Sunday, December 12, 2010
Forced Femme Stories: "Mother In Law" (part 3 of 3) by Sara Girl
I went down to the kitchen quietly, hoping, praying, I did not run into Susan's mother, but the house was quiet. She was either in her room or out enjoying her Friday evening.
I got out dinner and arranged the sushi, wine, wine glasses, plates and everything we needed onto a tray. Walking in heels, especially carrying something, was difficult, to say the least, though I managed to make it back upstairs. Slowly. But I did it without spilling.
I almost spilled, though. I almost spilled when I dropped the whole tray walking into the master bedroom and found Susan not alone, but sitting on the bed with her mother, talking about something. I almost spilled the tray because between them was the silicone cock that had so recently been inside Susan's pussy, inside my mouth.
They stopped talking when I walked into the room as if what ever conspiracy they were engaged in was not for my ears.
Mrs. Stanton looked at me carrying the tray, her eyes conveying some degree of pleasure in seeing me this way, in seeing me serving Susan. She looked down on the bed, at the cock, finally stood. "I'll leave you two alone."
"Mother," my wife said.
"Of course, Susan." She started for the door, paused, looked at me. "Of course I will."
"She will what, Susan?"
"Um, nothing, Michael, nothing," Susan said, looking away from me.
I crossed my brows but let it go. We enjoyed dinner, enjoyed the relaxation, enjoyed the bottle of wine. We did not speak during the meal of the evening activities, of her mother, of Tom, of anything. We just enjoyed.
After I cleaned up, we both realized that the sex, the meal, and the wine, even the week, had tired us out. Susan, of course, insisted I sleep in lingerie, and asked me to simply take off the garter belt, stockings, and bra, leaving me to sleep in the tap panties and camisole.
"I think you look just adorable in mother's lingerie," she told me watching me get ready for bed.
I looked down, somewhat crestfallen.
"Michael, it's okay, really."
I was a sissy. I was a sissy. I was having trouble admitting it. But I was, without a doubt, a sissy.
In bed, cuddling, she started rubbing my stomach, my chest, my nipples, through the satin camisole. "Are you okay, Michael," she asked me.
"I love you Michael."
"I know, its just that, I don't know how to say it."
"What? Say what?"
"I'm your husband, Susan!"
"And I love you totally, sweetie."
"But...I'm your husband and...I'm wearing...
"And a husband should be a man and men don't wear lingerie?"
"Michael, mother was right, she was right all along, don't you see? It doesn't matter. Don't worry about trying to be a man, just worry about being what you are."
"But you...you want a man!"
"Sweetie, sweetie. I love you. I want to be married to you. Michael. You."
"You want to fuck a man."
"So? That's different. I don't want a man. I don't want to fall in love with a man. I'm not ever going to leave you for a man. I want you. I want you."
"But you still want to fuck a man. You still want to fuck Tom," I accused her.
"And you still want me to fuck him, Michael. Tell me no, tell me you don't. You didn't say no before, Michael. Are you saying no now?"
I didn't answer. I still kept hearing her voice tell me how hard his cock was. I could feel it, the silicone cock. In my hands. In her. In my mouth.
Susan leaned over and kissed me, deeply. "You didn't say no, Michael. Remember, you didn't say no."
We lay together for a few more minutes, all the while she kept toying with my chest. "Michael?"
"I...um, tomorrow...I wasn't just playing, I really don't want you wearing men's underwear. Tomorrow. Sunday. Ever."
"Okay," I said softly. "But I...do I have to ask you mother again?"
"I wanted to talk to you about that before we went to sleep."
"Tomorrow when I go into the office, I want..."
"You're going in tomorrow?" She didn't usually work on Saturdays.
"I know, I don't really want to, but, well, Tom's flying in Sunday night and I need to get some things ready."
"Oh," I said, with a mixture of both disappointment and some excitement.
"We'll talk about that tomorrow. My point was that when I'm at work, mother wants to talk to you about a few things."
"What kind of things," I warily asked.
"Things. I...I don't know, really. I...I admit I don't know everything about...well...as it may be obvious to you, she has some experience with...things, and, well, there are some things she wants to...talk about."
"What kind of things, Susan?"
"Honestly, Michael, she said she'd rather discuss them with you, okay?"
"Trust me, Michael...trust me."
The next morning Susan was ready to go to the office by eight. "Mother said to bring her coffee at 9:00."
I looked away from Susan, face blushing already. "What am I supposed to wear?"
"Well, I wondered the same thing, Michael, so I asked her, she said just this is fine." The camisole and tap panty set.
"Coffee, and she also said to bring a zip lock bag of ice, of all things."
"I don't know
"It's okay, trust me, sweetie," she said, kissing me. "Listen, I'll be home by 1. I want to go to the mall this afternoon, so we can eat when I get home, then go, okay?"
"Sure," I said, not really paying much attention to the mall plan, just the "mother-in-law" plan.
At nine, I was standing in front of Mrs. Stanton's door, wearing the camisole and tap panty set, coffee in one hand, a bag of ice in the other, knocking, shaking, trying not to spill.
My mother-in-law opened the door, reached out, took the coffee, thanked me, and told me to come in. "Just put the ice there," she said, pointing to a towel on the night stand. "Thank you."
I set the ice down on the towel. There was already something there that caught my eye. Some pink plastic thing I did not recognize. But it was on the towel. And clearly had something to do with the ice.
"It's a chastity cage, Michael," Mrs. Stanton said, obviously watching me stare at what ever it was.
My brow creased. What was...
She laughed. "A chastity cage. I take it you're familiar with neither the term nor the concept."
"Um, no," I said.
"Not surprising, but no matter. After we get it in place, I'll explain it to you. I want you to remove your panties and lie down on the bed there, next to the table."
Hesitantly, I did as ordered. For it was an order. I had no doubt that now, if ever, should I question my mother-in-law. On the bed, I watched her walk over to me, pick up the ice and the pink contraption, sit down next to me, facing away from me.
"What are you going to do," I asked.
"Just hold still, this will be a little cold." She took the bag of ice, placed it against my penis.
"Ohhh," I yelped.
"Hold still Michael, this will only take a minute." She held the bag of ice on me tightly, finally removed it. "There, much better." I sensed that she had my penis in her hands, but could just barely feel it given the ice, couldn't really see it given the way she was sitting. I felt her manipulate my penis and my balls.
"One second sweetie." I heard a small click. "There, all done," she said standing up. "You can put your panties back on for now until we get you dressed."
I immediately looked down at my crotch. The pink plastic device that had been sitting on the table was now wrapped around me. There was a ring around the back of my ball sack and a small pink cage encasing my penis. I furrowed my brow. What was this? The click I'd heard could only have come from one thing, the small brass padlock on the front of whatever this was.
I looked up at my mother-in-law. Without explanation from her, it dawned on me what a chastity cage must be, for she'd locked this small pink plastic cage around my penis. I emphasize small, for the plastic surrounding my shrunken penis could have been no more than two or three inches.
It was small, almost too small to...oh my god, I thought. Chastity. Cage. The lock. It was too small for me to swell, too small to get an erection. It was so small that I couldn't...and it locked!
"Mrs. Stanton," I suddenly exclaimed, quite nervous about what just happened.
"Yes, as you're surmising, Michael, a chastity cage is a simple little device that prevents a male, or in this case, a sissy, from getting an erection, from achieving an orgasm."
"Wait a minute, I can't..."
"No, Michael, not unless you're unlocked."
"But you...how can I...
"Michael. Please get up and put your panties back on, then we'll discuss this."
I did as she asked. Not because I wanted panties back on, but because I wanted to know what the fuck she was doing.
"Why are...why did Susan...how are Susan and I..." Words and questions tumbled out jumbled together.
"Michael, slow down, please," she said, holding up her hand. "Sit down, please," she pointed to the bed.
"Now, take a breath. There. Okay. Now, first things first. Susan does not know about this."
My eyes went wide.
"Yet, obviously, Michael. She doesn't know about it yet. Not that she's going to have much problem with you in chastity, given what you two have been discussing."
I was surprised again. But then, Susan had told me she told her mother things. Most things.
"Yes, Michael, I know what you and my daughter have been talking about. That's not my concern, though that may surprise you. What Susan does is her business. My concern is that she's happy and, just as important, that her marriage is happy. I've been unhappily married and I don't and wouldn't wish that on anyone. Anyone at all."
"But what's that got to do with," I looked down, "with this?"
"Everything, Michael, everything. I don't know if you really appreciate yourself yet, Michael. You're a sissy. Moreover, you're a submissive. I realize I've been slightly harsh with you, Michael," she said, reaching over and touching my hand, "but it's nothing to do with my thoughts about you. I like you, Michael. If for no other reason than you make Susan happy and you dote on her. You treat my baby like a princess and make her happy. I don't care if you're a sissy or not. But you are. And I'm trying to help you and Susan understand what that means so you can be happy with one another."
"But she wants a man," I looked down, feeling hope slipping. "She wants a man. She doesn't want me."
"No, Michael, that's where you're wrong. She doesn't want a man. She wants you. She wants Michael. She loves you."
"But she said she wants to...to..."
"To fuck a man?"
"Which is completely different than what she wants and feels for you."
"But she want to..."
"Michael," she said sharply, "YOU want the SAME THING."
I looked up at her.
"You want the same thing, don't you? You, Michael, YOU want her to fuck a man, don't you? You practically begged her, didn't you?"
"Yes," I whispered, starting to shake.
"Michael, there is nothing wrong with that, nothing. As long as you and Susan are honest with each other, communicate, talk, there is NOTHING wrong with that."
"But I...I'm her husband."
"Yes. Her sissy husband who gets sexually excited serving her, pleasing her, even thinking of her getting fucked."
I blushed, looked away. God, she was right. She was right.
"Michael, you devote yourself to Susan. I know. She tells me. You submit yourself to her. You want to, don't you, that makes you happy?"
"That's what's so beautiful about cuckolding, Michael. You're doing it to please her. She's doing it to please you. Please trust me when I tell you that you're feelings are okay."
"But it's not normal."
"Not normal? What's normal? Who cares? What's important is that you two are happy. Let me ask you something, how is your sex life? Is it normal?"
I didn't know what to say to that.
"Michael, Susan thinks you're the most tender and wonderful lover a woman could have. Do you know why? Because you devote yourself to her and her pleasure. It works so well because she NEEDS to be pampered and you NEED to pamper. Not every woman would be happy married to a sissy, but for a woman like Susan, nothing could make her happier."
"What's any of this have to do with this," I asked, pointing to my panties, to my locked penis.
"Chastity, Michael, reminds you to serve Susan. This is about Susan. This is not about you fantasizing about Susan and masturbating yourself."
I blushed. "I don't do that."
"Michael, please, you don't insult me. I know more about sissies than you do. Of course you do that, and will do that. Part of the reason you need to be locked up is to prevent that. I know you want to serve Susan. I know you need to serve Susan. This," she pointed to me, "will make sure that you remember that. You serve Susan."
"But how I supposed to, you know..."
I looked away again, suddenly embarrassed and humiliated to talk to my wife's mother about this, despite everything.
