Non-Identical Twins

By: Bea

What am I supposed to do – be apologetic because my behavior doesn't match what
is expected of me? I'm not.

Looking back though, I can't say that I'm not sorry either. I did some awful
stupid bloody things but they were honest mistakes – meant to please somebody I
loved – and me – if the truth be known. Later on I pleased me – and didn't piss
off my wife. Who can fault that?

Long before I married I was at school and was the typical nerd. Small, slight
with damn little personality. Good with computers and not a bad tennis player.
Made it to the schools first team and though I was never much of a challenge for
the better players on the team, was steady and played a reasonable game.

I first met Amy at our high school practices. Nice player – maybe higher on the
girl team than I was on the men, but we were pretty close in playing skills. In
our younger days we were both pretty silly. She was pleasant looking, but had
her eyes on the more macho type – while I was entranced by the flashy girls on
the school cheerleader squad, who wouldn't look at me twice.

Time passed. I went to college. Got a degree in Computer Science. My father
was long dead when I started there, but my mother died in my senior year. Being
an only child, I was left a nice home and a reasonable amount of money in the
checking and savings accounts. I started my own small business on Web design
when I graduated college, from the house and was gradually making my way – when
I met Amy again.

She was a member of the local tennis club. Like me, she'd never advanced much
but still liked the exercise and just plain fun of knocking a ball around. We
started with the occasional game then it just seemed to progress into dates –
then an elopement to Vegas and a quick wedding in one of the chapels there – me
an orphan and her only having a father who she hadn't heard from in years it was
a pretty quiet affair. So, happy as larks, we started our married life in the
company of strangers – just paid off the hanger ons that witnessed for us and
headed for the shows and tables. Spent a good week there and had a great time –
though our sex was nothing to speak of.

To tell the truth we were both sexually inept for a long time. We did enjoy it
– sort of. Would lie in bed and kiss and cuddle. Sometimes I'd get on top in a
simulation of actual lovemaking – actually penetrate her – not the best results
in the world. Sometimes she'd get on top and straddle me – much better but for
some reason I'd often ejaculate early – it would be then that I'd see that she
had a temper. I'd apologize but she would accept my excuses with a cold disdain
and remain pissed at me for a while.

But this was rare. Lets face it, we didn't get together sexually that often
then, when we did, I'd be the aggressor fifty percent of the time – then I'd
mess up – literally – about slightly more than half of when she straddled me –
so we got on without many arguments. Good friends. I made a decent amount of
money on my computer at home and she didn’t have to work so took care of the
house and worked as a part time docent at a local historical house – a job she
much preferred to housework.

Suddenly, our sex life started to improve. It all started innocently enough.
Occasionally I didn't wear pajamas to bed – slept in the nude at those moments.
Amy always dressed prettily for bed as for everything else. Kidded me that
she'd found that I liked her in pretty things there so – if she was to get ANY
sex at all? She had to look and feel pretty at all times. Grinned and
commented that she had to be ready for sex at the odd moments I wanted it.

Anyway this particular night was fairly hot and I couldn't be bothered with
fresh pajamas so was preparing for bed in the nude. At the very last moment I
was bending over to get my discard clothing for the laundry hamper when she hit
me right on the ass! Wasn't kind about it either! Really whacked me.

"Ow Ow Ow!" I yelled, straightening up. "Amy? That was sore!"

She had retreated to the bed and was sitting there pretty and demure. Smiled at
me. "It was so gorgeous and pink and white! Couldn't resist . ."
"Then she stared at me. "Mmmm! That an erection I see?" She got up and sidled
over to me. "Let's not waste any chances big boy! Come to mama!" She took a
hold of my arm and started leading me over to the bed. Laid me down on my back
and straddled me. Started to lean against me and I came - copiously – all over
her nightgown, the bed cover – everything.

To say that she was furious would be the understatement of the year. I had
never seen her so mad. She glared then ripped her short nightgown off. "Jesus
John! I finally thought we might have a good time! I'm so goddamn mad at you I
could SPIT!" Then her eyes narrowed and she used her wadded gown to wipe
themes off as much as she could – from the bedcovers, then me.
"Gosh!" I'm sorry darling! I don't know what came over me!" I said.

"Humph!" Was all she grunted as she threw her used nightgown on top of my used
clothes on the floor, then simply took a hold of my arm and stated pulling me to
her.
"What are you doing Amy?" I started, but then realized that she was pulling me
over her knees! "SCREW your apologies! I'm upset!" She snarled – then
proceeded to spank me! As if I was a little kid!

Naturally the first one or two whacks landed on me while I was surprised – but
she wasn't fooling and they stung. At that point I started to complain bitterly
and moved to get away from her – but found that I couldn't! She was stronger
than me – and maybe the fact that I'd just come weakened me, but suddenly I knew
that I was helpless and over the knees of an angry wife. To my shame and
horror, I started to blubber and cry.

She kept on whacking me for a few more before I think she heard or paid any
attention to my despairing wails and suddenly stopped.
"Oh darling!" She said, not too sympathetically. "I'm SO sorry! But I was
randy and really in the mood for some sex and . ." She had turned me over as
she spoke and I saw her eyes grow wide and round. "My my!" She exclaimed.
"What's THIS? Another erection? My goodness darling. Don't you DARE lose
this one!"

And unceremoniously, she had put me on my back and had mounted me, fitting
herself around me with a loud, satisfied, "Aaaah!" Then she Amye me for a while
– then let out a weird noise. A combination of sighs, grunts and screams that
seemed to go on and, as she stopped in the middle of riding me I looked up at
her with concern.
"All right Amy? You okay?"
She looked down on me with sleepy eyes that were almost crossing. "So THAT'S
what an orgasm feels like? Oh MY!"

Afterwards, I think we were both ashamed to look each other in the eye. For
different reasons pAmyably. Me feeling ashamed of my wimpy behavior and her for
reasons I can only guess at. But within a few days we were back to being damn
good friends again and things went back to being the same – well maybe not
exactly the same – but close enough. It may have been feeling my own
inadequacies that I tried to get on top of her shortly after – but it was like
before – pretty sad sex. Nothing to write home about. I think she tried to
make me feel better by saying how 'nice' it had been, but she gave up – she was
never much of a liar.

Then came a night when, once again, I was nude and getting ready for bed. I
honestly don't know what got into me – but this time it was me that leaned over
and presented my bare backside to her. It might not have been so bad, but I
paused as I bent over – and smiled at her.

She was watching me with narrowed cat eyes. Moved across to me – slowly –
leaving neither of us with anything but knowledge of what she was about to do –
and swatted me – hard!
"Ooooh!" I said, rubbing my now-red backside. But that was all – as she led me
to the bed and laid me down. This time, however, she intAmyuced something new.
She hung my legs over the side of the bed then moved in, straddling me. Looked
down.
"John? You come before I tell you? The last spanking I gave you – you cried –
remember?"
I nodded up at her, dumbly, my erection taking away whatever brains I had.
She smiled. "It'll be nothing – absolutely nothing - to how I'll spank you this
time. Got it?"
I nodded then panted as she slowly fitted herself on me, and smiling like the
cat that ate the cream as she started to work on me.

It took a while, but she had another orgasm. Then, sleepily, she told me that I
could let go now – and I gushed like I never had before.

After that, sex was more often and it certainly didn't make any sense for me to
be the one on top. It wasn't a quick change but after six months or so, Amy
would give me a swat – even when I'd clothes on – and I knew what was coming
that night. Not that I minded of course. Even found little ways to do things
that would sex it up for her – make the act more enjoyable. Nothing much –
pretending that it was all news to me. Being sort of shy and demure. That sort
of thing.

Then we had a serious conversation about our sex lives one time and she seemed a
little embarrassed.
"John? I wanted to see if you had any real objections to me being so forward."
She said. "I'm starting to feel - I don't know – that it's not right. You
know?" She paused. "Like I'm taking advantage of you."
I blushed. "I know what you mean Amy but at the same time, I have to admit that
sex is much better than it was before. To be honest? I feel more that it's ME
that's let you down." I smiled. "Like I'm kinda wimpy – you know?"
She reached over and took my hand. "I'm really glad to hear you say that dear
because I feel myself going through a sort of change. Look at you different."
She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know how to explain it." She looked at me and
grinned. “To tell the truth? That’s what’s kinda bothering me. I sorta LIKE
you wimpy!”
"You DO want to stay married to me dear?" I said worriedly.
She laughed out loud. "My – you CAN get silly! No. I just feel different,
that's all. Once I know what the hell it is? I promise to let you know.
Okay?"
I got up, went over and kissed her. Somehow it was her that was kissing ME.
Rather nice if you want to know.

But she was becoming more and more inclined to state her mind. Got more
involved with decisions that had been exclusively mine for a long time. Started
to dislike any criticism from me, regardless of how slight it was. She did most
of the cooking and housework – though she didn't like to cook too much. She had
got quite disturbed one time when I'd commented that her meal had too much salt
– got quite huffy as a matter of fact. I didn't pay her too much mind though.

I did the next time when I said that her pasta was overcooked for a lunch.

A tornado hit me! Before I knew it she had wrassled with me, then got me down
onto the ground.
"Hey!" I protested. "Back off!" But she didn't and we were thrashing around on
the carpet. There was no doubt about it, there was nothing sexual in it – just
a physical fight – with me grunting and her squealing and punching. To state
things as baldly as I can? She won. Had me down on the ground and was punching
my shoulders indiscriminately.
"Say you're SORRY!" She demanded.
"Won't!"

She punched me on the shoulder again – and it dawned on me. She was the
stronger of the two and, by the looks of things, intended to stay as she was and
punch me all night.
"Sorry!" I said.
"That's the most grudging apology I ever heard!" She growled. Punched me
again.

Oh shit! I started to cry! "I'm sorry! Shouldn't have said that."
She relented a little. "That's better. Now don't you think that I've cooked
enough dinners? Don't you think it's your turn?"
"Huh?'
"Don't you think it fair? Give me a chance to critique you for a change?"
I thought it over. In all fairness, she was right. "Maybe. I guess so."
"So? Tonight then?"
"Okay." I said grudgingly.
"I'm not gonna have trouble with you?" She was truculent and punched me on the
shoulder. It hurt.
"No Amy." I capitulated completely. "None at all."
"Okay then. You'll make dinner tonight? Put up with any criticism I may come
up with?"
"I SAID I was sorry Amy." I wailed plaintively.
"Okay."
That afternoon was not a good one. I was shamed and I think that she was too.
We're not drinkers by a long shot, but I saw her over at the bar pouring drinks
for herself – and they weren't small drinks either. But I thought it best not
to say anything.

I wasn't too concerned about having to cook. Looked after myself for years and
knew that I wasn't that bad. Did feel that Amy was getting surly and looking
for chances to start a fight – make me look bad, so to speak. Accordingly, I
was very good about hauling our thick lamb chops out of the freezer, then
prepping the potatoes for Belgian Fries by getting rid of the eyes, cutting them
longwise into about eighths and plopping them into iced water. Getting rid of
the crap from the broccoli and slicing it longwise for steaming. Had the
feeling that I was pissing her off by my efficiency but grinned to myself. What
could she DO? I found out right when I got down to getting the oven and heaters
set up.

She was a little bleary. Stood at the corner of the kitchen with a glass in her
hand.
"Whatcha doin?" she asked.
"Making dinner. Just like I promised!" I riposted smoothly.
"Going to be the little wife here today, huh? Making MY dinner?" She was
slurring a little bit I thought. Thought I'd humor her.
"Yes dear. Just like I promised."
"You don't look right! Clothes could get dirty!"
I shrugged. "Doesn't really matter – does it?"
"Not if you're gonna skip doing laundry? Or are you screwing around and not
minding because it’s MY job to do the laundry?" She was glaring at me again.

“Oh SHIT!” I thought. “Don’t know what you want Amy?” I said mildly. “I
thought I was pleasing you.”
I think she had wanted me to get mad and make a response that she could fault
and my reasonableness was driving her nuts.
“Want? Want? How the hell do I know what . . .” Then she stopped, seeing my
grin. “I . .I . .want . .” She started up again.
I couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Yes dear? You want?” And I think that my
smile and attitude drove her to the next step.

“I make myself look nice for you when I do any housework.” She said with a sort
of malevolent tone in her voice.
I was wearing a polo shirt and tan shorts. “I thought I looked okay?” I
answered mildly.
“Not for someone doing housework! Here, let me get you an apron. That’s what’s
been missing!” She was triumphant now, seeing my look of despair.
“But I’m almost finished Amy.” I tried as she went into our larder where she
hung her aprons – but it didn’t do me any good.

She was happy now. “C’mon darling. You’re doing a housewife’s job now. You
say that you’re almost done – but you have a table to set, a meal to make and
serve up- then dishes to clean. I might give you a hand if you behave. Now get
you apron on. Here!”

It was over my head and, grinning now, she moved around the back of me and tied
me in firmly, tightening the ties with a satisfied grunt as she laced me in.
“That’s better!” She finished. Patted me on the backside, all traces of
surliness gone.

I sighed and started going about my business well aware of the feminine,
ruffled, apron I wore in large yellow and green checks. Felt silly with it
swishing about my calves but decided to make the most of it. I was sure that
Amy would be enjoying her triumph so tried not to look at her but couldn’t avoid
it. When I did though, her expression wasn’t what I’d expected at all.
“You feeling all right? You look funny.” I said.
“Fine.” She said. But she had a faraway look in her eyes.
“Sure?”
“Yeah. But are you aware that with you having shorts on – that the apron looks
like it’s covering a dress?”

