The Demise of Frank

By: Diana Young

We live today in a throw-a way society where once an item has reached
the end of it useful life we dispose of it. Visit any landfill site and
you be confronted with the detritus of this society. Piles of items that
were once treasured possessions now sit abandoned and waiting final
disposal.

There are of course those who, perhaps because of their more frugal
attitude or an aversion to waste, seek a new life for those things no
longer fit for purpose. That sweater you knitted all those years ago can
be unravelled and knitted into a new garment or crocheted into a
"grannie square". That old crock pot that's seen better days becomes a
planter for you kitchen herbs.

Look around and you will find many items that, with a few modifications
and a lick of paint can remain useful for years to come.

So! what do you do with a husband who has reached the end of his useful
life?

There is no reason why you can't re-purpose him. Okay it's not going to
be as easy as it is with an inanimate object that doesn't have the
ability to protest it's remaking but it's certainly possible.

After 20 years of marriage my husband Frank had ceased to be useful.
Love and sex had vanished from our relationship many years ago. For the
most part we lived our own existences. You could describe it as a
symbiotic relationship, my role to tend to our home and his needs. He
was the provider bringing home the money that paid our bills.

Thanks to his well-paid job at a power station nearby we enjoyed
comfortable lifestyle. We nearly owned a large former farmhouse on the
outskirts of a rustic village, holidayed overseas several times a year
and possessed a healthy bank balance.

Then he lost his job. The company had a "zero alcohol" policy in the
control room but Frank just had to have that drink over lunch. Twice he
was detected over the limit and issued with several warnings. After a
third offence he was dismissed.


To say I was unimpressed would be an understatement. Indeed I was
furious with him, a few more years and it would not have mattered. My
first thoughts were to dispose of him, after all a husband who brings
nothing to a marriage is no longer fit for purpose.

On consideration I realised that Frank could be re-purposed, re-shaped,
and moulded into something with a new role in life.

"I really don't want to do this," said Frank in that nasally whinging
voice that he always used when complaining. Right now he was standing
before me wearing only a woman's floral cotton robe. The robe was
unbuttoned and his naked and now hairless body was visible. I'd
contemplated having him suffer the pain of a body waxing but that need
someone else to inflict it. Having to stand there and slowly remove all
your own body hair meant he had to take responsibility himself.

"What you want to do is irrelevant to me," I told him. "You already
agreed to my conditions; do you want to change your mind now?" Dangling
from one of my fingers was a pair of Peach Rayon Jersey Bloomers. His
eyes were fixed firmly on these, the look of horror on his face could
not have been worse if I'd been holding an angry Cobra.

"But why do I have to wear dresses? I mean it's not right for men to
wear women's clothes." His eyes remained locked on the bloomers as they
swayed back and forth.

"That's simply Frank; I no longer considered you a real man, in fact not
even a man at all." I held the garment out towards him and he backed
away.

"For God's sake Frank accept your fate and get on with it before I
change my mind."

Today Frank had started his journey towards his new place in life. When
he revealed that he'd been fired I realised that he would never find a
new job. The implication for me was that I'd have to return to work to
ensure we could finish paying for our house and retirement.

However if I was working there was no way that I'd be responsible for
the household tasks. The solution was obvious Frank would have to take
on the role of housekeeper. However that was not enough punishment for
his blatant stupidity. An idea was forming in my mind, something that
would fit well with my recycling plan.

I'd remember what had happened with my younger brother when I was aged
about 12. Only a year younger than me, Willy had developed into a nasty
toad. One day he overstepped the mark.  Mother had told him that he was
not going anywhere until his room was cleaned. No sooner had she left
his room when he disappeared out the window.

That evening he returned home, covered in mud, some of which he trailed
into the hallway and a large tear in his shirt. As if that wasn't enough
he'd walked into the kitchen demanding something to eat.

Mother hit the roof and taking him by the ear, she marched him up to the
bathroom. There, while the bath filled, she stripped him naked. He was
told to thoroughly scrub himself down and shampoo his hair.

While he doing this; she came to my room and chose a selection of things
from my drawers and one of my older party dresses. She also picked up a
pair of Mary Janes that were now too small for me to wear.

She left the collection in Willy's room and returned to the bathroom.
After he was dried she marched him back to his room.

There despite his vehement protests she dressed him a pair of frilly
white panties, one of my old white training bras and a white lace
trimmed petticoat with multiple layers lace edged tulle over a taffeta
underskirt. The pink satin and spotted voile dress was placed over his
head and coaxed down his body. Broad satin ribbons of a deeper pink were
tied at his waist and formed into a large bow that hung down from the
back of his waist.

When he protested at being put into girl's clothing, she told him that
if he continued to complain she would add another week to his
punishment.

He was given the Mary Janes and a pair of white socks with pink lace
frills which he reluctantly put on. When she was satisfied that Willy
was properly dressed she sat him down on a stool and curled his damp
hair with her curling iron.  Willy had resisted having his hair cut for
some months now and it had grown quite long. He now regretted that
decision as she transformed his head into mass or shining curls. Finally
a large floppy pink bow was pinned to his mass of curls.

She lead him down to the kitchen where he was fastened into a pretty
pinafore and set to work first peeling the vegetables for diner, the
setting the table for our evening meal.

He was still helping around the kitchen when our father arrived home
from work. When he came into the kitchen and saw Willy he blew up
demanding to know what was going on. Mother told him that Willy had gone
too far today and was now being punished. Father started to tell her
that he didn't approve of this, but before he'd finished, she'd told him
to "Hold your tongue Fred lest you end up in skirts too". He never
raised the issue again appearing not to notice his feminised son's
presence.

My mother decided that for the duration Willy would be called Millie,
the logic being that it would be easy enough to remember and it would
reinforce his petticoat state.

If Willy thought that he would gain respite from his new clothes when he
went to bed he was sadly disappointed as he was changed into a Baby Doll
style nightie.

What I most remember is how over the next seven day, the nasty brat of a
brother metamorphosed into a sweet, polite and helpful person. Each day
dressed in a pretty frock he would help with all the housework. His room
became the pride of the house as he relentlessly tidied it.

After his week in skirts he was allowed to return to his boy's clothing.
We wondered if his behaviour would return to that of old, happily that
did not happen.

At one end of his closet one his dresses remained on a hanger and one
drawer of his dresser held a collection of pretty underwear and one of
his nighties. The message I think was fairly clear.

I realised then that this was how I would take control of Frank, strip
him of his manhood and ensure his constant obedience. There was no doubt
in my mind that he would hate being feminised and would forever be
reminded of his failure.

When we had bought the house we had discovered the loft was full of
boxes of belongings left by the previous resident. For whatever reason,
over the years discarded clothing had been packed away in cardboard
boxes. At the time I'd looked through some of the boxes, there was
nothing there that I'd wear but I decided that it would be useful for
Frank.

One afternoon I went up there and started to delve into collection. I
started two piles, in one I placed the things that I felt were feminine
enough and would fit Frank, the other for storing. I took the first pile
down to one of the spare bedrooms where I hung the dresses and skirts
along with blouses and tops. The underwear I stored in various drawers.

That night I confronted Frank telling him that I wanted him to move out
of my home. I went on the accuse him of betraying me and of selfish
behaviour. There was no reason that could, in my mind, justify him
remaining with me. He was shocked and protested that I could not remove
him from his house. I countered that by pointing out that years ago, for
financial reasons and in fact, Tax avoidance reasons; the house had been
transferred into my name. I was also the registered own of our car and
would be entitled to retain possession of that. He was to move out of my
bedroom immediately and I wanted him to vacate the house within 7 days.

When the reality of his position became evident, he started to plead for
me to reconsider, asking if there was anything that he could do to avoid
this occurring. At first I rejected his plea saying that my mind had
already been made up. Then I offered him a glimmer of hope by saying
there was only one possibility of him remaining but tempered it with my
opinion that he would not be interested in that option. He insisted he
would be prepared to try anything.

I eased him gently into my plan telling him that with my imminent return
to the workforce I'd need someone to do all the housekeeping. He seized
that chance telling me he could learn to how to cook and clean or any of
the other necessary tasks. I responded that I was sure that he could but
what I wanted was a maid. He mulled this over for a few moments before
saying that he would be prepared to accept that role.

I asked him if he understood that as my maid he would have his own room
and would be required to accept that he was a employee of mine, albeit
unpaid. Again he said that he could accept that and was still willing to
take the position. I let him think I was considering whether I would
accept his offer by hesitating for a few minutes.

Finally I told him that he could remain as long as it was in the role of
maid.

A broad grin broke out on his face, I think that he believed that if he
remained over time he would be able to resume of relationship.

The look of horror when I then told him I'd need to have measure for his
new uniforms was priceless. He asked why he would need new uniforms and
what was wrong with the clothing he normally wore.

