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By Rosie

 

None of the fllowing are complete – but simply reflect the ideas that a writer goes through before actually finishing a story.  You’ll probably get some kicks though.  Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

Bea

 

1

 

She lurched at me like a lioness. I blocked her first blow, directed at my face, only to allow her the second one. She hit me in the stomach with her right hand as I was still pushing away her left one. With a desperate ‘ooph’ I bent at the waist and tried to protect my stomach with my hands. She struck my face, then held my shoulders. With a slithering sound, her tight skirt rode up and I felt her knee in my stomach. She straightened me up, slapped me and pushed me on the floor. Kicked me a few times with the sharp tip of her high heeled shoes.

“I don’t fucking care whose fucking turn it is!” she panted above me, “I’m not doing the dishes and that’s final. Get it?”

“Okay,” I squealed.

“God, what a fucking wimp I married,” she snarled.

 

She watched me get up and start washing the dishes for a while, then she left. That’s when I began to cry quietly.

 

“Get in here,” she growled from the bedroom.

Roughly, she pulled me in through the door, stripped my t-shirt off and pushed me on the bed.

“Now what, Nigel,” she shouted at me, “Going to run to your mummy like always?”

I stared at her silently as she pulled off my pants and underpants at the same time.

“You mustn’t be so rough on my darling son, Angela,” she imitated my mother, “He’s such a delicate boy. Get up.”

I started rising from bed, but not fast enough for her. She yanked me by the hand and tugged painfully at my hair so that I was looking up at her face.

“Well you know what? I’ve had just about enough with the two of you.”

She turned me around and pushed me back on the bed, this time face on.

“See these?” she said as she shoved a pile of clothes in my face.

I nodded.

“Good. Put them on.”

 

With tears in my eyes, I rummaged through the pile, discarding one item after another, until I found a pair of panties, pink satin ones.

“You must make yourself pretty for Nigel, Angela,” she started imitating my mother again, “after all, you are his wife.”

“Please, Angela,” I cried.

“Shut up and get dressed!” she yelled at me, then continued with her impersonation, “Don’t wear those horrid jeans, put on a pretty dress. And some high heels, they do shape your thighs nicely. Wear some naughty bits underneath, oh God,” she continued with her normal voice, “Even she couldn’t come up with such garbage. You put her up to it, didn’t you?”

I didn’t answer, just sniffled as the silky fabric of the slip slid down my body and stopped at my nylon shod knees.

“How do you like it now, honey?” she hissed, “That dress pretty enough for you? Maybe another petticoat, make it flouncier?”

Choking on my tears, I shook my head.

“Fine, get the shoes on. Let’s see you walk around in four inch heels. Go on, make a few steps.”

I did wobble on my high heels, but not half as much as I expected to. It must have surprised Angela as well.

“Well, well. Presentable, to say the least,” she said, then grabbed my hand.

I squealed in fright and try to pull it away but her grip was too strong. I minced behind her as she led me to the garage.

“Please, Angela,” I started to cry again.

“Get in the car,” she said icily, “Wanted to run to your mummy? Be my guest. I’ll drive you there. It’s about time she saw what a sissy she raised.”

 

2

 

I glanced at the clock, but it really wasn’t any use. My wife could come home any time, so it made perfect sense to be ready. I never could be sure what mood she’d be in after a case like that one. I took a quick look at me in the mirror and thought about whether I should change. Though truthfully, what I was wearing made more importance to me than to her. As long as I didn’t stray from the general borders of her taste and kept my appearance at least presentable if not immaculate, it was okay with her. The long tight skirt seemed quite suitable for that situation and she had always liked the yellow silk blouse I was wearing.

She was very kind and loving when we married and continued to be so right until she got hired by a big law firm. Almost from day one she started being aggressive and abusive. Beside letting out her rage on me, it seemed that she was competing in just about every field. I think that more than half of our fights were about proving that she was physically stronger than me. Once I accepted that and took on my role as the housewife, she became less violent. She still did thrash me once in a while, to let out some of her aggression.

I froze when I heard our front door open.

“Hi, honey,” I said and scurried to her on my high heels, taking her briefcase, “How did it go?”

“Quite alright,” she said, “Want to come to the bedroom?”

“Sure,” I replied.

“We settled out of court,” she started explaining as we walked, “They chickened out and gave us five million.”

“Five million? But that’s great!” I said.

“It’s not bad, considering we probably wouldn’t get much more in trial,” she replied.

We reached the bedroom. She walked in, took off her jacket, threw it on the bed then sat on the bed herself and smoothed her skirt down her thighs.

“So what’s the problem?” I asked as I placed myself across her knees.

“The problem is that I wanted to go to court!” she answered and slapped my skirted ass.

“I wanted a trial! I was all set up to go to court and sue their asses out of everything they had!” she yelled as she kept spanking me.

I was waving my arms, kicking my legs and squealing, more and more sincerely.

“But no, their lawyers had to chicken out just at the last moment! And Frank Spencer, he’s the biggest chicken shit of all. Practically ate out of their hands when he heard we wouldn’t be going to court. God, why are all the men I have to work with such sissies?”

I began to cry. She stopped yelling but kept spanking me for a while. Eventually, she tired out and stopped. I wept on her knees for a minute or so, then wiped my tears and got up.

“You alright?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said. I was sporting a rock hard erection that formed a distinctive bulge in my skirt. I sat next to her, kissed her cheek and caressed her breast.

“Not now, honey, I’m dead tired,” she said as she pushed my hand away, “Run me a bath, will you?”

“Sure,” I said then asked her, “Mind if I change?”

“Of course not,” she said, brushing my cheek.

As the bathtub was filling with hot water, I stripped my clothes to investigate the damage done to my backside. It was a red and felt sore but considering past experiences, I got out easy. It seemed that the ruffled panties under the tight slip did their job. Rubbing my butt with the cooling cream, I wondered for how long would she be falling for the ‘my skirt is too tight to hike up’ trick. Well, I shrugged, can’t risk having her slap my bare butt, I’ll just have to think of something else. I always do.

 

3

 

Time passed quickly as I dusted the house. Matter of fact, I had just finished and decided to pick up the magazines my wife left lying all over the living room floor. As I bent down to the floor, I suddenly felt a hand grope my ass under my skirt. Terrified, I shrieked and turned around. There she was, grinning like a cat who ate the canary.

“Sorry honey, didn’t mean to startle you,” my wife said.

“Well you did. I didn’t hear you come in,” I replied.

And I could tell why – she had taken her shoes off. Still, even in my three and a half inch heels I fell an inch or two short of her barefoot height.

“Been good?” she asked me, wrapping her arms about my waist.

“Of course I have,” I replied.

I squealed again, this time with delightful surprise when she picked me up in her arms and carried me to the bedroom.

“Since you’ve been such a good boy the last few weeks, I thought we’d do something special today,” she softly whispered in my ear.

“Really? What?” I breathed, still clinging to her, even after she had put me down on the bed.

“The thing I do to you? I thought maybe I’d let you do it to me,” she said, blushing.

“You sure?” I asked her, my mind racing with excitement.

“Mm-hmm. Just let me, you know – “she stopped talking and dropped her cream colored pants. Stepped out of them and went to the bathroom. She returned in a couple of minutes, surprisingly still with her panties and stockings on.

“So, where do you want me?” she asked.

I had to laugh at this. My strong willed, forceful wife, who single handedly got me into skits, suddenly so scared and helpless and vulnerable.

“Come here, honey,” I said, stretching my arm out to her, “lie down next to me.”

I watched as she timidly climbed to bed beside me. I kissed her, then rolled her over her side and snuggled into her back. She let out a soft gasp and stiffened.

“Relax, honey,” I breathed in her ear and started rubbing her tummy through her blouse. When I felt she had calmed down a bit, I reached under the silky garment and caressed her breast. Slowly, I slid my hand down again, over her belly this time, right into her panties. She was already excited and I didn’t need to spend too much time down there.

“Let’s get these off,” I said and she lifted her hips to help me pull down her panties.

“Aren’t you going to get undressed too?” she asked.

“Shh, honey, relax,” I said again and played with her moistness some more. After a while, I started sliding down her back, hiking up my skirt as I did so. When my groin was finally level with hers, I pulled my own panties down as well. I felt her stiffen again as my erection touched her buttocks. Slowly, I probed her ass with my finger, made sure that she had lubricated her well enough. I arched my hips backwards a little then began moving back forward, slowly entering her.

She sighed in pain, but I was too excited to whisper soothing words to her. Instead, I moaned with lust as she tightly clasped my shaft. In a while the tension eased up and the pain in her cries was replaced by pleasure. I was steadily thrusting in and out, with my hands running between her breast and her crotch. When I felt I wouldn’t be able to last much longer, I pressed my cheek to her back and thrust myself in her as far as I could. With her soft buttocks against my groin, she shrieked as I filled her with wave after wave of hot semen. I rested for a few moments before I pulled out of her, then rolled over on my back, delightfully exhausted.

 

“How did you like it?” I asked her after she had come back from the bathroom.

“It hurt at first, I can’t deny it,” she said, “and I wondered why in the world did you let me do this to you night after night. But after a while, I found out why.”

Now it was my turn to blush. I got out of bed, rearranged my skirt and tucked my blouse back in to cover my embarrassment.

“Hey,” she gripped my arm as I headed for the door, “where do you thing you’re going?”

“I was just – “ I began, wiggling joyfully as her other hand found its way under my skirt.

“We’re not done here,” she said and let me go. Then she handed me her dildo.

“Strap this on me, will you?” she said, “But first, freshen your make up. And maybe use that pink lipstick instead.”

 

4

 

I spotted my sister right away – with her amazonesque physique she was hard to miss even in the bustling airport crowd – but I couldn’t see my son anywhere. It was only after she cried ‘Edna!’ and waved at me that I noticed him. I could hardly recognize him! And no wonder, dressed as he was. Black tight miniskirt, black leather jacket, black high heeled shoes, leopard print hose. His hair had grown quite a bit and although it was quite dark from the beginning, it seemed that it was dyed jet black. His eyes were heavily made up and his lips were painted brown with an even darker outline.

“Ohhh,” I cried as I embraced him, then sunk in my sister’s bear hug.

“My god, Priscilla,” I said as she finally let me go, “You have him looking like a hooker. I didn’t even recognize him.”

“Oh come on, Edna, stop overreacting. You didn’t expect him in anything like the dress you sent him off in, did you?” she laughed.

“Of course not, it’s just, you know, they grow so quickly,” I said, then turned to my son, “Had a good time with aunt Priscilla?”

“Oh I did,” he said and I noticed that not only his voice not only hadn’t gotten any deeper, it sounded even softer.

“You’re coming along quite nicely I see,” I said, unbuttoning his jacket.

“Edna!” Pricilla slapped my hand away, “Behave yourself. Can’t have you groping the poor boy’s tits in public. Anyway, I told you that cream would work.”

“I know you did, but I never expected the results to be anything like that,” I said.

“Well, there we are,” she replied, “Now let’s get going, shall we. I’m starved and Betty has tons of new clothes she can’t wait to model for you. She’s been going on how much you’d like them the whole flight.”

“Betty?” I asked amusedly.

“Can’t keep calling him Robert if he looks like that. Can’t keep calling him ‘him’ either, matter of fact,” she explained, “So unless you object, I think it would be best if we call her Betty from now on.”

“Sure,” I said, “well, come on, Betty. Me and your sister are just dying to see your new clothes.”

 

5

 

My boyfriend’s mother had gone on a holiday alone and left him in charge of his younger sister. Invited me to stay over and keep him company. I wondered why he was so nervous about it – I though it was a nice opportunity for us to spend some quality time. Soon found out, as things didn’t quite took the expected turn of events.

There we were, seating in front of the TV.

“Bring me a soda,” Jenny, his sister snapped.

James rose from his seat and went to the kitchen, his mother’s silk dress fluttering about his nylon shod legs as he swayed on the four inch heels.

“He looks good like that, doesn’t he?” she asked.

“Yeah. I never would have guessed,” I admitted, “How long have you been doing this?”

“Doing what? Dressing him in mom’s stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“This is the first time,” she said.

“No kidding?”

“Yeah. I have been spanking him for some time, though. He used to be such a pest when we were little, always picking on me. When I could finally overpower him, I beat him up a couple of times, but then he just stopped fighting back and it wasn’t any fun anymore. I started spanking him when he misbehaved or sometimes just like that. Out of boredom. It’s quite practical, you know, I only need five minutes alone with him. As for the dressing, I don’t know when mom will leave us alone for so long again.”

“Why should she?”

“What do you mean? How can I dress him if she’s in the house? She’d freak out.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” I said.

“How do you know?” she asked.

“I don’t, but neither can you know she won’t like it either. Not unless we try.”

“You mean keep him in skirts until she comes home?”

“I mean exactly that. The least she can do is buy him some new clothes. Maybe he looks okay in this dress but it’s almost a formal gown. We can’t send him to the store wearing that. And the suits he was trying on yesterday?”

“What’s wrong with them?” Jenny asked.

“They’re elegant and all,” I said, “I’ll give them that. Especially the gray one. But come on – he’s only nineteen!”

 

6

 

Letter to the editors

 

Dear Sirs,

 

In the recent issue of your magazine there was a column by your columnist Steve McFurlough in which he claims that men are still the stronger sex, at least physically.

Well, not in my family, they aren’t. My husband and I have three beautiful children, two sons and a daughter who are 19, 17 and 16 years old respectively. Ever since our daughter entered puberty, she has been physically stronger than both of the boys and even longer than that has she been able to overpower the younger boy. She is also quite bigger than them. The children don’t take that in any other than the most natural way – I am stronger (and taller) than my husband as well and they have often witnessed how, in moments of affection, I have joyfully picked him up in my arms or swung him around me, although my husband is otherwise of average size and strength. Of course, my strength isn’t purely genetic, I am a regular visitor of the gym. My husband is as well, but instead of lifting weights, I prefer that he does endurance training. I want him to be fit and full of energy as I am quite demanding in the bedroom.

I realize that this is not the average situation, but it is no product of mere chance either. Every woman can have such a family if she overcomes the prejudice of comparing my methods of planned parenthood to breeding animals. Then again, I do have to admit certain similarities, but truthfully, I see nothing wrong with that. If such methods produce the most noble of horses or dogs or cats, why shouldn’t it work on human beings?