I blushed. “Aw C’MON Amy! No need for that.”
“Huh?” she asked, obviously surprised. Then she laughed. “Thought I was teasing
you a little, huh?”
“That’s what I thought it was alright!” I said somewhat snappishly.
“Well, it wasn’t. Like I just said, it looks like you’re wearing a dress and it
suddenly dawned on me how much you look like my mother.”
“Your mother? You never said that before.” I said.
“Yeah.” She said, bemused. “Look just like her. Even have the same name.”

“What in hell’s name are you talking about! My name’s John!”
She shrugged. “Hers was Joan. Same thing.”
“Is NOT!” I said emphatically – but she was starting to come towards me with a
strange look on her face.
“You look funny?” I said.
“Got to admit it – Joan. I feel like I’m just about to screw my own mother.”
I found myself backing away from her. “Hey stop this Amy! This is no joke
now.”
“Of course it’s no joke Joan.” She took a hold of my arm and started leading me
to the bedroom. “Joan? Like to call me Bob?”

I learned how a woman must feel up against a man who is more powerful and has
sex on his mind. It had taken Amy and I some time but we had learned who was
the physically stronger – and it wasn’t me. On top of that, Amy was getting
used to me playing at being the female – being coy and all that good stuff.
Automatically taking the ‘underneath’ position. To further muss the gender
waters, I was wearing a pretty feminine apron – and now my wife was pulling me
towards the bed with sex on her mind.

Don’t get me wrong. I was thrilled by what was happening despite what I was
thinking. We’d been getting involved in sex plays where she was – sort of –
playing the male role, with both of us enjoying it. Now it seemed to have
escalated to a higher level where not only was I dressed in a feminine manner –
she was calling me by a girls name and expecting me to address her as a male!
But I was like anyone else I guess. Wanted to have SOME say in what was going
to happen, but here I was being manhandled back onto our bed, my wife laughing
at my feeble attempts to stop her – calling me Joan, putting her hand up under
my dress – at least it LOOKED like a dress – and pulling my shorts down.

Then, shorts around my ankles, my dress up around my neck, my wife straddled me
and gave me the warning that was becoming commonplace by now and as docile as a
little lamb, I lay on my back and let her tell me how pretty and desirable I was
as she mounted me. I even found myself squealing happily as she finally gave me
permission – after she had her own orgasm of course.

We lay on the bed for a while. She yawned. “Have I time for a nap before
dinner? I think that the booze I had may have made me sleepy.”
“Kinda sleepy myself.” I yawned.

She got up on one elbow and smiled at me. “This is what you’re going to do
Joan. You’ll take those shorts off – you can keep on your jockeys if you want.
But you’ll fix your apron, then go and get dinner ready. When it’s ready?
You’ll give me a call. Then I’ll come and we’ll have dinner together, during
which time you’d better hope that you haven’t screwed up in preparing it. Then,
if you’re good? I’ll maybe give you a hand at clearing up. Okay?”
I stared at her. “That’s not fair Amy! Not fair at all!”

She smiled gently. “That’s the way that women have been treated for centuries.
I suggest that you get used to it. By the look of it, you need a little
practice – but that’s okay. I’m sure it can be arranged.”
“I don’t quite understand, Amy?” I spoke clearly and distinctly, feeling
strangely cowed yet excited.
“That really doesn’t matter you know dear. Just go and get on with your chores.
You can think about the whole situation while you cook dinner. Then waken me
up so that I’ve time to get my act together before I eat.”

She was SO confident and assured. It never seemed to cross her mind now that I
would disagree and, to be honest, I could feel myself starting to think along
the same lines. With her smiling at me in a knowing way, I got out of bed then
stepped out of my shorts then used a tissue from a bedside table to wipe myself
off before pulling my undershorts up. Then, I couldn’t help but adjust my apron
– even though I could feel Amy’s amused eyes on me.
“Anything else?” I mumbled. Not because I wanted anything, but I didn’t want to
go about my womanly chores like a chastened lamb.
She looked calmly at me. “No dear. I don’t think so – but now that I think on
it?”
“Yes?”
“After this when you have a nice apron or anything like that on? I think it
best that you call me Amy – and expect me to call you Joan.” She beamed. “I
find that I get a big kick out of it.” Her beam widened. “Sexual that is.
Okay?”
I was shaken but nodded and left.

I’d like to say that I thought about everything calmly and clearly as I went
about doing what my wife had told me. That’s a far way from the truth, however,
as I found myself spending an awful lot of time concerning myself about not
making any mistake. I won’t say that I was frightened - naturally not - but
I found myself thinking with a feeling of dread fascination. Would my wife put
me over her knees? Would she lift the skirt of my apron and spank me? Yes, I
was scared but there was an awful lot of expectant speculation in my mind and I
wasn’t totally convinced that I would NOT make an error – a sort of Freudian
slip as it were. Accordingly, I worried about dinner – not much else.

Dinner came and went – and pleasantly as well. I found myself blushing
furiously when Amy complimented me on my cooking. “I wondered how you’d do.”
She laughed. “Thought that you’d maybe –maybe – screw up a little? Just to see
what I’d do?”
I found my lips and mouth very dry. “What would you have done?” I answered
saucily, pretending disinterest.
“Oh Joan! I’ll swear that you’re becoming more like a girl in front of my very
eyes! To answer your question? I really don’t know. I can’t go around
spanking you all the time, can I?”

“I certainly hope not!” I said with a show of indignation. She almost laughed
out loud.
“Sure about that? Now would you care to comment – really comment – about what
you’d have liked me to do? I’m curious. I really am because I have to figure
out what’s happening to us myself.”
She was nice – but serious. Looking inside myself, I felt that I was pAmyably
just as mixed up as she possibly was. Didn’t have a clue. I was embarrassed,
yet sexually drawn to whatever was happening. Without planning a thing, I found
myself flouncing and stamping my feet. “You SAID you’d give me a hand to tidy
up!”
“So I did. So I did. Let’s go.” She said.

In the days that followed it didn't come as any surprise to me to find out that
Amy – Amy – had assigned me the housework. "I always disliked it." She said.
"And you seem to take to it like a duck to water. There really isn't that much
to do – you can hire a maid if you wish – but honestly? As I don't know what I
have in mind for you yet, this could be an embarrassment for you – but it's up
to you." She grinned at me slyly. "Though maybe you might get a kick out of me
treating you meanly in front of a nice looking girl?"

Wisely, I left it alone. To tell the truth, I didn't object to housework. As a
matter of fact if it hadn't been for the constant amused snide remarks about the
'femininity' of what I was doing, it pAmyably wouldn't have had that much effect
on me. Though I did find that ironing Amy's lingerie was a bit much –
particularly after she spanked me for burning it – just a trifle – was a bit
much. But the laundry, cleaning house, meals? Didn't impact on me too much – I
was at home anyway and my web business was lucrative without me spending gobs of
time on it. I was embarrassed – sure I was by the fact that I never seemed to
be out of an apron – and Amy was bound and determined that my aprons were always
fresh and feminine –and I went along.

Talking about going along. Things changed and pAmyably with my approval at
that. It's hard to describe. We had been happy, and that didn't change. Still
were happy – but in a different way is all. Hard to describe, but I'll try
because with our attitude changing our lives went along with it and without an
understanding of our mental processes gradually changing, what happened makes no
sense.

I'm not being sexist when I say that every marriage has a power point – a sort
of boss. Can be nice or mean but whose ideas seem to permeate the whole
relationship. Can be male or female, it doesn't seem to go by sex. Being
sexist though, there is one type of marriage that seems to exist where the male
is the stronger of the two and the female tends to defer to this strength. Gives
up many rights to her individuality and exists primarily for the pleasures of
the husband. This is what was happening to us. Without even seeming to try, my
wife was making me into her idea of a perfect man – one who looked and acted
like a subservient – but happy – wife.

Amy was now, if anything, fonder of me than she'd been before. But she was
fonder in a more amused, tolerant way as if standing back and watching my
transformation. Yes, I suppose there were some orders given by her that I
grudgingly followed – though my reluctance didn't seem to have a lot of power
nor last too long.

Perfect case in point. Cologne then perfume.

One day she said to me "Isn't this lovely?" and she had a bottle of DKNY in her
hand. She sprayed it gently in the air around us. I sniffed appreciatively.
Light, somewhat flowery. Distinctive.
"Very nice!" I agreed.
"Glad you agree. Why don't you use it?" She handed me the distinctive bottle.
"It's a little feminine – don't you think?" I asked, not overly concerned.
She sniffed. "That's plain silly! It smells nice and as long as you don't
overdo it? It's a very good nose these days that can differentiate between a
man and woman's cologne." Then she added the clincher. "Anyway darling? I
like it."
Guess who started to wear it?

Now comes the word on the efficacy of positive and negative responses. When I
started, I didn't wear it every day but on the days I did? She'd give me a big
smile or hug and tell me how nice I smelled. On the days when I didn't? She'd
glower at me and say something – usually mean. Liking peace and quiet the way I
normally do, it wasn't long before the spraying on of that cologne became a part
of my daily routine, and though we still went outside to various places –
shopping and suchlike, I never once heard – or saw- any reaction to my cologne.

So what is my reaction when she gives me a bottle of perfume?
"The cologne is SO nice on you," she gushes, handing me the small bottle of
scent. "This is really expensive – but they had it on sale and I couldn't
resist it. Put a little on behind the ears and let me smell, huh?"

Let's face it. The perfume is a member of the same family as the cologne, but
the smell, though alike, is stronger. Feeling somewhat foolish, I open the
bottle and apply a dab to behind each ear.
"Lovely!" Amy says, rapturously.
So now it's cologne during the day – and perfume at night. Soon I hardly
notice.

I suppose it should have been obvious. My wife had learned to spank me as a
sort of enjoyable foreplay – and, let's face it – I participated. After all, it
didn't hurt physically – well it DID if she was mad about something – but that
was rare and I tended to forgive her quickly. Then she learned to like me
smelling of cologne and perfume. I don't think it stretches the imagination to
ask – could makeup be far behind?

She went along with me on certain things. I suppose that I was conscious of my
growing femininity, especially around the males in the changing rooms at the
tennis club. On top of that, we'd discovered a great place to play. It was
even close enough that we could walk there, the courts were gorgeous – sunken
hard courts with excellent windbreaks and surrounded by old and large oleander
bushes. There weren't any changing facilities as they were courts belonging to
a gated retirement village. But even though they were maintained beautifully,
we never saw anyone play there. We liked it best when it was early morning
though – there pAmyably was action later in the day – but we'd walk there, enter
through the manual gate then get on the courts and play. It was lovely.

"You know?" Amy said one day as we were heading back to the house. "I think we
should maybe go back and play at the club. I thoroughly enjoy playing early in
the day, but you look like you need time in the sun. You're spending far too
much time indoors with your computer and housework."
I looked at my smooth white arms and made a point of gazing at my legs. "You
know, Amy darling? If you hadn't become so adamant about me shaving all over, I
might not look so pale."

She laughed. "That's nonsense Joan. You never did have a lot of hair but if
anything it would have to protect you from the sun if anything. You'd probably
be even whiter if you didn't shave your arms and legs for me. I suggest the
club because we're not members of the retirement community. I don't think they
care if we use the courts early in the morning – but they might raise hell if we
wanted to play later."
"Wasn't that dear. I agree that any hair I had wouldn't do much but protect me
from the sun. I know that I'm blonde, but it was darker than my skin – probably
made me look a little more tanned. That's what I meant and . .."
"Aha. I'm sorry." She interrupted. "But I do prefer you lovely and smooth
all over – and you've never complained before?"
"As I was saying? I'm not really complaining dear. I never had much hair to
begin with and to shave my body once every few weeks is no major problem. I'm
just not sure I want to go back to the club." I searched for an excuse without
revealing my embarrassment of appearing in the men's changing room. "I LIKE
playing in the morning – and we couldn't get on this early at the club. They
don't open until ten o'clock most mornings."
"Mmmm. I just don't like you so pale." Was all she said and I thought that the
subject was dropped.

Therefore it was a surprise to me a few days later when Amy was not ready to go
and play tennis and I was a little behind her – though normally I tended to be
the laggard.
"C'mon dear! What's keeping you?" I asked.
She was in the bedroom looking through some cosmetics on the dressing table and
let out an aggravated sigh, then added. "I'm sorry dear. Just can't make up my
mind which foundation would look best."
"Foundation? As in makeup? I didn't know you wore that stuff in the morning?"
I asked. "Don't see you needing it – so come on, why don't you."

She blinked at me in some sort of surprise then collected herself. "Oh dear!
I'm so sorry! I didn't tell you, did I?" She giggled a little. "I'm getting SO
absent minded. No darling. The foundation crème isn't for me. It's for YOU,
silly. I think I've picked one – so why don't you come over here and sit down
beside here." With that she stood up. "I won't be long. I promise!"

I don't suppose it hurts to tell that I was already on my way to where she'd
been sitting, even though the meaning of her words had registered. I had no idea
of what she was talking about, but obedience was becoming so engrained in me
that I was doing what I was told, even though I was asking, "What are you going
on about darling? Foundation crème for ME?"
"Yes. Sit there darling, with your back to the mirror. I'm SURE I told you
that you were looking very pale, just the other day. I distinctly remember
discussing it with you!"