I explained that any maid who worked in my home would have to be
prepared to wear the appropriate clothing for a domestic servant. Was
this female clothing he asked with a worried look. Indeed it was I told
him, did he still want to become my maid, I asked. I was not going to
beat around the bush here, accept my offer or leave, I told him.

In the end with a look of resignation on his face he reluctantly
accepted his fate.

For me the new found sense of power had been exhilarating and sexually
stimulating.

Now he was poised to make the move into his life in petticoats, the last
traces of resistance were deserting him.

"Last change for your Frank, take your panties and put them on."

His hand reached out and grasped them.

"What are you holding Frank?" I asked him.

"Panties," he whispered.

"Whose panties Frank?" He was looking distinctly uncomfortable now.

"Mine." He was now staring at them, my guess; he was hoping they would
simply disappear.

"Put it together Frank." I was so enjoying this.

"My panties," he said quietly, a blush had spread across his face.

"What do you do with your panties Frank?" I watched as he squirmed with
embarrassment.

"I......I wear them," I swear a tear was forming in his eyes.

"So what are you waiting for Frank?"

He gingerly lifted one leg and stepped into the bloomers, the conflict
within him was evident, never the less he placed his second leg into
them and grasping the waistband he slowly pulled them up until they were
settled around his waist. In his mind he had ceded his manhood and I was
determined that he would never get it back.

Now that he was wearing the bloomers his resistance crumbled.

"You can take off your robe now Fannie." Time to acquaint him with his
new name.

As he removed the robe he asks, "Fannie?"

"I'm not having a maid called Frank," I told him. "In future your name
will be Fannie Maykum." I was rather pleased that I'd come up with that,
especially since it hinted at future possibilities.

"I see." He sighed offering no resistance or objections

I held out the bra that best matched his bloomers. "What's this Fannie?"

"My brassiere."

"Would you like me to help you put on your brassiere?" I asked.

He nodded in the affirmative, then as he realised the game we were
playing, answered, "Could you please help me into my brassiere."

I held it up for him and he slid his arms through the shoulder straps
and then turned around. The bra was a long line model and had no less
than 9 hook and eye fastens, which I slowly closed gradually imprisoning
him in its tight grip. Now while panties can be and often are pretty and
feminine garments they are similar to what men wear. A bra on the other
hand is for the exclusive use of those of us blessed with what many
women see as an important asset, their breasts. Nothing can prepare a
male for his first bra, it's probably the most humiliating of all
feminine garments to be placed in. I inserted two silk bags each
containing a kilo of rice into the vacant cups of his bra. The weight
causes it to sag so I adjust the shoulder straps until they take up that
weight. Frank looks very uncomfortable as the extra burden tends to
unbalance him. I know that he hates his bra but one day in future, I am
sure he will grow to love it. For now his punishment is to wear one, in
future it will be to deprive him of it comforting support.

I show him the slip; made of a soft pink fabric most of the bodice is
pink French lace with two thin adjustable satin shoulder straps. At the
hem there's a four inch band of the same lace. "What's this Fannie?""

"My petticoat," he answers, and then adds, "Will you help me put on my
petticoat?"

I smile as I know now his spirit is broken, as my Mother knew long ago,
get your man into lingerie and he is yours to mould and shape as you see
fit.

"I'd be pleased to do that for you Fannie." I hold the slip up over his
head he feeds his arms through the shoulder openings. When I release it
there is quiet hiss as it slides down his body. For the first time he
feels the sensation of a skirt as the hem of his slip brushes against
his naked legs.

"Do you like your petticoat Fannie?" He has already realised the
limitation a skirt places on movement.

"Oh yes I like my petticoat." His words tell one thing but his action
another. I know his real feelings but they are of no concern to me.

The stockings are next, since he is not wearing a girdle today I chose a
pair with elastic tops. I hand him the pair and ask would he'd like to
put his stockings on.

"Yes I'd like to put my stockings on." He sits on a stool and rolls each
stocking into a doughnut before drawing each one onto his legs. I am
surprised at first but then realise that he has watched me perform this
same practice for many years.

I take his dress from the closet it's a Floral print on yellow silk
crepe de chine. It has a high rounded neckline and full length sleeves
with finish in 3 inch cuffs that fasten with three round yellow buttons.
The dress falls below the knee and has a long zipper in one side. This
dress would definitely suit the older woman and is perfect for Frank. He
looks defeated as I reveal his dress to him.

Without prompting he asks me, "Would you help me into my pretty dress."

It goes on easily and I close the zipper before fastening the self-
fabric belt at the waist. The dress suits him well and is a good fit
apart from being slightly loose around the hips. My plans for the future
included breast and hip enhancements the only question I need to resolve
is by how much.

I have a pair of white shoes with 2 inch heels and he steps into them.
He looks very unsteady in these shoes but he will soon master the art of
walking in heels. For him flat shoes are going to be but a distant
memory.

It's time to tackle his hair. I seat him on the stool and tie a cape
around him. His hair has greyed in the last few years and recently he's
allowed it to grow longer than usual. It's still damp as I run my comb
through it. I comb it into sections and then start pinning small rollers
into it. He winces at times as I occasionally jab him. That's of little
concern to me he will learn the costs of beauty often takes you down the
path of pain. In the end I squeeze some forty rollers onto his head. I
cover his head with a yellow silk scarf tied in the manner of the
forties, it's knotted at the top front of the head.

"There all done," I tell him. "Would you like to see yourself in the
mirror?" I ask.

He stands up and moves slowly across the room struggling to cope with
his new shoes. I find his discomfort amusing and know I will gain much
pleasure from subjecting him to similar experiences.

It's time to add one more touch. I have him sit back on the stool and I
take my compact and powder his face, it's only a light dusting to take
away the shine. I add rouge circles to his cheeks and along the bridge
of his nose. His eyebrows are gone I insisted that he shave them off. I
have scope to experiment with all different shapes, today I experiment
with thin quizzical ones. They transform his face completely. I outline
his eyes with a black eye liner and apply a coating of blue eye shadow
to his lids. I had him the bright red lipstick and compact and tell him
to apply his lipstick. His first attempt is a disaster and I wipe if off
and tell him to do it again.

I tell him to stand in front of me and I cast my eyes over him, a
slightly androgynous person tending towards the masculine looks back at
me. I add a final touch, chiffon and lace tea apron, favoured by matrons
at afternoon teas.

"I think I just heard the mail arrive, best go and check it Fannie."

"Dressed like this?" he asked in horror.

"Of course, dressed like that."

"I can't," he pleads.

"Now." I point towards the door. He wobbles across the hallway and
stands for a moment at the front door. Finally he sighs and opens the
door. The makes his way down the steps and walks the twenty paces to the
mail box. There is a small lock on the box and he realises he has
forgotten the key. He takes a quick look around as a car drives past but
the driver's attention is on the road. His heels click on the paving as
he makes his way back into the house. The key hangs beside the door he
removes it and returns to the mail box. There is a gentle winds blowing
and I watch as it blows his dress around, he tries to unlock the box
with one hand a hold onto his skirts with the other and succeeds in
doing neither. In the end he is forced to use both hands to undo the
lock and suffer having his dress lifted up briefly.

Relocking the box he bring several letters back with him, as he carries
them he see that they all only addressed to his wife, the erasure of
Frank is more advanced than he realised.

"Fannie, I think that it's appropriate you show due respect when
speaking with me."

"How can I do that?" he asked

"Maids traditionally show their respect by curtsying when approaching
their employer or when carrying out an instruction. From now on I expect
that from you."

"But I have no idea how to curtsey," he replied.

"That's why you'll find a  book on etiquette for domestic maids in your
new room. I want you to read it and behave in accordance with that
book."

"Okay."

"No not Okay, Yes Madam or Mam."

"Yes Madam." He made a clumsy attempt to bob.

I sent him off with instructions to gather up all of his male clothing,
pack it in plastic bags and pack in the back of the car.

"Everything?"

"Everything." For the next hour he was up and down the stairs as bag
after bag was carried down and taken to the car. Finally he returned and
informed me that everything had been move to the car.

Over the next two weeks he was immersed in learning the domestic skills
that he would need if he was to be a useful maid. He was also subjected
to a whole new range of experiences. When it came to doing the laundry I
allowed him to use the washing machine for most items, but insisted that
any fine fabrics such as lingerie could only be hand washed in mild
soap. Unless it was raining everything had to dried on the cloths line
in the rear garden. He would have to stand out in the open as he pegged
each item to the line. I could have left it that, but instead I insisted
that each group of items should be placed together and each should have
its own colour of peg. Of course this made it harder for him, that was
the idea.

Normally I would only have ironed things which really needed to be
ironed but in his case I demanded that almost everything be ironed. This
meant that it took several hours to complete this task. It amused me to
watch him as he daintily ironed delicate panties or bras. Once
everything had been ironed, it needed to be placed in drawers in sorted
into types and colours.

