to allow you to wear nylons." I didn't exactly ask her like I wanted to wear them. It was more like I'd wear them if she asked me. Oh well. She ran her hands over my stockings. That kind of gave me goose bumps. "I know you don't have a lot of leg hair dear, but you really must shave your legs now that you've decided to wear stockings." "Um ... yes dear. I can shave my legs tonight when I shave my face before bed." "Do you ever wish you were taller Harold?" "Yes like all the time. I have to stand on tiptoes to even kiss you. I was always the shortest guy in my class and you know people call you names and stuff." "What if I said there was a way I could make you five inches taller than you are now?" "I would say wave your magic wand and do it." "It's nothing magical dear. Girls have been augmenting their height for centuries. It just requires the right kind of footwear." "Footwear? You mean high heels?" "Yes darling of course." "But I'm a guy. Guys don't wear high heels." "You're my little housewife now Harold. And little housewives most certainly do wear high heels to please their spouses. You do want to please me don't you?" "Yes of course I want to please you Karen. I love you." "Then you must want to wear high heels, right?" She sure has a way of painting me into a corner with her trick questions. "Yes dear, I want to wear high heels, if it pleases you." "Good girl. I checked and you wear an 8 1/2 men's shoe which roughly translates into a woman's size 10. Try these on; let's see how they fit." She handed me a pair of black leather stiletto heel shoes with a wide ankle strap. "Since you have no experience wearing heels I thought an ankle strap design would give you more support than a slip on heel. Yes they seem to fit fine. I'll just fasten the ankle straps. These little padlocks hold them closed so you don't have to worry about them coming off." She wrapped the ankle straps around my ankles and closed the small padlocks locking them in place. She put the keys to my high heels in her purse. "Stand up dear. Walk around. Try to take small dainty steps, placing one foot in front of the other." I was pretty wobbly at first but seemed to be getting the hang of it. I don't know which was more uncomfortable; the hot rubber lined cinch that was crushing my waist or these high heels that made it feel like I was walking on my toes. "Oh Harold. I'm getting hot just watching you. You are so sexy in your new outfit. I can't wait to get you in my bed tonight. Now turn away from me. Your cinch has settled in enough that I think we can tighten the laces a bit more." I turned and stood passively as she pulled a few more inches of lace out and retied the laces. "Your cinch has a leather pouch built in back to tuck away your laces. That way they won't be dangling or coming loose. Once the laces are in the pouch it can be zipped shut and locked. That will assure me that someone with no self control doesn't cheat and loosen her laces." I heard the click of another padlock and realized that like my high heels, the cinch was not coming off or being loosened until Karen unlocked me. There were still two unopened packages which she turned to next. "My next gift is something to help control your urge to masturbate. It's a simple chastity device which will keep your little penis from getting hard. Your wee wee goes into this small stainless steel tube which connects to this steel ring that locks in place behind our ball sack. Oh my Harold! Your little man is starting to erect. Apparently the idea of being locked in a chastity device excites you. Be a good girl and go get me a dish of ice from the kitchen." I clip clopped in my high heels back to the kitchen where I filled a small bowel with ice cubes, returning to the den and handing the ice to Karen. She started to ice down my penis which quickly retreated and shrank. Then she slid the steel tube over it and locked it in place behind my balls. I could see there was a narrow slot cut in the tip of the tube which would allow for urination without removal. The design of the device forced my penis down between my legs. "Am I going to have to sit to pee when wearing this thing?" "Yes dear, you'll be sitting to pee from now on, just like all the other little housewives in the world." I suddenly felt overwhelmed. So much was happening so quickly. I don't want to wear a chastity thing. I don't want to wear a damn corset or nylon stockings or high heeled shoes. I lost it. I started to cry. "What's wrong darling? You should be happy with all the nice gifts I bought for you. Perhaps those are tears of joy; not sadness." "I'm sorry Karen. It's just a lot to absorb all at once. My feet hurt. I can barely breathe in this tight cinch. And now I can't even see or touch my penis." "Everything will be fine love. You'll soon get used to the changes. I bet in a few weeks you won't even remember what it was like not to be corseted or wear heels or be kept chaste. I know it's going to be difficult at first, but with time and patience and lots of practice I am certain you will be thankful for these gifts. They are for your own good dear. The waist cinch will help you control your eating; you'll get full sooner. And of course your figure is already improved. The high heels make you so much taller; so much more attractive to me. And the chastity will help you stop masturbating; you'll no longer feel all the guilt you associate with that disgusting habit. I'm only giving you the things you want and need. You should be happy, not sad." "I'm sorry Karen. Of course you're right. Like you say, I'll get used to the changes and eventually they will seem like the norm. And knowing how much this all pleases you is like the most important thing I can do for you." "There is just one