I sat down, but started licking my lips. "But I didn't know that you were
talking about makeup! That's women's makeup darling!"
"Of course it's women's makeup dear! Lot's better than that silly, expensive,
stuff they make for men. You're nice and smooth, just like a girl. So just sit
still there and let me apply some!"

She started to apply some fairly thick liquid stuff onto her fingertip then
around my face.
"Bit . .but . .but . ." I stammered.
She paused with her finger in mid air. "Yes?" But her tone was becoming
decidedly aggravated.
"I don't understand this dear?" I wailed.

She put the cosmetic bottle down on the dressing table, then put her hands on to
her hips and gazed down on me. "You sure? ABSOLUTELY sure that you want to
understand?"
"It might help me?" I quavered, my voice sounding weak and frightened.
She sighed and sat on the bench beside me.
"Dear? For some time now, I've called you Joan. I have you wear pretty aprons
around and do the housework. Have you wearing nice colognes and perfumes and,
though I shouldn't mention it, spank you at times, sometimes when you're naughty
– and sometimes just for foreplay. Is that an honest statement?"
"Yes." I murmured softly in agreement.

"Very good!" She said, relaxing. "Now I think it fairly obvious that I like to
make you do womanish things – and wear pretty things too. I don't know the
reason myself – don't have any idea where it may stop – but I got to thinking
recently, that I'd like you to wear makeup." She paused. "I KNEW that that
sounded ridiculous so tried to come up with some sort of legitimate reason that
wouldn't make you feel as if I were bullying you. That's where the idea of
saying you were pale came in – there IS a tiny element of truth there." She
smiled patiently. "Not much of one I agree. But if you'll just accept what I
say? Then, I'll put the foundation on your face and you can use the reason I
gave you as some form of rationale. So is that all right?"

I licked nervous lips. "Only foundation? I can see that it might help me look
healthier?" I tried to sound positive about it, but couldn't hide the question
in my voice. Knew that I was going to wear foundation. She was adamant and I'd
no will power.
"Well?" She looked uncomfortable. "That wasn't really ALL, I had in mind.
Let's face it dear. If you only wear foundation, your face will be all one
shade – and that wouldn't look too good." She brightened. "Just a light, light,
touch of blush – and a smidgin of lipstick?"
"Lipstick?" I wailed. "Oh Amy!"

"I wish you wouldn't make such a fuss!" She said. "Just a little bit – and once
you get used to putting on cosmetics? You'll feel positively naked without them.
How many women have you heard of who will not appear in public without their
'face' on? Trust me. You'll get used to it. Now let's get on with it." She
looked at her watch. "I'd like to get SOME tennis in this morning!"

She was true to her word. It didn't take her long to apply my foundation, then
simply brush my cheeks with blush, then have me pout as she applied a light coat
of lipstick. I'd noticed before how much weaker I felt when I wore, or put on
something feminine. Now, the smell and feel of the cosmetics seemed to surround
me in a womanly miasma.

Finally I looked at my face in the mirror. Tried to regain a little of my ego.
"You were right darling. I certainly don't look very pale now."
"See? I told you that you'd like it. But now I see it? Just one thing more?"
She smiled.

When I went out to play tennis with her I was pretty sure that any onlooker
further than five or ten feet wouldn't be conscious of my makeup any more than
anyone sees it in a woman at that distance. But the touch of mascara that I now
had on my eyelashes seemed to affect my whole vision. I even felt softer and
weaker than I had earlier on with the other cosmetics on me.

Yet? Surprisingly? I played fairly well! Amy looked surprised when we finished.
"Maybe that's what you've been needing darling – self knowledge?"
Then after we got home it wasn't too long before I forgot that I even had it on.
Amy reminded me at bed time. "I know that your makeup might mark up the bed
clothes and be a pain for you to get out? But for tonight anyway? Think you
could indulge me by making it a little heavier? Some perfume too?"
She had excellent sex that night – and mine wasn't too bad either.

She was right in other ways as well. Okay, she spanked me a few times because
of my reluctance to go along but between you and me? A lot of it was feigned –
after all, I HAD to look as if I were unwilling and – every so often, I sort of
enjoyed squealing and squalling over her knees. But it wasn't that long before
I put on my makeup and perfume as if I'd been doing it all my life. Not much,
mind you, but I was learning to be tasteful. Even started experimenting with
various shades and coloring. Even I was impressed at how much she cared when
she caught me experimenting with dusting powder to soften the looks of my
cosmetics.

There's the old saying "Clothes maketh the man." But what happens when his
clothes are – mostly – masculine – but he is wearing lipstick, blusher – makeup?
Perfume? And not only that is encouraged to act in a feminine manner? Not in
so many words perhaps, but his spouse is stronger than he – and frowns if he
shows signs of masculinity. But smiles and kisses him gently when he behaves
effeminately? Even if he had a stronger masculine persona that I showed? He
might not have had the perseverance or strength of character to resist his wife.
God knows, I didn't.

Another thing? Time. Maybe I'd have fought more for my initial gender role if
Amy had hurried me in any way, but she didn't. I was being molded to her
desires, but so slowly that the changes I was going through were almost
imperceptible. There had to be a weakness in me that allowed such things to
happen but none of the things seemed to be THAT important to fight about when
they initially started and once I'd been doing them for a week or two? Hardly
worth making a fuss over.

Nails? What male can fuss when his wife has a 'thing' about cleanliness,
especially when he's working around food in the kitchen? And if he finds
himself doing laundry and ironing her fine lingerie – isn't it perfectly natural
for her to ask that he takes care of his nails in such a way that they never
snag on her finer things? I do have small hands to begin with and although I
noticed that Amy was fussy about my finger nails, it took me a while to realize
that they were becoming distinctly small, oval, and shaped nicely to please her.
How happy she would be when I'd take files, emery boards and suchlike to take
care of them in an evening when we'd be sitting watching TV or something?

What do they call it – a watermark? Something like that? Indicates a change in
position that can be pointed to? I think that we had such a thing one night
shortly after I'd started painting my nails – at Amy's request I guess, though
things were getting rather hazy in that regard about then. We were just sitting
around one night watching TV – or giving up is more like it because it was
terrible. I finally switched the set off in disgust.
"Better find a book or something. Nothing on TV." I said.
She had already started on a Sudoku puzzle, but she put it down. "Maybe it's a
good time to talk? There's something I've had at the back of my mind for a
while."

"Serious?" I asked.
"Nah. Just something I think we should clear the air about. Why don't you come
and sit on my lap?"
I laughed. "Sit on your WHAT?"
"My lap. Humor me if you don't mind. Okay?"
"I feel kind of silly." I smiled going over to where she was spreading her legs
apart. "You sure?" I asked.
"Absolutely. It was just an idea I had on the spur of the moment, but the more I
think on it – it's seems perfectly natural. Sit down and make yourself comfy."

I felt kinda childish but did as I was told. Once I was settled in, she put an
arm around my shoulders and pulled me in. Kissed me gently. "You my little
sissy?" She asked.
"Aw, c'mon Amy!" I said, getting red. "You don't need to rub it in!"
She actually nipped me! "Yes I DO!" she said as I let an 'ouch' go. "Yes I DO!
The two of us have been beating about the bush for a long time now. I think it
high time that we got an idea of what is – or what HAS – been going on. I've
been gradually turning you into a soft little sissy – and I think it time that
we both admitted it!"

"But Amy? I'm not a sissy. Honest. I've just been going along with what you
wanted. I just like to please you!"
She sighed in resignation. "Yes Joan – did you hear me call you JOAN?"
"Yes." I mumbled.
"I call you by a girls name and you accept it?"
"Well? That's what you like."
"It is. But if you didn't like being addressed as if you were a girl – wouldn't
you object? Object strenuously?"
"Doesn't mean that much to me!" I sulked.

She pushed me away a little and grinned at me. "So the name, and the makeup, and
the nail polish – don't mean a thing to you?"
"Aw c'mon Amy!" I whined – just to be saying something – anything to end the
shame. But she kept on, boring in. Pressing me into a verbal corner.
"Joan? I know that I sound mean – but I'm not really. I don't even know how I
discovered that I liked my boy to be all soft and fluttery like a girl is
supposed to be. But that's what I want and, to be honest? I think that it's
what you might like as well. I think that you have to pretend to be
embarrassed? Well that's all right, because I hope to embarrass you quite a lot
in the coming period. With any luck, we'll both enjoy what I have in mind."

I tried to make light of what she was saying. "Dear? I think you've lost your
mind. I mean, I've gone along with you this far – but don't you think it's time
we stopped the folderol?"

She laughed delightedly, her eyebrows rising in surprise. "Wonderful darling!
You almost sound like you mean it!"
I blinked. "But I DO!"
She let out a gasp of delight. "You've NO idea of how happy you make me when you
say things like that. It's no fun for me when you make things too easy. But it
makes me sort of hate to tell you what I've thought if for you to do next – but
I'm afraid I have to. It's one of those things that I MUST insist on. It
really isn't a lot physically – but I could see that it might be a mental
problem – that sort of thing?"

I thought for a minute. "Well? If it's physically easy? I don't see much of a
problem . . ."
"WONDERFUL! I was hoping you'd see it my way!" She interrupted me, laughing.
"Mentally? I think I'm a fairly tough guy!" I finished – boasting a little.
She giggled. "Oh! You are SO marvelous! After all – who will EVER see you
wearing nice panties? Nobody!"
"See me wearing WHAT?" I gulped.

She looked like she was trying to blush – and failing miserably. "I blush to
say this – but I really was hoping that you wouldn't raise a fuss. It's just
that I have this thing – a silly feminine feeling no doubt! But I'm positive
that you'd feel so natural in soft, lacy panties. Just hoped that you'd be man
enough to try something new!"

I couldn't help but look around. Wanted SO much to get up from her knees and
leave – but I seemed to be a prisoner. "I don't want panties Amy. Honest." I
heard the squeak of weak submission in my voice.
She actually clapped her hands! "Ooooh! I misunderstood, but this might be
even better! It would be so marvelous if you're gonna fight me. Honest? A
rough and tough rumble? Oh my goodness!" But then her face fell. "Though? I
really hadn't expected you to do this and, if you are? I'd need to get some
bras and things. Maybe a garter belts and stockings?" She gave me a tentative
smile. "What do you think? Anything else?"

"What are you talking about Amy? You lost me!" I had a problem with talking as
I kept gulping. I looked at her helplessly.
"W . .e . .e . .ll? It's kinda hard to put it into words. I want you in
panties – I'm almost sure of that. But if you're wanting to make a real
physical contest out of it?" She smiled at me and spoke in a confidential tone.
"I must admit that I think I'll win. And that being the case, I think it's
best to put you in full lingerie at that time." She shrugged. "That way, we
don't have to keep on doing this argument thing all the time. I wasn't sure
that I wanted you in full lingerie – but this way? It should be terrific fun –
don't you think? Get it over with?"

"Maybe I misunderstood? Maybe mis-communicated my point of view to you?" I said
weakly. "I certainly don't want to fight you – that's just not the thing that
married couples should do. But you were saying that you didn't have any real
idea of having me wear a bra – or other items of lingerie?"
She shrugged. "I thought I said that it was a thing I hadn't made up my mind
about."
"So? If I wore the panties? They wouldn't show under my normal daily wear – and
you probably would stop with the other lingerie . ."
"I did NOT say that!" she interrupted. "Just that . . "
"You weren't too sure?" I broke in instead.
"That sounds about right." She said unwillingly.
"Oh. In that case? I don't see much wrong in putting on a pair of panties now
and then?"

She was distinctly aggravated now. "Now and then – nothing! You'll start
wearing nice panties – and stop when I tell you! None of this 'now and then'
BS!"
"Okay. Okay!" I was as placating as I could be.
"That could have been SUCH fun!" she sulked. Then she half smiled and reached
down beside her chair pulled up a bag. Opened it. "Here. Take your choice
then go and change put the ones you don't use in your chest of drawers."
"Now? Right this minute?"
"Yes. And the more I think on it – the nice lacy pink ones. The panties I got
you are all pretty sissyish – but they're about the nicest. So hurry off and
change, would you?" She handed me the bag and I took it in nerveless fingers.

She was still upset and a little angry, so I thought it best to do as she
suggested. "Okay . The pink ones it is! I'll be back in a jiffy!"
"That's better little sissy Joan. Hurry back!" She was definitely mollified a
little so I hurried to my bedroom and put on the panties. Put the rest of the
frothy, pastel hued underwear into a drawer then put my pants back on and went
back to where robaby was.

She gave me a flinty smile. "Got your panties on?"
"Yes Amy."
"Come over here and drop your pants. Matter of fact? Kick them off, then come
here."
I wanted to sigh, but knew better. Took my loafers off, then undid my belt and
lowered my pants. Took then off, then went over to her, shame faced at my
cowardice.

She leaned forward at using the tip of her finger, raised the front of my shirt.
"Yesssss!" She hissed. "Lovely and pink. Just what a sissy loves. Is that not
correct – sissy?"
"Yes." I mumbled.
"You don't have any troubles being referred to as a sissy – NOW?"
"No." I hung my head.
"I imagine that sissies enjoy being spanked on their panties? Is that true sissy
Joan? Look at me please!"

I could feel the hot tears of shame in my eyes. "Don't know, Amy."
"You've been very naughty – raising my hopes and making me think you still had
enough manliness to fight me – haven't you?"
"I'm very sorry Amy."
"Of COURSE you are! But why don't you just lie over my knees? Let's find out
of sissies like to be spanked on their panties – shall we?"