I come from a family of strong women, I have three sisters who’s strength is equal to mine and my mother was also stronger than my father. I don’t have any brothers, but if I did, I’m sure they’d resemble their father more than the women of our family.

When starting my own family, I of course wanted to carry on our long tradition. There are two things I’d like to point out to women who are potentially interested in having such offspring themselves.

The first one is the most obvious – choice of partner. As I’m bigger than the average woman, finding a smaller and weaker husband posed as no great difficulty, however, I’d like to mention that marrying a man of lower-than-average size wouldn’t be wise in my case, for two reasons. The first of them is a genetic one – you never know which child will get which genes. It could just as easy happen that the girl would get her father’s built and the boy the built of his mother. Therefore, by finding a partner that is only slightly smaller than me, the children have more or less an equal chance at the gene pool. The other reason is social awareness – as I can afford to pick my partner from a wider choice of men, it wouldn’t seem fair to take a dainty one, because that way there’d be less available to the women who don’t quite have my constitution.

The second thing is nutrition. By careful choice of food I fed my children, I raised two lovely slim boys and a big, strong girl. Mind you, I didn’t starve my sons nor overfed my daughter. They have all received the usual amount of medical attention and none were found to be over or underfed. It’s just that when preparing meals for my sons, I used a lot of fruit and vegetables rather than meat whereas when feeding my daughter, I used eggs, red meat and such. None of them complained, in fact our oldest son has already announced that he is a vegetarian.

As I mentioned, men aren’t exactly the strongest sex in our family. Nor they are at our neighbors to the left, nor at our neighbors to the right. Our neighbor to the left is a big woman, too, but she married a lot smaller man. They don’t have any sons, but fortunately, their two lovely daughters are growing up to be just like their mother, except that they, especially the older one, inherited their father’s gentle features.

Our neighbor to the right is not as big as me, she’s rather a woman with a petite figure and therefore couldn’t hope on finding a husband that would be smaller than her, so she married one that is closely sized to mine. Instead of physical superiority, she keeps him in line with feminization. Many women brag that they wear the pants in their homes – our neighbor does so both figuratively and literary. Even before they were married she had him in various items of female clothing from time to time, but after their wedding he’s been living as a full time woman. They have a darling little son. It’s too early to tell who the boy will resemble physically, but one thing is certain – it will be a cold day in hell before he is allowed anything but girls’ clothes.

The dress code in our house is more relaxed, our children are allowed to wear what they wish. Except on Sundays, that’s when the men of our family put on their prettiest dresses and we take a stroll through the town. I’d like to point out that I don’t go for that gender role reversal business I’ve been hearing about. Even though on such occasions my boys look like girls, that doesn’t mean me and my daughter put on fake beards and suits and ties. We still wear skirts and high heeled shoes, if we wish to. The reason why I make sure that my husband and sons transform themselves into pretty, feminine creatures no one could take for anything else than women, is to avoid any unwanted attention and to save them the embarrassment of being spotted as men in skirts in the middle of our town. However, those who know us have little trouble of recognizing them as men. Certain clues give them away – their dresses are often in pastel shades and more flouncy than those of me or our daughter, their make up is more pronounced and after all – they are daintier than us. In fact, on our street, when you see a couple where both are in women’s clothes, it’s a sure bet that the smaller one is the man.

I don’t intend to brag when I say that our family is a very happy one. There are no loud arguments or fights as they are common in other homes. True, this balance relies on physical power and some might argue that this is wrong. But let me tell you this – before our daughter had grown into the shape she is now in, the children were fighting constantly. Once our girl grew enough that she easily overpowered the boys, they simply accepted her as the dominant one and haven’t fought since. The boys do get in each other’s hair once in a while, but their sister always pulls them apart before the thing escalates. As for my husband – I try not to use physical force on him. In the early days of our marriage, I did engage in a few wrestling contests with him, just to put him in his place. Ever since, when he does get out of line, I spank him on his backside in the privacy of our bedroom. I don’t want our children to see him punished, however I DO want to see him act obediently and submissively towards me. That way the boys will know how they’re expected to behave with their wives and our daughter will know what she has to demand from her husband. As for the way to achieve that, I prefer that she finds her own. Of course, I’ll always be willing to give her any sort of advice.

That is also what I’m offering to your readers. I have left my address at the editorial board, any young lady that wishes to follow my suit is more than encouraged to contact me. As for the author of your column – I wonder why has he used nothing but statistics to prove his point this time. He is usually very eager to share his personal experience on any given subject. Could it be that he is hiding something?

 

Sincerely yours,

Clara Miller.

 

Dear Miss Miller,

 

We were very pleased to receive your letter. With your permission, we would like to publish an article about your family and, as you put it, your street, somewhere in the near future. As for our columnist, the author’s mother’s response preceded yours and shed some new light on the subject. Although we regret to announce that Mr. McFurlough will discontinue writing for us, we are pleased to tell you we have hired a ‘new’ columnist that goes by the name ‘Wendy’. If you haven’t done so yet, we invite you to read her column on page seven and, by all means, take a close look at the full length picture of her. Do you find any similarity?

 

With respect,

Sarah Philips,

Editor.

 

7

 

Come on, honey, you’ve been in the bathroom forever. If you don’t come out in the next twenty seconds, I’m coming in.

That’s better. You just need a bit of encouragement, don’t you. Don’t be so shy, you look lovely. These pajamas look very nice on you.

I know they’re women’s pajamas, they are mine, you know. And that pink is not the most masculine color, but other than that – they have hardly any lace at all.

Well, if that’s still the way you feel about it, I might have something in less feminine colors. Maybe you’d like to swap your jammies for a nice blue nightie. It is frilly and lacy, but at least it’s not pink, right? Didn’t think so either.

Are you wearing the panties I gave you underneath? Did you tuck like I told you to? If it’s so embarrassing, maybe I should just see for myself?

Too late, honey, I want you to show me. No, no, keep the panties on. Turn around. Now spread your legs out a little and bend over.

Yes, I’m satisfied, no need for that tone. And yes, you can put the pajamas back on.

It’s not that short, and anyway, you have nice legs. Especially now that you’ve started keeping them smooth and shiny. Which reminds me, are you using the other cream as well?

Oh the poor baby, it makes his nipples sore. Well guess what? My nipples are sore for a week each month. You’ll just have to endure it for a little.

Anyway, what are you doing still standing there? Come to bed.

Playing hard to get, are we? Well, this way, at least you’ve got your ass exposed.

Oh don’t be such a cry baby, I only slipped in one bloody finger. No, no, don’t turn around now. Might as well keep your back turned towards me. This can be nice, too. You do feel nice in your silky jammies, you know.

These panties really do they work, don’t they. I know they’re tight, that’s the whole point. Look, they just push your weenie back between your legs. There’s only a nice soft mound where it used to be.

You like it when I touch you like that, don’t you?

Keep quiet, if you want to, but you don’t really have to answer me. It may not be that easy to tell, but it’s getting bigger, isn’t it? You know, with my hand between your legs like that, it’s just like how women play with ourselves. Guess you have a pussy now down there, don’t you?

Crying again, honey? Come on, I’m only teasing, I didn’t mean to hurt you.

It’s funny you know. That night you were stupid enough to attack me? I spanked you for it afterwards, and real hard, but all in all, I’m glad you did it. Otherwise, how would I know my husband is such a weak little sissy? Who knows how much it would take for me to put you over my knees then? And make you wear panties and keep yourself hairless? Just think of all the fun we’d miss out.

My, my, Harold, you certainly are enjoying this. I think I could reach it from the other side. Let me see. Yep, here it is. How does it feel to have a cock poking between your buttocks? I know it’s your own, but still…

And still just a little mound up front. I’ll say, these panties are just what I was looking for. Now that we can get rid of your bulge, there’s really no obstacles.

How do you mean, what obstacles? Oh, silly me. Forgot to tell you. Doesn’t matter. Tomorrow, I’m taking you shopping. First of all, we’ll get you a few more pairs of such panties, then we’ll buy you some nice new clothes. After you’ve changed, we’ll pay a few visits.

Oh, I don’t know. Well, with your new improved figure, you’ll just have to put on a tight skirt. Maybe a short one with high heels, to show off your legs too. A frilly blouse, or maybe a dress. We’ll see tomorrow, anyway. Don’t interrupt me. Now where was I?

Oh, the visits. Yes, and once you’re all dolled up in your tight skirt, we’re going to make rounds to all the women you’ve been nasty to in the last days. My mother for starters. And yours. Judy, my brother’s girlfriend. The girls in your office, I mean, the office where you used to work. And of course, your sister and her girlfriend. I don’t know how could you ever be so mean to them.

Don’t know, why do you ask? Well, I guess it make sense, no need in arousing more attention than necessary. I can’t call you Harold if you’ll be dressed like that. How does Heather sound?

I’m glad you like it, looks like your coming to your senses after all. Good point, Heather, and good idea. Of course you can borrow one of my dresses. I don’t know. Which one would you like? The black one with polka dots? I don’t know. To tell you the truth, I’d rather see you in the blue a-line skirt I wore yesterday. Blue shoes, of course. How does three inches sound? Think you can manage? And you know that pink blouse of mine? With the short elasticized sleeves. Yeah, that’s a nice one, and some blue hose…

Heather! Look at the mess you’ve made! Well, there’s no use in apologizing, go and rinse out your panties and my pajamas.

Looks like you’ll wear the nightie tonight after all.

 

8

 

“What do you mean, how is my mother treating me lately?” I moaned to my wife, “Isn’t this enough?” I stood up so she could get a good look at me.

My wife Carol hit a good business deal which required her to stay out of town throughout the weeks. To earn even more money and – more importantly, to score some brownie points with her CEO, she leased her our house and decided that I should stay with her mother in the mean time. I didn’t want to, of course, but my wife isn’t a person that you’d really want to stand against. She’s just like her mother, though possibly in a different way. To me, her mother was even worse. She’s a big lady, strong, but appears nice. The problem is, though, she always though of me as a child rather than an adult, and not very manly. I was very apprehensive when I moved in, but Carol inculcated to keep her happy.

Susan was a hard woman to please, apparently. She just couldn’t help throwing her weight around and regularly demonstrating me how much stronger she was than me. Once she had thus established I wasn’t much of a man, the rest followed quickly. I was assigned to her kitchen where I had to wear an apron at all times. I looked kind of pale in her opinion and so she bought me new aprons, all of them frilly, full skirted and generally feminine, but most importantly, they had pockets in which I could keep my powder compact and blusher. Lipstick was soon added to my set of essentials and later on eyeliner, eye shadow and mascara. She began kissing me and groping me, reaching under the skirts of my aprons. Although we didn’t have sex, I shared her bed, wearing a frilly nightgown. To keep her company in the night and as I said, we didn’t have sex, but she did like to cuddle a lot. Often, I’d have to serve her breakfast in bed, wearing only an apron. Eventually, she made me wear a bra and panties. Only as I served her breakfast first, but the next time, I had to wear them throughout the day, making sure I used more than the usual amount of make up. Gradually, a slip was introduced to the ensemble, rendering my pants useless. Frilly blouses and high heels seemed only natural.

Three months after I had moved in, I stood on vertiginously high heels in front of my wife, dressed in a pleated knee length red skirt and a white blouse with full, diaphanous sleeves and to top it all, a white ladies’ hat with a red ribbon around it. My face was relatively heavily made up, with a thick coat of blood red lipstick on my lips.

“Oh, this is old news to me, honey,” she waved dismissingly, “And anyway, you look lovely. A bit too heavy on the lipstick, but you’ll learn. The skirt is very nice, though. I meant if there was any new development?”

I felt my legs weaken and knees tremble. Of course there was new development, when hadn’t it been? It’s just that normally, it was much easier. It all showed on the outside and I couldn’t hide it, although I was devastated the first time Susan made me wear a dress in front of my wife.

I sat back down in my chair nervously.

“You look rather pale, darling,” my wife said, though I couldn’t tell if she was being earnestly worried or just mocking me, “There’s obviously something troubling you. Why don’t you come over here and tell Carol all about it?”

That really wasn’t a question and I shyly, but quickly slid off my chair and climbed to her lap. As she indicated what she wanted by taking firmly hold of my chin, I put my head down on her shoulders.

“There. Now tell me what has my horrible mother done to my poor husband now?”

I hesitated for a moment.

“Tell me,” she said less kindly, pinching me in my upper arm, “Has she spanked you yet?”

I looked at her with surprise.

“She has. How do you know?”

“Bare hand or did she use a paddle,” she asked, ignoring my own question.

“Both,” I confessed, tears welling behind my delicately painted eyelids.

“How did she do it the first time? Did she have to force you over her knees or was telling you to lie down enough?”

“She had to force me,” I said, then burst into tears, “I though she was just kidding, but she just pulled me and-“

I couldn’t continue. Still, as embarrassing what I told her was, more was to follow. And a nagging little thought started burning in my brain. How come she was never surprised at what happened. Didn’t even flinch an eyelid when she first saw me in a dress, just complimented my shoes. And even before, it was almost as if she’d expected me to be in an apron or when Susan boasted at how good a masseur I had become, how I climb on her back before she falls asleep and rub her back, my nightgown riding up to my waist.. Only that the actual term she had used was masseuse.

“This was all your idea, wasn’t it? You put her up to it?” I said as my crying ceased to some extend.

“My, my, what a smart little husband you are. Did you figure out that just now?” she said, this time not hiding the mocking tones in her voice.

“Why, Carol?” I said, starting to cry again.

“You’ll find out very soon,” she said, “But first, I have some good news. We’re moving back home.”

My heart sprang with joy. It seemed that I instantly forgot all of my recent humiliations.

“Really?” I chirped, almost springing from her lap, “When? How? Really?”

“Really, honey, I’m taking you home right now,” she replied.

“And your mother?” I began carefully.

“My mother stays here,” she laughed, “She won’t hurt you anymore.”

“I’ll go pack my stuff,” I said.

“That’s what my mother’s just doing,” she replied.

“Well, at least I’ll go and change,” I offered.

“I don’t see why,” she replied, “But suit yourself.”

“Carol, I can’t go home dressed like this,” I said.