box left darling. I'm afraid this will cause you considerable distress until you get used to it, but I feel strongly that it is necessary. It will give you free range in our kitchen without me worrying about you snacking and ruining your diet." It was another black leather object but I had no clue as to its use or purpose. She walked behind me with the object in her hands. "Open your mouth nice and wide dear." I opened my mouth and she pushed what felt like a hard rubber ball behind my teeth. The device was kind of like a very wide collar which ran from just below my nose to cover my mouth and chin; then taper down around my neck and flare out again at my collar bone. Like the waist cinch it was heavy black leather on the outside and lined in black rubber. With the ball gagging me I could still make grunting noises but no longer communicate by voice. Like the waist cinch, the collar laced in back and Karen pulled it snug, but not so tight as to interfere with my breathing or circulation. "I know you can no longer speak darling, but this was the only solution I was able to come up with that will prevent unauthorized eating. It's called a posture collar. It will keep you from slouching and will hold your head up proudly. There is a small hole in the ball gag which will allow you to breathe through your mouth like when your nose is stuffed up. You can also insert a straw through that hole to drink water while wearing your collar. And of course it locks on, so you will not be tempted to remove it in my absence. When you need to communicate you can simply text me, or even write notes on a note pad if you prefer. Now come upstairs. I want you to see yourself in my full length mirror. You are one sexy girl I must say. I made my first attempt at navigating stairs in five inch heels. I kept a strong grip on the banister and managed to make it without falling. When I looked in the mirror I saw this exotic creature staring back at me. From the chest down she looked like a woman; a woman with some shiny stainless steel between her legs. From the chest up she looked like a man; flat chest, short hair, no jewelry or makeup. I stared at this strange incarnation of myself for some time. Finally Karen turned me away from the mirror, pressed her body against mine and kissed the leather mask covering my mouth. I wrapped my arms around her and pressed her tightly. It was a very emotional and romantic moment for me. Even though most would view what she had done to me with disgust, I knew it was just her way of expressing her love for me. I knew I wanted to do everything possible to earn her love, even if it meant wearing these bizarre and decidedly uncomfortable garments. Karen headed back down stairs with me following carefully behind her. Going down stairs in heels is even more challenging than going up, but I managed. At the foot of the stairs she held my hand. "Darling I'm going to run over to the office for a few hours and clean up some things before the weekend. You can stay here and fix me a nice dinner. I'm ready for some of your home cooking after all that hotel and airline food. Text me if you have any problems ok?" I nodded my head; she smiled and went out to the garage. I went to the kitchen and started work on her supper. I was in a lot of pain. Not the kind of pain that brings tears to your eyes, but the slow steady manageable pain that comes from wearing stiletto heels, a tight waist cinch and a posture collar and gag. I rather liked wearing the stockings, and surprisingly the chastity tube didn't cause any discomfort as long as my penis stayed soft. In spite of the handicaps of my new garments, I was able to function fairly normally in the kitchen. I got a phone call. I checked the caller ID and let it go to voicemail. Obviously phone conversations are impossible when locked and gagged. There was chicken and pork chops in the refrigerator. I debated and then decided to text Karen to see what she preferred. Pork chops was the answer. I set up the broiler and prepared a serving of rice and a side salad. About five I heard the garage door open and my loving wife returned. I quickly poured her a glass of her favorite red wine and took it into the den. "Thank you darling. You do make such an excellent housewife. I think I'll keep you." I smiled on the inside at her compliment, but of course the collar/gag prevented me from making any facial expressions. I went back to my kitchen and put the chops under the broiler. I was hungry, but doubted that she would allow me any food so tried to put those thoughts out of my mind. I served her supper in the dining room, setting the table for one. I stood by the side table. Standing still wearing high heels seems even harder than walking in them. My feet were throbbing, but I stood by patiently in case she needed a refill of anything. When she was finished she thanked me kindly for preparing a nice meal and returned to the den. I spent the next hour or so cleaning up in the kitchen before returning to the den. I decided to pick up all the wrappings and boxes from my new "garments" and took everything to the recycle bin. I returned and sat quietly across from my wife. She was busy on her laptop, probably doing something work related, though the thought crossed my mind that she might be ordering some new horrible thing that I would have to wear. Finally I pulled out my phone and texted her "I love you". She looked at her phone and smiled. "I love you too darling. How are you feeling?" I texted "hungry" She smiled. "Girls on strict diets are always hungry. How are the heels; the waist cinch; the collar?" I texted "feet hurt, hard to breathe, jaw hurts, still hungry" "Before we go to bed I'll take off your collar so you can shave and brush your teeth. You