"That's what you're asking, right? How do you fuck your wife?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"You don't, Michael. That's kind of the point, you're not going to. Not on a regular basis, anyway. That's the other half of the reason for chastity. You can neither masturbate without permission, nor fuck whenever you want. You're a sissy, Michael, you need permission to cum."
"Permission? I have to ask her permission to cum."
Mrs. Stanton laughed. "Well, you can ask Susan for permission, too, if you'd like, but what you really need to do is to need to ask the keyholder's permission to cum."
"Keyholder, Michael, the one who holds the key to that lock." She held up a small key.
I looked at her hands, the key. I opened my eyes, literally and figuratively.
"A keyholder is usually the wife, but that doesn't have to be the case. A wife can give the key, give that power to someone else. Her mother, for instance, or maybe her father. Or maybe her lover. Obviously, Susan is going to get the key, eventually, but for now, for now, at least, I will be holding on to this, so I'll be the one granting, or more likely denying, permission to cum."
I threw my head back, let out a groan, "why? Why?"
"Michael, you may think me cruel, I understand, but I'm not, I'm really not. I'm doing this FOR YOU, FOR HER."
"You're making me a sissy for her?"
"Michael, please, don't. I'm not making you a sissy. That's the point...YOU ARE A SISSY. All I'm making this easier for you to accept that and easier for her to understand that. Do you really think I am making you a sissy? Do you really think that?"
I frowned. No. No she wasn't. "No."
"Of course not, Michael, you are a sissy. You know that. I know it is hard to ACCEPT, but you are and you know you are. And like most sissies, you're also submissive. That's okay. That's good, actually. Especially if, well, if a sissy and his wife are thinking about cuckolding."
I looked away again. That word. That word just tore at me.
"It's okay, Michael. The chastity cage is going to help with that, too. It's going to add some clarity to things. You can't cum, thus you can't have a sexual letdown. That is going to help you focus. Do you really want Susan to fuck a man? I think you do. I think you couldn't tell Susan no because you do, you really want her to. But Michael, again, that's OKAY. You're a submissive sissy, you want to submit to Susan. You need to submit to Susan. Cuckolding is the ultimate submission, if both partners want that. For many men, especially for sissies, cuckolding is the ultimate submission. You're admitting to your partner that you're not a man. That you can't satisfy her the way a man can. There is NOTHING wrong with that, not when you satisfy her in so many other ways.
"Sometimes it is liberating, Michael. It is hard for you to admit to yourself that you're a sissy because you're trying to be a man. Don't try, Michael. Don't be her man. You can't anyway. Let a man be her man, you be her sissy.
"Do you want to be Susan's sissy, Michael?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"Do you want to be her man?"
I just looked down at the ground.
"Michael, do you want to be her man?"
"This is important. Please tell me, Michael, honestly. Do you want her to fuck a man."
I looked up at my mother-in-law. "Yes...yes," I gasped, "but I don't want to lose her!"
"That's why I'm here for both of you, Michael. You're not going to lose her. If anything, you're going to be even closer to her, closer."
I almost cried. I really almost cried. I didn't want to lose Susan. I loved her. I loved her more than any woman in the world. As my friend, my wife, my lover. I loved her.
"Michael, trying to be her man isn't going to make you closer, it is only going to drive a wedge between you. You can't be her man. You know it. She knows it. She especially knows it now that a man, a real man, has caught her eye. If you keep trying to be her man, you're only going to further show her the difference between you and him. The only thing you can do, the only thing, to stay close to her, to grow closer, is to be the complete opposite. Be her sissy. Be that, Michael, be her sissy, accept it. You want to, I know you want to, don't you."
"You want to be her sissy."
"Yes," I whispered.
"Not her man, Michael. You have to accept that you can't be her man. You can be a male, sometimes, but you can't be her man."
"Then be her sissy, Michael, be that for her."
"What do you want me to do," I asked.
"You're very pretty, you have a cute body, and, while it is important for a sissy to remember that she's still a male, though not a man, there are some things you can do to de-emphasize some of your male traits. I told you the other day, Michael, while you're not naturally hairy, you need to get rid of what little body hair you have. You'll feel, and Susan will see you as much more feminine if you're smooth all over."
"You want me to shave my legs?"
She chuckled. "Well, yes and no. First, you can't shave...you don't know how to shave your legs, all you'll do is cut them to ribbons. I want you to take a shower," she looked towards her bathroom, "and use the hair removal cream I've set in there. Next, not just your legs, Michael. Your legs, yes, but, trim your pubic hair, under your arms, in between, well, your bottom. Look at it this way...where does Susan trim or shave? All those places." "Hairless? All my hair?" This seemed a bit extreme, over the top. All my hair? "Of course, Michael. You're a sissy. I'll keep saying it, but you're a sissy. You have no need for masculine things. You're not a man. Why confuse Susan? Or yourself? Remove what's holding you back, those things that confuse you, that make you think you're a man. I'm not telling you anything that's secretive, really, but I'm going to deprive you of masculinity, Michael, to help you accept being a sissy. I'm going to strip away anything and everything that you could use to cling onto the thought that you're a man." I swallowed. Her words, her intentions, were a slap. "Michael, you're a sissy. Remind yourself of that constantly. You're a sissy. Now, please, the shower."
I stood, walked to the bathroom, followed by Mrs. Stanton who walked right in with me.
"Modesty, now? I think not, Michael. Get undressed." She started and warmed the shower water and after undressing I got in.
"Wash first, then the cream. It takes about two minutes. Rinse it off, then wash again."
The only thing to wash with was the Sensual Amber body wash from Bath & Body Works. The smell, which floated to my nose as I lathered the wash over my body was purely feminine, purely womanly, purely erotic. After washing and rinsing, I applied the hair removing lotion carefully over my legs, parts of my pubes around the chastity cage, the crack of my ass, and under my arms. The lotion tingled at first, then stung slightly. I counted to 120 in my head, waited, then move the shower head to rinse off.
I watched, wistfully, as what little body hair I had slid off my body, slid down into the tub, towards the drain. I watched, seemingly, as what little masculinity I had, was washed from me, as what little maleness I had gathered around the drain.
Washing the second time, was, if possible, more sensual than the first. More erotic. I was smooth. I felt my skin, closer to a woman's skin than a man's skin. I felt pretty. I smelled pretty. Honestly, I was pretty. It was disturbing to me, as I still thought of myself as a male, but I was pretty. As a sissy, I was pretty. I was prettier as a girl than I was handsome as a man.
A pretty sissy.
The thought struck me again. In comparison, I was a prettier girl than I was handsome as a man.
When I finished showering, I turned off the water, opened the shower door to see Mrs. Stanton standing, waiting, holding a towel, which she handed to me.
"There, that's so much better, Michael."
After I dried, she handed me a bottle of scented lotion. "Rub this onto your skin, Michael. It will help alleviate any irritation from the hair removal cream. Taking care of your skin is important for a woman...or a sissy."
I took the lotion from her. It too was from Bath and Body Works, the same Sensual Amber I washed off with in the shower. Following her directions, I rubbed a bit of lotion all over me, all over my skin. The feeling was strange, not just physically, but mentally. The act was one of submission. Each inch of my smooth skin I touched with the lotion felt electric, alive. But mentally, each inch of my skin I touched felt...feminine. I was rubbing femininity into my skin, into me, into my mind, all over me. The lotion represented something feminine. The smoothness, the smell. I smelled feminine. I felt feminine. I was feminine.
"Very nice, Michael, very nice. Now I want to ask you something. Just answer, don't think about it, just answer. How do you feel?"
"Feminine," I quickly answered.
"Yes, that's good. Do you feel masculine at all?"
"At all? Even a little bit?"
"No." How could I possibly feel masculine. I was basically hairless, my skin was so smooth. I smelled like a woman. I felt like a woman. I probably looked a little like a woman, save for my penis, though that was small and caged, and my lack of breasts.
"Good, that's good, excellent really. Okay, now I want to test that. Because it's important for you to feel feminine, to reject any masculine feelings. You don't want to confuse Susan. Or yourself. Please put those on," she pointed to a small pile of satin lilac lingerie on the counter, "and then come into the bedroom."
I picked up the lingerie, similar to what I'd already been wearing, a satin camisole and tap panty set. Oddly, it almost seemed normal.
It was not nearly so normal when I walked into the bedroom. There, Mrs. Stanton was sitting on the bed with several items next to her. The first that caught my eye, that my eye was drawn to, had to look at, was the very cock Susan and I had in bed last night.
The long, hard cock.
Sitting there, next to Susan's mother, who acted as if this was a normal and every day event.
Next to the cock were...well...how to describe? Breasts. Two mounds that looked exactly like female breasts. Obviously fake, not being attached to a woman, but breasts just the same in color, shape, even texture.
My eyes went back to the cock.
"What is that, Michael," she asked me.
"Now, now, it's okay. Normally, I'd do this a bit differently, but given your, um, activities last night, this may be the best way."
I looked up at her. Normally? What did she mean by that. Normally? What was normal about any of this?
"Michael, first, please answer my question. What is this," she asked again.
"A...a cock," I answered, almost chocking on the word.
"A cock, Michael, yes, of course, no mystery there. And who has cocks, Michael?"
"Men," I answered tentatively.
"Of course," she smiled as if teaching a slow child. "And you, do you have a cock?"
I looked down at my crotch, at the slight bump caused by the chastity cage in my panties. "No, no I don't."
"No, of course not. Sissies don't have cock, do they?"
"What do they have?"
"Um, a...a penis?"
"Well, some may call it a penis. That's the correct anatomical term, certainly, but there's another term that a sissy can use to refer to it. Do you know what that is?"
I looked down. It wasn't a cock. Not a penis. A dick? That didn't seem right. Too harsh. I looked up at her again, questioning.
"What is a woman's sexual organ called, Michael, not her pussy or vagina, but the part of a woman that swells?"
"Exactly, a clit. Excellent. Now, a sissy could call her little thing a penis, but there's a much better term, one that pays homage to the feminine, Michael. So, a man has a cock. A woman has a clit. A sissy has..."
I leaned forward, almost anxious.
"...a clitty, Michael. A sissy...you...have a clitty. I want you to think of yours that way, think of that little thing locked up in that cage as a clitty. Not a cock, obviously, no longer a penis, but a clitty. Say it, clitty."
"Clitty," I obediently repeated.
"Good, good, again, say I have..."
"I have a clitty," I said.
"There you go, Michael. A pretty little clitty. And like a clit, it can swell and grow when you're excited, it can be fun to rub together with a woman's clit, some women even like to lick them, but remember, it's not a cock, it's not a penis, Michael. It's not for fucking. Cocks," she held up the dildo, "cocks are for fucking and sucking. A clitty is for rubbing and licking."
I just stared at the cock in her hands. Stared.
"You've never seen a cock up close before last night, have you?" Her voice had a note of sympathy, understanding.
"Just my" I stopped myself from saying, 'mine' as she glared at me. "No," I said, staring at her hands, at the organ.