Early in the first week I'd dressed him a white and pink floral
patterned dress with a matching jacket, added pink hat, white gloves and
a large handbag. We drove to a nearby town where I took him into a shop
which specialised in domestic uniforms. An extremely camp shop assistant
took him into the change rooms, had him undress to his lingerie before
measuring him. He tried on one dress which proved to be a good fit.
When we left I'd bought six dresses for him. For morning wear, three
pastel uniforms in pink, yellow and blue. A grey uniform which would be
suitable for afternoon wear and two black dresses in a polished cotton
fabric.

I'd also bought him a selection of aprons ranging from small half aprons
to full pinafore styles. Finally a range of caps from simple Mob styles
to elaborate evening ones replete with ribbon and lace trim.

The bill was rather large but I was able to tell Frank that it had been
paid for with the money I received when I sold off his golf clubs. That
was another priceless moment.

Before we returned home I took him to have his ears pierced and a set of
studs inserted. While that was being done I chose several pairs of
earrings, they were cheap and gaudy, perfect for him.

I'd pondered a choice of breast forms, small, medium or large they would
be attached on a semi-permanent basis. In the end it made sense to buy
them in the same size as the bras he already had. I can tell you I
really enjoyed the first day I glued them on to his chest. He never ever
complained about wearing bras after he stood for the first time and felt
the weight of his DD girls.

The first time I'd set his hair in curlers he'd complained non-stop
about how uncomfortable he found it. I on the other hand was delighted
with resultant mass of tight grey curls. Not wanting to be to
unreasonable I allowed him to wash and condition his hair every other
day. Naturally after each wash it would need to be reset. Since he
washed his hair at night he had to endure the discomfort of sleeping
with the curlers in place. Rather than remove those curlers in the
morning, he was to keep them in place until he changed into his evening
uniform. As much as he hated that I loved it.

He also hated that it was he who had to set his hair, in the beginning
he would sit in front of the mirror slowly adding each curler. He would
come to me and I'd tell not good enough and he'd start all over. In a
way this was karma, in his eyes my hair was never properly styled and
he'd complain that I needed to smarten up.

Each day I would inspect his nails, they had to be perfectly shaped and
painted with nail polish. Only deep reds and strong pinks would do for
him and he had to change the colour every other day.

As my husband he'd always insisted that I needed to wear makeup during
the day, even if I was remaining at home. Now I demanded my maid reach
certain standards including being fully made up at all times when on
duty. Since his hours of duty were from 6am to 11pm that meant all the
time. When he was not engaged in other duties I would send him to
practice applying makeup and to experiment with different looks. I
either approved or rejected each different look and those that involved
the maximum amount of time to achieve were the one I approved.

He was never a willing cross dresser who would have adored being forced
in dresses. Had that been the case I'd probably never done this too him.
I emasculated him and turned him from a dominant husband into a
submissive servant. God I enjoyed doing this to him, I thrived on his
embarrassment enjoyed his constant humiliation.

When I convinced my doctor that I needed HRT it was never for me. There
was no deceit by me he knew what he was being given and meekly accepted
it. I doubled the dosage as well, was it harmful? who knows, did I care
if was, No!

After a month all trace of my former husband was gone. My house was
immaculate, floors gleamed from polishing and every shelf was dust free.
I was now being served meals that would not be unusual at top notch
restaurants. My lingerie draw was always full and the hamper empty. I
barely needed to lift a finger; only short tinkle of the bell by my side
would bring my maid to me.

I'd been starting to search the papers since I was going to have to find
work soon. Frank's payout had been slowly dwindling and a source of
income was now a prime need.
As I perused the advertisements one caught my eye "Perfect Lady"
underneath it invited me who wished to experience being dressed as women
to contact the provided number.

This sparked an idea, what if I set up a similar business. There already
was an extensive collection of clothing from the hoard in the loft. Over
time I could add to this collection. Best of all I already had a maid
who do much of the work for me. No doubt he would be thrilled to
dressing another male in female attire. What's not to like about this I
thought.

"Madam Zelda's" dressing service was born and in the following weeks
papers an advertisement for appeared. Frank had not been happy when I
informed him that in future he would be playing "Ladies Maid" to
visiting cross-dressing men.

Initially I set things up in blocks of 3 hours, since I felt anything
less would not be worth the effort and in any case who wants to spend 45
minutes being dressed and made up only to have to turn around and strip
if all back off. I settled on 10am til 1pm, 2pm til 5pm or 7pn til 10pm.
As a bonus any booking for consecutive periods would include a free hour
between them.

Less than 24 hours after the ad appeared in the paper the phone rang.

"Ah! Hello is this ummm Madam Zelda's?"

"Yes it is, Madam Zelda speaking."

"I'm er...interested in you services."

"We provide a complete service but any special requests might take a day
or two to arrange," I told him.

"When could I make an appointment?" he asked.

I explained the hours we were available and mentioned a bonus hour for
two blocks.

"That sounds ideal, umm what would the rate be?"

"300 for the first three hours, 250 for another three and 200 for a
third three."

There was a silence on the other end of the phone. Had I asked too much
I wondered.

"That will be fine, when can I arrange a visit." A day and time was
arranged.

Two days later promptly at 10am the doorbell chimed. Frank had been
dressed in one of his black uniforms with a starched white pinafore and
fancy white lace cap. I sent him to greet our visitor he was not at all
happy.

I watched as he curtsied and invited our visitor to follow him. He
brought "Peter" into the living room and introduced him to me, before
moving back and standing with his hands crossed in front of him. I
welcomed Peter and he passed me an envelope with his payment. I
explained that my Maid Fannie would escort him upstairs and assist with
his dressing and makeup. When he was dressed Fannie would show him
around the rear garden before bringing him in for Morning Tea with me.

The was a camera in the bedroom which allowed me to watch proceedings
and to record what happened. I watched as Frank lead Peter into the
bedroom, curtsey before helping him undress. He was clearly
uncomfortable in the presence of a naked man as he went about dressing
Peter. Some time later I saw them descend the stairs, Peter looked quite
nice, he was dressed in the fashion of a lady attending a semi-formal
event. The dress was a blue linen with a white flower print over it. A
plain blue jacket, open at the front. Beige stockings with white medium
heels, while his hat was a blue saucer shape with an artificial flower
on the top, a veil at the front descended below the eyes. I was
impressed with Frank's effort clearly I'd taught him well.

Outside in the relative privacy of the rear garden, Frank lead Peter
around showing him plants and selecting and picking a bouquet of
flowers.

When they returned Peter was escorted into the sitting room where I
awaited him. Franks fluttered off to prepare Morning Tea for us.

"I must say how wonderful you look today Peta, your hat is divine."

"Yes I am really pleased with it." He reached up and touched the veil.

For the next 15 minutes we made small talk as you expect two mature
ladies to do.

Frank returned bearing a silver tray with silver teapot, milk jug and
sugar container resting on it. He carried out a semi-curtsy as he
entered then placed the tray on a table in front of us. Next time he
carried in a tray bearing to Royal Albert Country Rose cups and saucers
and two plates. He set them down beside us.

"You may pour now Fannie," I told him.

"Very good Mam," he replied before taking the Tea Pot and pouring out
two cups.

"Milk, Sugar?" he asked.

Once our requirements had been satisfied he departed again for the
kitchen. The last tray held a small pile of scones, still steaming,
several small bowls of jams and a container of thick white cream. After
setting them on the table he retired to side of the room and took up a
stance with hands folded over his pinafore and eyes cast downward ready
to summoned when next needed.

Peter and I chatted on as we nibbled on the delicious scones. Who would
have thought my former husband could be capable of producing such a
treat.

Finally it was time for Peter to change and I told Frank to escort him
back to the bedroom and assist him to change. Once he left I checked the
envelope, paid in full. One client and the equivalent of two days pay. A
short time later they returned and Frank opened the door and ushered
Peter out.

When he came into the Sitting Room he held out 100 pounds. "He's only
paid part of what he owes." I showed him the other 300. "That's your tip
Fannie."

"Oh! and he also kissed my cheeks when leaving, I'll not have that."

"Fannie if a client throws you on the bed and takes your virginity you
will smile and say: thank you that will be another 50 pounds,
Understand?"

"Yes Madam as you wish."

That week we took 1200 Pounds from four very satisfied clients. At this
rate we would easily meet our commitments and more.

The following week we took 2400 pounds and a week later 3300. Then I
came up with another idea once a week we would hold a formal dinner and
invite up to 4 clients. They could come between 5pm and 7pm so as to be
dressed by 7pm. We could start with a cocktail hours and follow it with
a 3 course dinner at 8pm. I could make 1200 pounds in one evening. We
started telling each clients of this new event there was a lot of
interest from them so we set the date for our first dinner in two weeks.

The night turned out to be a great success Fannie's meal was superb (I
could no longer think of him as Frank as I banished the last trace of my
former husband) Every one dressed in evening gowns and happily chatted
with each other. All vowed to be back for another evening.