won't have to sleep in it tonight." I texted "what about cinch, chastity, heels?" "I'll unlock your waist cinch in the morning so you can shower. The chastity stays locked at all times except when I remove it to clean you. After we have sex I'll unlock your heels for the night." I texted "we having sex tonight?" "Yes darling." I texted "intercourse?" "No darling. Intercourse is impossible when you're locked in chastity. You'll be serving me orally. That's what you want isn't it?" Disappointedly I texted "yes dear" She unlocked my posture collar. I was grateful to have that nasty ball gag out of my mouth. I shaved closely and joined her in bed. She got on top of my face again and I licked her to what seemed to be a satisfying orgasm. My heels, chastity and waist cinch remained securely locked. I washed and returned to bed, expecting her to be asleep. She was sitting up reading something on her tablet computer. "Thank you darling that was very nice. Your oral talents seem to be improving with practice." "I'm glad I was able to give you pleasure dear." "I've been doing a bit of on line research. It seems there are a couple of little procedures that can help you improve your oral service even more." "Well I'll try to do whatever I can to make it more enjoyable for you Karen." "Good girl. I'll make the arrangements tomorrow." "What arrangements?" "You know that little flap of flesh that connects the underside of your tongue to the bottom of your mouth? Well according to my research it can be trimmed back a bit and that will allow you to stick your tongue out another inch or so. You'll be able to penetrate me more deeply. Doesn't that sound like a good idea?" "I ... I don't know dear. I never heard of such things before." "Oh it's quite safe; just a simple out-patient procedure. There is a shop in town that specializes in that sort of thing. They'll be able to do your tongue studs at the same time." "Tongue studs? What are you talking about Karen?" "I'm going to have your tongue pierced and studded. Then when you lick my clitoris the studs will intensify my pleasure. Isn't that clever?" "You said tongue studs; plural. You want me to get more than one?" "Yes dear, you'll get three studs; one near the tip of your tongue and one further back on each side in a triangle pattern." "I don't want anyone sticking needles in my tongue Karen. That's going to be painful." "Yes I know it will be quite painful darling, but what is a little one time shot of pain compared to the lifetime of pleasure you'll be able to give others when your tongue is fixed? I'll pay for the piercings and jewelry of course. All you have to do is suffer a bit of momentary pain. This is what you want too isn't it dear?" "Y ... yes darling. I want to get my tongue pierced three times and have them cut the thing under my tongue so I can give you more pleasure." "You are such a good girl Harold. Good girls should have a nice girl name shouldn't they Harold?" "What do you mean?" "Think about it. I just said 'you're such a good girl Harold'. Doesn't that sound strange? Wouldn't it be better if I called Heather or Hannah or Helen a good girl rather than Harold?" "Well when you put it that way ... you could either say Harold's a good boy, or I guess the alternative would be to use some girl's name and say she's a good girl when you want to compliment me." "I'm so pleased that you agree darling. Now we just have to select a new girl's name for my cute little housewife. What name do you like dear?" "I don't know. Does it have to start with an H?" "No you can pick any girl's name you wish." "I had a baby sister named Sarah. She died when she was only a couple weeks old. Maybe like to honor her memory you could call me Sarah?" "Sarah is a lovely name darling. Henceforth, you shall be my cute little housewife Sarah." "So you're not going to call me Harold anymore?" "Of course not dear. I've never heard of a girl named Harold, have you?" "No I guess not. But then I'm not really a girl. I'm just a guy in high heels and a corset." "You need to be patient Sarah. Becoming a real girl takes time and effort. We start out small; taking baby steps. But over time Harold recedes and Sarah comes to the fore. Won't that be exciting?" "Yes dear is that's really what you want for me, you can call me Sarah from now on." "Wonderful. I'll have my attorney draw up the papers Monday." "What papers?" "The legal documents we'll need to change your name from Harold to Sarah." "Legal? You want me to change my legal name to Sarah?" "Of course darling. You picked the name yourself. We just need a judge to approve your petition to make it official. Your new driver's license will say Sarah. No one will ever need to call you Harold again. Isn't that wonderful?" "So what happens if I get stopped for speeding or something and I give the police my driver's license and it says my name is Sarah, but I'm obviously a guy?" "Well Sarah, once your name is changed I can hardly let you run around looking like a guy now can I. Until your hair grows out you'll wear wigs. We can get your ears pierced at the same time we fix your tongue. I'll show you how to use makeup. We'll buy you a whole new wardrobe of cute girl's clothing and shoes and boots. It will be such fun shopping for you; teaching you all the ins and outs of being a girl." "Karen is this really what you want? You want to feminize me? Turn me into a real girl?" "Yes Sarah that is exactly what I want. You already make love to me like girls make love to each other. Yes you still have a penis but thankfully it's safely locked away now. With hormone therapy your breasts will develop, and they can then be enhanced with implants if necessary. If you want, you can keep your little penis as long as it stays locked. Or