"I'm sure it must have surprised you? How much pleasure a woman can feel with a cock."
I gulped, thinking of Susan's explosive orgasm.
"I'm sure you saw Susan experience something you've never seen her experience before.
"I want you to understand something, Michael. That's okay. What you feel is normal. But, remember, you're a sissy. You're not supposed to please a woman the same way a man does. What's important is that you please a woman, you please Susan, the way you can, in ways a man never can. Please, understand, just because you can't fuck Susan doesn't mean you can't please her. You can, you can please her in ways a man never could. You just can't please her in the ways a man can."
"Michael, please, I know you may feel that I'm being mean, even harsh with you, but I'm not. I'm here to help you, and more importantly, to help Susan. Trust me, Michael. Susan loves you very much. Seeing you as a sissy, not a man, is good for both of you. It really is. It's good for you to understand and accept who you are. It's good for Susan to understand the same, so she's not conflicted either. More sissies are in unhappy marriages because one or both of them don't accept that, don't accept the sissy. It is easier for both of you, it will make you closer, the more you both accept what you are and what she wants and needs. Trust me, Susan could no more be happy married to a man than you could continuing to pretend you're a man."
"But she says that she wants to, you know, to..."
"Yes, Michael, but you say the same thing. You both seem to want that. But that has nothing to do with your love for one another. Cuckolding...yes, that word that seems to affect you so much, cuckolding is about love and submission. And trust. If one of you ever thinks something is going too far, you must communicate that feeling and slow things down."
"Michael, she asked you. I'm asking you. Do you want Susan to fuck a man? Yes or no? Because if it is no, she shouldn't. She won't. You can say no. You can't change the fact that you're a sissy. Or that you must submit to your wife. Those things are hard wired into your brain. But you can say no to this."
I bit my lip. I could say no. I knew I could. I knew Susan wouldn't do anything I was absolutely uncomfortable with. But I didn't say no. I didn't want to. I wanted to, but I didn't want to.
"Yes?" I looked at her.
"Michael, this is your choice too."
We just looked at one another. I looked at her, then the cock, then her again. Finally, Mrs. Stanton put the cock on the bed next to the breasts, which I'd really forgotten were even there. "Michael, there is something else that makes a woman different from a man."
I looked at them closer. Breasts. I tilted my head slightly. I wasn't sure what she was going to say, but somewhere, I sensed what she wanted to do.
"Yes, Michael, breasts. A woman has breasts. Obviously, a man doesn't. Nor does a sissy."
"Those are fake breasts."
"Breastforms. They are for a woman who has had a mastectomy and want to have her femininity back, who wants her curves, her breasts, to make her feel feminine. It's ironic, really, many women who have had a mastectomy feel like they are not feminine without a breast or breasts. Breastforms make a woman feel like a woman again."
"But what's that have to do with me?"
"The same as it does with any sissy, Michael. Breasts make you feel feminine. Breasts reinforce the idea that you're not a man. That you're more woman, than you ever were man."
"I...you want me to have breasts," I asked her incredulously, as I looked at them again. Breasts. Breasts. I'd worn a bra yesterday, but this was different. Those were, well, breasts!
"Michael, I don't want you to have anything. I want you to accept what you are and what flows naturally from that. You're a sissy, Michael. You're not a man. Obviously, you're a male, you're not a woman, but I suspect, when presented with what you can have, such as breasts, you'll want to have them, to experience them."
"I can't walk around with breasts," I protested.
"Well, the issue is the practical, then, not the concept?"
"You're not telling me you don't want to have breasts, Michael, you're telling me you're concerned about hiding your breasts. I agree, at this stage, you can't walk around the mall with Susan with lovely breasts, even if you wanted to. But that doesn't mean you can't experience breasts. Michael, I have a lovely bra that matches that lingerie. In fact, there is an entire set, bra and garter belt, too. You're right, you can't have breasts now. In fact I won't let you. I don't want to ruin the experience for you. I just want you to know what I can do for you."
I felt oddly disappointed. There was no way I wanted breasts. Yet, I felt disappointed that I couldn't have them.
"Michael, we've talked about a lot this morning. Susan is going to be home soon and I understand she wants to go shopping with you this afternoon. Why don't you go get dressed and we'll have another lesson later."
After lunch, after Susan got home, I was dressed in slacks, a loose shirt, so as to hide my camisole, and ready to go shopping. Susan wanted to go to an upscale mall.
"Are you looking for anything in particular," I asked her in car driving.
"A few things. There is a sale at Banana and I wanted to see if they had any sweaters on sale. I'm looking for a dress, too. I need something nice to wear tomorrow."
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, barely noticing that there was another tightening starting. "Tomorrow," I asked as calmly as I could.
"I told you Tom's flying in this week from Atlanta. I wanted something nice to wear to dinner tomorrow night." There was the other tightening. The one in my satin tap panties. The tightening, the swelling, I was feeling in the chastity cage. Merely hearing Susan talk about Tom, say the name, was causing me to swell.
"You're having dinner tomorrow, then?"
"Yes, hon. I told you, I was assigned to chaperone him. It's kind of expected that I'd take him to dinner, you know that." To some extent, I did. She was right, when clients or employees of regional branches came to down, they did get assigned someone local to help take care of them, and she'd done that on a number of occasions. Of course, none of those were with men who wanted to fuck her.
None were with men she wanted to fuck.
None were with men who'd seen her practically naked.
We started looking for sweaters, then wandered down to a dress shop. There, Susan told the saleswoman she was looking for a little black dress, pretty, but not too fancy.
"Are you looking for something for a specific event, or just in general?"
"A special dinner," Susan told her, looking over and smiling at me.
The saleswoman looked at me, smiled back, imaging I'm sure, a romantic dinner for Susan and I. Based on the assumption, left uncorrected by Susan or I, she showed her several sexy, yet conservative dresses. Romantic, but not slutty. Susan tried several on, rejecting as wrong two strapless dresses and two with full sleeves.
After some time of trying on a number of selections, she seemed to find happiness with black v-neck sleeveless dress that ended above her knees, though not so short as to be improper for a business meeting. "What do you think, Michael? Pretty, but not too over the top?"
She was trying it on without her hair done, without hose or proper heels, but still, the dress, cut in at her waist, flattered both her bust and her body without overtly exposing her. She looked sexy. She'd look more so made up. She was amazing.
"Um, it...you look very nice."
"I think we'll take it," Susan told the smiling saleswoman.
Completing the transaction, the saleswoman made small talk with Susan. "When is your special dinner?"
"Tomorrow evening," Susan answered.
"He's very lucky," she said, smiling my way.
Susan looked towards me. "You've no idea how lucky he is, does she?"
I almost shook. Susan was talking about Tom, how lucky he was, but also about me, how lucky I was to be her sissy.
We left the store. "Home now?"
"No, I want to stop at one more place."
"What else do you need?"
"Hmm, I want to go down to Sophie's," she said. Sophie's was an upscale lingerie boutique outside the mall.
"What do you need there," I asked foolishly.
"Something pretty to wear under my dress, silly," she said, picking up her pace, leaving me behind to digest her obvious meaning.
At Sophie's I allowed Susan to drag me into the store. I almost just sat in the car, but part of me wanted to go inside. It was humiliating, to be sure, but I felt the tightening again, inside my cage. I couldn't deny the sexual frustration, the excitement.
Susan casually looked at a few things, fingered this and that. She touched the hem of a satin cream chemise with lace trim. "Pretty, no? I wonder if they have it in your size?"
"May I help you find that in your size," a pretty young woman asked Susan walking up to us. "You're a small?"
"I am," Susan answered. "But I was looking for it in a large. A gift."
The saleswoman looked at me. She couldn't possibly understand, could she? "Of course. Here we go," she said, handing it to Susan.
Susan in turned handed it to me. "Do you mind, Michael," she asked, grinning as I took the satin garment in my hands. "Can you help me find something else?"
"Of course. What are you looking for? Seductive, sexy, flirty?"
"Well, I have a special, um, dinner tomorrow and I'd like something, um, pretty, I guess, to wear under my dress."
"What kind of dress are you wearing on your date?"
"A black v-neck sleeveless dress that ends a little above my knees," Susan answered, not bothering to correct the saleswoman's assumption that she had a date.
"Classic, then," the saleswoman said, "so you'll want classic lingerie, too, something practical for the evening, but sexy for later?" The saleswoman looked at me again.
"Yes," Susan answered, blushing slightly. "I suppose."
Lowering her voice, the saleswoman asked Susan, "Are you sure you want him to see now instead of later as a surprise?"
Susan looked over at me, spoke in a normal voice. "No, no, I don't mind if he sees now, I think the anticipation is kind of a turn-on, if you know what I mean." She tilted her head, spoke more to me, than the saleswoman. "He can just imagine it during the whole evening."
The saleswoman chuckled. "Of course. Well, if you're wearing a classic dress and want both practical and sexy, I might suggest a light corset with garters, or a garter belt, matching panties, and stockings. Have you worn stockings before? They really make a woman feel incredibly sexy."
"Actually, yes, I just started recently."
"Well then, you know what I mean. I've actually got something really special that's new, maybe instead of a corset. It's a bit retro, and, well, let me show you. Normally I'd recommend black under a black dress, but this set is something special that really works too."
She led Susan and I towards a wall display that contained a number of things.
"Here, this is what I wanted to show you." She stopped in front of a table covered in pink. "As I said, it is very retro." She held up a pink bra with black strap and some black edging. "This is a bullet bra, I'm sure you remember women wearing these years ago. The fit is really amazing and gives the bust an exciting look. I know, pink under a black dress, but that's the beauty of the black bra straps."
"Wow, it's gorgeous," Susan said.
"Just wait. Take a look at the matching panties and the garter belt." She picked up the garter belt first. "See, the six garter straps are also black, so compliment the bra. The panties are full cut, so again, a bit old fashioned, but they are sheer nylon, so incredibly sexy, too."
"No, no, I love them," Susan exclaimed.
"I thought you might. What size? 36C? Small panties?"
Susan nodded and the saleswoman picked out the appropriate sizes of lingerie. "Trust me," she looked quickly at me, "he's going to be thinking about this set all during your date."
"Hmmm, I'm counting on it," Susan giggled.
"Can I suggest one more thing? This may be a bit extravagant, but we have some magnificent silk stockings. You'd never want them for everyday, but for a special evening, they are perfect."
"Please, that would be very nice," Susan agreed, "I know he's got quite a thing for my legs."
In the car on the way home, Susan reached over to me, put her hand on my thigh. "Honey, I didn't mean to make you upset."
"Well, letting that saleswoman think my dinner tomorrow night was a date."
"I mean, I suppose it feels like a date and all, buying a new dress, pretty lingerie, but..." She laughed.
"Actually, it's funny, to Tom, I suppose it is like a date. Dinner somewhere nice, wondering if he's going to get lucky."
"Is he?" I felt my penis swelling in the cage.
"Is he what?"
"Going to get lucky," I asked, relieved I had to focus on driving and not looking at her.
"I don't know," she giggled with more levity than she probably wanted. "I mean, Michael, I..."