With the money flowing in I decided that we could convert the loft into
an extra bedroom another bathroom and large storage area where clothing
could be kept.

Once the renovations were complete we were able to offer overnight stays
to our clients and if they wished they could leave their own clothing in
our storage room.

One afternoon I was having Tea with our first client Peta, we'd become
good friends and I'd gradually learned more about him. Today he did
surprise me by telling me that he was a plastic surgeon and if there was
anything I needed done he would be happy to help. I thanked him and
filed that information away.

Fannie had been on her hormone program for six months now with some good
results. His hips had certainly increased in size and overall his figure
was more rounded and feminine there was an increase in the size of his
nipples but not a lot of breast development.

Next time Peter visited I waived his usual payment and told him he could
visit anytime as a guest if he carried out a few procedures on Fannie.
He asked if Fannie would object and I assured him that there would be no
objection.

Later that afternoon I summoned Fannie to the Sitting Room.

"Fannie could you bring me a bottle of Chardonnay and two glasses."

"Yes Mam." He looked around to see if he'd missed someone then went off
to fetch the wine."

He returned and poured out a glass for me. "Fill the other glass
Fannie."

He looked puzzled but never the less complied.

"Sit down and join me." He sat down carefully sweeping his dress under
him as he did so.

"That's for you." I pointed to the wine. He picked up the glass and took
a sip.

"Fannie you've been in dresses now for over six months and you going to
be in them for ever as far as I'm concerned."

"Yes Mam I understand." He did look sad though at being reminded that
this wasn't going to end tomorrow or the day after or the year after.

"I don't think that you should have to glue your breasts on every few
days."

"No Mam it's not something I enjoy having to do."

"Well I have good news for you, in future that's a task you won't have
to perform."

He smiled, did he really think that I was just going to let him stop
using the forms.

"Next week you will be going into a private hospital for your own
implants."

The jaw dropped and his lips trembled, a tear formed in his eye then ran
down his cheek. I knew that he wanted to tell me that this was not
something he wanted. Still I'd brought him to the stage where acceptance
was his only option.

"As you wish Mam, can I ask will they be as large as my forms?"

"Would you like them to be that size?" He looked down at the floor for a
moment considering his answer. "Yes Mam that would be nice."

Now I moved onto the difficult part, well the difficult part for him
anyway.

"Fannie you're not going back to a male life, you understand that?"

"Yes Mam I do." He looked puzzled wondering no doubt what this was
leading to.

"So in your new life there's not much point to those bits hanging off
your front."

There was no doubt about the look of horror that passed across his face
this time.

"Oh No! you can't do that."

"Of course you're right I can't do that, but the surgeon can and will."

"Please don't do this," he begged but I could already see acceptance in
his eyes.

When he returned after the surgery he was quiet and subdued he moved
straight back into his normal duties. With the last vestige of his
manhood gone he became totally submissive and obedient. I doubted there
was anything which he would refuse to do if I so directed.

One evening I went to his room as he was leaving the bath, his breasts
were full and rounded with a prominent nipples. My eyes dropped below
his waist no trace of his male organs were left low down there was a
slit where his urethra had been moved.

"How is it?" I asked.

"Messy at the moment," he replied with wry smile.

"Never mind you'll get used to it."

"Yes I suppose I will."

And that's how I made my contribution to saving the planet by
repurposing a no longer useful husband. I highly recommend the practice
to any of you ladies in the same position.

Story of a happy marriage

By: Dee Beth

Paul grew up the youngest in a home with several sisters and a mother, as
his father was gone most of the time. When Paul was only 8 years old, his
mother kicked his father out of the house as she caught him playing
around with a gal he met in a bar at another town. Of course a quick
divorce followed, and his mother became the only parent going forward, a
parent figure longer than anyone could imagine.

Paul was never a large child, very small for his age not to mention
bashful, and as a result had few friends that he would hang out with. He
knew his older sisters friends well and often were the only other
children he hung out with.

Paul grew up with a strong respect and dependence for woman as a result,
and was always obedient to not only his mother and sisters, but to their
friends as well as after all, he was the youngest and smallest of the
bunch.

While his mother did the best she could to help him grow up as a boy, he
would often be mistaken as a young girl due to his small stature, his
longer hair as haircuts were few and he did like long hair. It was also
common to be wearing some of the hand me downs that he got from his
sisters, including some pants, shirts, and jumpers that he could fit and
use. While he was never given any of his sister's underwear to use, he
always wondered how it would feel if he did, and often thought about what
his sisters might be wearing under their day to day and even fancy party
clothes.

As he went through his education stages, he was just getting by, taking
the none science courses and anything that would allow him to just get
by, so as a result, his education was very general, all the way through
the local jr. university that he was attending so he could stay at home
with his mother.

When he graduated he found a job at a local bank as a clerk, something
that he didn't realize at the time but would retire from twenty years
later. He continued to live with his mother, as his salary was meager and
his mother appreciated his help around the house.

Maxine grew up in a different setting as we will learn. She was always
outspoken in her attitude, being a larger girl often spoken of as a tom
boy type in younger days. She was always large for her age and as puberty
arrived, this translated to a large womanly figure. In addition, she was
very strong willed to say the least. As a result, she would often become
the leader of any group of girls that she would be with. She gained the
reputation of being very wise, and never backing down from any challenge.

School days were no different, and she did well at anything she pursued,
but did not really appreciate the attention her womanly proportions
garnered from most of the cocky guys that thought they could control her
and her emotions. As a result she gained the reputation of being a "ball
buster" after dealing with an unwanted advance from the class stud on one
occasion.

As you can image, Maxine did well in school and university, going on to
graduate with a business degree, and as a result, had many job offers
upon graduation to consider.

As with any story about a marriage, the two would meet each other at some
point and start to know each other, and this happened at the bank that
Paul was already working as a clerk at. It seems that this bank chain had
offered Maxine a job in management which brought Maxine to this location
as a management trainee where she would get to know Paul over time.

Maxine discovered Paul soon after arriving, and was enamored by this
small stature guy that was so shy that he had to be prompted to give an
answer to any questions he was asked. Paul was also a bit intimidated by
Maxine when she was with him, as her large womanly features became of
great interest to Paul, as he always had a thing for strong women,
especially ones that had such impressive attributes. As a result,
whenever Maxine was near him, he found himself excited, or at least as
much as he could get given his very small manly attributes. He often
found himself dreaming about Maxine as a result, something he found to
give him pleasure even when alone at home in his mother's house.

As the weeks turned into months, Maxine advanced from a trainee to
assistant bank manager at which point she was already making plans for a
move from her apartment into a decent home. One of the issues facing her
was how she would manage taking care of a home while pursuing her
business career. As she pondered this, she thought about taking on a
housemate with the potential of a marriage partner, someone that could
help manage the home but also someone that she could also manage, as she
certainly did not want to lose her independence to some strong willed
male. This thought brought her to Paul, one of the bank clerks she knew.

Shortly after that, she approached Paul at work and asked him to join her
for lunch at a nearby eating place. Paul was taken back by the proposal,
but as he grew up always agreeing to any ladies request, had to accept
her lunch invite as well. While this was the first somewhat private get
together between the two of them, it became a regular event as each had
to have a lunch break and this location was close and a favorite to those
working at this bank. As Maxine learned more about Paul and his
circumstances, she was most excited that she may have found the perfect
candidate for what she wanted in an arrangement, someone she could
control, would do the housework she had little time for, and was
available and ready for a change, in this case from living at home with
his mother and doing her housework.

Paul was also very excited about finally meeting a woman, and quite the
woman Maxine was. She was larger in stature than his mother but also had
very large womanly features; also being very strong willed which always
excited him.

When Maxine offered him the chance to move in with her into a house,
providing he would assume the responsibility of keeping it in order and
helping out with other housekeeping as needed, he jumped at the offer
especially after Maxine suggested that if this worked out, she may ask
Paul to become her husband. The only concern Paul had was he had to tell
his mother about this and get her blessing.

Paul told his mother about this opportunity that same evening, and she
was thrilled to learn that some woman actually wanted Paul to live with
her, and advised him to do anything he had to making this a long term
arrangement. Paul could hardly wait for the next day when he would meet
with Maxine and tell her of his decision to move in with her and do the
housework needed.

Maxine and Paul soon became house partners, with Maxine of course
managing all the arrangements, setting up the task lists for Paul, and
generally making all the decisions with regard to their new house, as
well as all the personal decisions going forward. Paul was given the
smaller room of course as a bed room, with a small twin bed that they
acquired from a second hand store as he had no house furnishings of his
own. Paul became very adept at what he did to help in the house, keeping
it in order as well as preparing food when they would choose to eat at
home in the evenings.