“Okay,” she said, “It is a bit over the top. Maybe that floral dress you’ve worn last time would work better. Now, you still haven’t told me all of the news yet.”

My blood ran cold as she effortlessly turned me around on her lap, lifted up skirts and pulled down my panties.

“Hmm,” she said as she toyed with the base of my butt-plug, “She’s only got to number three. Looks like I’ll have to break you in tonight.”

 

9

 

It took me some time to recover from the thorough eating out Carol gave me. None of us ever intended to have sex at that moment but we couldn’t really help it. Talking about Carol’s husband got us soooo hot. In fact, the closer the day she’d bring him home drew, the more the details of his near past aroused us. I remember when she told me how her mother got him to wear swishy aprons around the house – I just laughed then. She might have even been offended by my reaction, I’m afraid. However, last week was a whole different story. Knowing she’d been at her mother’s was enough for me to feel a pleasant tingling between my legs. I couldn’t keep my hands off her and when she finally whispered in my ear about how succulent his ass looked in the tight silk dress that he wore, all I could do was to clench my arms and legs around her as a powerful orgasm shook my body.

I glanced at the clock, I should be getting dressed. At first I thought of wearing one of my business suits – one I like to put on when I know I’ll be spanking one of my men in the office. Stern lines, strict colors. I just love the looks on those guys’ faces when they see the dark blue skirt as I walk into my office. They just know one of them will lie down across it before lunch time. Or that grey slacks. Then I changed my mind. The poor thing will be scared enough already, I thought, better try to make this as pleasant as possible for him.

I hope he hasn’t seen Carol in this dress before, I thought as I zipped myself up in a lovely lilac silk dress I had bought for Carol. It made me look as non-threatening as I could be, in it’s long flowing skirts, the puffy elasticized sleeves, the tight bodice and the frilled, scooped neckline. Nah, he couldn’t have, I only bought it a month ago and Carol didn’t have the habit of dolling up for her husband. In fact, she has been letting her work wardrobe mix too much with her leisure wear. It was for both of us when we’d get together at lunch and she, wearing one of her new power suits we’d bought together, would tell me of how she put another one of her office boys in panties, but when the day was over, I liked to snuggle with the Carol I first met, in nice feminine dresses and frilly satin undies I could play with.

I heard them come in just as I had finished my makeup. I made out Carol’s friendly voice and his own by his brief replies. I guess it was mean of us not to tell him I still hadn’t moved out but then again, having to move back home wearing a dress must have been stressful enough for the poor darling. I waited a little longer before I decided to join them.

“Hello,” I sang, “So you must be that husband of Carol’s I’ve been hearing so much about.”

The look on his face! Frankly, I’ve never seen a deer caught in a headlight before, but when I do, it will look a hell lot less scare than that. His face went so pale I could count each stroke of brush he used to apply blusher to his cheeks. He turned to Carol, but before he could say anything, she raised his finger at him.

“Now, Priscilla,” she said sternly, “Behave yourself. Aren’t you going to introduce yourself to the lady?”

“Oh, don’t be so hard on the poor girl,” I said to Carol, “We’ll get along just nicely, won’t we?”

I turned to him again, “Hi, I’m Janice.”

“Pleased to meet you,” he barely audibly breathed and moved forward to kiss me. I leaned down to him and beside the pecks on the cheeks he must have expected, kissed him full on the mouth.

“Janice will be staying here,” Carol said.

“What?” he jumped from my embrace, “But I thought -? Didn’t you say we’re moving back home?”

“We are, honey,” she replied, “Now don’t make me repeat myself one more time. Behave!”

“Why don’t you carry his bags to the bedroom, Carol,” I said calmingly, “Me and Priscilla will have a nice little chat.”

I put my arm around him and lead him to the sofa. Gently pushed him down and set next to him.

“So, Priscilla, how was it like living with your mother in law? Carol tells me you didn’t like it too much?”

“Not really,” he said meekly.

“Why not?” I asked, “From what I hear, Susan is quite a nice lady.”

He just gave me a sad look but kept quiet.

“Well, Priscilla?,” I said, “Aren’t you going to tell me what was wrong? If she was kind enough to give you a home for three months, the least you owe her is to be honest, don’t you think?”

“She made me do the housework,” he said quietly.

“You were staying at her house,” I replied, “Helping her out with her chores was the least you could do.”

“I guess,” he admitted.

“Well. Was there anything else? Carol told me you had just so many complaints,” I persisted.

He shrugged, rubbing the padded shoulder of his silk dress into my side.

“Did she beat you?” I asked softly.

A tear trickled down his cheek as he nodded.

“Does Carol know about this?” I asked.

“Yes. No. Yes-,” he began.

“Well now. Does she or doesn’t she?” I asked.

“It was Carol’s idea,” he sniffled, “The spanking I mean. So I told her about that. But she used to do it before.”

“She spanked you before?” I asked, genuinely surprised.

“No. Just pushed me or slapped my ass sometimes,” he said.

“Oh, but that hardly counts as beating, does it?” I said, “Did it hurt?”

“Not really. It’s just that – “he paused for a while, “It was humiliating. And she always did it when we had guests. Or she’d pick me up in the air.”

“That sounds like fun,” I interjected, “What did she do? Hold you in her arms like her blushing bride?”

“Sometimes,” he replied, “Or she’d put me over her shoulder and slap my ass.”

“You said there were guests around. Who were they?”

“Friends of hers,” he shrugged.

“Lady friends?” I asked.

“Mostly.”

“Did you have any gentlemen visitors?”

“A few. But they were with her lady friends,” he said.

“Did she pick you up when they were around?”

“Sometimes, yes.”

“How did they react?”

“The ladies or the men?”

“Both. All the ladies loved it. Some of them even picked me up themselves and spun me around. The men didn’t. In fact, Susan did this with most of the men that visited,” he said, “Or their friends did.”

“That doesn’t sound she was being mean to you,” I said, “Just ladies having some harmless fun. What do you think?”

He shrugged again.

“I heard she was also very nice to you,” I said, “Didn’t she buy you a lot of expensive clothes?”

“Yes, but they’re all women’s clothes,” he complained.

“Oh yes,” I said, “Carol mentioned you didn’t particularly like wearing skirts.”

“Not really,” he replied.

“What would you prefer to wear then? Pants?”

“Pants would be nice,” he said softly.

“You like wearing pants, don’t you?”

He nodded.

“I like wearing pants, too,” I said, “In fact, I wear them quite often to work. So does Carol. But when we’re at home, there’s nothing nicer than a soft silk dress, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged.

“You’re wearing a dress now, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“And doesn’t it feel nice? Doesn’t it feel light and unrestrictive?”

“I guess,” he said, “But the shoes aren’t very comfortable. They make my feet sore.”

“Well, the heels are kind of high,” I said, “I told Carol that four inches should be more than enough. But tell me, if you hate wearing dresses so much, why are you wearing one now?”

“They made me,” he said, “Carol and Susan.”

“They both made you?” I feigned surprise.

“Susan made me wear them, but it was Carol’s idea,” he said, “Please, why are you making me do this?”

“Hasn’t she explained to you yet? As I said, when we’re home, we wear what we like, when we go to work, we wear what’s required of us to wear. Me and Carol are businesswomen, so we wear suits to work.”

“I don’t understand,” he said, “Does that mean that if I get a job, I can dress as a man again?”

“Honey, you already have a job,” I said, “You are Carol’s wife. Well, Carol’s and mine actually. You know what’s in you job description?”

He shook his head.

“Can’t blame you, Carol’s never been much of a wife, to show you. On the other hand, you’ve just spent three months with her mother. That ought to give you a good idea what we’re expecting of you. Cook for us, clean up after us, wash our clothes, iron them, these sort of things. And of course, look pretty for us. That’s why you’re wearing a dress and high heels right now.”

I ran my hand through his long bleached hair then tugged it, so that he looked upwards. I lowered my lips down on his and pressed my tongue hard into his mouth. He didn’t resist for a moment and just as soon my other hand was on his hip so were his own around my neck.

“I’m glad you two are getting along so well,” Carol said as she suddenly came back to the living room.

He twitched, but I held him firmly by his hair and kept on kissing him.

“Well, aren’t you going to cuddle with me too?” Carol said when I broke off the kiss, patting her lap, “Or has Janice made you forget all about me?”

I smiled as he somewhat clumsily hopped from one sofa to another, right into Carol’s lap. Instead of kissing him, she laid him down across her knees and started slowly lifting his skirts.

“Good job with Priscilla, Carol,” I said, “He really is such a treasure.”

“Why do you keep calling her ‘him’ and Priscilla at the same time?” she asked, tugging at his panties.

“You’ve still got something left to do, don’t you?” I replied.

“Do I? Well, what do you think, Priscilla? What could I have possibly missed?” she said, poking at his ass.

I gave her poor frightened husband a conspirative wink.

“Oh, I know,” she exclaimed theatrically and pulled out his butt-plug, “I said I’d do it tonight, but might as well get over it now. No need to keep poor Priscilla confused. Here,” she turned to me, turning him in her arms, “Hold him for me please,” and handed him over to me.

I let his skirts fall back down around his legs and spun around.

“This really is fun, isn’t it, Priscilla?” I said and kissed him again.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Carol said, with her pants around her ankles and a pink strap-on jutting from her crotch. Priscilla’s eyes widened in horror, but the tent he was making in his dress didn’t go away.

“Don’t worry honey,” she said as I handed him back to her, “It’s only a small one, see? And I’ll oil you up nicely…”

She hiked up his skirts again, fitted a condom over his erection, lowered his skirts to around his knees and turned him over on the sofa. She lifted his skirts again, this time just enough to expose his plump buttocks and proceeded to lubricate his crack.

“Carol, honey, please don’t,” he cried.

“Shhh, baby,” she whispered to his ear, “You’ll like this.”

Saying that she placed the tip of the small dildo between his buttocks and pushed slowly. Priscilla cried and pleaded at first, but gradually the cries tuned down to quiet moans of pleasure.

“There,” Carol said after they were finished, turning Priscilla around yet again, “See?”

She pointed to her crotch. I lifted her dress up and saw that she had filled up her condom.

“You really liked that, didn’t you, Priscilla?” I said.

She only looked at me exhausted. I picked her up in my arms.

“Let’s run you a nice hot bath and then have a little nap, will we?” I said, “After all, I want you to be at your peak powers when I’m having fun with you tonight.”

 

10

 

Dear Alan,

 

I’m sorry I haven’t written you, or kept in touch in you in any way, for such a long time, but my life has taken a strange turn and I really wasn’t sure what was happening until recently. I’m sure you’ll understand. I’m about to get married.  Yes, gasp!, never thought it would happen, but here we are. Her name is Samantha, though I call her Sam. She works as a freelance graphic designer, mostly for advertising companies and is very well off. Anyway, let me start from the beginning.

Remember how once when we were kids, for Halloween our sisters dressed us up in their old clothes and took us trick-or-treating? Well, last year, my sister talked me into doing it again, and it changed my life. We went to a party both dressed as Bavarian peasant girls – with the dirndls and all. I was kind of nervous at first, but then I saw that nobody took me for anything that else than a girl, I relaxed and started having fun. Eventually, I was asked to dance by a tall Cat-woman. Before the dance was over, I fell for her. She liked me, too, and we danced some more, than sat down and talked. I was more than a little surprised that, when I told her I wasn’t really a girl, she answered that she knew that right from the beginning. My sister joined us and we took off to another party. It was a pretty crappy one, so we went home, but the next day, Samantha, the Cat-woman called and asked me if I wanted to see her. So we went on a date. We went on a few dates, actually, before I noticed that it really wasn’t the same as it was at the party. So did she. We continued to see each other until she quite bluntly put it that she had enjoyed my company more when I was dressed up like a girl. I didn’t really know what to make of it until she suggested we go on a date with me dressed as a girl. (At that time, it sounded more like a suggestion from her side, but in retrospective, I know that it was a bona-fide ultimatum: either I put on a dress or she’d break up with me.)

Naturally, I wasn’t up for it, but she was so persistent and kept telling me how no one will make me for a man in drag… Ultimately, somehow Mavis got involved and you know how my sister is. The day after she was told about that, I was already waiting for Samantha dressed in a red knee length skirt and a white silk blouse. Samantha loved it, and even I had to admit I enjoyed that date. She was so attentive to me, kept opening the doors, moving my chairs, that stuff. And I liked it when she put her arm around my shoulders as we walked. Before, she never did that. She’s quite a tall and strong woman, even bigger than Mavis, and you’ve seen what she’s grown into. Anyway, when I was with her as a man, it would probably embarrassing for both of us if she did that. I know it would be for me.

Anyhow, after that date, I only got to see her en-femme. I knew that that was, if not anything else, at least way out of the ordinary, but I was too much in love to care. Mavis was no voice of reason either. Although, knowing what she’s like I have to give her credit of being patient enough for waiting until my third date as a woman before she put me in a dress and took me shopping. It was embarrassing, but on the other hand, exciting, as I imagined Samantha’s reactions to my new wardrobe. Beside the clothes, Mavis helped me become girlish in other ways. I couldn’t depend on her to do my make up each time I wanted to see Sam (that’s what I started calling her then), so she taught me how to do it. She taught me how to talk more like a girl, how to walk more like a girl, how to do everything. Unfortunately, unlike the dressing, that part of my femininity wasn’t as easy to cast aside so I started acting more and more like a girl even while I was dressed as a man. Now that I think of it, it didn’t get me more than a few strange looks at work, but even if it did – like I would care. I was so in love with Sam nothing else mattered.

Gradually, we were spending more and more time together, which naturally meant I spent more and more time as a girl. Almost all weekends at her place and once she took me for a week in her house by the sea. It was a bit of a bother because I couldn’t go swimming for obvious reasons – I lacked convincing breasts and had something extra in the groin, but other than that, it was marvelous.

Shortly thereafter I lost my job (long story, some other time) and she suggested I moved in with her. Mavis wasn’t that as all for it as before, but when I promised I’d visit her regularly, she went and packed my bags before I knew what was happening.