when the time comes, the doctors can make you a pretty new vagina and get rid of those nasty testicles and penis flesh. Face it darling, you'll make a much better girl than a man. What woman wants a man who is less than five foot six, who has a small penis that never stays hard long enough to pleasure her and who is unemployed with no great job prospects? We'll both be much happier when you embrace womanhood." "Karen, why did you marry me if you wanted a woman as your lover?" "My industry is still very male dominated. My career would have been ruined if I came out as a lesbian. You being a male legitimatized our relationship. From the first time we met I saw your potential. You're the right size; you're submissive and deferential. You make a lousy husband, but a wonderful wife. You're anatomically male, but in most other respects female. When you looked at yourself in the mirror after I dressed you what did you see?" "To be honest, from the chest down I saw a female." "Yes me too. And once we get your breasts fixed and do something with hair, makeup and jewelry you'll be a girl from the chest up too. I know what is best for you Sarah. You're my wife and I love and cherish you. You want this too don't you Sarah?" I hesitated. This was like the final commitment. I took a deep breath. "Yes Karen. I love you and I want to be your little housewife Sarah. And if you think I'll be better off with a vagina instead of a penis, then of course I'll consent to that too." Over the next few weeks my male wardrobe was totally replaced with skirts, blouses, bras, panties, corsets and more high heels. My facial and chest hair were completely removed. I wore makeup. She had my ears pierced four times on each ear. I got the three tongue studs and had the skin under my tongue cut back. My legal name was changed to Sarah Clarkson as she wanted me to assume her maiden name. I served her orally every night except when Karen was away on business. She removed my chastity device once a week for cleaning. She would put a condom on my penis and give me a hand job. Then she insisted I take off the condom and consume the contents. I resisted that at first, but she said unless I agreed to eat my own cum, she would just keep me locked and chaste. I had no choice really. Under the supervision of her doctor, I was put on a hormone regimen and over time my breasts started to blossom at the same time my weight steadily declined. A strict diet and heavy exercise schedule did the trick and within six months I was down to 113 pounds which she had set as my weight goal. My waist shrank for 32 inches to 27. My new corsets kept getting smaller and I could be laced down to an about 24 inches. My heels were all of the locking ankle strap design, as Karen didn't trust me to keep wearing heels when she was away from home. Once I was comfortable and competent in five inch heels she replaced them with six inch stilettos. I suffered at first with the added inch, but the body does adapt to whatever restrictions it faces and in time six inch heels became the norm. The leather posture collar proved impractical as I could not be seen in public wearing something that visible. Karen sent me to an orthodontist she knew from her graduate school days and I was fitted with heavy metal braces top and bottom. There was a latching device on each side of my jaws. With a specially made wrench Karen could lock my jaws together, which she did every morning before leaving for work. That prevented me from eating and from speaking, just as the posture collar had done. But I could still be seen in public as I ran my errands to the grocery or cleaners. Of course it was embarrassing to be wearing braces as an adult, but Karen said I looked cute in braces and that wearing them would be a good discipline for me. In addition to the female hormones, Karen put me on something she called a testosterone blocker. After about two months on that drug, when she took off my chastity for my weekly sexual release I was unable to attain an erection and my little penis just hung flaccidly between my legs. At that point she let me stop wearing the chastity device as it was no longer needed to prevent erections or masturbation. While I never really desired to be feminized, I realize now that we are much better off with me as Karen's housewife than as her husband. Her career has continued to blossom and I think I take some of the credit for her success by being her loving and devoted wife. She recently informed me that she has taken a lover who she referred to as a "real man". I cried when I got that news. I haven't met him yet, but think I understand how my tongue may not fully satisfy all of her sexual needs, so I must accede to her wishes and support her in that decision. While I still serve Karen sexually I'm no longer allowed to sleep in her bed. She told me a maid should sleep in her own room. She converted a kitchen pantry into a very small bedroom and that is where I sleep now. She refers to it as the "maid's room" and increasingly refers to me as her maid, rather than her housewife. She made me sign some papers recently which dissolved our marriage, so legally speaking I'm no longer her husband or her wife. My status really is that of a maid now. She doesn't pay me a salary or anything, but continues to pay for all of my needs including the cute new maid's dresses she recently bought me. I'm anxious to meet Karen's new boyfriend. I wonder if he will find me sexually attractive? Maybe he'll want to use my mouth like Karen does, or maybe even use my bottom hole. I don't know if I'll like having sex with a man but I'm curious to find out. I guess with all the female hormones in my system I'm not just dressing like a girl, but starting to think like a girl too.