At work things continued as usual for Paul, but for Maxine, she was on a
course to upper management, and soon was promoted to general manager of
another bank, in a different neighborhood. This of course limited their
time together during the day, and in the evenings Maxine was coming home
more stressed than ever, and started to press Paul into more personal
service to her as a result. This started out as foot massages, back rubs,
doing her personal laundry and ultimately to more intimate encounters
like scrubbing her back in the bath and helping her pick out her clothes
for the following work day. Maxine was still thinking that at some point,
they would be married, as it would not do her career any good if news of
her current arrangement with Paul leaked out.

Paul from his perspective was doing all he could to get Maxine to allow
them to become intimate in a more traditional manner, but she insisted
that until they were married, this could never happen.

As the months turned into a year, Maxine decided that it was time for
Paul and her to take a weekend off, go to Vegas and get married, which is
what they did. It was a very low key event for obvious reasons, but a
legal marriage all the same with Paul taking Maxine's last name as we
could expect. That evening was not what Paul was expecting. As agreed to
prior, Maxine was going to allow intimacy but when the time came and Paul
came to the wedding bed for Maxine, she was so surprised by his little
package that she started to laugh at him, and worse than that, he lost
his seed in a premature release onto their bedclothes. That took care of
the atmosphere for Paul that evening, so he had no chance until the
following morning, when she allowed him to come on top of her to try
again, but when he tried to enter her, again lost his seed at the
entrance to her womanhood. She decided at that point, that this was not
in his best interest, and she would teach him to satisfy her if she
needed it by other means. She also told him that from now on, he could
only satisfy himself after she was satisfied and only then with her used
underwear to take up the output, as he was not enough man to put it into
her.

After that weekend, things changed with their relationship. Maxine
continued to set the rules for the household, telling Paul that he was
not man enough to continue to wear the men's underwear that he had grown
up with, but rather he was to start to wear ladies underwear of her
choosing. He was also allowed to sleep with her only providing he wore a
nightgown of her choosing.

He went to work that next week, wearing ladies full nylon briefs and a
nice cami under his pants and shirt for the first time ever, but also had
to wear a numbered maxi pad(so his wife could tell if he cheated and
changed it) that Maxine inspected every night to insure he was behaving
himself when away at work.

Weeks turned into months and the only thing that changed was that Paul
learned more and more about how to please Maxine when she needed it,
using his tongue and a multitude of toys that they acquired. His pleasure
was achieved under watchful eye occasionally only after she had received
all the attention she could manage, with him manually stimulating his
organ, using her used underwear as instructed.

As the months turned into years, Maxine advanced in the company to a high
level, allowing the purchase of a very large and well-furnished house in
a posh neighborhood. She aged well, but the years continued to expand her
assets, with her breasts a well-developed 38E and her posterior a very
prominent heart shaped buttock, fitting for a queen. During this time,
Paul actually diminished in stature, which made for a very striking
couple whenever they would go out together in public. His features simple
aged, with his hair getting grey and becoming very curly over time. His
small glasses and androgens clothing style that Maxine picked out for
him, made an interesting distinction between this small person carrying
the bags, and this larger authoritative well-dressed woman that he would
always be following.

Unfortunately for Paul, he never lost that interest in what women might
be wearing under their day to day dress, and often found himself day
dreaming about the same, at work as well as when out with Maxine. If he
did get a bit carried away and left some discharge in his daily panty
liner, Maxine would come up with some interesting forms of punishment,
one of which became a regular event.

Maxine had read about a chair used in medieval days, which would allow a
lady to be seated directly on the face of another person, forcing that
person to do service to her attributes while she was seated. She had Paul
modify a large chair which she acquired, so that he could be strapped
face up into it, in a position where he could offer little resistance to
what she wanted him to do while she was on her queen's throne. His hands
were also restrained, so he had little choice but to succumb to her
wishes for as long as she desired.

This became the normal mode for punishment if Maxine found a discharge in
Paul's pantie liner or if she caught him checking out some other lady
when they were out together. For a minor offense, he would get about 15
minutes with her sitting in the chair with her well-worn panties smashed
into his face allowing him to think about what he was supposed to do to
get any self-gratification.

If they were away from home some distance when he needed the punishment,
Maxine would find a location such as the back seat of their large SUV
when she would force Paul to lay down, and she would simply spread out
her skirts over his head and assume the position over his mouth. On more
than one occasion, Paul found himself In the family bathroom at a mall in
a similar position.

If the infraction was more serious, he would get 30 minutes, with her
removing her panties, forcing his nose into her parts, and only giving
him air if he was able to stimulate her. Unfortunately, this led to
several occasions where Maxine had to cut the exercise short as he
fainted from lack of air. Upon resuscitation, he was forced to take her
dirty panties into his mouth for the remainder of the day.

And there were the worst cases to be dealt with, those where he was
caught stimulating himself without permission, or getting caught leering
at a lady in public. For these situations, he found himself bound to the
queens chair for at least an hour of service to his queen, after she had
left the bathroom without cleaning herself. She made sure to move just
enough to give him the air needed to avoid fainting, but also not to
leave the chair until all her spots were sparkling clean again. While
these worst case situations did not happen often, they did happen on
occasion and always left Paul feeling like he let his wife down again,
and even after the punishment session finished, he thought about how he
could do better in the future to avoid these punishments.

So their life continued, for years and years, with Paul simply doing all
he could to keep his mistress/wife/queen happy, and Maxine living life to
the fullest, with Paul doing everything she asked for and often more. As
Paul neared retirement age and retired when he could from the bank,
Maxine became CEO of the entire banking group, and became very
comfortable with her life, as she was waited on hand and foot not only at
work, but also at home by her househusband (wife) Paul.

You could say after reading all this that this was a perfect marriage
only for Maxine, but in fact Paul found it quite enjoyable as well, as he
did find it very satisfying to be told what to do, when to do it, and
even as his male equipment never amounted to anything, the toys that he
and his wife used on each other certainly made up for it as not only was
she a happy wife, so was he.

My father, the maid

By: Sissy Oona

I thought it was really weird when I received the random text from my step
mother, even though I had known her for most of my adult life as my
father's new wife we had never really been close. Hell, for that matter I
had never really been close to my father either, he was always pulling long
hours at the office when I was young, so he was never around. Nowadays I
rarely if ever saw him, once a year for Christmas at most, and maybe a text
on my birthday. All that being considered it was really weird when Claire,
my step mother, texted me inviting me over. As bizarre as it seemed I had
nothing better going on, so I decided to make the hour and a half trip to
see them.

On the drive to their house I thought about my dad a lot, about growing up
with him, how he treated me, how he treated my mom, how when he was in a
good mood he could be a great guy and a wonderful father, and how much more
often when he was in a bad mood he was a complete and utter asshole. My
father was an ambitious man even though he came from a difficult
background. When he was in high school his parents pressured him to drop
out to help his father with his carpentry business, but he refused to give
up on his education. Instead he found time for both, school during the day,
carpentry at night. He eventually graduated high school and started taking
classes at the local community college. That was when his mother took ill,
the medical bills became too much and he couldn't continue on to a
university. He started working full time with his father, soon he started
growing the business from a small father son operation to a moderate sized
construction company. At about that time he married my mother, they had
both met in college and thought they were madly in love with each other, I
was conceived on their wedding night. As I was growing up the company
continued to grow, slowly my father was able to go from doing actual
construction to being more of a manager and boss, work that he was
admittedly not great at. The work was hard on him and he would often come
home in a bad mood, he yelled at my mother a lot, he ignored me just as
much. Things got worse before they got better, he came home drunk often, he
beat my mother on several occasions, he even hit me a few times. I am
thankful that my mother was able to leave him and get both of us out of
there. I was 8 when they separated, I'm 24 now. It has taken a long time,
but I have forgiven him, he has apologized for his actions, and I'm not one
to hold a grudge.

Then there's his new wife, Claire, they married 5 years after my parents
divorced. I never had any reason to dislike her, she always tried her
hardest to be a good host to me whenever I came over to visit my father.
She was an attractive woman, a few years younger than my father. They met
while my father's company was building a large office complex for Claire's
husband at the time, an older man who was moderately rich. They started
having an affair behind the old man's back until he died suddenly later
that year of cancer. Upon the man's death she was expecting to get all of
his money, however he had made up a will when he was diagnosed leaving
everything to their daughter Aimee. As far as I could tell my father was
happy with Claire and a better father to Aimee than he had ever been to me.