So there we are, I’ve been living as a woman ever since. Sam got me some very convincing breastforms and I find that tight control panties mostly do the trick for the extra part. I must admit that considering the time I was spending as one, it was hardly a big change in my life, though I’d like to say at I felt uncomfortable with my present lifestyle at least at the beginning, but I can’t. Think of me what you wish, but I enjoy living my life as a girl. And I’m madly in love with Sam and I know she feels the same way about me. We’re getting married, for heavens’ sake! At the moment we both enjoy me staying home, but I’d like to get another job somewhere in the future. Sam has no problem with it, as long as I do it dressed as a woman. Sexually, my life is also wonderful. Sam is a great lover and really knows how to use her strength to her advantage. It seems that every day we do something new, yet she still has a lot in store for me. She keeps talking about some surprise on our wedding night.

Now, I’d like to end this letter about how happy I am and to ask you that you be happy for me, but I can’t. You see, I think I kind of got you into this mess. Well, read on.

She proposed to me some time ago (very romantic, picked me up in her arms afterwards and carried me to our bedroom…) and just the other day, we were talking about the wedding itself.

When she asked me if there was anybody special I’d like at the wedding, I told her I always thought you’d be my best man.

She laughed and said, “Honey, you’ll be the bride at the wedding. Brides don’t have best men, they have bridesmaids.”

Please know that none of the following was my idea. Although disappointed, I accepted the fact that you’d be just one of the guests at the wedding. I talked it through with Mavis and she noticed how sad I was because of that and then she told that to Sam… well, to make a long story short, I’m now officially asking you: Would you be my bridesmaid? I know I’m asking a lot, but it would really mean a lot to me. Mavis and Sam’s sister will be some of the other bridesmaids. All lovely girls.

 

Love,

Your friend,

Betty (formerly John).

 

PS

 

If you do chose to accept (oh, please do), you should come early as the fitting for the gowns starts next week.

 

Dear Betty.

 

I don’t blame you for not trying to reach me – even if you did, I probably wouldn’t have responded. I showed your letter to my sister and it turns out that Holly and Mavis have been seeing each other regularly all this time, filling each other in on the details of our lives.

To cut it short, I’ll just say: Yes, I accept your invitation. It means a lot to me as well and I’ll be proud to be your bridesmaid. If Mavis hasn’t told you anything yet, this may come as a shock, but don’t worry. I’ll explain everything when I see you.

 

Love as always,

Alice (formerly Alan).

 

PS

 

As a bridesmaid, I hope I have some word in choosing my gown. No offense, but you brides sometimes get a little carried away.

 

11

 

“Julie, see if you can fit in a meeting with sales on Friday, please,” I said to my secretary as I walked into my office.

“Sure thing, Jim,” she said, rising up from her desk.

“What?” I said as she stood before me, blocking my way to my office.

“Nothing,” she said, “I just thought you had something in your hair.”

Even though she had almost a foot of height on me, in her pretty dark blue pinstriped pencil skirt and light blue silk blouse with ruffles at the front, she looked very soft and feminine. I noticed how she was straining it with her full breast and got a little excited.

“Well? Do I or don’t I?” I said, stroking her hip.

“There,” she said, pretending to flick something off my head, “It’s gone.”

She moved away and I opened the door to my office.

“Your wife called, by the way,” she said, “She said you should call her back.”

“Thanks,” I said and closed the door behind me.

“Hi, honey, Julie tells me you’ve called,” I said into the phone when my wife answered on the other side.

“Yeah. Look, I thought we’d go see my mother instead of shopping for that table today, is that okay with you?”

“Sure,” I said, “I didn’t really want to go either.”

“Great,” she answered, “But are you decent?”

“Of course I am,” I answered.

“Yeah, sure. What are you wearing today? I hope it’s not that slutty short skirt I bough you last month.”

“Nah, sorry. That grey dress with the jacket, you know, the Dior one,” I replied, “And the grey shoes.”

“Honey, you’ve got like a million of shoes. Just the color doesn’t help much. How high is the heel?”

“Oh, about three and a half inches,” I said, “Why do you want to know all these things anyway?”

“I guess you’re right, I’m probably over-reacting. Well, see you in a few hours,” she said and terminated the connection.

I sat down behind my desk, trying to get my papers organized when Julie walked in and locked the door behind her. Immediately I felt my penis respond by swelling up a little.

“I’m sorry, Jim”, she breathed as she moved close to me, “I’ve been thinking about you all day, ever since I saw you wiggle your ass in that dress.”

“Oh, Julie,” I said but couldn’t continue. She grabbed me by my hair and pulled me in for a long, fierce kiss.

“Why don’t you get ready?” I whispered.

She stepped away to the couch in the other side of my office, took off her skirt and laid in on the couch neatly. Then she took off her panties.

“Want to fit it in for me?” she asked.

I nodded and opened my bottom drawer. Took out the double ended dildo and walked over to her. She gasped excitedly as I fit one end into her and strapped it around her waist. Then I knelt down and started kissing the tip of it, pushing it gently into her.

“Okay,” she breathed after a while, “Get up.”

She started to pull up the hem of my dress.

“No,” I stopped her, “I have to be neat too, today.”

Nodding, she unzipped my dress at the back and helped me step out of it. I folded it at the waist and put it down on the couch next to her skirt. When I was done, she put her arms around me and pulled me into her embrace. I slid one hand around her waist, toying with the straps of her garter belt. With the other hand, I took hold of the dildo and started rhythmically pushing and pulling it. Slowly, me made it back to my desk. I leaned over it, got the lubricant out of the drawer and handed it over to Julie, still remaining face down on the desk. She took off my panties, toyed with my erection for a moment, then I felt her fingers spreading the cool gel all around my rectum and into it. When she finally entered me, I clenched my legs around her and pushed myself down on her shaft. We remained in that position until I felt a powerful orgasm shake through her body. Reluctantly, I unlocked my grip on her.

She sat down on my chair, the dildo still in her. I crawled over the desk and into her lap, my leg around her. Slowly, I slid back onto her shaft and kissed her.

“I think you hurt my back with your heels,” she said.

“I’m sorry about that,” I said and kissed her again, “I’ll take them off next time.”

“Don’t,” she replied, “I like you in heels.”

I laid my head down on her shoulder, kissed her neck gently and started to rock myself on the dildo slowly.

“What would your wife say if she found out about us?” she asked, stroking my hair.

“Oh, she’s okay with that,” I said.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” I continued, “I mean as long as we keep it like it is now. She said quite clearly – she uses my front and that’s hers only. As for my backside, it’s free for grabs.”

“Are you sure she meant it that way?” Julie asked.

“She knows her mother took me with her dildo,” I said, “She doesn’t mind.”

“Her mother?” Julie said, sounding shocked.

“Yeah. When they put me in skirts. I was staying with her for a while, for her to train me, as she said, and during that time, she also broke me in,” I answered casually, “Of course, she made me describe that experience to my wife in every detail and then Sarah said that it was okay with her.”

“Maybe she meant that it was okay if you did it only with her mother,” Julie said.

“Oh sweet Julie,” I kissed her neck again, “She used to have the maid ram me.”

“What? That sounds humiliating,” she said.

“Yeah, well, that was before she finally realized I wasn’t to challenge her dominance,” I answered, “Anyway, what about your boyfriend? Would he mind?”

“Jeremy is a sweet little boy,” she replied, “But he still has a lot to learn. When he does, he’ll understand.”

“How did he like the dress you bought him?” I asked.

“He cried when I gave it to him, but he wore it in the end,” she said, “I had to spank him, though.”

“Oh, the poor boy,” I chuckled.

“Yeah,” she answered, “But you know my friend Lynn? I’ve hooked her up with one of my boyfriend’s buddies. The boys haven’t met recently, but I think it’ll be easier on them if they go through this together.”

“I wish my wife was as considerate as you are,” I said.

She didn’t say anything for a while. Then I felt her starting to rock her hips as well. After a while, she stopped and leaned me backwards. Fit a condom over my penis, then held me by my armpits, picked me up and placed me on the desk again, this time on my back. Then she started to pump it seriously into me.

 

12

 

1        -        Why are you crying, Michael, what happened?

2        -        It’s Linda, mummy, she’s… she’s spanked me!

3        -        Really?

4        -        Yes. And it hurt.

5        -        It must have, she is rather strong isn’t she. What in the world did she spank you for? Did you upset her?

6        -        I don’t know, mummy.

7        -        Go on, here, come sit on my lap.

8        -        Mummy, please, I’m twenty two years old, I can’t… Ow!

9        -        Don’t be silly. There. Now, tell me. Did you try to act all boyish around her again?

10    -        But I am a boy, mummy.

11    -        Of course you are, honey, of course you are. Now why don’t you go and wash your face, then maybe have a little nap. Just remember to get ready by six o’ clock.

 

11    -        Can I drive this time, mummy?

12    -        Not in those heels of yours you’re not, Michelle.

13    -        I could go change…

14    -        Don’t bother. It would take you ages as far as I know you and they do go rather well with that skirt. I’m really glad you decided to wear it again.

15    -        It goes well with the new blouse.

 

16    -        Now Michelle, how did you get along with aunt Sylvie yesterday?

17    -        Okay, why?

18    -        And with her daughters?

19    -        Fine, too. You know I always do, why are you asking this?

20    -        Even with Nina? She is a little bossy, isn’t she?

21    -        She is, but, you know, what can I do?

22    -        Exactly. She’s a bit like Linda, don’t you think?

23    -        I don’t know, mummy, probably.

24    -        Yet you seem to get along so nicely with Nina, but can’t do that with Linda. Why’s that?

25    -        I wish I knew.

26    -        Maybe you should let Linda meet you as Michelle.

27    -        Oh mummy, please, don’t start again. You promised you wouldn’t.

28    -        I know. But every time you go on a date you come back with tears in your eyes. Why can’t you just face it that you would be better off if you did as I say?

29    -        Please, mummy. I told you, I’m a boy.

30    -        Come on, you’re wearing a dress!

31    -        But, but-

32    -        But what? Are you going to say I made you put it on?

33    -        No.

34    -        See? Now, I’ve invited Linda over and she going to meet Michelle. I haven’t spanked you since you were little, but if you give me any trouble, so help me, I’ll put you over my knee before you know what’s happening. Or are you going to be a good girl?

35    -        Yes, mummy, I’ll be a good girl.

36    -        Good. Now why don’t you go change into something more modest? That long dress aunt Sylvie gave you? We don’t want Linda to think you’re that kind of a girl, do we?

 

13

 

I know my mother in law meant well but enough is enough. The outfit she bought me was really not my style. Come on – when did she last see me wear such a frilly blouse? And the diaphanous sleeves? I mean, it is nice, but not really me. A corset-like black top went over it, and she also bought me a matching white, knee length frilly skirt, some white shoes (five inch heels, of course) and even a hat! With a veil.

I should probably stand up for myself and tell her to stop buying me clothes, but I keep putting that off. I don’t want to insult her, so I’m wearing the blue dress she bought me some time ago. Even a light petticoat underneath it.

“Hello, Angela,” I say as she opens the door and we kiss. Her kisses are somewhat heavier than required by manners. Screw required, allowed. She even uses her tongue sometimes. But she’s such a nice woman otherwise. And strong, too, on the other hand. Once she has you in her grip, she doesn’t let you go until she has her way with you.

“Hello, Sylvie,” she says, “I thought you’d be wearing the cute little set I’ve bought you.”

“Sorry, but it wasn’t really me, if you know what I mean,” I apologize, “It’s not gone to waste, though,” I add.

“I’m sure it hasn’t,” she replies, “But really, it was meant as a present for you. If I wanted my son to wear it, I’d given it to him myself.”

Shrugging, I step aside to let my husband get inside as well. I feel a little guilty for having made him wear the ‘cute little outfit’, but as he disappears and emerges from his mother embrace, I feel a little pang of jealousy that he might look better in it than I would.

I walk in and notice Julie, my husband’s brother’s wife, in the hall. She’s wearing a red knee length pencil skirt with a matching, quite heavily, tailored jacket and a crispy white silk blouse with a frilled collar. A present from our mother in law, no doubt. She sits down next to Stevie, her husband. Stevie’s dressed in a ridiculous looking pink outfit – a tight short skirt and something between a jacket and a blouse. Tailored like the one his wife is wearing and with masses of frills everywhere. And let’s not forget the mandatory hat.

“Hi,” I greet Julie, “Let me guess – you felt guilty for making Stevie put on what she bought you this year, so you put on her present from five years ago.”

“Yeah,” Julie laughed.

“Well,” Angela says as she ushers us inside her living room, “Looks like that by trying to find you two ladies a decent present, I’ve managed to clothe my sons once more.”

There’s a moment of dead silence as she watches sternly over her guests, then her mouth breaks out in a smile.

“Come here, boys,” she says to her sons, “Let’s go get your real presents.”

“You think she’s doing this on purpose?” Julie asks me, as we watch our husbands dither on their stilettos each on his own side of their imposing mother.

And maybe you can let me in on what your wives might actually like this time,” she says and puts her arms around them.

 

 

14

 

The moment I saw my mother’s car parked on the street I knew I should expect another of her intrusions in my life. I just didn’t know exactly what until my husband opened the door.

“Oh, God,” I said as I saw him, “She’s really done it this time.”

He didn’t say anything, just looked down and let me in. I took another look at him. He was wearing a pink frilly dress, with petticoats under its knee length skirt, diaphanous billowing sleeves, lace around the tight bodice and a scooped neckline that displayed his new breasts. He was wearing shiny nylons with white flowers on a pink background and pink stilettos, probably with five inch heels. But the real thing was all on his head. His face was immaculately made up, his eyes delicately outlined, his lips painted to a luscious red and his eyebrows were all but gone. And his hair! Now it was champagne blonde, permed into a mass of curls that framed his pretty face.

“Just go and change,” I said to him as he offered to take my purse.

“What about the hair?” he asked.

“Leave it as it is, I guess,” I shrugged, “And you don’t need to wash your face, either. Least not for the time being.”

As he dithered upstairs to do what I told him, I almost felt sorry for making him take off that dress. But, rules are rules.

“Mother,” I said rather loudly as I entered my house, “Mother how many times have I told you-“

“Hello, daughter dear,” she said, not getting off her couch, “Do you always come home so late?”

I had to pause for a moment to get a grip of myself.

“Why is my husband dressed as he is?” I asked calmly.

“Oh that,” she said, “I felt sorry for him, since he was so poor and lonely as you keep him locked up all the days-“

“I DON’T keep him locked up,” I said sternly.