I looked over at her. She was blushing. She was blushing thinking about whether or not she was going to fuck him. On her date.
"Michael, can we just talk about this later."
Was she having second thoughts? About all of this? I certainly was. Did I really want my wife doing this? I mean, for goodness sake, she was going on a date!
Her hand was still on my thigh, started moving slightly, upward. "Susan," I said, shifting in my seat. I didn't want her touching me like that for she was making me swell more, and worse, was coming close to touching the cage. I wasn't sure, but I didn't want her finding it now, here, in the car.
"Sorry, you're right, focus on driving."
That was a short lived hope, for when we got home Susan's mother was waiting for us.
"How was the shopping?"
"Wonderful, mother, I found a nice dress and some very sexy lingerie to wear on my date...I mean, to dinner tomorrow."
"That's nice Susan. Michael and I have another surprise for you."
"You do? Michael, didn't mention anything," she said, smiling, touching my arm, sending shivers through my skin.
"I'm sure he wasn't too keen on sharing this with you."
"What is it, what is it?"
"I think we'd best go upstairs to your room so we can show you. Michael," she said pointing the way.
"Um, Mrs. Stanton, can't we..."
"Upstairs, Michael," she insisted.
When we got to the top of the stairs, Mrs. Stanton turned to me. "You go into your room and get undressed...well, undressed down to your pretty things, anyway. I want to show Susan a couple of things, we'll be right in."
"Actually, remove your panties, too."
Several minutes later I sat on my bed, nervous, almost shaking, a pillow covering my midsection. I was so nervous, of what Susan would think of her hairless husband, penis firmly trapped in some strange pink chastity device. They walked in and immediately Mrs. Stanton frowned.
"Stand up, Michael, and put that pillow back on the bed."
"Mrs. Stanton," I started to complain, "I'm not sure about..."
She raised an eyebrow. "Now, Michael," she said rather sharply. She turned to Susan as I stood. "You see where it might be necessary?"
"Yes, Mother," Susan said somewhat shyly.
"It will do some good, really," her mother replied, cryptically.
"Mother, what is that," Susan asked, turning back to me, now standing before them, feeling about two feet tall, humiliated, ashamed, even hurt.
"Hmmm, the surprise."
"He's...I mean...what's that...is that a lock?"
"It is, Susan. That, dear, is a chastity cage."
"I almost hate to ask, Mother, but what's a chastity cage?"
"Oh, I'm sure you have figured out what it is. Look at it. When a man, or in this case, a sissy, is wearing a device like that, an erection is impossible. An orgasm as a male is impossible. No matter how much a sissy plays with her trapped little clitty," she smirked at her use of the word.
"But, how can we..."
"Like you always do, Susan. He must forget that he ever had a free penis that he penetrated you with and focus on making love to you in other ways."
"Other ways?" Susan took a few steps towards me, looked at me closer, tilted her head. "Something's different."
"He's smooth, Susan."
"As we discussed, Susan. If you don't want your husband pretending to be a man, you focus him elsewhere. He's a sissy, Susan. You focus his attentions that way, to pleasing you in other ways. Susan, I know it's strange, but as we discussed, he's all confused trying to please you the way a man would. He knows he can't, yet he struggles to do so anyway, ruining things for both of you. Take away his utter ability to stick his little clitty inside you and both of you will focus on what matters. He needs to think like a sissy. Being a sissy, being a sissy for you. Locked up, all he can do is please you in the only way he really can, as a sissy, as a woman, really."
"He can't try to fuck me?"
"No, Susan, he can't, not locked up."
"And he can't have an orgasm."
"Well, that's complicated, but for now, the simple answer is no, again, locked up."
"That's for later, Susan. For now, unless he's unlocked, he can't have an orgasm."
"Yes. But, this is important. When using a chastity device for the first time on a sissy, you must not be tempted to unlock him. You're going to want to train him to pamper you, serve you, make love to you as a woman would. A sissy's orgasm is to be earned, not expected."
"How should he earn them? How should I decide?"
"Decide? Well, for now, you might not know or really understand how, so I might suggest letting me hold the key. You'll want to have it, eventually, but for now, it may be best that I hold it. If you want to reward him, you can ask me to unlock him. Kind of a safe way not to surrender in the spur of the moment, as it were. You don't want to confuse either of you, Susan. He's not a man. He's not going to become a man. Ever."
I wanted to yell at them. I was fucking standing right there. They were talking as if I didn't exist, as if I couldn't hear them.
Susan looked at me, then her mother.
"Susan, I know this isn't easy for you, either. He's a sissy. He always has been and always will. Deny it and you'll have problems, I guarantee it. Accept it, let me teach him, teach you, embrace it, and you'll find happiness."
"I suppose," my wife said.
"You suppose. Susan, you told me the other day, the only pleasure you found in your sex life with him was from foreplay."
"Have you ever, even once, ever had an orgasm from him fucking you?"
Susan looked down, obviously embarrassed to discuss something so intimate with her mother in front of me. "No," she said softy.
"Never," she whispered.
"And you never will, Susan, never. You know that. Why else would you even contemplate going on a date? Why else would you fantasize about fucking a man?"
"It's just that..."
"I know exactly what it is, Susan. Look up...look at your husband. He's a sissy. You're married to a sissy. You know it. Look at him. Look at his body, his smooth skin, his features, his figure, even his small penis, or, clitty, as it should be called. He's not a man, will never be a man, never. You know it. You've always known it. What makes it special, Susan, is that you accept it, more, you love him. You love Michael. You love your sissy. Embrace it. Embrace it."
"Yes, Susan. Embrace making love to him like a woman. That's almost what he is. And if you want more, if you want a man from time to time, embrace that, too. He'll let you, Susan. He wants you to. You know that, don't you? You want to fuck a man. He wants you to do the same."
Susan and I just looked at one another. I was afraid to say anything, but with my eyes, I said it all. I love you. I love you.
And she looked back at me with the same look in her eyes.
Mrs. Stanton left Susan and I alone. It was strange. Susan just stared at me. Stared at my penis, locked in the cage. Reflexively, I started to cover myself again, ashamed.
"Don't," Susan said. "Move your hands away."
I dropped my hands back to my side and she continued to stare. "Susan, can't we..."
"Shhh." She walked to me, turned me around by my shoulders so I was facing the bed, and sat down, now eye level with the cage.
Again, I started to move my hands in front of me, so ashamed at myself.
"I said don't Michael," she chastised me again, "or must I tie your hands behind you?
I gulped. Tied? Bound? My penis jumped. She saw. "Hmmm, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Hold them behind you anyway."
I put my hands behind me. My penis was left, to her, unprotected. I felt vulnerable. Small. Shy. Afraid. Susan reached out, touched the cage with two of her fingers. "I like you this way, Michael. Small, shrunken, trapped."
"Uugh, Susan" I exhaled, my penis...my clitty, jumping.
"I could get used to this. I like it. Little, not at all masculine, quite feminine."
I started swelling. There was no room, of course, but I swelled to the confines of the cage.
"I never believed her, Michael, every time she said something, every time she insisted, but she was right, she was right all along. You're a sissy. She's right. She's right, isn't she?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"Michael, do you want me to go on a date tomorrow? Not just dinner, but on a date? Do you?"
"Yes," I said, almost moved to tears.
"A date, Michael, a date. With a man? Do you want me to go on a date with him?"
"Yes," I whispered, "yes."
"I love you, Michael."
"I love you, too, Susan."
We lay in bed that night. Susan was naked, I wearing a satin chemise. I lay in Susan's arms, our roles reversed. I was the pretty one, the woman, dressed in lingerie, the submissive one. Susan was naked, dominant, cuddling me, running her fingers over my stomach, up to my chest, over my nipples.
"Mother...mother told me she has something to give you some shape up here."
"Yes, she showed me."
"I...I want you to wear them, I want to see you with them...with...with breasts, okay?"
"Okay," I answered, feeling her hold me tighter as I agreed to allow her mother to change me more.
"Are you okay, Michael?"
"Yes. Are you?" I was worried about her, not just myself. I loved Susan. Was she okay? Her world was as much turned upside down as mine.
She didn't say anything for a minute. "Susan?"
"I'm fine Michael, it's you I'm worried about."
"I think I'm okay, really, I do," I told her, mostly sure of myself.
"Michael, if anything I do, you do, mother does, if anything is too much, tell me, you'll promise to tell me?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"Anything, Michael. Even tomorrow."
"Yes," I said again, thinking briefly of her tomorrow, out, with Tom, thinking of her in Atlanta, mostly naked, his cock pressing against her.
I felt Susan's hand touch my penis, or rather, the cage. "It's too bad...or maybe a good thing, mother has the key."
"Susan," I groaned, "you're teasing me."
"Yes," she giggled, letting go of me, "I can stop...but I really think I'd try to fuck you if I had that key."
"No," I begged, dying for her touch, even if through the cage.
"Bend your leg up," she said, moving her hand off my side, reaching around my leg, to touch the cage from under me, then, taking my balls, which were not confined inside the cage, into her hand.
"Ohhhh," I moaned.
"Hmmm, you like that, don't you?"
"Yes, yes," I groaned, feeling the tightening of my organ in the cage.
"It's too bad your little clitty is locked up in that cage, lover," she whispered to me, massaging my balls, emphasizing the word 'little.'
"Uuugh," I moaned again, jerking.
"Does that really excite you, Michael? Hearing me tell you how little you are? Isn't that humiliating?" She sounded genuinely interested.
I didn't say anything, ashamed that I was excited. I was glad she couldn't see me, that my back was to her, as my eyes were closed, rolled back in my head. She took that for assent.
"It's so small, Michael, so small," she whispered.
"Ohhh, Susan," I moaned again.
She moved her fingers lower, was running them back and forth, from the base of my balls downward, towards my ass, lightly, teasing, gently.
"You like the humiliation, don't you," she whispered in my ear. "You like hearing it. It's true, you know, it's true that it's sooo small, sissy, so small, isn't it?" She kept rubbing my ball, running her fingers from my balls towards my ass.
"Answer me, Michael. You like the humiliation?"
"Yes," I groaned, both from her touch and her words.
"You like hearing how small you are, don't you"?
"Yes, Susan, yes." I was starting to shake, to get dizzy.
"You know, sissy, you've never made me cum when you've been inside me."
"Ohhhh," I gurgled.
"But how could you, with that tiny little thing of yours, that little clit of yours. How could you ever make me cum like a man would."
I was breathing heavily, breathing in and out. I felt her fingers move lower and lower, move from my balls, down towards my ass. She ran her fingers around it, over the edge, lightly teasing me. She said nothing for a minute, two, three, just used her fingers to gently rub me.
"You know I mean it, Michael," she whispered, "you make me cum with your mouth every time you lick me, but you've never made me cum when you tried to fuck me. Ever."
"Yes," I said, pressing into her fingers as they rubbed me.
"That's why I want a cock, Michael, a man's cock." Her fingers still circled my ass. "That's why I want a cock inside me, filling me." She had a finger on the very outside of my ass, just touching the pucker. "That's why I can think of nothing else, Michael. A cock, Tom's cock, touching the outside of my pussy as I silently beg him to push it into me."