Soon enough I pulled into the driveway. I was somewhat confused because my
father's car was there, it was Friday at 2:30, he was usually never home
before 6pm. I thought little else of it and figured maybe he had bought a
new car or something. I walked up the path to the door and rang the bell,
it took longer than I thought it would for someone to come to the door, but
I thought nothing else of it. As the door opened standing before me was my
stepmother Claire, she was beautiful, about 5'8", slim, with large round
breasts held in place by a white lace bra which was clearly visible through
her thin white button down blouse. Her gorgeous long legs were encased in
somewhat transparent black stockings, which you could see the  lace tops of
peeking out of the bottom of her tight black pencil skirt which ended just
above her knees. Her face was perfectly made up, not that she needed it,
and she had a full head of long black hair that was fixed into a long
ponytail. If someone were to tell you she was a model in her youth I doubt
anyone would have any reason to not believe that statement. She very kindly
invited me in saying we could sit in the kitchen for a late lunch if I was
hungry, having not eaten anything since that morning I gladly obliged.

As we sat in the kitchen I asked if my father had bought a new car, seeing
as he usually isn't home at this hour, Claire replied, "No, he's here, he's
just a bit busy at the moment, he'll be along shortly. That reminds me, I
am sorry it took so long to answer the door, your father was supposed to
answer it, but he was unwilling to separate himself from what he was
doing."

"Oh, is he working from home now?" I asked.

"In a manner of speaking I suppose you could say that," she said with a bit
of a smirk. "You will see soon enough."

"Okay," I said, obviously confused. After a pause I finally remember to
ask, "So what was that text all about, I know I'm not around often, but it
seemed kinda out of the blue."

"You will see soon enough, let's just say it has to do with the 'work from
home' your father has been doing."

There was a moment of silence while I tried to figure out what she could
mean by that, but the quiet was broken when she suddenly said, "you wanted
lunch didn't you? To be honest I could use a bite myself. Shall I have the
maid serve us?"

"Sure, I could definitely use some something to eat." As I said this she
rang a little bell she had. "Wow, I didn't know you guys had a maid, dad's
business must be doing we--" My sentence was instantly stopped as the
kitchen door opened and my father entered.

There he stood eyes cast to the floor. I almost didn't recognize him and
honestly probably wouldn't have if he wasn't my own father. He was wearing
a stereotypical french maid dress that was shorter than any dress I had
ever seen a woman wear, the hem resting high on his thighs. His hairless
legs were covered by black fishnet stockings, on the top of which you could
see shiny silver clips hiding under his skirt. On his feet were a pair of
high heels, I'd say 5 or 6 inches at least, which had little padlocks
holding them on around the ankles. Sitting atop his head was a crop of long
blonde hair, which I could only assume was a wig as my father had always
had short black hair. His face had makeup applied to it making him look all
the more feminine, it wasn't extreme like a drag queen or something like
that, you can tell whoever did him up like this wanted him to look like a
woman and not some exaggeration, which was not suggested by his clothing.
And the final symbol of his new found femininity were two large round
breasts pushing forth the frills on the front of his dress.

I stared in awe and confusion as my father, dressed as a maid walked into
the room and curtsied before my step mother and then me and asked if we
needed anything. My stepmother said, "Yes, your son and I would like some
lunch."

"Yes Miss, what would you like?" he asked meekly.

"A ham sandwich should suffice, I will expect you to start dinner soon,"
she said.

"And you Oliver?" he said turning toward me.

Before I could answer my stepmother said, "Excuse me sissy, is that any way
to address someone superior to you?"

"No Miss, sorry Miss," he said while giving her a deep curtsy. "My
apologies Mister Oliver. What can I make you for lunch?"

Still in shock to everything I have just seen I somehow stammer out,
"Yeah... ham sandwich." To which my father curtsied and got to work.

There was a silence as my father got to work making lunch that seemed to go
on forever, but in my shocked state I had no concept of time. Finally
Claire broke it by saying, "I can see you are confused, and I understand
that. You see your father is now what is called a sissy maid, he dresses in
frilly girly dresses and does what he is told. He is dressed in this way at
all times he is at home and on occasion outside as well. He has a strict
set of rules he must follow at all times, which I can go into later. If he
fails to follow any of these rules he will face punishment, this you will
see later as he has already earned punishment twice today, once for not
addressing you properly, and once for not greeting you at the door as I
told him to. Any questions?"

As she said all this my head was reeling, I could barely comprehend what
she was saying. I couldn't believe that my father was going through with
all this. I was snapped back to reality by her question. "Yeah... I have
tons... but I can't think straight right now," I babbled out in response.

"You must be hungry, once the maid has finished our lunch we can retire to
the living room to eat in private," she said paying my father no mind, as
if he wasn't even in the room.

At that time my feminized father set two plates on the table, each with a
simple sandwiches on it. As he set them down I noticed his nails were
painted a pale girly pink. This caused me to remember an incident that
happened when I was 6 or 7 years old. One day I had been playing at our
neighbor's house, my parents were having a particularly bad fight so they
sent me over there to get away from it. I wasn't thrilled about having to
play with a girl, but I couldn't do anything about it. If I remember
correctly her name was Emily, and she was about two years older than me, a
fact she regularly brought up when we played. On this particular day she
decided it would be fun to paint my nails, she picked a light pink similar
to the color my father was wearing now. When I got home that day with my
nails still painted I remember him going into a rage, screaming about how
boys don't wear nail polish and stuff like that. When I think about it that
may have been the first time he hit me. How times have changed.

Claire and I grabbed our plates and adjourned to the living room, we ate in
silence with the exception of my father in the kitchen performing some of
the preliminary steps for dinner. When I had finished my sandwich I rose to
take it back to the kitchen, but before I could take a step Claire stopped
me and said, "you don't have to do that, that's what we have a maid for,"
At which point she rang a little bell, the sound of which immediately
summoned my father, who walked in the room and curtsied both of us. When he
saw the empty plates he took them without a word and returned to the
kitchen.

After a moment I turned to my step mother on the other end of the sofa and
said, "What's going on here? Why is my dad dressed up like a woman?"

"Finally he speaks," she said with a little smile. "You more than anyone
should know how much of an ass your father can be, how bossy and mean he
can be. Well I will not stand for this like your mother would. So, after we
were married when he started to show his true colors I knew I had to do
something to curb his behavior. I read about sissy maids online and knew
that was the best way to get him to behave himself. I started simply
enough, withholding sex unless he wore panties, he continued to act up, so
I went further. I slowly replaced all his boxers with panties, adding bras,
stockings, heels, the whole nine yards a little more each time he acted up.
When that wasn't working I decided drastic measures were called for so I
took a few incriminating pictures and videos just in case. The final nail
in the coffin was when I had my lawyer go and rewrite our prenup so I would
get everything if he left me. Now I'm sure you're thinking that all that is
cruel to your father and that he doesn't deserve all that, but you can go
ask him yourself, he likes dressing in girl clothes, sure it took a little
convincing at first but he loves it now."

"Does he still work?" I asked.

"Yes, but he isn't in the office as often as he used to be, the company
runs itself now and he can do a lot of it from home. Before you ask, no he
does not go into the office like that, with the exception of his panties
and bras. His secretary knows and checks for me to make sure he doesn't
change into boxers or take them off on his way to the office."

"Why are you telling me all this? Why did you invite me over today?"

"Your father told me about how terrible he was to you when you were young,
I know you to be a kind young man who does not deserve anything like what
you had to go through at his hand. I figured this was a good way for you to
get back at him and for me to punish him for his past transgressions.
Imagine how embarrassed he must be to be serving his own son as a maid.
What I am offering is to bring you in, you can live here and help me train
your father, he can be your sissy maid too, this is how you can get him
back for every time he hit you or yelled at you for no reason. I understand
how weird this all is, and I would understand if you walked out the door
and never came back, but I ask that you at least think about it. The maid
prepared the guest room for you to stay in tonight, sleep on it and tell me
what you are going to do in the morning. Deal?"

I thought about it for a minute, considered everything I had seen and heard
since I got here, every moment from my childhood in which he hurt me, I
thought about it all and finally said, "I still don't know what to think,
but I agree, I will stay tonight and make a decision in the morning."

"Wonderful," she said as she started ringing her bell.

At the sound of the bell ringing my father appeared, curtsied and asked,
"Yes Miss? What do you need of me?"

"Your son will be staying with us tonight, make sure to set a place at the
table for him." She then turned to me and said, "Since you will be staying
is there anything you need out of your car?"

"Yeah, I have a change of clothes out there, I'll go fetch them in a little
while."

"Nonsense, that is what we have a maid for. Sissy, go get your son's things
out of his car."

"Yes Miss," he said with a bit of defeat in his voice. I watched in
amazement as my father perched on his high heeled shoes and in his frilly
maid dress walked down the driveway onto the street where I was parked in
full view of all his neighbors and any passersby. He gathered the few items
of clothing from my car and dutifully walked back up the driveway, as he
was about halfway up a car drove by a bit slowly, the man driving opened
his window and wolf whistled my sissified father, he turned and gave the
man a curtsy as if to thank him. The man started to laugh as he drove off.
My father returned to the house with my few items of clothing and very
politely asked me, "Where would you like me to put your things Mister
Oliver?"