“No need to yell, dear,” she said and continued, “Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Well, I thought I should cheer him up so I took him for a makeover. Looks rather good, doesn’t he?”

“He does, but that’s not the point. You have to stop interfering with my private life, mother,” I said.

“But it’s just an innocent makeover,” she said.

“Yes, that’s what I mean,” I replied, “I don’t suppose he told you anything, but I’ve disallowed such things.”

“Oh,” she said, looking surprised, “I didn’t know that. Whatever for, anyway?”

“He’s been letting his work slip too much,” I said calmly, “Look, I know you didn’t mean any harm, but you have to stay out of my marriage.”

“I’m sorry, dear,” she said.

“That’s alright. I don’t suppose he cooked anything today, did he?” I asked.

“Not that I know of,” she shrugged, “Don’t worry, I’m inviting you to dinner.”

“You’d better,” I said.

Just about then my husband returned to the living room. His glamorous hair and make-up looked almost grotesquely out of place with his plain grey maid’s uniform. After bobbing a small, but perfect curtsey, he stood still in front of me.

“Well, well, Josie, dear,” I said, “You know that exactly this kind of things got you in trouble in the first place?”

“Yes, mistress,” he replied quietly.

“Oh, come on, drop the mistress crap,” I said, “Flattery won’t get you anywhere. Anyway, what do you have to say for yourself today?”

He didn’t answer.

“I could slap another month on your sentence. Pity, since you’d be off in less then two days, right?” I watched him battle with tears for a while, “But I think I’ll let it slide this time. Anyway, it wasn’t all your fault.”

“Oh, thank you,” he said, breathing out air of relief.

“Yeah, yeah,” I waved my hand dismissingly, “Since you didn’t make anything for today, your mother in law is taking us out for dinner. Looks like you have to change again. I’d think that at least this would cause you some kind of inconvenience but knowing you, it’s really more of a reward, isn’t it?”

He smiled mischievously and looked away.

“Well, anyway, just don’t put on that dress you had on before, okay? Something less flamboyant, okay?” I said.

His face dimmed a little when I forbade him the dress, but he still looked happy. Suddenly, I got an evil little thought.

“Josie!” I called after him, “I was thinking, that pantsuit we bought for me last week? Maybe you should wear it tonight.”

 

15

 

What? Are you talking about Stacy? My secretary? Her bossy? Come on, she’s the sweetest thing alive!

She what? She didn’t? Beat you up? What on Earth made her do that?

Well you were being an asshole, honey. Serves you right. I want you to apologize to her tomorrow. Yes, yes you are.

You know, if you don’t stop right now, I’m going to put you over my knee myself.

That’s better.

No, we’re not having sex, I’m not undressing because of that. Though I want you to get naked too.

Just DO IT!

Fine. Now, take my panties. Like them? Pity. Now, put them on.

Yes, you heard me. After that, put on everything I’ve had on. It’s not perfect, but it’ll do. After you’ve apologized to Stacy? Ask her nicely to help you buy some nice dresses. And make them really nice and feminine ones. That skirt of mine you’re wearing now is far to manly for you.

 

16

 

“Suzanne! Stop throwing your weight around! How many times have I told you not to harass your brother?” mummy yelled at my younger sister.

“Sorry, mum,” she said, without really regretting her deeds.

“You’ll be even sorrier when you get grounded, missy,” mummy said, “Now go to your room.”

Crying not so much from pain as from humiliation, I slowly got off the floor and sat on the couch. Once again, I was, at twenty years, beaten up by my sixteen year old sister. She had always been pretty aggressive but I when she was younger, I was able to defend myself to some extend. Now that she’d began to grow into her adult form, I was no match for her.

“There there,” mummy whispered in my ear as she cradled my head in her lap, “It’s alright now.”

“Does she have to be so mean to me?” I sniffled.

“She’s just not used to her new strength,” mummy explained, “Once she gets used to being stronger than you, she’ll stop picking on you.”

“But it’s really embarrassing,” I whined, “She does it all the time. She picks on my friends, too.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, dear, but there’s really not much I can do,” she replied, “You know that yourself. If I punish her, she’ll only vent out her anger on you.”

“What if you make her wear dresses again for a week? It worked when she was younger,” I suggested.

“I can’t do that,” mummy said, “She’s not a child anymore. I doubt it would work. Anyhow, even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could. Since she’s outgrown her old dresses, she’s been only wearing pants. And I’m not going to buy her any new ones – I’m certainly not spending any money on clothes she’ll only wear as punishment.”

“But your dresses would fit her, wouldn’t they?” I asked.

“She’s far too young to wear the dresses I wear,” she said, “Especially to school. I’m sorry, I guess that’s out of the question.”

I took a deep breath, straightened myself up from mummy’s lap and stood up. I took a few steps so that the skirts of my dress fell nicely around me then faced mummy again.

“Look at this,” I said, pointing to a tear in my pretty silk dress just below the waist, “That’s what she’s just done. I mean, probably not on purpose, but still, she’s done it. Last time when she forced Roger over her knees, she also ripped the sleeve on his blouse. This can’t go on.”

Mummy watched me and said nothing.

“Now, I’ve got a couple of dresses I don’t wear anymore. I can easily alter them so that they would fit Suzanne. So has Roger,” I said, “In fact, all of my friends are prepared to sacrifice a frock or two if it helps to cool her down.”

Mummy sat quietly for a few moments.

“How soon can you have the first few dresses ready?” she asked.

 

17

 

“Oh, Mary, not again,” mummy rolled her eyes when she saw me.

“I didn’t really force him,” my sister shrugged her shoulders.

“Still,” mummy said, “You really should stop doing that. He’s growing up to be a man, for Heaven’s sake.”

“I’ll go change now,” I said weakly.

“No, don’t bother darling,” mummy said, “I’d like you to keep the clothes on for the rest of the day.”

Mary’s face beamed proudly at me. Once again, she had dressed me in my mother’s clothes. She had been doing this ever since I was big enough to remotely fit into mummy’s things, now, at eighteen years, I was about the same size as mummy and most of her clothes, including the shoes, fit me perfectly. At first, mummy would only laugh when Mary presented me to her, then, when it was starting to become a habit, was annoyed by it and told Mary to stop it. She never did, however she stopped showing me to mummy. Every once in a while, we got caught and as the years rolled by, mummy’s protests grew less and less intense. Accordingly, Mary made less and less effort to prevent my mother from seeing me dressed until she didn’t even attempt to hide it. She just dressed me and if mummy saw me, then so be it.

“Now, if I’m not asking too much, I’d like one of you to bring me a cup of tea,” mummy said, then – as if knowing exactly which one of us will do her bidding – turned to me, “And wear an apron, I don’t want you staining my clothes.”

Minutes later, I minced back to the living room, carrying a tea pot, cups, saucers and some biscuits, all neatly arranged over lace doilies on a tray. Mummy watched me pour her tea and mine, then nodded approvingly when she saw me smooth out her tight skirt over my backside as I sat down.

“Must I really keep those on?” I asked mummy with a pleading tone, “This skirt is so tight and my feet are beginning to hurt from the shoes.”

“Yes, I’m afraid you must,” mummy answered, “Maybe this will make you think twice about wearing my clothes.”

“But it was Mary’s idea,” I objected.

“You’re eighteen years old, you can’t blame everything on Mary anymore,” she replied.

“Couldn’t I at least change into some of your other clothes? That green dress you have?” I tried.

“You mean the one Mary ‘made’ you wear last week?” she asked.

“Can I?” I asked, nodding.

“No,” mummy replied sternly, “And if I hear one more complaint on that subject, you’re wearing that outfit the whole day tomorrow.”

“Yes, mummy,” I replied quietly and sipped my tea.

None of us said a word for a while.

“Could you fetch me my purse, dear?” mummy said eventually, “I’d like to check something.”

Gracefully as I could, I stood up and walked to the hall, feeling the silk of my slip slide over my nylon shod legs as the long skirt hobbled every one of my steps.

“There,” I said softly and handed mummy her purse.

“Thank you dear,” she said, and – as I was about to sit down in my old place – caught my hand and seated me next to her.

“Hold still,” she said, then took her compact from her purse and proceeded to apply some blusher to my cheeks.

“Nice,” she muttered to herself and took out her lipstick, “Pout your lips.”

I had to hold still for a few more minutes until she finished working on my face.

“There,” she said once having finished, “Now if you’d be so good to put away the dishes?”

“Of course,” I almost whispered and started putting the china back on the tray.

“After you’re done, I have some blouses for you to iron,” she said, “If you keep wearing my clothes, you might as well help out with the ironing.”

 

The ironing kept me busy until late evening as there was more clothes than just a few blouses to iron, including the dress I wore last week. When I made my way back to the living room, mummy was watching television with Mary.

“Finished?” mummy asked.

“Yes, mummy,” I answered, trying not to show in my voice the discomfort her high heeled shoes were causing me.

Mary gave me a funny look when she saw me up close, but didn’t say anything.

“I hope you learned your lesson today,” mummy said as I sat down on the sofa, “However, since I’ve made you do so much ironing, I suppose you’ve earned a reward. That nightgown of mine you seem to like? Why don’t you wear it to bed tonight?”

“Really?” I asked her.

“Of course,” she said kindly, “Unless of course you haven’t done all the work you claim to have.”

“Oh no, I ironed everything,” I said.

“Well then,” she replied, “Let me know when you’re going to bed. I’ll come to tuck you in.”

 

Hearing the sound of my mother’s heels hitting the floor, my excitement grew with each step she took closer to my room.

“In bed already?” she said, “I wanted to see how it fits you.”

Shyly but happily, I slid out of my covers and stood in front of her, displaying her beautiful pale blue floor length silk nightgown. Holding its skirts with my fingers, I took a few steps to and fro in front of mummy until I noticed that I was beginning to get a noticeable erection. Blushing, I covered it with my hands.

“Maybe I should wear panties,” I suggested shyly.

“Don’t worry about that,” mummy said, “Now get back in bed.”

She sat down on the bed beside me and covered me up to my chin.

“Did you suffer terribly today? Dressed as you were?” she asked me.

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad,” I answered, “The shoes made my feet hurt, but other than that, it was quite alright.”

“My little hero,” she smiled, “I feel so terrible for making you wear that skirt of mine for such a long time. I know that no matter how much compliments I get on its account, I can’t stand it after an hour.”

“But doesn’t it…” I paused for a second, “Doesn’t it feel sexy? The way it clings to your legs?”

Mummy laughed and brushed a strand of hair from my forehead.

“It looked good on you, you know,” she said.

“Thanks,” I replied, feeling that I was blushing.

“Anyway,” she said, “To make it up to you for today, I’ll let you wear something comfortable when we visit my sister tomorrow. None of those jackets of yours you hate.”

“What? You’ll let me wear jeans to aunt Bessie’s?” I asked astonished.

“Jeans? Heavens no, dear boy,” she laughed again, “I meant that green dress of mine you wore last time. You’ll look just precious in it.”

 

18

 

Mother could pick a better time to come home. Better for me, at least. I was with June, my latest girlfriend. Mother had already met her though I didn’t know what did she really think of her. I liked her. She was a big girl – taller and stronger than me. Her strength both scared and excited me. Not being a very tall boy myself, I’d been with bigger girls before, but June was really something special in that department.

When my mother came home, I was giggling hysterically while June held me in her lap and tickled me. I was trying to break away from her hold, but even with one arm she had no trouble keeping me where she wanted.

“Excuse me, am I interrupting something?” Mother asked.

“Not really,” June said, stopping the tickling but not quite releasing me, “Hello, Mrs. Bradford.”

“Hello, June, David,” Mother replied.

“Anyway,” June said, now letting me go and getting up herself, “I have to get going. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eleven, okay?”

“Sure,” I said and escorted her to the door. Before she left, she gave me one last quick lift. I’m not sure if mother saw me being picked up and spun around, but she must have heard my girlish squeal.

“Hello, mother,” I said when I came back to the living room.

“Is this how a man acts?” she asked me, “Squealing in your girlfriend’s lap? Is that what you meant by being a man?”

I silently dropped my gaze. I didn’t answer because I was more than a little embarrassed by what she had seen and moreover, it was really none of my mother’s business. Though frankly, I don’t think she expected an answer.

“Why don’t you act manly for me a little, then?” she said, then patted my thigh, “Better touch up. It’s been a while.”

I nodded and went upstairs to the bathroom. About half an hour later, I returned to the living room, wearing my mother’s clothes. Wanting to get back in her good books, I had put on a long silk dress she liked seeing me in, and since it was a little too big for me, shoes with five inch heels to keep it’s hem off the ground. I stuffed my bra with some of her scarves to fill the dress up front. My hairless legs felt smooth and slippery in her nylons stockings and they rustled seductively as the silky slip brushed past them with each step I took.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” mother said as I stood before her, “Aren’t you going to sit in my lap? Isn’t that how men behave?”

I sighed and, smoothing my dress over my backside, lowered myself down across her thighs.

“That’s better,” she said, “You know, you really look beautiful in this dress.”

“Thank you, mummy,” I said.

“I wish you’d stop being such a silly girl,” she went on, “I could have bought you lots of pretty clothes, suitable for your age, instead of having to dress like a middle aged lady.”

“But you said I look pretty in this dress, mummy,” I said.

“You do, but it’s not something you’d wear to the mall or to the movies, is it?” she said.

I really didn’t want to explore the possibilities of having my own dresses and skirts, so I shut up. Mummy didn’t seem to mind. She turned on the television and occasionally cuddled with me for a bit. She kept me in her lap for the rest of the evening, allowing me to get up only to fetch her this or that from the kitchen. As I went to bed, she helped me undress and gave me one of her nightgowns to wear.

 

“Rise and shine, darling,” she sang when she opened the window in my bedroom in the morning, “What a magnificent day. Just take a look.”

It took me a while to fully regain my consciousness. When I had, I noticed mummy was still in my room.

“Come on, get up. I made breakfast,” she said, holding out a peignoir and a pair of high heeled slippers.

I put them on and went downstairs.

“David!” I head June cry from the dining room. My blood froze.

“Hi, June,” I said weakly. I noticed that the clock was a quarter past eleven. This happened every time. As soon as my mother felt I was beginning to get too close to my girlfriends, she’d orchestrate a humiliating occasion after which I’d never dare to contact that girl again.