I was shaking as she spoke and touched me.
"Can you imagine it, Michael, cock, pressed up against my opening." She was talking about herself, clearly, about Tom's cock, her pussy, her opening. But...but...
"Oh god, Susan."
"Yes, that's it, lover, that's it. Imagine it, pretty girl. Cock. Imagine a man's cock," she stopped moving her fingers, left one just on the outside of me. "Imagine a man's cock touching the outside of my pussy, rubbing on me. Do you know how badly I'd want it inside me?"
"Ohhh," I moaned, thinking of it, thinking of cock touching her, touching her pussy.
"Cock, Michael, think of cock pressed up against the opening."
"Can you imagine it, Michael? Think of cock, think of a man's cock, ready to push inside."
Her fingers pressed on me, touching me. I thought of cock. I thought of cock pressing against Susan, but as she kept slight pressure with her finger, I also thought of cock pressing against me.
"Yes," I moaned, pushing slightly against her finger.
"Hungry for cock. Needing cock. Can you imagine it? Needing cock so badly? Can you possibly imagine needing cock so much?"
I was breathing heavily, my trapped penis in pain, but my skin alive, the spot where Susan touched me, electric.
Her finger was a slight pressure against me, against my ass. It terrified me. Cock. I was thinking of cock. "That moment, that pause, waiting for it, waiting for a man's cock to push into me." Susan pressed her finger just slightly forward. "Imagine it, sissy, that moment, waiting for cock to press into you."
YOU? Oh, god, oh GOD! You? She meant me. ME! "Hmmm, hmmm, hmmm," I moaned.
"You're thinking about it, I know it, just like me," she whispered in my ear. "You're thinking about cock, Michael, cock, sissy. Cock." She pressed her finger slightly into me, slightly, ever so slightly. "I know what you want, Michael, I know what you want."
"No, Susan, please," I said, mouth dry. This was wrong. Cock? I was thinking about cock. I was thinking about cock, a man's cock, pressed against me. This was so wrong.
Slowly she moved her fingers away from my ass. I was shaking, uncontrollably.
"I know what you want, Michael," she said again, pushing her finger back to me, at the opening, flicking, teasing, "the same thing I want. Cock. I know you're imaging it, a man's cock."
"Ohhhhhh," I groaned, basically confirming her accusation to my horror. I wanted to scream, to yell, to deny. I tried to form the words, but my mouth would not speak them.
"Shhhh, it's okay, Michael, you're secret is safe with me," Susan assured me, pressing her finger just slightly deeper into me.
"Susan," I protested, shaking.
"Shhhh, I won't tell anyone you want cock, too...besides Mother."
Susan giggled. Was she serious? Her mother? She wouldn't. Right? "I'm tired Michael," she said, shifting, cuddling me again.
I dreamt that night. I remembered little about my dreams, the details, anything, except for one thing:
Susan decided to go on her long run late Sunday morning so from about 11 till 1 or 2 just her mother and I would be home. I dreaded it. I was terrified of it. Of her mother. Of myself. Of everything.
"Susan, please, don't leave me home with her," I begged my wife.
"Oh, stop, Michael," she dismissed me. "It's fine. Remember, serving her is serving me, right? Besides she said she wanted to help you with something."
"Help me with what," I asked, feeling even more dread creep into me.
"Don't know," she shrugged her shoulders.
"Michael," she looked right back at me. "Don't you like being pretty? Honestly?"
"Yes," I blushed.
"Then quit worrying and go see her, she's in her room. I'm going running, I'll see you later...and behave."
"Yes, Ma'am," I mustered an answer.
I found Mrs. Stanton in her room, entered with some trepidation.
"Ahhh, Michael," Mrs. Stanton said, opening her door, motioning me into her chamber. "So, your darling wife has a date tonight, I understand."
"She, she has a meeting, a dinner meeting, for work," I said meekly, a weak attempt at downplaying what I both feared and fantasized about.
"A meeting," she tsked. "Of course, for work. Perfectly natural for a married woman to meet a colleague at a hotel, happens all the time."
I blushed, of course, knowing that very fact, terrified of that very fact, so excited by just the fantasy of that very fact.
"Perfectly natural, really, perfectly natural. Just generally, that's called a date, not a business meeting. After all, most business meetings don't end with a good fucking. But you know that, don't you sissy? You know she isn't going on just a business meeting, you know she's going on a date, you know your pretty wife is looking forward to an evening with a man...don't you," she asked softly.
"Yes," I said looking at the floor.
"Of course you do, and that's what you want, you don't need to deny it to me or to yourself. I know you love Susan, sissy, and like any husband you want her to be happy, satisfied, in many ways. Including sexually. And since you can't do that, naturally you want Susan to find someone who can. Believe me, sissy, I know, I know, you CAN deny it, but I know how badly you want to be cuckolded."
I said nothing. What, was I supposed to tell her that she was wrong? That I did not dream of my wife fucking a man? That the fantasy was so powerful that it was present in my mind at every waking moment, that it invaded every dream?
But it was wrong. I could not deny it, but how could I admit it. It was wrong, so fucking wrong. It was perverted for god's sake. Dreaming and fantasizing about my wife FUCKING A MAN!
Worse, actually wanting it! I was her husband, her lover, her confidant, her friend. We took vows, for crying out loud. Vows to forsake all others and not only did I not get mad at her for dreaming of fucking Tom, I actually got excited by it?
"You know what you're going to do later today, sissy?" She actually laughed. "You're going to help her get ready for her date!"
"I'm what," I asked?
"Oh, sissy, it's what every little cuckold dreams about, helping mistress prepare for a date with a real man. I know Susan is a wreck, all guilt ridden, that poor thing. All she wants is a good fuck and she's worried about what you. What better way to reassure her that she is doing nothing wrong than to participate. Now go shower, my little sissy, so we can get you dressed in something proper."
I showered, again using scented products, feeling more feminine, softer, more like a sissy, the feelings of inadequacy reinforced, serving only to heighten my awareness of Susan's potential infidelity, to increase my desire, even need for just that.
"Here," Mrs. Stanton said, handing me a white bra, "start with the basics, like I've shown you." I took bra from her, wrapped it around my chest, fasteners in front, hooked it closed, slid it around my chest, put my arms through the straps.
"Excellent," she encouraged me, "like you've been doing it for years. And to think, you ever wondered whether or not you were feminine. You're a natural, it's hard for me to believe you ever thought you were masculine!"
She picked another garment up off her bed, held it out to me, a garter belt in the same style as the bra. "Something else to wrap around you, my pretty," she winked, watching me gently take the garter belt from her hand and wrap it around my trim waist.
"Here, a pair of nude stockings, a bit plain, I know, but you're working this afternoon, not a time to show off." I took the stockings from her, sat on the edge of the bed, pulled them on, clipped them to the garter straps, then stood.
"I want you to lie back on the bed," she said, gently pushing me backwards. "It's easier to correctly fit the breastforms if you are on your back."
I shook just slightly sitting back down on the bed, scooting backwards. Breasts. I don't know if I had actual breast envy, but the image, thought, fantasy of having breasts was stirring. Breasts.
Why not? My penis locked up, dressed in lingerie, why not? What was more natural? What could be more appropriate? Breasts. Breasts to fill my bra, to give me shape, to remind me that I, Michael, was most definitely, not a man.
I just lay there, allowed Mrs. Stanton to carefully, one side at a time, insert the forms into my bra, fit them into place, adjust them, then push them carefully, firmly, against my chest, to 'make them stick.'
"Okay, that should do it," she pulled me up, reached down, picked up and tossed a pair of panties to me. "Not really needed to keep things in place, what with the cage, but what kind of sissy would you be without panties?"
As I stepped into the tight, high-waisted panties, Mrs. Stanton got out a large case, opened it, started pulling out various types of makeup and set them at the desk in her room. "Yes, of course for you," she said barely looking up at me. "No sense having my daughter have a half made up sissy helping her get ready for her date, only the best, my dear, only the best."
She sat me down, opened some things, got out some brushes, began applying a light foundation to my face. "It doesn't take much, smooth out your skin, a little help around the eyes, the lashes, lips. You're just a natural, Michael, it isn't turning a man into a woman, it's simply enhancing the woman inside you."
I watched in the mirror, each stroke of a brush, each fluff of a lash. Each movement took away a little bit of self-awareness I had as a man, a bit of what little masculinity I had, replaced it with ten times as much feminine.
"You're going to have to grow your hair out, nails, too. We'll use a wig now, for the time being, but there is no reason, other than personality change, that you shouldn't have your own natural, feminine hair."
I wanted to protest. Feminine hair? I was not a woman; the thought, any inkling of saying something, all words, died on my lips as she lowered a shoulder length wig onto my head. The image, the reflection in the mirror.
There was not a hint, not a glimpse, of a man staring back at me. It was a woman. Not a sissy. Not a transvestite. Not a boy dressing, playing a part. It was a woman. As if my soul, my life, my essence, everything, all I ever knew, was not the same. I was a woman? Not a man? All of it, upside down, changed, different.
"I can see it in your eyes, Michael, you realize, don't you?"
"What," I pretended.
"She'll never see you as a man again. She never did, of course, but she won't even try anymore. You're a sissy, you're a girl, you're something soft, something feminine. She will never, ever, look at you and see anything but something feminine."
"I want to..."
"You see it, too, sissy, you see it, too. Now stand up, let's finish dressing you."
That afternoon, when Susan came home, I was standing in the living room, waiting patiently for Susan. I was dressed in a mint green dress, very fifties, very homemaker. The dress had crinoline under the skirt, making it flow as I walked, strange to sit when I could. The dress was very June Cleaver, very Betty Draper. With it, the lingerie, the heels, the wig, the makeup, I was a housewife, domesticated.
With the simple white apron wrapped around my waist, the image was even more stark, more reinforced.
I was an object.
And I was standing, because that's all I could do. An object, made to be just so.
I was standing because Susan's mother would not allow me to sit. She made sure before we left her room, taking a thin leather strap, a leash, it was apparent, and clipping one end to my chastity cage.
The leash was short; Mrs. Stanton took the other end and led me from the room. It wasn't until Susan was about fifteen minutes from coming home that Mrs. Stanton found me, took the leash in hand again, and led me to the living room. There she led me to a corner of the room, ran the leash between my legs, took it from behind and clipped it to something in the wall.
"A housewife must learn to wait patiently, quietly, don't you agree Michelle?" She feminized my name. Michelle, not Michael.
"Yes, Ma'am, I suppose," I groaned, immediately aware that the leash tugged gently, but solidly, at my aching, sore penis and balls.
Finally, after fifteen minutes that felt like hours, I heard the garage door, knew Susan was home. After a minute, I heard Susan's voice call out. "Michael? Mother?" Susan walked into the living room, saw me standing quietly in the corner.
"Oh," she said, surprise on her face. "I'm sorry, I'm looking for my husband or my..." A look came over her face, at first confusion, then recognition. She clearly did not recognize me at first, realized that the "woman" she was looking at was her husband.