"Um you can just put them wherever I'll be sleeping I guess," I said.
"Yes Mister Oliver," he said before he minced off down the hall to the
guest room.

Things were quiet for a while after that, Claire and I sat in the living
room and caught up a bit, she asked what I was up to, I asked about her, it
was all in all a pleasant conversation. It reminded me of the last time I
had come to visit, my father was at work late, as always, so I was left
with Claire to have a rather strained conversation. It was as if I had
forgotten my father's predicament for a moment. This was instantly broken
by the sound of high heels clicking into the room and my father the maid
politely saying, "Miss, dinner is ready if you and Mister Oliver would like
to eat." A few hours had passed since lunch, so we happily made our way to
the dining room.

Upon walking into the dining room my eye was immediately drawn to the
table. There were two places so well set at the table I almost felt like I
had just walked in to Downton Abbey. My father, still in full uniform of
course was standing in the corner, ready to serve. As we both settled into
our seats my father briefly disappears, quickly returning with two salads,
which were served to us without a word. As we ate we continued having
conversation as if no one was there, we even started talking about my
father, oddly enough I found myself speaking about him in the past tense.
Salads were eventually cleared and the main course was served, some kind of
pasta dish with shrimp and a spicy red sauce. I was surprised by how good
it was, in all of my life I had never known my father to be able to cook
anything. Being a little bit comfortable with the situation, and quite a
bit drunk at this point, I decided to make a comment. "This food is
amazing, you have him trained really well," I said with a chuckle.

"Yes, he does well most of the time. He has taken to cooking quite well.
You see he has a bit of free time most days, but the activities he may
undertake during that time are limited to researching food and recipes,
working on his makeup skills by watching youtube tutorials, reading fashion
magazines, and learning to sew and make clothes."

"Wow, not how I would expect any man to spend his time," I said between
bites.

"Your father is no longer a man darling, he is a sissy maid. In fact it had
been paining me all day to refer to her using the male pronouns which I'm
sure you will agree no longer fit her. Since all this is new to you I
figured I could let it slide for a little while. If you don't mind I will
no longer be referring to her as anything except."

"Sure, whatever you say," I said not as uncomfortably as I would have
thought.

"I understand if you continue to call her by those words, but if you stay
here long I will have to ask that you eventually do refer to her as such,"
she said sternly.

I didn't reply to that for whatever reason, I just continued eating.

As we finished dinner my stepmother rose from her place and said without
looking at my father, "sissy, you may clear the table and have your meal in
the kitchen, I will give you one hour to complete this. Once you are
finished you will join us in the living room for your evening punishment."

"Yes Miss," he replied and got to work clearing the table.

The next hour was quiet, Claire and I sat in the living room once again
watching some random movie on the television. Eventually my father walked
into the room and stood in the corner. I watched as Claire looked at her
watch and turned off the television. As she did my father walked to the
center of the room, kneeled before us, and said, "Mistress I have been a
bad sissy, please punish me for my mistakes," as if reading from a script.

"Good girl, before we get to your punishment tonight there is something
else you need to do first. I think it is time you gave your son his gift,"
she said with a sly smirk.

A look of panic washed over my father's face. Stammering he said, "Please
Miss, don't make me. Please it is too embarrassing."

She gave him a look that could kill. There was a long silence. Finally she
said, "You can either give him his gift, or I can throw it away forever."

The look of panic in my father's eyes grew even more intense as he said,
"Yes Miss, right away Miss." He then shuffled over on his knees until he
was right in front of me. He removed a chain from around his neck and held
it out in front of me as he said, "Mister Oliver please accept this gift as
an apology for all the years I was bad to you."

At the end of the chain he held out to me was a small silver key. I reached
out to grab it with a great deal of confusion. "What does this go to?" I
asked.

"Why don't you show him sissy," my step mother said to my father with that
grin I had seen so many times today.

My father looked like he was about to cry at this point as he stood up,
lifted his skirt, pulled down his white frilly panties, and revealed a
small pink cage like device locked onto his genitals.

"That is what they call a chastity device, it is there so she has no access
to her little thing. The key you hold in your hand is the only one in
existence. From now on he is not allowed to be unlocked without asking for
your permission first."

I was stunned by this and as such was not able to muster any words. I just
sat there staring at this little key.

My awed stare was broken by my step mother saying, "You may return to the
position." Upon hearing that my father pulled his panties back up, put his
skirt back down, and returned to his knees. "Tonight you will be punished
on three accounts, first for not answering the door for your son as I
ordered, second for not referring to your son in a the proper way to denote
his position as your superior, and third for not giving your son his gift
when you were told to do so."

"Yes Miss, thank you Miss," he replied.

"For the first account your punishment will be to clean all the windows
inside and out in one of your frilly pink sissy dresses, you are receiving
this punishment because you did not want someone, namely your son, to see
you as the sissy you are, this will make sure lots of people get to see
you. For the second account your punishment will be to apologize to your
son for not addressing him properly, you will do this by writing 'I'm sorry
for being a bad sissy Mister Oliver' 150 times during your free time
tomorrow. And for the third account, not giving your son his gift, I will
be giving you a gift, 50 spankings with the paddle. Plus you were given one
hour to clean up after our dinner and eat yours, it took you one hour and
twelve minutes to report to this room for punishment, as you know this
cannot go unpunished, so for every minute you were late I will add one
spank to your previous punishment, bringing the grand total to 62."

"Yes Miss, thank you Miss," my father replied with his eyes cast to the
floor.

"Good girl, now go get the paddle," she said sternly.

My father then left the room and quickly returned with a solid wooden
paddle. He presented it to his wife and walked to the center of the room
where he lifted up the back of his skirt, pulled down his panties, and bent
over, grabbing his ankles in anticipation of the punishment to come.

My step mother slowly rose from her seat, she walked into her position
behind him, and suddenly hit his bare bottom with her paddle producing a
loud slap. She hit him, spank after spank after spank. After about 40 slaps
she turned to me. "Want a go?" she said holding out the paddle to me.

I must have had a horrified look on my face when she said that, but after a
moment I remembered every time he spanked me for no reason as a child. I
stood up much to my step mother's delight, took the paddle, and slapped my
father's ass as hard as I could. The sound produced was so loud I could
swear it could be heard from the street, followed by a little yelp from my
father.

I finished the remaining 21 spanks with more pleasure than I thought I
would experience from such an odd occurrence. My father's ass was as red as
a tomato, I couldn't imagine how bad it must hurt, nonetheless he stood up,
pulled up his lacy panties, put his skirt back in place, turned to both of
us, and with a curtsy to each said, "Thank you Miss. Thank you Mister
Oliver."

"Good girl" Claire said giving her maid a little pat on the butt. "Now
Oliver, unless you require anything more of the sissy I think it is time
for me to adjourn for the evening, it is one of her duties to prepare me
for bed, and she will be off duty for the for the night after I retire."

"No, I think I'm all good. I'm actually pretty tired too, I think I'll also
be off to bed," I said with a slight yawn.

"You have an excellent night, if you need anything the sissy sleeps in the
second room on the right, you can't miss it there's a big pink heart on the
door, just knock and it will be her pleasure to serve you," said Claire
after wrapping me in a hug and kissing me on the cheek.

"Good night Mister Oliver," my father said as he curtsied to me one last
time for the night.

"Goodnight dad."

After all these pleasantries were exchanged Claire led her sissy maid down
the hall and into the master bedroom. I wandered to the guest room. When I
got into the room I pretty much fell into bed, it had been a long and
mentally trying day. As I settled into bed I remember the last thing I saw
as I drifted off to sleep, a framed picture of my dad and I when I was
younger, both with big forced fake smiles on our faces.