And, lying there, I admitted that sissies just LOVED to wear pink lacy panties.
Did NIT like hard spankings – but adored soft, ceremonial spanks on their
panties – and would never, ever, dislike being called 'sissy' again.

As I said earlier, a human being gets used to just about anything, so it wasn't
long before it was the most natural thing in the world for me to slip into fresh
panties every morning. A few weeks after that and it was as if I'd worn ladies
panties all of my life. Then, like humankind everywhere, I felt the worst was
over. Should have known better.

Amy was as kind to me as she'd ever been. Of course she now referred to me as
either sissy or Joan – and I seemed to have become the housewife of record. She
was spending more time as the docent at the historical site and often brought
her uniforms – usually historical replica dresses – for me to clean or do minor
repairs on. Did expect me to have a drink for her when she came home and could
get annoyed with me if her dinner wasn't prepared properly but, all in all, it
was a pleasant time.

I wasn't prepared though when one late afternoon she came in carrying a few
carry bags that indicated she'd been shopping. "What color panties are you
wearing today sissy?" she asked me conversationally the minute she closed the
door behind her.
"I don't know. Yellow, I think." I said.
"Like to have a look darling?" she asked pleasantly. She searched in her
parcels and pulled out a yellow lacy bra. Waved it around her finger. "Would
this be a perfect match? If you're wearing yellow panties, it should."

I really didn't know what I should do but thought it politic to hurry up and
check without undue modesty. Quickly I unzipped my pants and did a fast check.
"Yes. Yellow." I said, my face crimson.
"What are you all red for?" She asked pleasantly. "I bought you some nice bras
to match your panties. Here. Feel this. Isn't it lovely?" With that, she
handed me the bra. I didn't know what else to do than to take it.

"Seems - - - nice?" I faltered.
Her eyebrows went up. "Don't you think it a perfect match for your panties?"
"Yes. I guess." I answered.
"You don't seem very excited? I thought that sissies would just love matching
bras and panties. Isn't that so?"
"Oh Amy!" I wailed. "I don't know!"
"Silly little thing! You won't know until you TRY? Do you?"

I looked at her. Her face was smiling, but there was a hint of implacability
there. "Want me to try the bra on?" I asked, hoping against hope.
She shrugged. "What else? But before you try it on? I have a few other little
things for you. I'm sure that your sissy side will be delighted!"

The worst thing of all was having to pretend delight as she showed me how to
position the false breasts, then attach them with a special adhesive. How proud
she looked as she helped me tint the breasts to match my skin tone! "They look
SO real!" She emoted. "You ARE thrilled – aren't you?"

In addition to my 'delight' at my girlish appearance I knew better than grumble
and feigned even more delight when my bra was fitted on and fitted perfectly.

She was pleasant but firm when she spanked me for not maintaining that delight
when I had to put on the tennis dress she'd bought me. "That's allowing that
sissy male testosterone to come to the fore – now ANYONE knows that little sissy
boys just love to wear pretty dresses and that tennis dress is lovely when I
saw it, I knew it was you! So darling when I see your panties flash under those
skirts – and the puffy sleeves? Just YOU!"

She made me parade myself in front of the full length mirror after I was spanked
and admire very facet of my outfit – the short, gored skirt, the blouse with the
embroidered top and lacy, puffed sleeves. How I loved and admired the fact that
it was back closing and how much I would depend on letting her finish my
dressing – and let me out of it once I was ready for a change.

I haven't mentioned the fact that she'd also bought me soft white tennis shoes
with a pink lace running through them – and tennis socks that were very fine and
barely covered my ankles – but had a soft pom pom of various colors at the back.
She giggled when she had me flip my skirt to show the panties I was wearing
underneath. Finally, she allowed me to change so that I could make dinner and
clean it up though I had to keep the breasts on – but that night she made love
to me, caressing them softly and commenting how beautiful I was becoming. Then,
on the following morning, how I had to wear my new tennis dress when we went to
play tennis!

I think we were both surprised at how well I played. She was actually a better
player than me by this time – though not by much. But on that morning we were
almost equal – as a matter of fact I pressed her to deuce and my advantage in a
few games that could have gone either way. Naturally, she teased me a little
afterwards.
"I'm beginning to think that you should have been in dresses a LONG time ago!"
She smiled reminiscently. "I don't think you realize how graceful you looked –
there in your pretty dress – and your panties showing every so often! Made me
feel almost dowdy!"
I blushed. Let's face it – Amy is by a damn sight, a good looking woman. She
wore white shorts and a ladies 'T' of course – and her breasts left no doubt as
to what sex she was – but there was no doubt about it now – my dress was a LOT
prettier and more feminine. "Did you realize how much freer you moved?" She
asked with a smile as we walked home. I didn't answer.

The one thing was my hair of course.

She smiled happily when I broached the subject once we got back to our home.
"But darling? Am I hearing you correctly? You'd like a girl's style?"
"Amy? I'm a boy in a dress. That's how I must look anyway. It's embarrassing.
If I had my hair done so that it was more girlish – just a tad – nobody would
notice."
"But wouldn't you feel strange looking like a girl all the way? After all, it's
early morning and the old folks at the retirement home aren't up at that time.
And what would you DO – all day here?"

"I've thought about it Amy." I admitted. "But you want me more and more
girlish all the time! Isn't that so?"
She shrugged. "I guess so – but don't you mind?"
I was honest. "Wouldn't matter much if I did, would it?" But as this was
getting onto dangerous grounds so I hurriedly changed the subject. "Look at it
this way. Seems to me that there aren't many times when I have to play the male
role – right?"
She smiled. "Finding it more difficult – are we?"

"To be honest? Probably yes, I suppose. But I'm at home here now most of the
time and I figure that if I have to go into town I can always comb my hair
differently – and as you will be busy doing other things? You can't object if I
wash my makeup off – can you?"

She pondered this for a second. "Up to you I suppose – but don't you think you
might get awfully confused? Being dressed as a girl sometimes – and a man at
others? Strikes me you might just as well bite the bullet and be a girl ALL the
time."
I stared at her, nonplussed. "I knew you liked me girlish." I said slowly.
"But ALL the time?"

She was just as thoughtful as I was. "To be honest Joan? I'm starting to get
this inward feeling that I need a man now and then. Don't mean any offense when
I say that you're NOT him. I think I've learned to love you more and more since
you've become like a girl." She paused and smiled ruefully. "Not making much
sense, am I?"
She was soul searching and doing it in such an obviously honest way that I
couldn't fault her. But I had to be honest too. "You're trying to be nice Amy.
But do you realize how inadequate that you're making me feel? Do you have some
guy in mind?"

The incredulous look that spread over her face was answer enough and though I
felt much better, I was still silly enough to try and act masculine one morning
that it was raining. Not a LOT of masculine behavior mind you, but more than
recent developments would indicate. She wasn't long in picking this up. "What
on earth are you DOING Joan?" She asked me with a disbelieving frown.
"You know? I'm not saying that I have any real objection to being treated like
a girl most of the time?" I answered haughtily. "But I don't think I'd object
to you calling me John now and then."

She looked at me in amazement for a moment, then laughed uproariously. "Oh
dear! I see now! You being silly? Call you John? Come here!"

She spanked me soundly, then dressed me completely in an old party dress of
here, pale pink and very feminine – and in complete lingerie. Did my face up
completely and found high heels that were a good fit.
"Now?" She giggled. "My soft little wife? I want you to stay like this ALL
day. When we go to bed tonight, I'll have a pretty nightgown all set out for
you. Once you're ready for bed, you can tell me how much you want to be my
husband. Okay?"
Needless to say, that day eliminated any thought I ever had about being the man
of the house again. She stayed amused all day, but in a loving way, so I was
reassured that she still loved me – and I enjoyed her making love to me that
night while I wore a sensuous nightgown.

In the weeks that followed, her initial doubts about my capability to 'change'
from one gender mode to another showed themselves to be accurate. Dressed and
made up like a woman, it became more difficult for me to change into a masculine
role and, though I didn't think about it too much at the time, I gradually
modified my persona to fit my clothes and as I was rarely out of skirts and
blouses – or nice dresses – with my whole attitude starting to fit what I was
wearing. I sensed that she was looking for something more, but she seemed happy
enough so I gradually put it to the back of my mind.

Then things changed drastically.

One morning we were just starting to play a game when a voice sounded from
behind us, out of the court. It wasn't masculine by any means, but it certainly
was deeper than the normal female.
"Hi girls. Can we join you? You play a nice game and we get fed up with
singles all the time."

I was shocked, as was Amy. It was so entirely unexpected and it was noted.
"Hey! We didn't mean to scare you to death, but we’ve seen you from our window
this last few mornings. Thought you might like a game?"
I turned around to see two women who were almost identical. They were twins as
it turned out. Both blonde and short haired – curly. Good physical shape –
maybe on the stocky, muscular, side. Both wearing tennis outfits – shorts, 'T'
shirts, and well scuffed shoes that showed a lot of use. Amy was the first to
recover.

"Hell!" She said with a smile. "We're finally caught! I'm afraid that we
don't belong to this community – but the courts just look SO nice – and nobody
seems to be using them, so we just thought . ."

The other one who hadn't spoken to that point, laughed. Her voice wasn't quite
as deep as her sisters, but pleasant. "No skin off our backs. Our aunt just
died and we thought we'd come try living here. We've seen you here the last few
mornings. Have to agree with you – courts that are this good should be used.
I'm Audrey – and my ugly sister here is Bernice." She came towards us, her hand
outstretched.

They were extremely pleasant and after we'd introduced ourselves – me as Joan
naturally we split up with me taking Audrey on as partner and Amy with Bernice.
It was a damn good game with Audrey and I finally losing the first set 6-8, and
winning the second 6-4. At that point, all sweaty and hot, we decided to call
it. I was more than surprised when Amy accepted Bernice's offer of a cold drink
after our game. It did make sense though, their house wasn't far from the
courts and we headed there.

Nothing untoward happened, but on the way back to our own place, Amy had this
far away look in her eyes. "That Bernice – she's dreamy!"
"I didn't know you liked girls." I said in all honesty.
She looked at me in amazement, then laughed. "I was gonna say that I liked YOU!
Then it dawned on me. But honestly?" She looked at me calmly. "It wasn't her
girly side I was talking about dear. Not at all." Then she added. "What did
you think of Audrey? You seemed a little smitten if the truth be known."

I started to reply in umbrage, but then I blushed, because I HAD been very taken
with Audrey. Amy saw my blush. "Was it her girly side you liked – Joan?"
Now I really blushed because her question had hit the mark perfectly. Audrey
and her twin were both direct and were no nonsense type girls – women if you
will. But they gave off a distinct aura of being masculine – not boastful or
cocky, just serene self confidence.
"Oh shit Amy!" I said in some shock. "I'm not sure!"

We were walking home, but now I felt that we were the closest we'd ever been.
When we got married, Amy was the woman and I was the man. Then we had changed
the relationship so that I was the woman – and she was the man. Now fate had
struck and as we talked, I was hit by the fact that Amy had reverted to being a
woman again – but now saw me as her SISTER – and I didn't mind! By the time
we'd reached our house, we were two girls plotting how to seduce two guys –
without looking too forward of course.

Amy pooh poohed my fears about being a male by gender. "Joan? That's silly.
These girls have had to fight all of their lives because they were more
masculine than society wants. I'll give you the fact that Audrey may get thrown
off romantically when she finds out that you're actually a boy? But somehow, I
don't think so. Trust me!"

Logic told me she was wrong and I had a funny feeling when I thought of my wife
being interested in someone else – someone more masculine than myself – yet a
woman to boot? But how could I bitch about her, when I thought that Audrey was
just my own cup of tea? How Amy and I giggled when we set out plans to invite
both girls for dinner and drinks one night shortly thereafter – and how could we
get ourselves all made up – yet look perfectly natural? Finally, we simply said
"The hell with it." And decided to go after Audrey and Bernice.

We both went to the beauty salons had treated ourselves to the works – facials,
hairdo's manicures, pedicures – you name it. Amy loaned me one of her dresses
and I had canapés and the bar well stocked, when the twins finally arrived.
They looked great – athletic and outdoorsy – but nice and strong. Amy and I
looked very pretty together – like feminine sisters. I think that the four of
us knew that sex was in the air from the minute they arrived – but I still had
to 'reveal' my terrible secret. Had a few drinks to give me Dutch courage.
(Amy had said that she'd do it for me – but I had enough savvy to know that
Audrey didn't like bullshit – so knew I HAD to do it.)

We were all sitting around after dinner. Amy and Bernice – Ben – had got
together on one sofa – arms around each other tentatively now and then. Audrey
had started to put an arm around me, but although I wanted to – I knew I had to
speak out first. I looked around me. Took another slug from my drink.

"Audrey? Bernice? I have a confession to make. Amy and I are actually
married!"
The twins looked at each other calmly. Audrey looked at me. "So?"
I gulped. "It's not a lesbian marriage – like you're probably thinking. I'm
actually – actually – a guy. A real life guy!"
Audrey continued to look at me. "And?"