"I see you've found Michelle," Mrs. Stanton said, coming up from behind her.
"Michelle," Susan repeated.
"Yes, darling. You're got a big night tonight, dear, I though you'd appreciate someone to help you dress for your date."
"Oh," Susan said, quickly adapting to the odd, but, given the time her mother had been here, not completely out of the ordinary scene before her. "That's very kind of you, Mother, I suppose I could use the pampering; I'm a little nervous, maybe this will calm me."
"Nervous? Whatever are you nervous about, Susan?"
"Well," she started looking around, then lowered her voice. "Where is Michael," she asked, then looked at me. "Michael is my husband," she explained. "He thinks I'm having dinner with a work colleague, which I am, but, well, he is a colleague, but he doesn't know it's really more a date."
Her mother snorted. "Susan, you've got a date with a man tonight, I hardly think you need to have your husband around. Don't worry, I've taken care of him, he won't be back until after you leave."
"Well, that's just it, Mother," Susan said, her voice normal again. "I haven't been on a date with a man in years, I'm nervous about how to act, what to do..."
"You've met him before, haven't you, your date?"
"And he was pleasant? Nice? Handsome? All that?"
"Yes, Mother, and he was, it's just that, well, he was quite forward."
"Imagine, a man that wanted to sleep with you," Mrs. Stanton said in a mocking tone. "Whatever has the world come to when a handsome man wants to bed a pretty woman?"
"I know, Mother, I know, but...I'm a married woman and I...I don't know if..."
"He was attractive?"
"Yes," Susan blushed, glancing quickly at me, which, unknown to her, I was sure, immediately caused my locked penis to swell.
"Susan, I know you love your husband, but as you said, you've not been with a man for years, there is nothing unusual about being attracted to him."
"But mother, I think he wants to...to..."
"Well of course he does, Susan, that's what men always want. I'm not telling you that you should ever leave Michael, whatever I think of such a mouse, I know you adore him and he you."
"What are you saying, Mother?"
Mrs. Stanton looked around the room, me, directly in the eye. "Since he's not here, and since Michelle would never betray your confidence, trust me, I suppose I can speak freely. If you have a nice time this evening, if the mood is right, go with it. I understand how you feel about Michael, but," she looked around again, "sometimes a woman needs a nice hard cock and a good fucking!"
"Mother," Susan said, laughing.
"We'll see, Mother, we'll see."
"Just keep an open mind, Susan, nothing more. I'm sure Michael would understand. Wouldn't he, Michelle," she asked, turn back to me.
"How would she know," Susan asked, looking to me.
Mrs. Stanton chuckled. "Oh, I suppose I did neglect to mention, didn't I? I'm sorry, Susan. Michelle here isn't quite a lady herself."
"What do you mean, Mother," Susan asked, wondering, I'm sure, as I did, what her mother was thinking or implying. "She seems nice."
"Well, Susan, much like that mousy husband of yours, Michelle is a budding sissy."
"Mother, you now I don't like..."
Mrs. Stanton held up her hand to quiet her daughter. "Susan, you need not like the label, but that doesn't change the fact that your husband is a sissy."
Susan crossed her arms. "Fine."
"It isn't like you are opposed, are you?"
"To sissies? No," she said, looking at me.
"And to Michael being one?"
"I suspect you rather prefer it, don't you?"
"Yes," Susan sighed softly.
"I know it was quite a surprise, Susan, but that does not change the fact that Michael is a sissy, nor that you much prefer him that way."
"No," Susan admitted.
"Nor does it change that you've been fantasizing about a man," her mother said, grinning, "and that brings us to Michelle. I only thought it fitting that you have a sissy help you get ready for your big night. I thought it might be reassuring."
"Let me show you. Michelle, you're a sissy?"
"Yes Ma'am," I said softly, both their attention now turned to me. It was clear Mrs. Stanton wanted me to play a role, to be Michelle, not Michael, and I thought I'd try, as best I could.
"And I understand you're married?"
"Yes," I said, feeling the stress, the strain, in my crotch, my penis swollen to the sides of the cage, pulled backwards, tugged, by the leash, unseen, under my dress, connected to the wall.
"Susan seems to be conflicted, even ashamed at what she's been thinking about, fantasizing about a man. I've been trying to tell her that there is nothing unusual about that, not odd about a woman married to a sissy going on a date with a man now and then, even contemplating, wanting, er, an intimate evening. Michelle, does your wife fantasize about, um, no sense being too polite about it, fucking a man?"
I groaned. I groaned from excitement. I groaned from pain.
"No need to be embarrassed, Michelle, she's not here."
"Yes," I whispered.
"Does that bother you, Michelle? You're a sissy, does it bother you that she craves a man? Craves a cock, to be blunt about it?"
"No," I answered, even softer.
"In fact, Michelle, if you're like most sissies, you get rather excited by it, don't you?"
I was red faced, silent.
"It excites you right now, doesn't it? Talking to me about your wife fucking a man. Hearing Susan as she thinks aloud about it? Knowing she craves a man, craves a cock."
"Yes Ma'am, yes."
"What would you tell Susan, sissy? If she were you're wife? What would you tell my daughter? Would you tell her to fuck him? Would you even beg her to? Would you beg your wife to fuck a man?"
"Yes," I breathed heavily, looking downward, at Susan's feet. I sensed her watching me, finally, I looked up, met her gaze.
"You see, Susan," Mrs. Stanton said, clapping her hands. "Michael would tell you the same."
"Maybe you're right, Mother, maybe you're right."
"I am right, dear, mothers are always right. Now," she looked at her watch, "you'd best start getting ready, no?"
"Yes, I suppose I should."
"Come now, Michelle."
I just stood there, a helpless look on my face.
"Oh, silly me, I forgot. You see, Susan, Michelle, like your sissy husband, wears a chastity cage. I told you, sissies are not in control of their orgasm. Anyway, Michelle did not have anything to do until you got home, so she's been tied to the wall with a little leash connected to her cage."
"Mother," Susan said.
"Don't 'Mother' me, Susan. Sissies must be dealt with differently than men. It isn't cruel at all, it's much securing a horse on a hitching post, I'd say. You may love a horse, but you'd still restrain a horse to keep it from getting in trouble."
"Mother, you're impossible."
"Maybe, Susan, but you'll thank me when you know how to train and treat your sissy."
Mrs. Stanton walked over to me, unclipped the leash from the wall, held it up towards Susan.
"Fine, Mother, lead her upstairs, but I don't think I'll need it for now."
Mrs. Stanton tugged at me, pulling me away from the wall by my trapped, swollen penis.
Upstairs we went, Susan first, her mother next, me, third, led by the leash.
In the bedroom, Susan's mother gestured to the leash again. "Are you sure, Susan? I could just un-clip it and leave it here."
"I suppose that's fine, Mother."
"Great, well, I'll leave you alone now."
"Um, Mother, what does Michelle do?"
"Do? Oh, silly me, you've never had someone like her before, have you? Well, it's quite simple, really," she started.
In a way, I was glad for the "tutorial" as I too had no idea what to do. All I knew was that I was dressed up like a housewife, I was named Michelle, and I was to help my wife, who was not my wife, get ready for a date. My brain was so clouded with emotions, sexual and otherwise, I was on the verge of collapse.
"A sissy like Michelle, or your own sissy if Michael was here, should do most of the work on preparing her Mistress. For example, if you shower, Michelle would dry you. She'll help dress you, fetch things for you, give suggestions if asked. Even be a confidant, if need be. Kind of like when a bridesmaid helps a bride get ready for her wedding, or if a sorority sister was there helping you get ready for a date. Everything else, Michelle will help you with."
"Oh, and dear, I know it may be strange undressing and getting dressed in front of Michelle, but remember, she's a sissy, just like Michael. Harmless. Do this in front of a man, he's likely to thrown you down and fuck you. A sissy, though, gives you nothing to worry about. Besides, she's in chastity, she couldn't do anything even if she wanted, not that any woman would want her little clitty, even if unlocked."
"Thank you Mother," Susan said earnestly.
"I'd suggest Michelle start by drawing you a bath, to relax you, and I'll leave you alone to get ready." Mrs. Stanton smiled at Susan, grinned at me, set the leash on the bed and took her leave.
I took Mrs. Stanton's suggestion and went to the bathroom while she was exiting and started a bath for Susan. I tried to think of myself as a girlfriend, as Susan's helper, not her husband. I tried to think, what would she want, what would help someone like her, in this situation. Unfortunately, for me at least, those thoughts did more than put me in a frame of mind to help her. They cause me to continue to swell, to continue to throb. The thoughts caused sexual feelings, excitement, frustration, to flow through my body, through every fiber of my skin covered by satin, nylon, lace.
Shuffling around, from the bedroom to the bathroom, focused my mind on the attire I was dressed in. Heels were not easy to walk in. A dress, with petticoats, was much more bulky than anything a man ever would wear. On top of that, I had breasts. Gloriously, large, bouncing, heavy breasts. While not overly big, their bulk was there, a reminder, that I was not a man, that I was something different, something feminine, soft, delicate.
I thought of this while running the bath water. I thought of this while pouring scented oil into the tub. I thought of my feminine wife. I looked at my feminine self.
"You're really beautiful...Michelle," Susan said from behind me, pausing at my feminine name.
I jumped; she'd startling me. "Thank you, Ma'am," I whispered, turning towards her standing in the doorway wearing a satin robe.
"I mean that, Michelle, I guess I never really thought how pretty someone like you could be."
"Your wife is very lucky to be married to such a pretty thing. I imagine she's quite pleased with you."
"Thank you, Ma'am," I said, almost choking up.
"Really, Michelle. I don't know if my mother told you, but she's been feminizing my husband. I think he's still ashamed, afraid what I'll think, but I wish he knew how happy it would make me to see him a pretty as you."
"Sus...Ma'am," I stammered, trying to stay in character.
"Is the water ready," she asked, ignoring my implication, my gasp.
"Yes, yes, Ma'am."
"Well then," she said, reaching for the tie to her robe, pausing. "I'm sorry, you're a...a housewife, married, one of the girls. I'm sure seeing a woman naked is par for the course for you. Besides, you're a sissy, it's not like I'm getting naked in front of a man."
Slowly, she undid her robe, slowly, she let it drop to the ground. I could not help but gawk. I could not help but drink in her beauty. It was as if I'd never seen her this way before, as if I'd not spent countless hours seeing her naked.
"I'm sure I'm not as pretty as your wife, am I?"
"You...you're the most beautiful woman I've even seen," I managed to say.
Susan looked away shyly as she walked to and stepped into the tub and let the water overtake her.
I stood, watching her relax in the water, watching every bit of tension wash away from her face, from her body. I stood, staring at her trim body, her soft skin, her every curve. I looked at my wife's body, wanted it, desired it. Yet, I knew she was going out tonight. I knew she was going out with Tom. I knew, I realized, that it was possible that in mere hours, Tom would be looking at her, Tom would be fantasizing over her, Tom would be touching her.
She knew. She had to know what her husband, what her sissy was thinking of, fantasizing of.