“Is this what you sleep in?” June asked.

“I, I, um,” I stammered.

“You’ll have to forgive him, June,” mother said from behind me, “He hasn’t quite woken up yet.”

I sat down at the table, facing June as mummy poured me tea.

“That’s a lovely nightie,” June said, though I wasn’t able to make out whether she really meant it or was only taunting me.

“I’m glad you like it,” mummy answered again, “It’s mine, but I let him wear it from time to time.”

“That’s nice,” June said, turning back to her newspaper.

I silently ate my breakfast, hoping all this would at least be over quickly and I could get back to my life as mummy’s sweet little boy. Occasionally, I sadly looked at June who was reading the paper and didn’t really pay much attention to me.

“Well, if you’re finished? It’s time we got going,” she said eventually.

I looked at her with surprise. Even after seeing me in my mother’s nightgown, she still wanted to be with me?

“I, uh,” I stammered again.

“Oh, David, for the love of God,” mummy said, then turned to June, “I’m sorry, June, but he’s really terribly slow in the morning. I’ll get him ready for you.”

 

Silently and like a rag doll, I watched as my mother first undressed me, then dressed me in black lingerie, a white silk blouse and a black knee length skirt. When she was done, I meekly followed her back into the dining room where June was waiting.

“Oh, God, David, what are you doing dressed like that?” she said.

“I’m sorry, June,” I said weakly.

“Please, if I may,” mummy said, “It’s really my fault. I forgot to ask where were you going.”

“I thought we’d spend the day down at the lake, but if he’s going to wear that…” June began.

“I see what you mean,” mummy replied, “But really there isn’t anything appropriate for his age I can lend him anyway. However, if you are willing to sacrifice two hours of your day? I’d be more than willing to come with you to the mall, find him a nice sundress or such.”

“That sounds nice, doesn’t it, David?” June said.

Both in horror and strange ecstasy, I swallowed hard.

“Sure,” I almost whispered.

“Great. I’ll get my credit card,” mummy said, “Might as well get him some proper clothes while we’re at it.”

 

19

 

My parents came home a bit earlier than I expected them to and I could tell that mom got a little tipsy. That could be fun. When she had a bit too much to drink, she always became attentive to dad. As she was this time, maybe a little too much for his own good. As they entered the house, she pressed poor dad against the door and smothered him with kisses. Since her figure hid him from my view almost completely I couldn’t really tell, but it seemed that she even lifted him up a bit.

“Don’t mind me,” I called out from behind the TV.

“Come on, honey, stop that,” dad said, “Jenny’s here.”

“Oh okay,” she said, letting him go.

“Hi, honey,” he said to me, my mother’s lipstick smeared across his face.

“How was the party?” I asked him.

“Okay, I suppose,” he said, taking off his jacket and loosening his tie, “Quite boring, actually.”

“That’s why we left so soon,” mom said, “Though I’m really in the mood for some dancing.”

“Honey, please,” dad said to her, “It’s late.”

“Oh, don’t be such a spoil sport,” she teased him.

“Besides, we’ll be embarrassing Jenny,” he continued.

“Like I said, don’t mind me,” I replied, “If you want to dance, dance. You make a lovely couple anyhow.”

“Really?” dad asked.

“Yeah, sure,” I said, turning my focus back to the movie I was watching.

“Well, I guess I’ll go get changed,” dad said and went off to their bedroom. He appeared minutes later, dressed in his dark red ball gown.

“Oh dad, you look so pretty,” I squealed.

“Yeah, dad,” mom said, wrapping her strong arms around him, “You look gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” he said, and slid out of her embrace.

“You haven’t been stealing my clothes, have you?” he said to me as he fumbled with the stereo.

“Why would you say that?” I asked.

“Because my grey velvet skirt is missing, and my white dress is creased,” he replied.

“Well, I…” I began.

“Oh, Harold, let it go for tonight,” mom rescued me, “She’ll overgrow your clothes soon enough.”

“I hope so,” he said, “Anyway, she’ll start taking yours then.”

Before anyone could say anything else, the music sounded and my parents spun around the living room. My mother, dressed in her elegant skirt suit and high heels, lead daddy around the floor, his gown flowing around him. After a few dances, she picked him up in her arms.

“You might want to turn up that movie a bit louder,” she winked to me, and then carried him upstairs.

 

20

 

Slowly, I was drifting from my sleep into the real world. After a while, I was enough awaken to finally open my eyes. I saw that Jasmine was awake too, though still lying down. She reached out to stroke my side and I purred with delight. Her feathery touches through the silk of my nightdress awakened memories of the previous night. I closed my eyes again.

I had never thought I’d enjoy myself so much in a male-female-male threesome. Especially since I wasn’t gay. Neither was Jeremy and both of us were apprehensive when Jasmine faced us with her wishes. She was a very persuasive young lady, though, and soon enough, the three of us were in her bedroom. Jasmine was in full control, neither of us expected anything else, really.

After a while, we began gradually, one by one, to get up, go to the bathroom to brush our teeth and so on, but we always  returned back to bed. Although we were still tired from last night, we were radiant with blissful satisfactions. Myself, I had never had so much action, so much sex in one night. In fact, I couldn’t even tell if I had had as much sex as I had last night in my whole life! I bet the same went for Jeremy.

The last night took the least toll on Jasmine, I’d say. Instead on lying down again, she knelt on the bed, facing us, her firm breasts protruding provokingly under her white silk spaghetti strap pajama top.

“Well, boys, aren’t you going to say good morning to each other?” she almost sang.

I turned to my right and took a look at Jeremy. His hair was tussled and he was still wearing his peach nightgown.

“Good morning, Jeremy,” I said.

“Good morning, Mike,” he replied.

“That’s nice,” she said, “Now sit up a bit.”

As we raised ourselves, placing pillows between our backs and the wall, she got off the bed, then returned with some cosmetics in her hand.

Even before she actually touched my lips with the lipstick, I felt my penis rising as the make up further aroused memories from last night. As she worked on Jeremy, I tugged the hem of my lime green nightgown all the way down to my ankles.

“Now say good morning properly,” she said after she had finished her work, “Let’s see some kissing.”

I took a deep breath, but despite not wanting to, I turned to Jeremy and we kissed lightly on the lips. With his make up on, he looked like a girl, and that made it somewhat easier.

“You can do better than that,” she said, took hold of us by the hair and pressed our faces closer.

We necked for a few moments, even caressed each other but when I felt his erection on my hip, I nervously turned away. Jasmine was still kneeling over us, smiling and eyeing us greedily. I reached for her breast, but she pushed my hand away.

“No, no,” she said, “No time for that.”

“But I though-“ I began.

“Mike!” she said sternly, “We need to get dressed.”

To awkward to say anything, Jeremy and I went to the bathroom to clear our faces of smeared lipstick. When we came back, Jasmine was already in her black lingerie.

“You better hurry up, boys,” she said.

 

“Can you zip me up, Michelle?” Jeremy asked me.

“Sure, Jenny,” I replied, earning an approving glance from Jasmine.

As I pulled up the zipper of his yellow dress, I couldn’t help but to run my hands down his side and held his hips, admiring the frothy material that flared out from the waistline and ran down, encircling his legs.

I pressed my groin to his backside, my penis swelling up again. Only this time, instead of climbing up towards my belly button, it pressed backwards between my legs towards my ass. I wondered if it would show on the back side of my tight knee length silk print dress.

“Now, now, boys,” Jasmine said.

Mincingly, I stepped away from Jeremy and took a look at Jasmine. She wore black – black pants, black sweater, black leather belt, black shoes. Her heels were probably an inch lower than mine and Jeremy’s, yet still she practically towered above us. As if there was a psychic connection between us, Jeremy and I came closer to her, trying to snuggle up to her, touch her breast, give her a kiss.

“Sorry, boys,” she laughed as she pushed us away, “I know you’re aroused, but we really have to get going. I promised the ladies at your office I’d drop you off.”

I looked at Jeremy and saw his face freeze in panic. My own must have done the same.

“What?” Jasmine said, “You thought this was just between us three? Come on, let’s get going.”

“What do you say, Michelle,” Jasmine said as she drove out of her garage, “After Miss Jenkins sees you like this, will she still let you be the boss?”

 

21

 

I leaned back in my chair and sighed. I can’t remember eating a better meal. At least not one cooked by a single person. My son had really outdone himself.

“I have to hand it to you, Janine,” I said to my daughter in law, “This was the best birthday present I’ve ever received.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I hope the service was satisfactory,” she replied.

“Perfectly,” I said, feeling my skirt tighten around my full stomach.

“Are you sure?” she persisted, “No glitches? No slip-ups?”

“Oh Janine,” I smiled, “Look, he’s your husband. You don’t need my permission if you want to punish him.”

“How well you know me, Martha,” she smiled in return.

Moments later, my son came from the kitchen to clear up the table. I admired him how he deftly moved around the table on his high heels, the petticoats under his uniform swishing about his knees.

“Join us in the living room after you’re done, Michelle,” she told him.

“Yes, madam,” he answered, bobbing a perfect curtsey.

 

“Over my knees, Michelle,” Janine said, patting her thighs.

“But I haven’t done anything wrong, madam,” he protested weakly.

“You’re talking back to your mistress. That’s four spanks extra,” she said sternly.

My son silently draped himself over his wife’s knees. She lifted his skirts and started lightly slapping him on his frilly black silk panties. After a series of light spanks during which he theatrically kicked his legs and waved his arms around, she slapped him soundly four times, producing a yelp from him each time. After that she let him got up.

“Thank you, madam,” he curtsied, “Will there be anything else?”

“No, thank you, Michelle. You may sit with us, though,” she replied.

“Thank you, madam,” he curtsied again and elegantly arranged himself at her feet.

“Oh you two, the things you come up with,” I said, “You know, after this week of Michael, I’m sorry, Michelle serving me, I don’t know how I can get back to normal life.”

“Michelle,” Janine nudged him.

He got up, curtsied before me and plopped himself down on my lap.

“You don’t have to, Martha,” Janine said.

 

22

 

Even though she tried to hide it, Helen was panting heavily too. Me, I was straining against her as hard as I could from the very beginning. I was too afraid to waste the smallest amount of energy on anything else than fighting her. I simply couldn’t afford Only when I realized I had lost I became aware of the fact that I was not merely panting, but heaving, struggling to get as much air in my lungs as I could with every breath, and every time I exhaled, I let out another sound, a girlish whimper. My heart seemed it was trying to break loose from my ribcage. Not just because of physical effort – I also realized my penis was rock hard. Naturally, this added to my shame. I had terribly disappointed my mother. In the feat of strength she had proposed I had not only been bested by my own wife, but apparently I was also enjoying it as well.

Helen had noticed my erection as well. After pinning me to the floor, she used her left arm to lift my left leg while holding my right one on the floor with her legs. This way my erection was put on full, unambiguous display. In my tight purple leotard, I was sure, every single detail must have been even more pronounced by the reflectivity of the slippery material. As a coup the grace, she took hold of my hair and pulled on it until I could no longer hide my shame in the floor carpet but had to finally face my mother.

“Well, I guess that’s that,” my mother said and walked out of our bedroom. As I listened to the clacking of her high heels resounding down the hall I started to cry silently.

 

23

 

I drove to Susan’s house and let myself in. Susan, my daughter in law, was at work. Although it would be only common courtesy to do so, I didn’t think I needed to advertise my presence.

“Jeremy?” I called out, “Where are you?”

Not receiving an answer, I went to the upper floor, where their bedroom was. He was in the shower. I knocked on the door.

“Mummy? Is that you?” he shouted.

“Yes,” I replied, “I’ll wait for you in the bedroom.”

I was pleased to see he had already made the bed. I opened my bag and laid the clothes I brought my son on the bed. As I was taking him shopping for a whole new wardrobe, I assembled a very simple outfit, one he could easily take off and put back on in the changing rooms. It was a two piece set, consisting of a turtle neck turquoise and black patterned sweater and a knee length straight skirt with an elasticized waist, along with a black half-slip. I put a pair of patent black pumps with a three inch heel on the floor beside the bed. They were my old clothes but since he would only have to wear them for a day of shopping, they would do more than nicely. For a second I thought of seeing if I could find some of his wife’s lingerie for him, as I had reservations about lending him my own. Lending him my clothes was fine – lots of children get to wear their parents’ clothes when they grow up. But my underwear – I felt that that would be too great of an intrusion into my privacy. Still, prying into Susan’s lingerie drawer was even less acceptable for me. Shrugging, I placed the black panty and bra set on the bed, along with a black merry widow and black nylon stockings.

Not wanting to make this any more embarrassing for my son, I changed my mind and went downstairs.

“Mummy?” he called out as he stepped out of the shower.

“I’m downstairs,” I replied, “Though I’ve left the clothes on your bed.”

 

24

 

With my husband sitting beside me I waited for my sons to come from their rooms like I told them to. Norman, the older one, arrived first, a nice yellow pleated skirt with a black sweated. Daniel came about a minute later. As he was the youngest one and still growing, I had him wear one of Rachel’s old dresses that she had grown out of. I could easily have him wear Norman’s old clothes, but I opted for Rachel’s for psychological effect. A child’s red knee length party dress, a bit ridiculously looking on a fourteen year old.

“You may sit down if you like,” I said kindly, though smiling inwardly. With the spankings they had just received, it would take a lot more time before they’d willingly let their backsides carry the weight of their, albeit slim bodies.

The boys only exchanged glances but remained standing.

“Too soon, huh?” I said.

They remained silent.

“Well, I’m sorry boys, but you brought this upon yourself,” I said, turning to Norman, “Especially you. I thought you were old enough to know better, I thought I didn’t need to spank you anymore, but I guess you proved me wrong.”

“Sorry, mum,” he muttered.

“I’m not finished!” I raised my voice.

The boys twitched with fear.

“Moreover, you both proved me wrong on another thing,” I continued, calmly, “I thought you were trustworthy enough that you deserved the clothing privileges you enjoyed so far, but I guess I was wrong about that too. I expected that you’d behave responsibly if I allowed you to spend more time in boys clothes – to think I allowed you a week at a time. Well, that’s over.”