Then Bernice started to laugh. "My sister can be a real shithead at times! Of
COURSE we knew that you were a guy Joan."
"Huh?" I muttered.
The twins smiled at each other. Audrey continued. "Remember I said that we had
come to our widowed aunt's house? Well we came some time ago – to look after
her. Used to see you two sneak onto the courts in the mornings. You were a guy
then Joan. Nowhere NEAR as nice looking as you are now!"
"You KNEW I was a guy – and didn't mind?"
Audrey shrugged. "I always favored sissy boys - so why don't you just come
here to me Joan – and I'll prove it to you."
Bernice had taken Amy and was kissing her – and I certainly didn't want to be
left out – so did as I was told. Lovely.

His Boobies

By: Brianna

HOW did it ever get this far? I’m actually serving as a hostess at
my wife Janet’s bridge party ! A hostess, moreover, dressed as a
maid, which is what I became six months ago - my own wife’s personal
maid !

I should have seen it coming. Even before we were married, Janet
said I have unusually large nipples for a man, and started caressing
and sucking on them. She did it so much my nipples got sore and
distended, but she paid no attention to my complaints and went right
on sucking them. Once afterwards I couldn’t resist scooping up some
of her spit dripping from my swollen nipples and rubbing it across
my nose and lips, licking it with my tongue. She noticed this and
chuckled, knowing she now had a new hold over me. In bed she licked
my face, sucked my nose and lips together, and even opened my mouth
and drooled in it. She also controlled my outbursts of independence
out of bed by wetting me in some way from her mouth.

But the day, six months ago, that I came home fired from my job, was
the day that changed my life forever ! When I worked up the nerve to
tell Janet the news, she just laughed and said it didn’t matter,
because with her new promotion she could support herself. She was
even considering hiring a maid !

“But I wonder if I can trust you here in the house all day with a
pretty maid on hand?”

When I began to protest my loyalty, she broke in suddenly: “I’ve got
it ! I can get a maid for free and not have to worry about my
husband’s possible infidelities !”

I asked what she meant, but she just took me by the hand into her
bedroom and ordered me to strip. I recognized one of our kinky
scenes starting, so I went along with her. Then she made me follow
her on my hands and knees, to her laundry hamper ! Humming to
herself, she reached in and scooped out a pair of lacy pink nylon
panties. I remembered buying them for her the previous Christmas.

“These were always really a present for you,” she said, “so now you
can wear them.”

“Me wear your panties? No way !” I answered her. I wriggled
uncomfortably as she lay the crotch of her panties across my mouth
and nose, saying. “No? But I know different. You may leave my
dresser alone - you’re not much interested in clean lingerie, are
you? - but I remember where I put things, and these panties are not
where I put them yesterday.” She began rubbing the crotch across my
nostrils and lips. With a shudder I breathed in the heady aroma, as
she anointed my cheeks, ears and eyes with her panties, then ordered
me to my feet and dressed me in them.

“You may as well know,” she said as she fished a bra out of the
hamper and fitted it to me, “that now that I am the breadwinner, I
wear the pants around here ! I happen to know your last boss
blacklisted you, so it’s stay here as my maid, or out in the streets
you go !”

I submitted to being cross-dressed as her maid, only to be further
ensnared when her friend Sally jumped out of hiding and began taking
polaroids of me in my maid’s outfit, and heavily made up to boot !
Now even the street wasn’t an alternative for me.

For bed, she began dressing me as a slut in the laciest, sheerest
lingerie. It was always lingerie she had worn that day, and
sometimes for a few days, steeped in her personal scents. She made
me up like a whore and then went to work on my nipples, sucking them
vigorously and rubbing them, tweaking them, even putting little
clamps on them. I was always aware of them now, often painfully so
!!

Then, one night about three months ago, I awoke to find myself
spread-eagled and shackled to the four bedposts. Janet came in a
minute later, grinning widely. In one hand she held a hood with some
sort of attachment, and in the other two bottles of pills. She put
the pills down on the bedside table and slipped the hood over my
head, lacing it up in back. She adjusted the front, and suddenly a
tube penetrated my mouth and almost pressed on my tongue - any
longer and I would have gagged. I saw through my eyeholes that the
tube extended about two feet in front of me. Janet was holding the
other end, still smiling at me. With the hood over my nose, I was
forced to breathe through the tube in my mouth.

“This is a new day for you, Ian,” she said. “Your life takes a
different direction from this point on.” With that, she opened both
pill bottles and extracted a pill from each. One pill was small and
purple, and the other rather larger, round and white. “This little
pill is Provera,” she said, “and the larger one is Premarin. They’re
what I’ll be giving you every day from now on. You see, your nipples
are about as large as I can make them by sucking and torture. The
time has come to grow breasts on you. These little pills will do
that and more - they’ll grow your hips and fanny too, and they’ll
change your skin, make it soft and milky. They’ll make a real girl
out of you.”

She placed the Provera in her mouth and presently blew it, with a
great deal of spit, through the tube into my mouth. I tried not to
swallow it, but Janet plugged the opening of the tube until I did.
She then repeated the process with the Premarin, and suddenly I was
on my way to boobs !

But except for Sally, no one else yet knew about our Mistress-slave
relationship. Not until three weeks ago, when she called me in to
her bedroom one morning and said she was giving a card party for
some of her female executive friends. “And I expect you to act as
both hostess and maid.”

I panicked, but Janet assured me that by now I was so
feminine-looking that if I watched my voice and my movements, I
should be able to pull it off. “Anyway, I’m having the party and
you’re serving at it, and that’s that !” she said with finality in
her voice.

What could I do? Just try my best to pass and hope no one noticed I
was really a feminized man ! But on the afternoon of the party my
hopes were dashed almost immediately when a trim, middle-aged woman
congratulated me on my costume and the sultry redhead sitting next
to her said it was wonderful how liberated husbands were becoming,
that they actually didn’t mind serving their wives and company as
maids !

Janet smiled and ordered me to go sit on the redhead’s lap. She was
quite a big woman, a regular Amazon, and my much reduced weight
didn’t bother her a bit ! “But what have we here?” she exclaimed,
and began feeling my shameful secret. For weeks now I knew I had no
hope to return to my life as a man, as my nipples swelled and became
painfully sensitive, then were raised up by two mounds forming on my
chest ! Already my nipples were growing, hardening beneath the
redhead’s caresses as she rubbed them through the opening of my
see-through bra ! Several voices in the room exclaimed in surprise.

Janet laughed. “All right, Brianna - that’s my husband’s name now,
not Ian anymore - I suppose we can’t keep it a secret any longer.”
She undid my dress and bra and deftly pulled away the cups in one
swoop, as gasps of mirth arose all around me: “Look Ladies ! His
boobies !” she shouted triumphantly, and there was no mistaking the
C-cup melons that hung there, capped by huge, milky-looking nipples.
And I knew suddenly what every woman in the room was thinking, what
was really amusing them: that if I had titties like these, my male
equipment must be correspondingly smaller, in fact no bigger than a
long clitty ! They knew they were looking at a ruined male, who had
been turned into an abject, feminized slave for life !

Table Talk

By: Bea

I could literally feel my eyes enlarge and grow round as the impact of what she
had said hit me.
"What – what- was that you said darling?" I stammered.
She gazed calmly at me from the head of the table. "As you're perfectly aware?
I'm not really happy with repeating myself," she said softly but with a
sarcastic edge to her voice. "Are you listening now? Think you can assimilate
what I'm saying?"
"Yes dear. I'm sorry." I mumbled.
"Very well. I said " That is no way for you to speak to your mother Melissa. I
think you should apologize to her immediately."

"But my name isn't .. I didn't say anything wrong to my mom.."
"Your name is now Melissa, and you may not have said anything wrong to your
mother, but your tone was very aggressive and masculine, so I want you to
apologize. Now, please?"

I shrugged helplessly and looked at my mom sitting across the table from me.
She didn't seem surprised at me being humbled in this fashion, actually smiling
pleasantly and apparently waiting for my apology.
"Sorry mom. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." I said.

Before she could answer, Ruth interrupted. "Melissa!" she said sharply, "That is
NO way to apologize! First of all you will address her as "mummy"- and that is
how I wish you to address her from now onwards. You will speak to her softly as
a young lady should. And? As a gesture of respect, I want you to stand while
you apologize and, though you don't have your apron on, take the side of your
pants in your hands and curtsey. Please?"

I looked at her helplessly, subjugated beyond all belief. "Please Ruth? Don't
do this…?"
"What color of panties do you have on Melissa?" she asked, her voice soft and
dangerous now.
"Blue." I replied after a few seconds pause, staring down at the table now.
"Light blue or dark blue?"
"Dark blue."
"Ah! That's what it is. Your panties are far too masculine. Giving you silly
ideas. For the next week? Frilled pink ones only dear. Understand?"
"Yes."
"And look up at me when you are being spoken to please. Shyness is all very
well in a young lady, but can be carried too far at times. Don't you agree
Dora?"

"Oh yes Ruth. Absolutely!" mummy tittered. "But "Melissa"? What a lovely
name! I'd always wanted him to be "Pamela" but I think that your choice is much
better!"

Ruth nodded smugly. "Yes. Must admit that I'm very pleased with it myself.
Just one thing Dora? From now on? I'd like Melissa to be thought of as a
"she". Starting tonight, she's going to dress and act properly..."

Mummy clapped her hands together in a picture of surprised girlish delight.
"What a lovely idea Ruth! Pretty frocks and dresses?.."

"Of course. Skirts and blouses as well.."
"Makeup?"
"Of course. And hair and nails. Going to turn my husband into the daughter you
always wanted." Ruth said confidently. "But first things first. Melissa? The
apology?"

Blushing in my humiliation, I stood up, pushing my chair back as I did so. Then
I took a hold of each pant leg at the sides of my knees and bobbed a small
curtsey. "I'm very sorry for being so naughty mummy" I said in the little soft
girlish voice that Ruth had been training me to use. "Please forgive me."

"Of course, Melissa dear," mummy said.
I looked at Ruth then, to see if my apology had been acceptable. She smiled
openly. "Very nice Melissa. You may sit down again. But until we're finished,
speak when you're spoken to. Don't interrupt two women when they"re talking.
Nod if you understand."
I nodded meekly and sat down.

Mummy was staring admiringly at Ruth. "You've done such wonders with him – I
mean "her" of course. I always wanted to dress her properly, but she used to
get all quarrelsome and naughty every time I tried."
"But what about that all-girl party of Susan Smith"s?" Ruth asked. "When he
wore that adorable pink party dress? Did he volunteer for that?"

Mummy giggled. "Well, not exactly. He was about thirteen and absolutely crazy
for a bike, so I bought him a really nice one, but he refused to use it."
"Too big for him?"
"No. I thought it was SO pretty! A lovely shade of mauve and, naturally, a
girl"s bike. But the poor little dear cried and cried and stomped his feet, so
I finally agreed to negotiate with him."
"I see! He had to wear the dress and go to the party to get the bike?"
"Yes. I was friends with Susan"s mother, so getting the invitation was no
problem." Mummy paused. "I thought he was SO pretty in that dress," she added
dreamily.
Ruth smiled. "He was, Dora. Trust me. I'd been invited, but wasn't going to
go until I found out he"d be there. It was at that party when I realized that I
wanted him for myself. He was just so cute and girlish. Did you know I kissed
him there for the first time?"

Mummy laughed "I wasn't sure, but knew that something had happened. He came
home, very confused. I didn't even have any problem in keeping him in the dress
until he went to bed that night. And then I was so worried when you became his
girlfriend officially. Being such a tomboy and all. I was scared that you"d
make him all boyish."
"No fear of that" Ruth laughed. "When we played team games, I made sure that
everybody made sure to leave him for me. I used to pick him after the girls.
Always assigned her to the spots usually given to girls. Sometimes would make
him play just girl games. I wouldn't let anyone tease him though. Beat up a
couple of boys who tried. But do you mind? I'd like to say something to
Melissa?"

"Of course Ruth! Go ahead." Mummy said.

"Melissa? Did you notice that your mother and I said used terms like "he",
"him", and his" when talking about you in that last little discussion?"
"Yes Ruth. I did." Wondering what I'd done wrong now.
"After this? Anyone makes that mistake again? I want you to remind them that
your name is Melissa, and that you're a girl. Understand?"
"Yes Ruth."
"Well then? Let's hear you tell us."

Mummy beamed with pleasure when I informed them, in my "girl" voice that my name
was Melissa and that I was a girl. She actually got up out of her chair and
came to me, then kissed me lightly on both cheeks.
"Oh Melissa! We're going to be SUCH friends!" she emoted.

"Yes Dora. You are!" my wife said. "I have a small surprise for you. The
reason I asked you to pack suitcases? Tomorrow I'd like you to drive her up to
a cabin I"ve rented in the mountains for a month. You'll have her all to
yourself for three weeks so that you can bond as mother and daughter, and she
can learn all the things a young woman should know. I'll come up for the fourth
week, and see how she's doing."

"What a wonderful idea!" mummy enthused. "Isn't it Melissa? I can show you how
to do your hair and your nails. How to walk and sit properly! How to.."
"Don't forget makeup!" Ruth laughed. "I want her pretty! But Melissa? You
didn't answer your mother. It IS a wonderful idea, isn't it?"

I managed a weak smile. "Yes Ruth. It sounds like fun. But who'll look after
you while I'm gone?"
Ruth smiled at mummy. "You really did a wonderful job of bringing her up. So
thoughtful! So considerate!" She turned back to me. "Thank you darling, but
I'm going on a business trip starting the day after tomorrow and will be gone
for about three weeks."