"Michelle, can I ask you a question," Susan said, eyes closed, breathing slowly in the scented water.
"It really doesn't bother you that your wife fantasizes about fucking a man? It really excites you?"
"Yes," I said so quietly, so softly.
"I fantasize about it, too, I'm just so...so unsure."
"Why, " I asked.
"I...I don't know. I love my husband, I really do, with all my heart. I would never cheat on him, I don't want him to think that I'd...do anything he...he wasn't okay with."
"Should I think about it? Should I fuck him, Michelle?"
"It...it's not my place to...to say," I said, trying to keep my composure, "you...you're not my wife."
"I suppose not, Michelle, but, let me ask you this way. If it was your wife, going on a date tonight, if some other sissy was helping her get ready, if she was fantasizing about fucking a man, would...would you get excited thinking about it? Would it make your clitty swell?"
"Yes," I answered.
"That makes you swell in your little cage thing, doesn't it?"
"Yes," I said, a mild groan, feeling the pain, the soreness from the swelling.
"Would you want her to fuck him, Michelle, to actually do it?"
"Yes," I admitted freely now.
"Would you want her to fuck him? You'd want your wife to have a real cock inside her?"
"Yes, yes, Ma'am, yes."
"Should I fuck him, Michelle? Should I just surrender to what I want? Should I fuck him? I want it so badly, Michelle, I want a cock inside me."
"I...I don't know, Ma'am," I stammered.
"I want to, Michelle. I know you're not supposed to tell anyone, that's what mother said, so don't tell my husband if you happen to see him, but I want to. God, how I want to. I...I need it. I've been dreaming about it, I...I need it."
Susan finished bathing herself while I stood there, mouth open, shaking, hard as the chastity cage would allow. She couldn't could she? Would she? Did she really want to so badly? Did I really want her, want my wife, to do that?
"What," I asked, mind snapping back to the here and now.
"I'm done, Michelle, I need a towel."
"I'm sorry," I said, reaching for a fresh white bath towel, handing it out to her.
"No, no, I doubt that's what you've been taught. I'll admit I'm a little hesitant to allow you, a little shy, too, but given this evening, why not? So, you may dry me, Michelle," she said, regally standing and stepping out of the tub.
It was almost too much for me, spreading the towel open, gently, carefully, patting my wife dry. Only she did not feel completely like my wife. Though she was. I was serving her, her sissy, almost her maid, serving her by drying her, tenderly, serving her, doing this, as she prepared for a date with a man she admitted she wanted to fuck.
I hesitated when I touched her breasts through the towel, hesitated, left my hands on them for a moment, two, three, longer than needed.
"Michelle," she said gently.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am," I answered immediately removing my hands.
Almost as if to torment me further, my wife wrapped the towel around her. Unlike she normally would, she wrapped it around her waist, rather than up under her arms. Wrapped as such, her breasts were bare, the towel only covering her from her trim waist to her knees. She looked heavenly, divine, Venus, a goddess.
She sat this way in the bedroom as she did her hair and makeup at her dressing table. Sat this way, occasionally looking to me in the mirror, knowing I could not pull my eyes away from my body, knowing her beauty was captivating, tormenting.
"Michelle, there is a bag over there in the closet, please get it."
"Ma'am," I said, going to the closet, realizing as soon as I saw the bag that it was the lingerie she'd bought to wear on her date, the pink and black lingerie, the garter belt, bra, panties, stockings. My goddess. She was to be my goddess in pink. I was shaking again, shaking as I reached for and picked up the bag of lingerie. I had been the one to encourage my wife to wear stockings. I had begged her, over and over. I had pictured myself kissing her stocking covered legs, touching them, feeling the soft nylon. I had fantasized about the sight, the vision of beauty she would be, fantasized about how turned on I would be, how excited. Maybe I was selfish, begging her to dress this way, begging her, knowing it was for me, my fantasy.
Yet, now, somehow, all was turned around, distorted. I was going to see her dressed in the most exquisite lingerie. I was going to see her wrapped like the best, most adult present a husband could ask for. I was excited, so terribly excited, to see her dressed this way.
I was going to touch her, caress her.
But none, none in the way I had envisioned.
No, not at all.
I was wearing lingerie.
I was in chastity.
I was not going to kiss her.
I was not going to lick her.
I was most certainly not going to fuck her.
Worse, far worse, someone else was.
Tom was going to see her wearing lingerie.
Tom was going to touch her?
Tom was going to kiss her?
Tom was going to fuck her?
Tom...the thought of him, the thought of Tom, his hands, on my wife, touching her body.
Tom...the thought of his...his cock, out, hard, dripping.
Tom...the thought of his excited glances, gazes, AT MY WIFE.
Tom...his cock hard, wanting her...
I held the bag in my hand, shaking, all these thoughts racing through my head.
And it hurt. Mentally. But physically, too. In my stomach.
And...in my groin.
It hurt because I was as swollen as I could possibly be in the chastity cage.
Swollen because all those thoughts did more than just same me, make me jealous, they made me excited. Fucking sexually excited.
I wanted none of this, yet, how could I possibly deny the one thing no male could every deny, the betrayal of the penis.
All these thoughts, of Susan, in lingerie, fucking Tom, excited me as I had never, ever been excited before.
"Michelle," Susan's voice interrupted my drifting thoughts. "I need to get dressed sometime this afternoon..."
I snapped back, my thoughts as her husband, her lover, her friend, mixed once again with Michelle, a woman, a sissy. "Ma'am," I said softly, turning back to her, with the lingerie. She was standing, now naked, the towel on the bed, face flush, appearing to me as conflicted as I was, nervous, yet excited.
Our eyes me, held, watched one another. "I want this," she said softly, tenderly, to me, her husband, not to Michelle. "But only, only, if you do to."
Why was she asking me, now? Why now? Wasn't it too late? Her date was set, the die was cast. Wasn't it? No, no, I had to tell her it was okay. Of course, of course I did. It was us, our marriage, our love, our lives. Yes or no, she made her decision, now it was up to me.
I started to speak, but found no voice, instead, broke the gaze and walked to the bed. "May I have the honor of dressing you, Ma'am," I asked, my response, as Michelle, the best I could do right now as her husband.
She accepted it as so. "Yes, I'd like that," she said, softly again.
I set the bag on the bed, carefully, reverently, removed the contents one at a time, laying the bra, panties, garter belt, and stockings on the bed, picking the bra back up, the first garment I would dress my lovely wife in.
"What do you think, Michelle? Something a man would like?"
I looked at her, her face, her body, back to the bra, the lingerie. Both were beautiful. Her, naked, the bra, the lingerie.
"Yes," I said, meaning both, holding up the bra so she could slip her arms into the straps. The act was erotic, more so as Susan stood still, let me, had me, do everything.
Slide the straps up her arms.
Fasten the clasp.
Arrange it properly, so her breasts fit just so, pushed up ever so slightly, full, inviting.
"It's wonderful, isn't it, having breasts," she asked, looking at my chest, swelling with each breath, under the dress I was wearing.
"Yes," I answered, letting my mind drift for an instant to the weight of the breastforms, the sway, the movement.
"I'm not sure how your wife keeps her hands off you, if she does," she said. "If my husband had breasts, even forms, I'd have to struggle to keep from attacking them with my hands and mouth at all hours of the day. God, how I fantasize about him as a woman, him with breasts."
I blushed. Michelle. Her husband. Michelle's breasts. The breasts she was telling me she wanted me to have. The breasts I wanted.
"It makes no sense, does it? Here I am getting dressed to go on a date with a man, fantasizing about my feminized husband, unsure which is more of a turn on, a man's cock, my sissy's breasts."
I swallowed, finished with the bra, picked up the panties.
"No, no, Michelle, panties over, not under the garter belt. Easier to take off, if the mood strikes."
I grimaced, the chastity cage, pinching me, at the thought. Susan, in lingerie. Tom, naked. Erect, watching, as she took off her panties.
"I know, Michelle, I have a feeling I may need to take them off quickly," she giggled.
I set the panties down, picked up the garter belt, wrapped it around her trim waist, fastened it, eyes glued to the garter straps dangling loosely on her legs.
Susan sat on her vanity chair, started talking. "You know, it's ironic, my husband had always begged me to wear stockings, finally I did, yet it was Tom, the man I'm seeing tonight, that first saw me in stockings."
I was kneeling, stocking in hand, helping her glide her foot into the soft nylon, her words paused me ever so slightly.
"It's true. If it wasn't for Michael begging me to wear stockings, I wouldn't have, would not have felt so sexy, so...naughty. Tom would never have seen me wearing them, wouldn't have tried to fuck me, I'd never have thought about fucking him. Ironic, no? It's all his fault," she laughed.
I had stopped, the stocking just over her knee.
"And now, all I can think about, all I can fantasize about, Michelle, is cuckolding my sissy husband."
I felt a tap against the skirt of my dress. It was her foot, the foot that now encased with the stocking that was half up her leg. Her foot, bouncing at the knees, every so gently, slightly, tapping against the folds of my dress, against my trapped, swollen penis.
"All I can think about are total opposites. My husband, completely feminized, a woman, a sissy and Tom, a man, taking me, fucking me."
I caught myself, finally, snapped, once again, back to Michelle, back to her servant. Somehow, I was able to finish the stocking, connect the garter straps, do the same with her other leg.
"I'm sorry, Michelle, all this talk of mine must make you uncomfortable."
"Not really, Ma'am," I lied, mind back to the swelling, the pain, the uncomfortableness in my groin, the unease in my stomach.
"No, I suppose you're used to it, being feminized, being cuckolded."
"Well," I gulped, "my wife's never actually...actually been with a man. At least, at least not since we were married."
"Oh," she said, raising an eyebrow as I helped her step into her panties. "I thought she had. You want her to, don't you? I mean, that's something you're okay with?"
"Yes," I whispered.
"More than okay with? You want her to cuckold you, yes?"
"Yes." I was telling her, admitting again, yes, that yes, yes, yes.
She smiled. "I'm still nervous, though, still not sure if I should." She pointed to the closet. "My shoes and dress are in there, Michelle, start with the shoes, I want to see what I look like half naked, I want to see what he'll see, to make sure I look good."
I went to the closet, got out a pair of black strappy sandals, knelt down, gently, reverently, helped my wife slip her dainty feet into her heels, carefully buckled the straps around her ankles.
"Well," she asked as I stood, took a step back. "Do you think Tom will like?"
She was so pretty, so fucking amazing, so beautiful, so sexy, I almost had trouble looking at her body. I hurt, in my stomach. It hurt, in my chastity cage. I don't think I ever wanted her as much as I did at that moment, staring at her, looking at her. I never wanted her more, yet I could not have her. I was locked in chastity. She was leaving to go on a date with a man. I wanted her; I could not have her.
"I take that as a yes, sissy?"
"Oh, I almost forgot," she smiled.
"Perfume, silly. Over there, by the makeup. Yes, that one, the tall one," she pointed to a bottle of perfume I'd gotten her as a gift. "My husband got that for me; it drives him crazy. It works on a sissy; I'm curious what it does to a man."