Marriage Guidance

By: Suzie Swallows

David finished preparing the tray of tea and cakes as he heard the doorbell ring. He winced slightly at his automatic reaction to go and answer the door, one of his normal duties. Today was different though and he listened while Dr Swift went to the door to greet his wife. He had been staying at Dr Angie Swift's house for four weeks now, part of her residential programme of marriage guidance counselling that he and his wife had signed up to in an attempt to save their marriage from his black moods and inattentive ways. It was safe to say that David had changed significantly over that period. He recalled how, earlier that morning, he had begged Dr Swift at the point of tears to be allowed to wear 'normal' clothes for the day. When she had asked what he meant by normal, he had told her 'just a shirt and trousers, flat shoes'. She had grinned knowingly and agreed, providing him with clothing that did, almost, meet his request. The trousers he was wearing were made of a stretchy, wine coloured crushed-velvet material, clinging tightly to his hips and thighs but flaring out slightly below the knee. The lack of a fly at the front hinted that they were definitely not the sort of trousers a man would normally wear - they had a tight waistband with a short zip at the back instead. The shirt was made of a slightly shiny white silk material with sleeves that puffed out a little above the cuffs. The round pearl buttons that, of course, fastened on the wrong side and the rounded, scalloped collar again appeared definitely less than masculine. Finally, while his shoes could be mistaken for black slippers from a distance, closer inspection revealed that they were, in fact, a pair of ballerina pumps with a small black bow above the toes. Shortly after the doorbell, David heard the tinkle of the little hand- bell that was his summons to serve the tea. He picked up a little satin apron, trimmed with a wide band of lace and fastened it in a neat bow round his middle. The apron had become such a regular part of his attire he didn't even think to not wear it. Picking up the tray, he reluctantly walked through to the sitting room. His pretty young wife, Jeanette was perched on the sofa looking slightly nervous with Dr Swift's arm around her shoulders. As David entered she frowned slightly, detecting that something was amiss with his appearance but unable to quite put her finger on what. In silence, David placed the tray on the table and began to pour the tea. "I hope you're wearing that bra I gave you, young man," said Dr Swift, breaking the silence. With a cringe, David looked up to see the look of surprise and puzzlement on his wife's face. "A...a bra? Why would he....." Jeanette stammered, her mind in complete confusion. "Yes, a bra, my dear. Hadn't you noticed how big your husband was getting in that department?" Dr Swift replied, a smile playing across her lips. "Unbutton that blouse, show your wife what you're wearing under your 'shirt'," she commanded. Trembling, finding himself suddenly on the verge of tears again, David complied, slowly unbuttoning the blouse and opening it up. The bra he was wearing had clearly been specially made for him. It was made from a delicate baby-blue satin, trimmed all round with little ruffles of white lace. David blushed deeply, wishing the ground would swallow him up as his wife stared open-mouthed at it. 'Is...is he....is he wearing panties too?' she asked, stunned by what she was seeing and unable to think quite what to say. 'Yes, of course dear. I believe firmly in matching bra and panties at all times." Angie replied, smiling wider at David's discomfort and humiliation. 'Why don't you pull your pants down and show us?" she continued, making it more of an order than a question. A tear rolling down his cheek, David turned and pulled down the zip of his pants, pulling the stretch fabric over his buttocks to reveal the matching full-bottomed panties as his wife gasped in surprise. "Tidy yourself up princess," Angie commanded David before speaking to his wife, "I think you'll find that the counselling has been completely successful. Your husband will be very much more even tempered and attentive to you from now on, just as you wanted." Turning back, David stood silently in front of the two seated women. 'Dry your eyes, cupcake, you asked to be dressed in normal clothes. I could easily have kept you in your uniform," Dr Swift snapped. "A uniform? What uniform?" Jeanette asked, her face again looking puzzled. "I think it's better if you're shown, dear." Angie replied. "Go on Daisy, go and get changed into your uniform" she ordered David. "Daisy? You're calling him Daisy? Oh that just too precious", Jeanette responded, breaking into a small fit of giggles as she settled back into Dr Swift's arms. "Yes, go on, Daisy, show us your uniform" she continued, her voice laced with scorn. Meekly and obediently, David turned and left the sitting room. Returning to his room, he opened the wardrobe, displaying a rack of dresses in a riot of colours and lace trim. As he was wearing baby- blue lingerie, he know he would be required to wear his baby-blue maid's uniform, the one that Dr Swift called his 'Alice in Wonderland' dress. Removing his blouse and pants, he slipped on a white flouncy lace petticoat before putting on the maid's uniform in blue satin with white lace trim. He added a pair of white opaque stockings with a lace top and buckled on a pair of black patent Mary-Jane style shoes with a medium heel. Finally he sat at the dressing table and carefully applied make up as he had been taught, finishing with a light pink lip- gloss and styled his hair into a neat bob, pinned back with a pink hair clasp on one side. As he clicked back down the corridor, he heard a fit of giggles and a flurry of movement as he knocked on the sitting room door. He opened the door and entered in response to Dr Swift's command, finding the two ladies sitting together on the sofa, looking a bit flushed and adjusting their slightly dishevelled clothing. "Your best curtsey, please Daisy," Dr Swift asked and David promptly bent his knee, bobbing in a deferential manner. "And for Miss Jeanette too," she added, causing David to blush but repeat the action in front of his quietly chuckling wife. "Well, that is just darling, Daisy," his wife scoffed, "Dr Swift has been explaining a little of the changes that will be happening in our marriage and, I have to say, I'm so looking forward to seeing them in practice." Angie stood and took Jeanette's hand. "Shall we discuss things further in the bedroom, darling?" she asked as Jeanette stood. "That sounds like an excellent idea," Jeanette replied, before pointing at the floor beside the sofa, "Pick those up and put them in the laundry basket, Daisy." David walked round to pick up the women's discarded panties, blushing furiously, and followed them upstairs. At the bedroom door, Angie turned and spoke to David. "You just wait out here till we call for you, Daisy. Jeanette and I are going to discuss your future and have a little fun together," she said with an arch smile before giving the humiliated maid a little finger wave and closing the door. For the next two hours, David stood on the landing, the giggles, moans and ecstatic screams of two women thoroughly exploring each other's bodies coming through the door. As he stood, he wondered just how this attempt to undergo marriage counselling to save their relationship had ended up here. How had he been unable to resist Dr Swift's treatment and submitted to the steadily increasing humiliations she put him through? How had she been able to so quickly and completely seduce his wife? And why was there a growing part of him that seemed to enjoy all this? His cock was stiff and dribbling in his satin panties. He desperately wanted to play with it, although he knew better, knowing the punishment he'd receive if he was found to have masturbated without permission. Eventually the noise from the room subsided and, responding the sound of the hand-bell as he'd been trained, David entered to the sight of the two women lying naked in each other's arms on the bed. Immediately he curtsied primly twice, raising a smile from both women. '"So, Angie has explained to me how things are going to be from now on, Daisy. There's just one more thing I have to do before we return home. I must admit, I was shocked when she told me what it was, but I have to say the idea has really grown on me. Now, drop your panties, dear and get on your hands and knees on the edge of the bed," Jeanette told him, adopting a similar commanding tone to the one that Dr Swift used on him. Complying, David could see his wife and Dr Swift standing by the bed. Dr Swift was helping her into the harness for a long, black strapon, tying the straps tight around her waist and buttocks. Jeanette stepped behind him and applied some lubricant to his exposed tight hole before resting the head of the rubber cock against it. "Brace yourself, princess, I'm not experienced at this, so it might hurt a little. However, I'm sure I'll improve with the regular practice we'll be having," Jeanette said in a light breezy tone before pushing her hips forward and thrusting the head of the dildo into his ass. As his little hoop was stretched, David let out a small squeal of discomfort. As the strapon filled him up as Jeanette pushed forward, he felt his ego and willpower shatter and dissolve. The persona of David crumbled as he became Daisy, his wife's meek and obedient maid. Jeanette thoroughly enjoyed her first fucking of her new servant - laughing and slapping his vulnerable buttocks as she thrust in and out. Dr Swift joined in with words of encouragement, also enjoying Daisy's predicament. Eventually, the shame and humiliation of the situation, coupled with the undeniable, overwhelming pleasure that Jeanette's strapon was providing, reached its inevitable conclusion. Daisy's cock twitched and pulsed, shooting beads of cum across the bed sheets. Jeanette rested against his quivering ass for a while before withdrawing. "Better clean that up, cupcake," she commanded, pointing to the splashes on the bed. Daisy reached for the box of tissues by the bed but was promptly stopped by Jeanette. "Not with those, silly girl, use your tongue," she snapped as Daisy promptly complied. "Nice touch, dear," Angie interjected, smiling as she enjoyed her new lover's dominance over the hapless maid. Later that day, Jeanette led Daisy out the house to her car for the return home. Daisy meekly responded to the pull of the collar and leash that Jeanette used, as she'd been trained. When Jeanette began to lead her round to the passenger door, Dr Swift halted her. "Riding as a passenger is a privilege she has to earn, my dear. Put her in the boot with the rest of the baggage," Angie told her with a knowing grin. Smiling at the idea, Jeanette opened the boot and pointed for Daisy to climb in. Obediently, Daisy did as commanded, lying still as the lid was closed on her. Along the street, the curtains on some of the neighbouring houses twitched, but Dr Swift paid them no heed. The ladies in the houses knew and approved fully of what she did. The men, or rather the maids, had all been treated and transformed in the same way as Daisy and their opinion on what was happening in the street was now completely irrelevant. Angie kissed Jeanette a passionate farewell and waved as the car pulled away down the road. Returning to the house, she picked out a file from the bookcase and sat down to read it. Her next clients, Paul and Rachel, would be arriving soon to drop Paul off for his residential spell of marriage counselling. According to the file, Paul was a bad- tempered, dominant company CEO. Well, that was about to change, Angie thought. She briefly considered whether to rename him Poppy or Pansy - she did so love flowery names for the maids she produced - but decided that was best left till she saw him in his first dress. Smiling, she stood up as she heard a car draw up and park outside.

One hundred sissy points

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