"I was wondering why you were doing this on such short notice Ruth." Mummy
said.
Ruth looked puzzled. "Short notice? Oh no. I"ve been getting Melissa ready
for this change-over for almost a year now. Practically the month after we were
married... ."
"That was such a nice wedding! Your gown was gorgeous!" mummy interrupted
brightly.
"It was, wasn't it?" Ruth mused. "Though You've no idea how much I wanted
Melissa to wear it instead of me."
"Wish you had!" mummy laughed. "I always wanted to be "Mother of the Bride"."

"It was probably too early in our relationship for that." Ruth explained. "I
was scared that I'd frighten her off." She paused. "But, as I was saying? I
planned for Melissa"s conversion to a girl for tonight, over a year ago."
"Tonight? What's special about tonight Ruth?"
"Halloween Dora! Halloween! I"ve got her "coming out" costume all picked out
for her.."
"Ooh Lovely! A sort of transition costume?"
"Well, not really. You see, I'm going to have her be my personal maid when
you're finished with her, and I had a chance to get some really sexy uniforms –
satins and taffetas – and some work uniforms of course. I thought I'd give her
the opportunity to ease into her new wardrobe, you know?" She turned to me.
"Shortly? When you go to your own room? That used to be the spare? You'll
find four gorgeous maid's uniforms in your closet. You can pick any one you want
to wear tonight.." she paused. "Though there IS a dark blue one there, and if
you wear it, I'll expect you not to get too masculine?"
"How considerate you are Ruth! That is really kind. Isn't she wonderful to you
Melissa?" Mummy asked sincerely.

All I could do was gape at what Ruth was describing as what my role in our
marriage was going to be. Her icy voice brought me back to reality.
"Melissa? Dora asked you a question which you have made no attempt to answer.
That is the last time you will be rude to your mother tonight. Go and fetch the
long handled hair brush from my room. Take your trousers and shoes off while
you're there. Throw them in the trash. You won't be needing them from now on.
And don't dawdle!"

The fire in her eyes was not being communicated to her calm, modulated voice,
but I knew I was going to be spanked. Almost in tears already, I jumped to my
feet and, just remembering to excuse myself from the table, hurried away to do
her bidding.

When I returned, my face was afire. My shirt was long enough to hide the fact
that I was wearing panties, but the suspender straps holding my stockings up
were clearly visible. Mummy didn't notice though. She was too busy listening
to Ruth.
"… it wasn't too difficult then to get her into baby dolls. She cried a couple
of times, but after I started making her wear proper things into the office when
she'd been unappreciative.."
"Proper things?" mummy asked.
"Lingerie. Panties, bras, garter belts, stockings. That sort of thing. Once I
made her wear a lacy blouse as well, but she wore her jacket over it so thinks
that the girls didn't catch on."

"Who are the girls now?" mummy asked.
"I think You've met them all. Elsie Stevens is Melissa's secretary. Colleen
Raitt the clerk, and Joan Free the office girl."
"Not much turnover amongst them then?" mummy said.
"No. Elsie is a good boss. The girls all like her."
"Melissa's not the boss?"

"Heaven's no!" Ruth laughed. "Of course, everyone pretends she is, but the
business you established and left to him is based on solid business practices.."

"Excuse me Ruth? My name is Melissa and I'm a girl.." I said faintly. "Not a
him."
"Very good Melissa!" Ruth said quietly, smiling. "I said that on purpose, just
to see if you caught on. Now, over my knees. Two spanks less for you now as a
reward for being such a clever girl."

She had pushed her chair away from the table to make room for me. As I
approached her, the phone rang.
"Oh bother!" she snapped, then added. "Use the conference call on the phone –
and identify yourself properly! Then get back and go over my knees. This is
getting ridiculous! You've been begging for a paddling all night and things
just keep getting in the way!"

I switched on the conference call on the telephone. "Anderson residence.
Melissa speaking."
"Good evening Melissa. How are you?"
"Good evening Elsie." I answered politely. "I'm fine. Yourself?"
"Just wonderful Melissa. Just one thing? Please call me Miss Stevens from now
on please."

I was heading for Ruth's chair, but this command almost stopped me in my tracks.

"Miss Stevens? I don't understand.."

As I said this, I heard some muted giggles come over the phone. I sagged as I
realized that Colleen and Joan were also in on the conference call.
"No need for understanding dear," Elsie was saying now. "I'm the new office
manager. When you return, your wife has asked me to take you on as the office
girl. I'm just calling to let you know what will be expected of you."
"Yes Miss Stevens. Thank you." I said, gently laying face down over my wife's
knees, after handing her the long handled, silver-backed, hair brush. I felt my
shirt tail being pushed out of the way to reveal my panties.

Elsie's voice sounded much deeper over the phone, I thought, trying to keep my
mind off the punishment that was coming. "Very good Melissa," she was saying
"First of all, I expect good behavior from you. Understood?"
"Yes Miss Stevens," I said as the first stinging blow landed on my backside. I
couldn't help it. Let out an "oooh" of pain.
"What was that noise?" Elsie asked.
"Melissa was a little naughty. I'm taking some corrective action." Ruth
answered solemnly.
"I hope she'll stay away from being naughty for me." Elsie laughed.
"I'm sure she will!" Ruth said with a little pant as she landed the next blow.
I squealed.

Elsie started to giggle as she worked her way through the catechism of what was
expected of me, interrupted every so often by the sharp sound the brush made on
my satin clad rump, my occasional whimper, then my soft crying.

I was to dress properly. Skirts, blouses, and dresses suitable for an office.
My hair had always to be properly neat and tidy. My makeup was to be applied
conservatively. I was NOT to spend all day gossiping with the other girls. I
was expected to run errands, make the coffee and tea for everyone. I was to
practice my typing on a special software package which would run on the computer
that was available in the cabin. I was to be capable of at least forty-five
words per minute when I started in the office. It would also be a good idea for
me to learn embroidery or crocheting so that I could join everyone at lunch and
breaks in the office. As an afterthought, I was told that I'd be using the same
rest room as the other girls. Miss Stevens would be taking over mine.

I was still sobbing quietly, even though my spanking was over. Ruth was softly
caressing my backside with the flat of her palm using a slow circular motion
which I usually found to be very soothing. Then another protection I thought I
had established was crushed. My mother had asked Elsie why she hadn't been
surprised when I'd answered the phone as Melissa.
"Why Dora, we've all known he was a little sissy from the word go." Elsie said.
"Coming in here with his nylon stockings showing.."
"And his suspender straps..." this from Colleen.
"And that pretty blouse he wore with the lacy bra under it that time! I was SO
jealous!" Joan piped up.
"And I couldn't very well just whisk her away tomorrow without notifying her
co-workers now, could I?" laughed Ruth.

"Are we still all invited over tonight?" Elsie asked.
"Of course!" Ruth answered. "And Melissa will be answering the door for all of
you – in one of her pretty new uniforms!"
"OH! That reminds me!" Colleens voice came over the speakers. "Does she have
a pink one? I pretty one?"
"Yes. A satin one. All lace trim. Lots of frills and flounces." Ruth
laughed. "Why?"
"Could I ask that she wear that one?"
"Well, I had said that she could have her choice, but if You've got a good
reason…?"

"I think so." Colleen replied. "Remember last month when.. when.. she was a
he? And spoke to my Girl Guide group?"
"Yes. What did he.. she do?"
"Said that girls didn't have the same career path as men.."
"She DIDN'T!" Ruth exclaimed.
"Yes she did!" Colleen replied.
"I see what you want Colleen," Ruth said. "Want her to point out to the girls
that she chose to be a maid because it was better suited to her than a man"s
job?"
"Yes, sort of. But more like saying that sex barriers are coming down. That if
a man can do a maids job? What's to stop a girl from being an engineer or a
cowboy – or anything else."
"Great idea!" Ruth said, giving my backside a sharp spank. "You'll enjoy
telling these young girls all that, won't you Melissa. Okay, up and running.
Get your uniform on. Then get back out here and your mother will help you with
your makeup."

As I started to obey her instructions, mummy spoke thoughtfully. "Ruth? You
want Melissa to learn the girl things like sewing, dressmaking. That sort of
thing?"
"Yes Dora. Of course! Absolutely!"
"Well? I was just wondering? Suppose we packed your wedding gown and took it
with us? We could maybe take it in a little to fit Melissa? Maybe have a
little private ceremony when we got back? Her being the bride this time?"

Ruth clapped her hands. "Wow! What an idea! Dora, you're a genius!"
I remembered something and spoke up quietly. "Ruth? You loaned the veil to Joan
Simmonds for her wedding. Remember? I don't think she's returned it yet."
"That's RIGHT Melissa! How nice of you to think of that!" Ruth said, giving me
a quick kiss.
"Well, the effect on me would be completely lost without the veil, wouldn't it?"
I said, blushing happily.

Hen Coop

By: Bea

The house wasn't big enough for me to avoid Maria for ever. I did manage to
stay out of her way and, for a couple of days, when she did get close to me,
either Ellen was there or I'd be saved by the telephone or something. But
nothing lasts forever. That morning, she was actually coming out of the sitting
room just as I was entering. I couldn't very well back out, so started to go
past her, into the room. She smiled sweetly at me as she curtsied.
"Good morning sir," she said.
"Good morning Maria." I replied. "Ellen in here?"
"Oh no sir. Madame left for her charity work some time ago."

"Oh." I said. "Guess I'll have to wait until she gets home then, won't I?"
She smiled at me again. "That would appear to be correct sir."
"I wouldn't be too keen to drive any distance in this kind of weather." I
commented, pointing out through the French window at the rain that was teeming
down.
"Yes." Maria said. "But the mistress is very interested in chairing that
committee of hers - and I heard her say that today was the day that some very
important decisions are to be made. Anyway? I don't see a little rain stopping
her. She's very strong."

I shrugged at what I felt to be her unspoken criticism of me. "I guess so."
She nodded brightly, then her face got serious. "Sir? I have a favor to ask.
I've been meaning to ask it of you for the last few days?" She gave me a wry
smile. "You're a very hard man to catch, do you know that? I actually thought
that you were trying to avoid me. But that's silly, isn't it?"
"A favor?" I said weakly, avoiding the question. "I don't know as I could
be.."
"Oh, of course you could. And I'd appreciate it so much?" Laying a firm hand
on my arm and smiling confidently at me. Then, tightening her grip, she gave me
a slight pull.

I thought of resisting her but couldn't seem to find the will or the strength.
The materials of her uniform and apron crackling against my side and legs, I
found myself being led all the way down the hallways to her room. I felt a sense
of dread as she put her hand on the doorknob to open the door.
"Oh, I don't know as I should come in here." I protested weakly.

For a second, I actually thought it might work. She did seem to pause, but then
giggled, and I was easily pushed in to her quarters and she then closed the door
quietly behind us.
"Oh sir!" She tittered. "Are you saying you would maybe take advantage of me?
Poor little me?" Then she looked at me slyly, her pretense of humility starting
to slip. "Or are you thinking that I'll maybe take advantage of sweet, little
old you?" Then she paused to collect herself, her polite face back on. "Sir,
why don't you sit here?"
She pulled out a bench seat from her dressing table.

"That's a kinda funny place for me to sit, isn't it?" I said lightly.
"Not that I can see." She said tartly. "And sit looking into the mirror -
please! There, that's a good ..." She didn't finish the sentence, for which I
suddenly felt very grateful.

I was now sitting, looking into the mirror which reflected the whole room behind
me. My attention was momentarily distracted by the array of makeup, colognes
and perfumes set on little filigreed trays on the surface of the dressing table.

She had been rummaging in a chest of drawers while I'd been surveying what was
in front of me. She got my mirrored attention again by throwing something white
onto the bed then coming up behind me, something black and white, beribboned,
quite small, in one of her hands. I couldn't make out what it was.

She caught my eye in the mirror, and stopped dead behind me, the thing in her
hands, whatever it was, out of sight now. She held my gaze until I dropped my
eyes.
"You were eavesdropping when my friend Veronica and I were talking that day,
weren't you?"
"I .. I don't know what you're.." I started but stopped as she gave me a rap on
the head with her knuckles.
"Don't lie!" She snapped. "I won't have you lying to me! You were listening,
weren't you!"
"Yes Maria."

She nodded approvingly. "That's better. Learn something, did you? Learn that
some maids know how to deal with Sissy masters? Learn that Maria was just too
stupid to see what was in front of her face all along? You, being so nice and
helpful. So sweet!" She pursed her mouth mockingly and batted her eyelashes at
me. "Veronica sure knew a lot about Sissy men, and how to take advantage of
them, didn't she?"
"But I was being helpful." I protested.
She shrugged. "Maybe so. But I couldn't understand why the 'master'" she
tittered. "- Some master! Of the house was so pleasant to me - the maid, for
Chrissake! Then I started noticing how Madame treated you - more like the
little woman than anything else. Tell me, do you know of any other men who's
wives make them shave every inch of their bodies below the neck - so's they can
be nice and smoooooth?"

I didn't answer. Hung my head in shame. She continued. "And, while I was
serving up the drinks and stuff for Madame's ladies club? I heard her talk
about power in business and personal relationships - pecking orders and all that
stuff. Didn't dawn on me for a long time - but that's what she practices on
you. You're under her in the pecking order. You're her hen. Her own, sweet,
obedient little hen. She's the cock of the walk around here, right?"