They didn’t seem too troubled by my words. I had punished them like this before and as school was about to start in two weeks, they thought their penalty quite endurable.

“I know what you’re thinking,” I said, “I’ll have to let you wear boys’ clothes to school, right?”

Even though they were being punished, they just couldn’t hide their smug little smirks.

“Well guess again, boys,” I said, “You’ll be joining Rachel at the boarding school.”

That did the trick. Their eyes widened in horror – Daniel was so shocked he even forgot to close his mouth!

“But, but, but mum,” Norman stuttered, “Please, anything but that. We’ll be good, we promise!”

“I know you will be,” I said, “The teachers at Bowland’s will make bloody sure of it.”

I looked each of them straight in the eyes. Norman dropped his eyes on the floor, Daniel started crying silently.

“I’m sorry, but we’ve been through this a million times. Boys clothes are a privilege you have to earn and respect, yet this summer you did nothing but abuse it.”

Even Norman started to cry.

“You know, I wish it didn’t have to come to this, but it’s your own fault, boys,” I said, “The decision is final. You may just as well stop crying.”

“But mummy,” Daniel stammered and burst in tears again.

“You’re going to Bowland’s and that’s final,” I repeated, “The both of you. Now go back to your rooms.”
After they had scurried away, I turned to my husband.

“You think we were too strict on them?” I asked.

“The school will do them good,” he said, “But did you have to spank them so hard?”
I smiled and embraced him.

“You know what the best part is?” I asked.

I felt him stiffen as I reached under his skirt.

“My hand’s not tired yet,” I said.

 

25

 

With a sullen expression, Dora, my mother in law, dragged my husband into the room. She had dressed him in a black knee length pencil skirt and a shiny purple long sleeved blouse. He wore purple pumps with a four inch heel, his legs were encased in purple hued nylons that matched his blouse. It was quite a pretty ensemble, actually. The collar of his blouse extended down his front all the way below the waistline and was clipped against the blouse with a thin patent black belt. His face was tastefully made up and his once manly eyebrows were now just two thin arcs above his eyes. His hair, although hardly long enough, was cut and styled in feminine manner. Even his nails were shining with a clear coat of polish.

“Dora,” I smiled, puzzled by my husband’s new outlook, “What’s the meaning of this? Weren’t you just saying how I don’t respect Jeremy enough as a man?”

“Yes,” she replied, hardly curbing her anger, “And since you refuse to listen to me, I had to turn to more drastic methods.”

“And you do this by dressing your son as a woman?” I asked.

“This is how you’ve been treating him,” she hissed, “As a wife. And this is what a wife looks like.”

“Well, Dora, don’t you think you’re over reacting?” I said, “Putting him in skirts because he does most of the chores in our house?”

“If you want him out of skirts, you’ll have to start treating him like you should,” she replied, “As long as I have any say on the matter, this is what he will look like until you start paying him respect a husband should get.”
”Well, Dora, I must say, I’m shocked,” I choked.

“Think about it,” she said, “That’s how it is.”

I walked up to my feminized husband.

“Doesn’t it feel this strange, that you’re finally taller than me,” I said, pointing to his high heeled shoes, “Or is that how it should be? After all, most husbands are taller than their wives.”

He blushed at my remark and twitched in fright as I touched the silky material of his blouse.

“Don’t worry, darling, I’m not going to hurt you,” I said soothingly, then turned to his mother again.

“These clothes, you didn’t buy them just for this occasion?” I asked, further examining his blouse.

“They’re mine,” she dryly replied.

“Well, it figures. The blouse is a bit big at the shoulders, not to mention the bust,” I said, “You do have good taste, Dora.”

“Thank you,” she said, not all sarcastically.

I turned to Jeremy again.

“What do you think, honey?” I said, “Should I start treating you like a husband? Like a man?”

“If you want me looking like one,” he almost whispered and looked away.

“Is that what you’re saying?” I continued, “That I shouldn’t make you do the housework? That I should let you go to work again?”

He remained quiet. I didn’t know how much he had complained to his mother about how I’ve been treating him and I supposed he’d be embarrassed no end if she found out something new.

“Should I let you be on top while we’re having sex?” I went on, looking more at Dora than at him. It was obvious what she heard didn’t please her.

“Maybe I should even stop spanking you?” I said teasingly, “After all, what kind of a husband gets spanked by his wife?”

Dora’s lips were reduced to a pair of thin white lines.

“Unless you want him to look like that,” she almost barked.

“Well, to tell you the truth, I’m not perfectly happy about how he looks,” I said.

Dora’s face showed a faint sign of triumph. I smiled inwardly.

“I mean, you did a great job on him, I want you to know I appreciate it very much,” I said, “But there’s still room for improvement. His hips are kind of narrow – I think his figure would benefit from a corset. You know, a narrower waist will optically widen the hips. His hair is another subject, but we can’t do anything about that until it grows out a bit. And the bust – we have to do something about that.”

I could hardly keep myself from bursting out laughing as Jeremy looked at his mother in horror.

“Though the main thing, Dora, are the clothes,” I said.

“Yes?” she said, not altogether as angry as I expected.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I said, “They’re your clothes.”

“What’s wrong with that?” she asked.

“Don’t get me wrong, they’re very nice clothes,” I said, “But Dora, you have maids at home, you don’t do the housework – your work is in the office. You’re a CEO, for crying out loud. Look at him. Does he look like a housewife to you?”

“Come to think of it,” she replied, “The outfit does look a bit on the professional side.”

“It will have to do for the time being,” I said.

“I suppose so,” she replied.

“Let me get this straight,” Jeremy finally spoke up, though with a trembling voice, “You don’t mind me looking like that?”
”Like a woman, you mean?” I replied, “Not really.”
”But mummy,” he whined, “You said this would work for sure.”

“Guess I was wrong,” she replied, “She called our bluff.”

Looking as if he was going to burst in tears any second, he turned towards the stairs.

“Where are you going?” she asked him.

“I’m going to change out of this stupid clothes,” he said remorsefully, “I never should have listened to you in the first place.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she said sternly.

Her commanding voice made him freeze in his tracks.

“I’m sorry if my plan backfired, but I will not go back on my word,” she stated, “As long as you haven’t regained the status of a husband in your house, I’m not going to let you wear men’s clothes.”

“But… But I…” he stammered.

“I don’t want to hear another objection from you,” she said, “I’ve done as much as I could to help you. I’m afraid it’s up to you now.”

He hung his head, then as if a spark had lit up in his eyes, he spoke again.

“So you mean, if I get Susan to treat me properly, I can stop dressing in women’s clothes?” he said.

His mother chuckled.

“In all honesty, in retrospect, I think Susan has been treating you properly all along,” she said, “But yes, if you convince her to let you get a job, I’ll allow you to wear men’s clothes again.”

He turned to me.

“Susan, please?” he said, “Will you please let me go back to work?”

“Maybe some day, honey,” I said, then turned back to his mother, “But until then? Would you mind very much taking him shopping tomorrow? He can’t go on wearing your clothes in the mean time.”

 

#26

 

Just like Marjorie said, there was a nightgown waiting for me on my bed. As it was neatly folded, I couldn’t really see what it was like, except that it was pink in color, so I picked it up to examine it. As I lifted it off the bed, it unfolded and masses of gauzy material suddenly slid to the ground. Gasping audibly, I almost dropped it on the floor out of fright.

The short bodice was made out of silk, with a square neckline and frilly short sleeves. The neckline – and the front of the bodice – was lavishly decorated in lace. The skirt consisted of layers upon layers of gauzy pink chiffon, starting out at the high waistline and running all the way to the floor. The hem left the ground only when I held the nightgown high up in the air – higher than my shoulders, by all means.

I put it back on the bed and went to turn on the bed light. Then I turned off the light on the ceiling. Only in semi-darkness did I dare to take off my robe and put on the nightgown. As much disliked the sheer idea of doing so, I had to admit it felt incredibly sensuous as the gauzy materials slid over my now perfectly smooth skin. Even so, I didn’t dare to look in the mirror, I felt I was humiliated enough. However, my humiliation was soon increased when I tried to make my way to bed. As I had suspected, the nightgown was too long for me and after just a few short steps, I became entangled in an impossible mess of chiffon. Furthermore, it was impossible to lift the hem just by holding the skirt at thigh height. Before I could even begin to lift the inner layer – which I was standing on – the slippery material of the outer layers slid out of my fingers. After a few attempts, I gave up and sat down on the floor, the chiffon billowing about me. First I dug out my legs out of the gauzy mess, then I took hold of what I thought was the hem of the longest layer and stood up. It turned out I was wrong as some material slithered from under the one I was holding and fell around my feet. I let out an annoyed sigh, but I was able to gather the remaining material without sitting down again and make the remaining couple of strides to my bed.

As I let go of the material of my skirts and rearranged it a little around my legs, I noticed that the multitude of layers didn’t make the whole garment opaque. I could very well see my legs through my skirts and while I didn’t look, I was sure both my backside and my privates were also visible. Suddenly I felt sorry for refusing Marjorie’s offer of panties. I still thought of them as an impossibly frilly and feminine garment yet they would have at least covered my exposed areas. The same could be said about the high heeled slippers, I suppose, which would have given me the extra height necessary to keep the hem of my nightgown of the floor.

However, whatever was done was done, I said to myself as I climbed under the sheets and turned off the night light. I didn’t turn around much while I nervously awaited Marjorie’s entrance, though enough that I was forced to admit she had been right on another count – the silky nightgown did feel more appropriate under the satin sheets than my pajamas.

I must have been very tired because despite even stronger trepidation and anxiety I felt that night, I fell asleep before Marjorie came in. However, when she woke me up by pressing into me from behind, I instantly became fully aware of myself and her.

“Shhh,” she whispered in my ear after I had advertised my awaking with a shudder that ran throughout my body and slid her thick arm from my shoulder down to my chest, then slowly moving it to my belly. I knew that even with my both arms I couldn’t stop her from reaching wherever she wanted, so I just gently held on to her arm, as if I wanted to express my affection towards her. I noticed she was wearing her long sleeved pajamas which delighted me. Stroking her through the silk of her pajamas felt considerably less repulsing than touching her bare flesh. I felt relieved that the trick worked and she seemed placated by massaging my chest and toying with my nipples. However, that served only to excite her and thus lasted not nearly as long enough as I had hoped. Although it did last for what seemed to me was an eternity, as soon as she pressed her fat lips to the nape of my neck, I wished it could have lasted until the end of time. Marjorie on the other hand had other things on her mind and soon her palm slid down my front again, kneading my belly as it passed it until she finally groped between my legs. I sighed softly but otherwise made no sound, which is more than can be said for her increasingly loud breathing and the loud rustling of my skirts.

I hated myself for it, but my penis was responding to the situation with far more enthusiasm than myself. Under Marjorie’s crude, but masterful touch, it soon turned into a rock hard pole. Obviously satisfied, Marjorie relented her hold of my manhood and turned her attentions to my buttocks while slobbering on my neck.

After a few long moments, she tugged gently at my shoulder, signaling she wanted me to roll on my back. I didn’t even wish to look at her, much less fully expose my front side to her.

“No, please no,” I whimpered.

I could hear her swallow, then lick her lips and breathe lustily. With a single pull, she had me on my back. As saw her face slowly descending upon mine, I knew she was going to get what she wanted. Resigned, I closed my eyes and parted my lips to welcome her invading tongue as it thrust into my mouth.

Shortly thereafter she straddled me and, although I kept motionless the whole time, pinned me down by holding my wrists in her hands, kissing me some more. Then she started to hike up my skirts. All of the sudden, I was extremely thankful for the dozens of slippery layers my skirts comprised of. Even she, obviously used to this type of garments, had trouble raising my hem. Eventually however, I found myself with all of my nightgown’s fabrics bunched up above my waist, my erection protruding upwards.

“Please don’t…” I whimpered again, but she paid no attention to my pleas.

“Hold your skirts,” she hissed in my ear, guiding my hands by the wrists onto the masses of chiffon. With a satisfied grunt she then took off her pajama bottom and – too excited to take the top off as well – straddled me again.

As she fitted herself around me, it seemed that her massive thighs were going to swallow me completely. As soon as she was in position, though, she pressed my hands back on the pillow and the gauzy material puffed out, obscuring the action from my view. I leaned my head back against the pillow and soon enough her probing tongue was greedily exploring my mouth again.

As much as she repulsed me, I couldn’t deny Marjorie was a masterful lover. Minutes after I had – against my free will – entered her, I had my arms wrapped around her neck, clenching to her any way I could, sucking feverishly on her tongue and moving my hips wantonly in the rhythm she directed until I exploded in a scream of sheer delight.

The delight was all gone after I had regained full awareness of my actions and surroundings. Marjorie was still bending over me and I turned my head away in shame, trying to burry it into the soft satin covered pillow as much as I could. She wasn’t going to let me diminish her victory, though. With her hand she exerted an almost vice-like grip around my jaw and forced my head to face her again. I tried to look away by at least adverting my eyes, but she strengthened her grip to a very painful level until I relented and looked her in the eyes. I could feel tears welling up behind mine. She stared at me victoriously until I felt a single tear trickle back down my cheek. I started to sob.

“Oh, cry now,” she whispered menacingly, “But you liked it, didn’t you?”

I fought with all my strength to stop my sobbing, to control my breaths.

“Didn’t you?” she hissed.

I couldn’t help it any more and started weeping uncontrollably.

“You don’t have to answer,” she said, “We both know what happened. You liked it. You like being treated as a girl.”

She got off me, rearranged my skirts and my blankets, then left the room as I continued to cry into the pillow.

She was right, though. She had just raped me, and I enjoyed it. I enjoyed it immensely.

 

#27

 

I guess the worst part of Nicole taking over our marriage is that I lost my driving privileges, as she called them. I could easily cope with the clothes she makes me wear if she only drove me to work. It’s only eight o’clock in the morning and it’s already hot. This is the third bus I got on since leaving the house. I’ve still got a long way to ride, but at least I don’t have to transfer anymore and I’ve found a seat. The last bus was much worse. Crowded, hot and stuffy, the ride was rocky. I could hardly get near the handle bar to brace myself and even that after two stops. High time, as right after I got a good grip on the sweaty metal bar, the driver suddenly hit the brakes and it took all my strength not to fall down on the floor but that was all that I could prevent. I could only hold the handle bar with one arm, the other was already occupied with my handbag and my jacket that I had to take off. It took me by complete surprise when the bus stopped abruptly and the tug of inertia spun me around the vertical handlebar until I crashed into a man standing by the door, squealing with fright and surprise as I did so. I suppose I could have kept my ground even on my four inch heels if it only wasn’t for the tight skirt that prevented me from spreading my legs sideways by more than a foot. As it was, however, the only comfort I could find was that I left no traces of my elaborate makeup on the man’s shirt, as I apologized under the amused glances of fellow passengers.