I hung my head even lower. Didn't answer.
"But see?" Marie continued. "I started to figure. Where do I come in? Where
am I in this pecking order?"
I had to look up at her. "But - but, you're the maid."
She smiled prettily at me, her eyes flashing brightly. "Right!" She said.
"Right first time! Give the little lady a coconut!"
Then she patted my head approvingly as I shriveled inside. She'd referred to
me, openly, as a 'lady'. I hadn't protested. Couldn't.

She now brought the object in her hand into plain view. It took me a second or
two before I realized that it was a rather ornate maid's cap. A round, frilled,
white cap with a shirred black and white rim. Two wide black on white ribbons
extending down the back.
"And here's the favor I wanted to ask you." She muttered, her concentration on
straightening out the ribbons for a moment.
"What favor? What are you talking about?" I said.

"Why. Isn't it obvious?" She said, lifting it up and putting it on my head,
taking her time and smiling at me all the while. "I need to see how this thing
looks on. I can sew things like it no problem, but I really never get much
chance to see how they look on someone. I thought you wouldn't mind?"
"But .. Isn't it a maid's cap?" I gasped.
"Of course it is. Don't you think it looks pretty? Now just hold still for a
sec while I pin it in place. Oh damn! I thought your hair would be long
enough.. Wait. Just a second. I think I've got just the thing."

She reached into a drawer at the side of the table and pulled out what became
immediately apparent as a platinum blonde wig. Deftly she pulled the cap off my
head and, before I knew it, I was wearing the wig and she was arranging long
blonde tresses down the side of my face, still smiling. I had hardly time to
breathe a complaint before the maid's cap was back on top of my head, bobbi pins
anchoring it in place.
"Please Marie?" I sighed weakly. "Please don't do this. Please?"

"Sorry dear. But we've got to establish our pecking order. Don't we?" She
laughed softly. "As a matter of fact? Why don't you say 'cluck cluck' my
little hen. Say 'cluck cluck' to your new little rooster. C'mon now!"
"Cluck cluck." I managed.
"Thassagirl!" She crowed, reaching behind her and pulling the white object from
the bed. "Now let's see how the apron and cap go together, eh Sissy?"

"Marie? Please? I'll admit that you're tougher than me. Is that what you
want? I'll admit that you deserve to be higher than me in the pecking order.
But please? Please don't humiliate me any more."

She made an impatient tutting noise. "For goodness sake! Would you stop your
complaining! Stand up. Let me put it on for you. I don't want to muss your
hair. That's better!"
And I was now wearing a maid's apron. Full skirted, white, ruffles at the hem
and breast line with black ribbon threaded through to match the cap. She tied
the bow at the back, then stepped back.
"My my!" she crowed. "Don't you look sweet? I'd have never thought how pretty
a girl you'd make." Saying this, she took hold of my shoulder and turned me to
face her. "Why don't you just drop me a curtsey. Say 'thank you miss Marie'
eh? Will you do that for me?"

I took the sides of the apron in my hands and bobbed a quick curtsey. "Thank
you miss Marie." I said.
She grinned widely. "I just got an idea. Why don't you just bend over. Get
that cute little ass up in the air. Go on now!". As she was saying this, she
started to walk behind me.
"Like this?" I asked, bending over from the waist.
"Yes. But a little more. That's better. Now just hold it there. Now? I want
you to start clucking. Don't stop until I tell you. C'mon now. Let's hear
your little clucks. C’mon. Be my little hen."
"Cluck cluck cluck" I began, wondering what she had in mind. It didn't take
long for me to find out.

Bent over the way I was, looking backwards, I could only see her from about the
waist down. Suddenly I saw her pull her full skirts up and advance right up to
my backside. Then I felt as much as saw the skirts being placed over my back,
then her groin being pressed into my rear.

Her arms snaked around my waist, and the next thing I felt was her pulling away
a little, then banging her groin into my back again.
"Come on now Sissy. Cluck for Marie. Come on now. Louder!"
And, as I 'cluck-clucked' submissively, she started crowing like a cockerel and
going through all the motions of riding me - without any penetration of course.
I knew that I had reached the ultimate degradation, my wife's personal maid
making it obvious how womanish I'd become. In addition, as if I wanted to
convince myself even more of this, I started to cry.

"Oh, please don't cry." She said in mock sympathy after another minute or so.
"Did Marie hurt her little hen?. C'mon, you can straighten up now. So come sit
down and I'll dry your tears for you."

She sat beside me on the bench, and twisted me to face her. True to her word,
she used a couple of tissues to dry my face. Then she picked up a lipstick tube
from the table, removed the cap and rotated it until a crimson tip showed.
"Now purse these pouty little lips of yours." She told me. "Bet you look even
prettier when I make them nice and red."

I did as she said, even though my lips were still trembling from all of the
humiliation she was putting me through. She used one hand to hold me under the
chin and pulled my face towards her. I closed my eyes in shame when I felt the
lipstick actually touch my lips. But then, for some reason, she paused. I
waited for a few seconds before opening my eyes again. The lipstick was now
less than an inch away from my mouth, but her face held a very thoughtful
expression.

Then, was I to be let off? She let go my chin and recapped the lipstick before
slowly putting it back down on the table.
"I just had a thought." She said. "Quite interesting."

I tried to look as interested as I could.
"This is all wrong." She muttered to herself. Then she placed both hands on my
shoulders and turned me to face her even more directly.
"Do you consider me feminine?" She asked after a moments thought.
"Oh yes Marie." I answered.
"Pretty?"
"Absolutely. Very pretty."
"Not masculine at all?"
I wasn't sure what she wanted to hear, but guessed correctly. "Oh no. Not at
all."
"And you? Are you masculine?"

From the corner of my eye I could see my reflection, the little maid's cap
perched on my peroxide 'hair', the frilled apron. I licked my lips.
"Not very, I guess." I said, blushing.
"Not very? Does that mean you think you're somewhat masculine?"
"Well .. I .."
"Think you're more masculine than me?" She interrupted quickly.

I didn't know what she wanted me to say, but guessed. "No. Not at all." I
stammered quickly.
She smiled happily and touched my face lightly with the tips of her fingers.
Then she spoke again.
"So? Didn't you just say a moment ago that I was very pretty and not masculine
at all. Right?"
I nodded dumbly.
"And then you admitted that you're not as masculine as me. You did say that,
didn't you?"
Again, I could only nod.

She leaned away from me on the stool as if to get a better view.
"Look at me." She said mildly. "Am I properly dressed?"
I had no idea of where she was going with her line of questions. Took another
guess. "Oh yes Marie. Very properly. That's a very pretty uniform you've got
on."
She preened. "Yes. Made it myself. Did you know I made my own uniforms, most
of my clothes, lingerie as well?"
I could only shrug. "Honestly? No. I didn't know that."

She nodded. "But getting back to business. Do you feel that you're properly
dressed?"
"I guess so - at least I think so."
"But, if you're more feminine than me, shouldn't you be wearing a pretty dress
too - I mean, an even prettier dress than the one I'm wearing? And pretty
lingerie - and stockings - and high heels. Wouldn't that be the proper thing
for you to be wearing? I mean, that’s feminine, is it not? Maybe some makeup
and perfume as well?"
I could see the way she was going now. "Please Marie? Please don't.."

"Sissy?" She said firmly, ignoring my plea. "Cluck cluck for me please. Go
over there and stand by the chair. C'mon now. Be a good girl!"
And seconds later I was back being 'ridden' again.
After she was finished, I was only too agreeable to take my apron and cap - and
all my other clothes off with the exception of my underpants. As I undressed,
she was pulling what looked like frothy black underwear from a drawer.

Grinning, she held up a black bra. "Isn't this pretty?" She asked.
"Yes. Very pretty." I managed to get out.
"Like to try it on? Bet you would."
I nodded, knowing to deny it would just lead to more embarrassment.
"Oh c'mon Sissy! You can do better than that! Say 'please can I borrow that
pretty bra? I'd like to try it on'."
"Please can I borrow that pretty bra, I'd like to try it on." I said.

She hid her mouth with a hand, giggling. "But this is a girl's bra. Wouldn't
you feel funny wearing it?"
I could only shake my head.
"Ok then. If you're absolutely sure? Here." She waited while I did nothing
but blush and she handed it to me.

I slid my arms through the loops. She came around to my back and fastened it.
Then she adjusted the straps to fit. I stood, blushing fiercely as she stuffed
the bra cups with some tissues from her dressing table.

The next item was a matching satin, lace edged full slip. Again I was put
through the exercise of asking for it. After that, I slipped it on over my
body. The lace hem came down to just below my knees.

I had hopes for a minute that she was going to allow me to wear my own
undershorts, but this was not to be.
"Now you can take these ugly jockey shorts off." She smiled. "Just reach up
under your slip, and pull them down eh? Have to get you into something that'll
match, like these gorgeous little things." She said, holding up the matching
panties.

Finally, after a great deal of pleading on my part - and agreeing that yes, the
clothes I was putting on were feminine, but they were really what I wanted to
wear, I stood in front of Maria wearing panties, bra, slip, garter belt and
smoky dark nylons, with seams running straight down my legs. Then she asked if
I'd like to go over her knee "Not for a real spanking," she said. "I mean, you
haven't been naughty or anything like that. In fact, you've been really sweet.
But just a sort of ceremonial exercise? Impress on you of who's boss? Really
establish our pecking order"

I smiled weakly, but agreed that it would probably be a good idea for us to
firmly establish for once and for all, who was the dominant, and who was the
submissive in our new relationship. She sat down, allowing me to lay myself
prone over her knees. I slithered around for a few minutes then, squealing and
giving genteel little kicking motions, I felt her lifting the hem of my slip and
start to spank me on my panties.
"Liked that, did you?" She grinned, looking at the bulge in my slip after she
let me up. "Well, you'll really like what you're going to do next. Come on over
to the wardrobe and pick yourself out a nice pretty uniform dress. C'mon now,
there's a girl."

Standing there, holding up various maid's dresses in front of me, I knew I made
a most feminine picture, sometimes holding the dress beneath my chin, while I
draped the skirts around my legs, checking the hem lengths.
After looking at five or six, I opted for a royal blue one, full skirted, with a
square cut neckline and full sleeves that came down to the elbow and then tied
in place with ribboned ties. White lace ruffles bordered the hem, neckline, and
sleeves. The back had lacing eyelets all the way down to the waist.

"Great choice!" She complimented me. "It'll be gorgeous on. But put it down
for now."
"But I thought you wanted me to wear it." I said, confused.
"Of course I do sweetie!" She confirmed. "But we gotta get your petticoat on.
A dress with a bouffant skirt like that really requires one, so we'll just add
the finishing touches, eh?"

The petticoat she brought out for me was plain at the bodice, but more than made
up for that in the layers of full frilled tulle alternating with taffeta. Maria
actually started giggling as she slipped it over my arms and head.
"You know?" She laughed. "I can't get over this. Here you are, letting me make
you into a little woman. I'd never have believed it. That afternoon with
Veronica telling me all about a little pantywaist boss she'd had, and how she
used to boss him around. I don't know what made me think you were eavesdropping
on our talk, but when I snuck up to the door and opened it quickly, there you
were - all blushes. Just like now - though you're a lot prettier now. Aren't
you? "

And now, it was time for me to put on the last item of femininity - the dress.
She undid the lacing that closed the back, and widened the room in the bodice.
Then she lifted the skirt so that it was open directly in front of me. "Dive
into this dear." She told me. "Make sure you get your arms in through the
holes for the sleeves."

Obediently, I put my arms into a sort of 'diving' position and entered the
dress. Inside of the cave of material for only a second or so, I had a blinding
insight into what I was allowing this young woman to do to me. I even
considered putting up a struggle. It was too late though. My arms found the
sleeve holes and slid through, and my head emerged from the neckline. I was
wearing my first dress.

Maria wasted no time, tightening the laces that bound me into the garment at the
back, then tied them with a quick bow. Just as quickly she tied the ribbons at
the sleeves into little bows, then helped me into a crisp white lacy apron, then
pinned the ribboned maid's cap onto my hair to complete the picture.
"Oh how yummy you look." She enthused, stepping back to view me. "Here. Go
and look at yourself in the mirror. Twirl around. That's it! There, isn't the
dress beautiful when it bells out like that. Don't you just love the sound of
the taffeta?"

Yes, this new force in my life was making me do what I was doing. At the same
time though, a current of pleasurable sensuality had started to course through
my body from almost the beginning of her assault on my masculinity. It was now
almost making me breathless with excitement as the feeling of straps rubbing
against my body in places I hadn't thought existed, the satiny feel of the silks
and laces against my shaved body - the actual sounds of the materials -
especially the taffeta, all combined to put me in an almost euphoric state. I
looked, with increasing amazement at the girl in the blue dress with the
bouffant skirt, the frilled edges of her petticoat flashing underneath.

But my excitement was soon replaced by fear. I did fidget in a pleasurable
state while Maria painted my fingernails in a bright shade of crimson. Couldn't
help but let out a girlish giggle when she showed me the lipstick I was going to
wear to match. But I actually did try and complain as my eyebrows were being
plucked down to two feminine slim arches over my frightened eyes. I even
struggled against her when she pierced my ears, but she overcame my weak
resistance easily, hardly breathing harder as she straddled me on the ground,
fitting the new gold posts in through my lobes.
By the time she had finished applying my foundation cream, blusher, eye make up,
lipstick, and perfume, I bore an even more incredible resemblance to a young
girl. Red, sulky lips. Frightened eyes peering out from long lustrous lashes.
A faint pallor behind the touch of blushed cheeks. Soft shades of brown and
blue surrounding the eyes. A miasma - faint but noticeable of a well known
perfume.