Even without my clumsy antics, I get the same glances as people pass my seat. Most recently from a couple of schoolgirls. I can understand them, they’re all dressed either in shorts and tank tops or light summer dresses whereas I sit there in layers of clothing – Nicole insists I wear full lingerie and so I have to endure the morning heat with a full slip between my satin corset and my silk blouse. However, the heat gets to me the worst inside my panties. Even though I’m wearing stocking and not pantyhose, it’s quite hot and sweaty down there. The slip ends just below the hem of my skirt and the material of the skirt is too thick for this summer weather. Absently, my mind floats to the day Nicole bought me this suit. I remember her joy when she saw it on a mannequin and even more later on, when I modeled the yellow skirt and jacket ensemble, first at the store, then few days later at home with three different blouses, ‘all perfect’ that she bought me to wear along with it. Unavoidably, my mind revisits the night that followed and various ways how Nicole satisfied her lust. As if I’m not uncomfortable enough inside my tight panties, my penis start to respond to those thoughts. Half to try accommodating its slightly swollen size, half to let at least some air in under my skirt, I cross my legs, keeping them as far apart as manners permit as I do so, discretely hiding my actions from view with my jacket.

I open my handbag, take out my compact and check my make up. Still immaculate. I snap the compact closed and put it back inside the handbag. Another bunch of young girls pass by, I notice another pair of eyes viewing me half with pity, half with scorn. This time the object of attention is my crispy white blouse, with a long sash tied at the collar, lavish frills running down the bodice but still just enough transparent to hint at my lacy lingerie.

“Just wait a couple of short years, girls,” I say to them in my thoughts, “Then you’ll be in my shoes, every morning all prettied up, going to work.”

I pat my permed hair, then without thinking drop my hand in my lap again, as I’ve been so thoroughly trained to do.

“Then again, maybe you’ll have your husbands prettied up instead,” I add.

 

#28

 

The suit I was wearing was styled to look like men’s and I would have gotten away without anybody noticing had it not been for one very unlikely coincidence. Sandra, my coworker, was wearing the exact same suit!

The moment when I saw her come into the office, dressed in the chestnut brown pants and jacket, I recognized them immediately and knew I was in trouble. I hid behind my newspaper as much as I could, using the temporary cover to buy time in which to think of a permanent solution.

Our boss, Mrs. Davies came in and I had to put the paper down.

“Good morning,” she said, walking towards the door of her office between our desks. Fortunately, her attentions were turned to a stack of papers she held in her right hand. Sandra, however, had the time to glance at me. I prayed she wouldn’t notice the similarity of our outfits, but even before Mrs. Davies reached the door, Sandra was already standing beside my chair.

“Hey boss,” she said out, “Check this out – we’re color coordinated.”

Blushing furiously, I knew there was nothing I could do that wouldn’t attract further attention to us. Furthermore, I assumed I was safe – when people don’t expect a certain thing, it can be right under their noses and they won’t see it. Who would expect a man to wear a ladies’ suit?

Mrs. Davies turned around.

“Nice,” she said, pleasantly enough, then added, “Roger, could I see you in my office please?”

“Right away, boss,” I replied.

“Who’d have thought they’d make the same suit for men,” Sandra remarked as she sat down behind her own desk again.

“Yeah well, that’s fashion these days,” I said, carefully taking the longer way around my desk to Mrs. Davies’ door, not to expose my left profile to Sandra. The jacket didn’t entirely cover the side zipper of the pants.

“Well?” Mrs. Davies said as I closed the door behind me.

“I beg your pardon?” I said.

“What Sandra said,” she explained, “The odds they’d make a men’s version of her suit.”

I shrugged, wishing she’d drop the subject and offer me to sit down. Instead, she got up herself, walked around her desk, stood next to me.

“They don’t, do they?” She said.

I swallowed.

“I guess not,” I replied, barely audibly.

“These are women’s clothes you’re wearing, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” I whispered my confession.

“Where did you get them?” she asked.

“They’re my wife’s,” I said.

“Oh really,” she said, sounding intrigued, “Does your wife know you wear her clothes to the office?”

“Yes,” I replied, not wanting to go into full detail about Rachel’s involvement in my attire.

“This is not the first time you’re wearing her clothes, is it?” Mrs. Davies pressed further.

“No, ma’am,” I said, bracing myself for the worst.

“Those black pants you wore last week,” she said, “They were hers too, weren’t they?”

“Yes,” I nodded, relieved that her knowledge didn’t go deeper than that.

She circled around me, examining my clothes.

“Could you open your jacket for me, Roger?” she said, standing in front of me again.

“Please, Mrs. Davies,” I stammered, “Please don’t…”

“Don’t what?” she said, “Just open you jacket, please. Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

Albeit colored in a soft, pastel shade of blue, my cuffs and collar appeared as if they could belong to a normal men’s shirt. But as I, fighting tears, opened my jacket, I revealed that they were actually attached to an otherwise very feminine, diaphanous blouse. Her peering gaze felt as it was setting me on fire as I was aware that the gauzy material of my blouse did nothing to hide the lacy lingerie I was wearing underneath.

“Very nice,” she commented, “I suppose the blouse is also your wife’s.”

“It’s mine,” I said, weakly.

“Again, very nice,” she said, “Though if I were you, I’d wear more modest, conservative undies with it. Yours kind of capture the attention. A simple, plain camisole would be better.”

I couldn’t bear it any longer and burst into tears.

“Please don’t fire me, Mrs. Davies,” I bleated.

“Fire you? Whatever for?” she said, hugging me reassuringly and taking off my jacket as she did so, “Don’t worry, you’re job is safe.”

A wave of relief swept over me – I’d keep on working! Though I was worried over Mrs. Davies having seen my feminine attire, I had calmed down enough to stop crying.

“I really don’t mind what you wear,” Mrs. Davies said, “As long as you make yourself presentable.”

She opened her handbag, took out a paper tissue and started dabbing my tears, then suddenly stopped.

“Why don’t you sit down?” she said.

I sat on her chair and she resumed cleaning my face. When she was done with the tissue, she took out a small jar of cream and rubbed some on the skin under my eyes.

“This will take the redness away in no time,” she said, “You poor thing.”

Having put away the jar, she took some more items out of her handbag.

“Keep still now,” she said and started touching my face with a powder applicator.

“Mrs. Davies, what are you doing?” I weakly protested.

She didn’t answer until she had not only powdered my face but reddened my cheekbones with her blush.

“Just to soften your features a little…” she said, concentrating on lining my eyes with a black pencil and adding some eyeshadow.

“I’ll need your full cooperation here,” she said as she took out her mascara wand.

Obediently, I opened and closed my eyes as she thickened my eyelashes.

“There,” she said, then paused.

“One more thing, though”, she said, “Could you lift the leg of your pants for me?”

I did as she asked, pulling the material of my pants way above the top of my socks, revealing the pale tan nylon stockings I was wearing.

“Just as I thought,” she said, “You don’t really need to wear that extra pair of socks, do you?”

Without a word, I took off my shoes and removed my socks. I didn’t even try to hide my toes, painted a bright shade of red. Actually, my shoes – a women’s imitation of the male oxford style – felt better with only a thin layer of nylon on my feet.

She opened the door of her office.

“Sandra?” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Can I see you too for a minute?”

“Sure, Mrs. Davies,” Sandra replied.

“You know, I rather like the idea of you wearing matching outfits,” Mrs. Davies said to Sandra, “As a matter of fact, I’d like you to try it again.”

“Really? When? I hope not right away tomorrow,” Sandra replied, “I really don’t feel like wearing the same suit two days in a row.”

“Don’t worry,” Mrs. Davies said, “I was thinking that you’d try that this casual Friday.”

“Oh, I don’t know, boss,” Sandra complained, “I was hoping I’d wear a dress I just bought.”

“I don’t see how this would be a problem,” Mrs. Davies said.

Just as Sandra was to voice her protests, she reached the office and saw me.

“Come to think of it,” she said, “Neither can I.”

“Splendid,” Mrs. Davies said, then turned to me, “In the mean time, Roger? Does your wife have any skirts too?”

 

#29

 

Failed Intervention

 

By Rosie

 

This is an excerpt of a story we talked about some time ago. A mother observes her son losing the dominant role in his marriage to his wife. After he turns to her for help, she intervenes in her own way.

 

Originally Short Bits #25

 

With a sullen expression, Dora, my mother in law, dragged my husband into the room. She had dressed him in a black knee length pencil skirt and a shiny purple long sleeved blouse. He wore purple pumps with a four inch heel, his legs were encased in purple hued nylons that matched his blouse. It was quite a pretty ensemble, actually. The collar of his blouse extended down his front all the way below the waistline and was clipped against the blouse with a thin patent black belt. His face was tastefully made up and his once manly eyebrows were now just two thin arcs above his eyes. His hair, although hardly long enough, was cut and styled in feminine manner. Even his nails were shining with a clear coat of polish.

“Dora,” I smiled, puzzled by my husband’s new outlook, “What’s the meaning of this? Weren’t you just saying how I don’t respect Jeremy enough as a man?”

“Yes,” she replied, hardly curbing her anger, “And since you refuse to listen to me, I had to turn to more drastic methods.”

“And you do this by dressing your son as a woman?” I asked.

“This is how you’ve been treating him,” she hissed, “As a wife. And this is what a wife looks like.”

“Well, Dora, don’t you think you’re over reacting?” I said, “Putting him in skirts because he does most of the chores in our house?”

“If you want him out of skirts, you’ll have to start treating him like you should,” she replied, “As long as I have any say on the matter, this is what he will look like until you start paying him respect a husband should get.”
”Well, Dora, I must say, I’m shocked,” I choked.

“Think about it,” she said, “That’s how it is.”

I walked up to my feminized husband.

“Doesn’t it feel this strange, that you’re finally taller than me,” I said, pointing to his high heeled shoes, “Or is that how it should be? After all, most husbands are taller than their wives.”

He blushed at my remark and twitched in fright as I touched the silky material of his blouse.

“Don’t worry, darling, I’m not going to hurt you,” I said soothingly, then turned to his mother again.

“These clothes, you didn’t buy them just for this occasion?” I asked, further examining his blouse.

“They’re mine,” she dryly replied.

“Well, it figures. The blouse is a bit big at the shoulders, not to mention the bust,” I said, “You do have good taste, Dora.”

“Thank you,” she said, not all sarcastically.

I turned to Jeremy again.

“What do you think, honey?” I said, “Should I start treating you like a husband? Like a man?”

“If you want me looking like one,” he almost whispered and looked away.

“Is that what you’re saying?” I continued, “That I shouldn’t make you do the housework? That I should let you go to work again?”

He remained quiet. I didn’t know how much he had complained to his mother about how I’ve been treating him and I supposed he’d be embarrassed no end if she found out something new.

“Should I let you be on top while we’re having sex?” I went on, looking more at Dora than at him. It was obvious what she heard didn’t please her.

“Maybe I should even stop spanking you?” I said teasingly, “After all, what kind of a husband gets spanked by his wife?”

Dora’s lips were reduced to a pair of thin white lines.

“Unless you want him to look like that,” she almost barked.

“Well, to tell you the truth, I’m not perfectly happy about how he looks,” I said.

Dora’s face showed a faint sign of triumph. I smiled inwardly.

“I mean, you did a great job on him, I want you to know I appreciate it very much,” I said, “But there’s still room for improvement. His hips are kind of narrow – I think his figure would benefit from a corset. You know, a narrower waist will optically widen the hips. His hair is another subject, but we can’t do anything about that until it grows out a bit. And the bust – we have to do something about that.”

I could hardly keep myself from bursting out laughing as Jeremy looked at his mother in horror.

“Though the main thing, Dora, are the clothes,” I said.

“Yes?” she said, not altogether as angry as I expected.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I said, “They’re your clothes.”

“What’s wrong with that?” she asked.

“Don’t get me wrong, they’re very nice clothes,” I said, “But Dora, you have maids at home, you don’t do the housework – your work is in the office. You’re a CEO, for crying out loud. Look at him. Does he look like a housewife to you?”

“Come to think of it,” she replied, “The outfit does look a bit on the professional side.”

“It will have to do for the time being,” I said.

“I suppose so,” she replied.

“Let me get this straight,” Jeremy finally spoke up, though with a trembling voice, “You don’t mind me looking like that?”
”Like a woman, you mean?” I replied, “Not really.”
”But mummy,” he whined, “You said this would work for sure.”

“Guess I was wrong,” she replied, “She called our bluff.”

Looking as if he was going to burst in tears any second, he turned towards the stairs.

“Where are you going?” she asked him.

“I’m going to change out of this stupid clothes,” he said remorsefully, “I never should have listened to you in the first place.

“Oh, no you don’t,” she said sternly.

Her commanding voice made him freeze in his tracks.

“I’m sorry if my plan backfired, but I will not go back on my word,” she stated, “As long as you haven’t regained the status of a husband in your house, I’m not going to let you wear men’s clothes.”

“But… But I…” he stammered.

“I don’t want to hear another objection from you,” she said, “I’ve done as much as I could to help you. I’m afraid it’s up to you now.”

He hung his head, then as if a spark had lit up in his eyes, he spoke again.

“So you mean, if I get Susan to treat me properly, I can stop dressing in women’s clothes?” he said.

His mother chuckled.

“In all honesty, in retrospect, I think Susan has been treating you properly all along,” she said, “But yes, if you convince her to let you get a job, I’ll allow you to wear men’s clothes again.”

He turned to me.

“Susan, please?” he said, “Will you please let me go back to work?”

“Maybe some day, honey,” I said, then turned back to his mother, “But until then? Would you mind very much taking him shopping tomorrow? He can’t go on wearing your clothes in the mean time.”

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