As she had worked on me, her bantering tone gradually went away. I think that
even she was impressed by what she had created. She did do one thing though
that broke my mood of increasing confusion.
"Sissy?" She said. "I'm starting to wish I hadn't done this to you now, but
it's too late to worry about. I'm thinking that you're very confused?"

"Yeh." I said softly. "I don't even know what I'm thinking' myself."
"Well. I don't know if this will help or not," she said "but go and get me a
pair of panties from that drawer there, would you Sissy dear?"
I didn't know what she wanted them for, but followed her request by going to the
drawers.
"Any particular color?" I asked.
"Nah. Just as long as they're satiny and lacy."

I found a yellow pair that fit her description. Shut the drawer and turned
around. She had gone to her couch and was sitting there. On arm laying along
the top.
"Bring them over, would you dear? And sit down here beside me." She indicated
that I'd to sit inside her arm. I put the panties into her other hand and sat
down. Her arm encircled my shoulder.
"You're all tense Sissy." She cooed. "Just lean back. Maria knows how to
help."

I leaned back into her arm.
"Now? Normally I'd kiss you and make you feel just fine - but I don't want to
spoil your makeup. So just sit there. Relax - and enjoy."
As she said this, I felt just a slight sensation of 'something' at the hem of my
dress. Then I felt one of her fingernails run lightly up the material of my
stocking, up to my knee. I gasped in surprise and pleasure, and relaxed even
further back into her arm.
"There. Isn't that nice?" She asked, her hand now worming its way up under my
petticoat and slip.

It was incredible. I took a deep breath, but couldn't seem to exhale as her
finger worked its way to the top of my nylons, fidgeted around there for a
second or two, then slid under my panties to my marvelous erection. Sleepily, I
closed my eyes. A tug at the elastic of my panties, then the feel of them being
pulled down about my knees. Then I felt the cool silken feeling of the panties
in her hand as she wrapped them around my penis.

I started stroking one of her breasts with my hand. She drew back a little,
startled I think, then her own hand re-started its magic.
The feelings were beyond description. The soft, gentle touching between us, the
sound and the feel of the materials we wore. Our combined perfumes.
"Ah! The hell with it." I heard her say. "You're gonna have to learn to
repair smudged lipstick sooner or later." And her lips found mine. I kissed
her back, then her tongue was in my mouth. Her hand was stroking my erection
with more force now. I gasped when I came, then shuddered violently. I could
feel her lips opening with her smile.
"There! Feel better now?"
I lay even further back in her arms.
"Oh yes Marie. Thank you. That was lovely." I said honestly.
"Kinda enjoyed it myself." She admitted, smiling.

She wiped me off, and pulled her hand and the yellow panties down from under my
dress. "Not the most hygienic thing to do to you as there's no time for you to
clean up." She said. "But come on. There's lots of work to be done around
here, so pull your panties up, lets get your lipstick freshened, get you some
shoes, and we'll start getting lunch ready." With that, she went and threw the
panties into her laundry hamper in her bathroom, then washed her hands.

I rearranged my clothing then, under her critical eye, repaired my lipstick.
She nodded approvingly, and I blushed with pleasure. She was quite surprised to
find that her shoes were too big for me, but found a pair of Ellen’s that
weren't too high in the heel and fitted quite well. I had the strangest feeling
there in my own bedroom, trying on Ellen's shoes. Try as I would, I couldn't
escape the occasional reflection I saw - a young maid in familiar surroundings.
The pair we finally chose were black with a heel of about one and a half inches.
To tell the truth, I was astonished at how quickly I learned to walk in them.
Not only that, the additional height they gave me was very flattering - at
least, I thought so.

By the time we got back downstairs it dawned on me that Maria had been right.
The release of the sexual tension had done me the world of good. I actually
felt refreshed and full of energy, and thoroughly enjoyed swishing around the
kitchen with her as we prepared lunch for ourselves. I was complimented by the
fact that she made me eat quite a lot less than my usual - "better start
watching your figure" was what she said, but I was extremely complimented by
the fact that she was showing such an interest in me.

We chattered happily as we tidied up after lunch, then I had to give her a hand
with the household chores: vacuuming, dusting, cleaning the silver. The day
was flying by. With the rain still pelting down, I started feeling very snug
and secure in my new uniform and job. Around four o'clock though, I started
getting very nervous, and started looking at the clock frequently.
"What's the matter with you Sissy?" She asked impatiently. "Surely you can't
be needing to be .." She paused tactfully " 'handled' again?"

It took me a second or two to catch her drift. I reddened a deep shade of
crimson.
"Oh no Marie. Not that!" It's just that Ellen should be home pretty soon
and.."
"Who?" She asked coldly. "Who is going to be coming home pretty soon?"
I was totally confused again. "Ellen. Ellen - my wife."
"If I were you, I'd refer to her as 'Madame' or 'the mistress'" Maria informed
me firmly. "I don't think she'll take too kindly to a maid calling her by her
first name." She paused again. "What is that strange expression on your face?"
She asked.

"I thought - I thought.."
"What?"
"That this was just for today.. This morning .. This afternoon." I stammered,
taking hold of my skirts with both hands and shaking the material.
"Well then? You were wrong, weren't you? Come on, we don't have all day.
Better get dinner started."
"But Ellen - mistress - what will she think? What will she do when she sees me
dressed like this?" I cried.
"She's the boss. Can think anything she likes - except I won't have her
thinking that she's got a couple of lazy serving girls. Not going to have her
think that, are we now! C'mon! Or I'll put you over my knee again, and it'll
hurt this time, you can bet on that!"

Horrified now at this new development, I followed Maria's instructions dumbly
for the next hour or so, my whole being permeated with a strange mixture of
dread, humiliation, and yet at the same time a peculiar sense of sexual
excitement. As if to make up for the time flying earlier, it crawled by on
leaden feet. I finally heard the car drive into the driveway.
"Here Sissy. Stand here to take Madame's coat when she comes in. I'll go out
with this umbrella - and don't forget your manners. Curtsey when she speaks to
you. Act properly!" Maria glared at me, and left out into the pouring rain.

I heard Ellen - no, mistress, laughing as the two came running back in through
the door I was holding for them.
"Hello? What's this?" She said, catching sight of me.
"That's Sissy ma'am." Maria said.
"Who?" Madame asked, her attention divided between taking off her coat and
looking at me, with just a trace of puzzled recognition in her eyes.
"Well. Beggin' your pardon ma'am? I call him Sissy. You might want to call
him something else..."
"Him? Him! What on earth are you talking..?"

My wife peered at me, then started to smile. "My my! Here, let me see you.
Spin around for me, would you."
Remembering Maria's admonition I curtsied, then started to turn under Ellen's
scrutiny. Before I did though, I caught the look of amused contempt in her
eyes.
"Stop there." I heard her say when I had turned half way around. I felt my
skirts and petticoats being lifted. She held the layers up for quite a few
seconds. "Yes. Quite. I'm assuming that these are your clothes Maria?"
"Oh yes ma'am - though I hope you don't mind, my shoes were a little big, yours
were a much better fit."

Ellen waved her hand. " No problem. Did he - I mean 'she' give you much
trouble?"
"Oh no ma'am. Let me put her into her dress and undies like a little lamb."
My skirts were dropped, and Ellen put a hand on my shoulder. Turned me back to
face her.
"Well. I don't care for Sissy as a name." She said, shaking her head. "Melissa
sounds much better. You agree Melissa?"
"Yes ma'am." I replied, my spirits dropping, but curtseying politely.
"Very well Melissa. Hang up that wet coat, then come into the parlor. You can
serve Maria and I drinks in there - we have a lot to talk about. Don't we
Maria?"
Maria looked surprised at this friendliness from Madame, but nodded agreeably
and followed her into the parlor.

I hurried so that I wouldn't miss any of the conversation between the two of
them, but I needn't have bothered. They sat, their heads close together,
laughing occasionally. Every so often, Maria would 'suggest' that I go and do
this or that, pertaining to dinner, or Ellen - Madame - would request another
drink. Either way, I didn't learn anything. I was agreeably surprised at how
nice it felt being a servant to my wife, my pretty uniform swirling around me as
I went and fetched the drinks.

Finally Madame called me over. "Melissa? Run up to my bedroom, would you?
Take boxes, bags - whatever. Go into the drawers and closets. Any ugly men's
clothes you find? Pack them away for the Red Cross - and hurry please?"
"Yes ma'am." I said, bobbing a curtsey.
"And Maria?" She continued. "While she’s at it? Why don't you see to whatever's
left of getting dinner to the table? I'm starved."
Maria got up, curtsied nicely, and left the room with me.
"You're doing well." She whispered. "Keep it up. Madame is really impressed!"
I blushed with pleasure at the compliment. Reddened even more as she patted my
posterior approvingly.

I wasn't doing 'exactly' what I had been told, but didn't think Madame would
mind. Knowing of some old suitcases we had, I hurried to get them, then filled
them with my personal belongings - shirts, socks, pants, jackets, underwear. It
didn't take long - I didn't see much sense in being neat about it - I had the
funniest feeling that I wouldn't be using any of these articles for at least a
couple of days. Quickly, I filled the cases then lugged them downstairs. Put
them in the utility room.

When I got back I discovered that Maria had almost finished making dinner. I
also noted that there were two places set at the table. I wondered to myself
whether the mistress would want me to change before taking my place there. I
needn't have worried - Maria was to keep Madame company - I was to serve up the
meal.

They retired to the den with a couple of brandies while I cleared away the table
and got the dishes in the dishwasher. Just as I finished, I heard the tinkle of
the maid's bell. I hurried to the den. Maria wasn't there, just Madame. She
sat on one of the easy chairs. Motioned for me to go and sit on the couch just
across from her. Nervously, I sat down, arranging my skirts as I did so.

"Well Melissa. It looks as if you've had a most interesting day?"
"Oh yes ma'am." I replied.
"You're surprisingly good at playing the girl's part." She said. "I'm quite
impressed. All things considered, I'd say that in a weeks time - maybe even
less, nobody would ever think that you were once a man."
I hung my head, blushing.
"Not that you were ever much of one to begin with," she continued, "but I wish
I'd known about your feminine proclivities. Things might have been different."

She took a reflective sip of her brandy. "I really don't know if you're aware
of it or not, but I've taken up being a girl friend to Dorothy."

She saw my puzzled expression. "Dorothy Cavendish. You know? That divorced lady
we met? Her girl. I decided that I didn't like men at all - especially you.
It did help a little when you started making yourself nice and smooth for me,
but it was probably too late. By that time she was coming on to me, and I found
out that I really enjoyed it."
She looked at me carefully. "But now? Maria has opened up some extremely
interesting considerations. Do you know where she is?"

"I'm sorry ma'am. No."
"Well I'll tell you. She's upstairs in her room moving a few clothes of hers to
a spare bedroom. She's going to be my housekeeper. Know what you're going to
be?"
I shuddered.
"That's right Melissa." She smiled. "My new maid. Won't that be fun! You're
going to get all of Maria's pretty clothes and uniforms - and I'm going to give
you some more pairs of shoes. Maria's room will be your room from now on."
"Please ma'am.." I started.
"But you'll have to learn to sew real quick - to help Maria make scads of new
clothes - and of course, pretty new uniforms for yourself as time goes by. But
just one more thing for you to do." She paused, waiting.
"Yes ma'am?"
"We'll have to make sure that you're really a girl from now on. So stand up and
bend over the arm of that couch. Stick your little tush out into the room and
look at the couch material."
"Like this ma'am?" I said, following her orders.

"Yes. My, you're an obedient little thing, aren't you. So just stay there like
that." She got up and came and sat on the couch at the opposite end of the arm
I was leaning over.
"Maria was telling me that you two were playing hen and cockerel today?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Enjoyed it, did you? Clucking away like a little hen?"
I didn't answer.
"Well? Start clucking for me, would you? Nice and soft like a little plump
hen."

As I clucked, I heard the door open and Maria come in.
Madame was still looking at me, smiling sweetly. Our little hen is all ready
for you Maria. Are you all ready for her?"
"Well? I don't know about this Madame, I've never done anything like it
before."
"Oh I'm sure you'll be very good." Madame said. "I'm sure that Dorothy will be
MOST impressed when she sees how you do. Now keep clucking Melissa, there's a
good little girl."
And, as I clucked, I could feel Maria come up behind me. Feel my dress hem,
petticoat layers and slip being lifted. Then her dress being lifted and laid on
my back, just as before. This time though, there was a difference. A finger was
hooked into my panty elastic, and the next thing, my panties were down about my
ankles.
"Kick your panties off Melissa." I heard Maria say. "That's good!"
Then Maria's legs were in between mine and I was being spread. Obligingly, I
opened up my stance a little, and she moved even closer in behind me.

Then a hand was at the entrance to my backside. Something wet and smooth was
being fingered into my back passage.
"Keep clucking, there's a girl." Maria's voice in my ear sounded softly.
And, as I clucked, something quite hard came inside me with a quick thrust. I
squealed and tried to push away from the couch, but Madame had moved up close to
me, and her hands took hold of mine and held me there. I looked up to see her
eyes widen with amusement as the thing, whatever it was, kept forcing its way
further into my backside.
"Cluck cluck cluck cluck." I cooed softly.
"Cock a doodle doo!" Maria crowed, laughing in delight as her groin started
banging into me.