I picked up the bottle, the scent racing through my brain, the memory of it, handed it to her.
"No, sweetie, you do that for me. Here," she pointed to her wrists, "just a light spray."
"Now here," she pointed to her neck.
"And here," she pointed to the back of her knees.
I stood, thinking that was all.
"One more spot, Michelle, here," she instructed me, pulling the waist band of her panties away from her stomach, a sparkle in her eyes, her mouth pulled into a tight grin.
After I helped her into her dress, we walked down stairs, found her mother waiting for her, or us, in the foyer.
"My goodness, Susan, you look absolutely divine."
"Thank you, Mother."
"And Michelle, you should be proud, helping her look so beautiful for her date tonight...he should thank you for the feast his eyes...maybe more...will enjoy later."
I blushed, feeling again, the rush of apprehension in my stomach, the rush of anticipation in my groin. Susan was going on a date.
My wife was going on a date.
The duality. The fear. The excitement.
My wife was going on a date.
I looked at her, realized she was staring back at me, thinking, I presumed, the same thing.
She was going on a date.
Her body shook, ever so slightly, a nervous anticipation? I felt mine do the same, at the same time.
She was going on a date.
"Where are you meeting Tom," her mother asked, cutting through, though somehow increasing the tension.
"He's staying at the Hyatt."
"Oh, meeting him at the bar," her mother looked towards me, "or picking him up in his room?"
"The bar, I suppose," Susan said softly, looking down, as if embarrassed.
"Hmmfff," Mrs. Stanton chuckled. "A drink before dinner? Before he takes you upstairs?"
I saw Susan's face color. "Mother, I don't know that I'm..."
"Of course you do," she cut her off. "And there's nothing wrong with that, Susan, you deserve it."
We stood, awkwardly, the sounds of my quickened breath the only noise in the hallway.
"Well, you best get going, darling. Michelle here is going to help me pack my things for my flight while I have her here, but she'll be gone before you get home."
I opened my mouth to speak, thought better of it. She was leaving? Wait, where was I going?
"Mother," Susan asked for me.
"Michelle must get back to her mistress, Susan. I know you must have enjoyed the pampering, not to worry. Michael will be home soon. And don't worry, his feminization is coming along nicely, just as I told you it would when you called me and asked me to come for a visit."
"I..." I gasped, unable to form any thought. When she asked her to come out here? What the hell was she talking about. Asked her? I felt dizzy, suddenly, almost ill.
"Mother," Susan exclaimed, "you...you said..."
"...that I wouldn't say anything to Michael. I know, Susan, and I didn't. Honestly. Michelle isn't going to say anything to Michael, she'll be gone before he gets back, and would no better anyway, isn't that right, Michelle."
"I...I don't know..."
"Oh, don't worry about it Michelle. Susan's just worried that I'd break my promise and tell her dear husband that she asked me to come visit and that she asked me to feminize her husband."
"Oh, Susan, not that he'll find out, but so what if he does? What's it matter whether it was you or I that wanted to feminize him? He's femmed, just the same."
She turned to me. "It's a shame you won't meet her husband, Michelle, you'd see, he's really quite the sissy, as pretty as you, I'd guess.
"Of course she did, Michelle. What woman wouldn't? Married to such a mouse, of course Susan wanted her husband feminized. Remember, Susan? You should have heard her, calling me, begging me to come out here. She knew he was a sissy, of course, a wife always knows, even if he didn't, but she wanted help, Michelle, help making her husband realize what a sissy he was, making him the girl of her dreams, the feminized husband she always wanted."
"Well, it doesn't matter, Michelle, does it? Who cares if he knows it was her idea, right? The thing remains the same, he was a sissy, he is a sissy, and they will both be happier. But enough talk, Susan, you've got a date to keep, and Michelle, you need to help me pack before you leave."
"Michael," Susan spoke.
"He'll be here when you get back, Susan, femmed, waiting for you. Trust me, he'll be waiting."
Of course, what difference was there between Michelle and Michael? It was a fiction, I was both. No, more, Michael was Michelle. Michael, me, was a sissy, was feminized, was in chastity, was subservient, was waiting to be cuckolded.
Susan's mother was right about one thing. What did it matter if it was her or Susan that wanted me femmed? The result was the same; I was femmed. I was a sissy, regardless. I was what I was, brought on by Susan or her mother. It made no difference in the world.
I looked at Susan, eye to eye, found her there, her, Susan, in the beauty of the creature in front of me. "She's right, Ma'am," I said softly, "you should go, you'll be late."
"It's okay, Ma'am," I reassured her again, Michelle telling her, more so, Michael telling her.
The evening went on and on. Minute after minute, hour after hour, I waited for Susan.
Mrs. Stanton would see me pacing, chuckle. "She won't be home for hours, sissy," she'd tell me. "She hasn't been with a man for years, I'm sure she wants to savor every minute of it, every inch of his cock inside her."
I was in her room, Michelle, the good little wife, helping her pack. The handmaiden, a last charge, an end, but a beginning, too.
She had made me over once again, no longer a perfect little housewife, now a lady, a nymph, a lingerie clad waif, waiting, on edge, thinking of the life of a sissy, thinking of the life of a cuckold.
She watched me dress in a lingerie set, a light purple, an eggplant color. A garter belt to hold up nude stockings. A bra to match, holding the breastforms to my body, warming them, making them real. Covering both were a matching satin camisole and tap panty set trimmed in delicate lace. Heels, of course, giving my legs shape.
There was nothing masculine about me. How could there be? I was a sissy. That was reinforced over and over by Mrs. Stanton, Susan, too.
I expected Susan's mother to taunt me, but she said very little, save for the first comment, and directions on how to help her back.
Sissy, do this.
Sissy, do that.
And I did as I was told, all the while, thinking of Susan, thinking of Tom, thinking of my wife, thinking of her potential lover, pacing, twisting, turning.
"Okay, that's enough of that," she said.
"Mrs. Stanton?" I realized I was standing over a suitcase, open, a garment in my hand, not moving, doing nothing.
"I can tell I'm going to get no more help from you, mind wandering off into whatever hotel room you're wife is in, whatever she's doing. Come with me, sissy, if that's what you'd rather do, fantasize about Susan on her date, I've got a much better way to facilitate that."
She walked out of the guestroom, went down the hall to Susan and my room. I followed, our heels both clacking on the hardwood floor of the hallway, the master bedroom.
"Stand there, sissy," she said, pointing to the corner of the four poster bed that dominated the center of the bedroom.
I swallowed, walked to the bed.
"Turn around, face me," she ordered, a sharp tone in her voice.
"Yes, Ma'am," I said quietly, eyes downcast.
"Don't move," she said, leaving the room, her heels again sounding ominous on the floor.
I obeyed, standing still, eyes still lowered. She said she had a better way for me to fantasize about Susan on her date, and my mind immediately did just that, immediately went to Susan, to Tom, the image of my incredibly beautiful wife, her unseen lover.
I was surprised minutes later when Mrs. Stanton walked back in. My mind had wandered sufficiently that I did not hear her at first. "Oh, I'm not done with you yet, sissy," she chuckled, walking by me. She had something in her hand; I knew better than to turn to look to see what she carried, not that I had to wait to understand the implications, the purpose.
"Clasp your hands behind you, sissy," she ordered me, fastening something around my wrists, attaching them together behind the bed post, immobilizing me in place. "Obviously you're not going anywhere, sweetie," she laughed.
Next was the blindfold. I had no time to react, other than to be startled, as she quickly reached around the front of my face, set it over my eyes, began to wrap around my face. The blindfold was black, soft, dark, enveloping. Fastened behind my head, I could see nothing. No light. No shapes. No detail. Nothing. Nothing but dark, black. Nothing.
"This will focus your mind...nothing to distract you...you can just let your mind wander," she said. Then I felt her close to me, her warm breath next to my ear. She whispered. "You can think about Susan feeling the touch of a man, sissy, a man, filling her."
"Ohhh," I groaned, "She..."
"Yes, we'll take care of that, help you remember that, silence you, focus you at the same time."
I did not know what she meant, not that I would not wait long for that answer.
Again, her breath, quite, sinister, in my ear. "You see...well, you can't see, but, anyway, what separates you from the man she is with, what she wants, what you can't give her, is cock. Not with this little thing," she said, tapping my encased penis. "Small, useless."
I felt her grab me, tug backwards, between my legs. I knew what she was doing as she did it, as she somehow fastened my chastity cage between my legs, as before, tightened it, connected it to the bedpost. I was now awkwardly connected, bound, by my wrists, by my penis, to the bed. I felt the bedpost against my backside, forced as I was at a strange angle by the chastity bondage.
"Imagine this, sissy," she whispered again, "how Susan will be, Tom, behind her, pressing his body into her." She planted the seed, the mental image in my brain, the bedpost, Tom, me, Susan, the mental image, reinforced from before, from Susan's description of Tom's cock touching her ass, behind her, wanting her.
"Please, Mrs. Stanton," I begged, trying to shift on my heels, her words making me swell just slightly more in the tight cage.
"Interesting you should beg, for that's the last thing I'll take care of. You can't move. You can't see. You can't think of anything without a reminder of your chastity. I don't want you talking, either, sissy."
I sighed, realizing she meant to gag me. She laughed at my understanding. "Of course I'm going to gag you, Michael, you understand that, don't you. Open your mouth, sissy."
I did, feeling every part like the baby bird, mouth open, waiting.
The gag did not come, not right away. "It is his cock, sissy, the thing he has that you don't have. That's what Susan want. To touch. To feel. To taste. On her. In her. Cock. That's what I want you to think about. Cock. Tom's cock. Hard. In her. Her mouth. Her pussy. How much she wants it. Cock."
I felt the gag being pushed into my open mouth. I expected what I had seen in bondage movies, pictures, a ball gag of some sort, fit around my gloss colored lips.
Instead of a ball, though, which would only have spread my lips, the gag went deeper, into my mouth, filling it, deeper as if it were...
I started to shake.
"Yes, sissy, yes, it's called a cock gag," Mrs. Stanton teased me. "A cock gag, meant to simulate a cock inside one's mouth, a cock to keep you quiet, a cock to taste, a cock to suck. That's what you're going to have in your mouth tonight while you think of Susan. Think of the cock she'll be enjoying, think of it while your mouth is filled with this gag. Filled with cock. Just like Susan."
"Mmggfff," I moaned, shaking at the thought of cock in Susan, shaking worse at the thought of cock inside my own mouth.
"Cock, sissy, think of cock. Pressed against Susan, touching her, in her. Cock, sissy, think of cock."
With that I heard Mrs. Stanton leave the room. She left me with that singular thought on my mind.
In my mouth!
The worst combination of events was taking place in the bedroom.
I thought of Susan, how beautiful she looked before she left for her date and I'd swell in the chastity cage.
I would press backwards against the bedpost to ease the discomfort in my groin, only to feel the bedpost press against the panties covering my ass.
Which made me think of Tom, standing behind my wife, pressing his cock against her.
Which made me think of cock.
Which made me think of the cock gag in my mouth.
Which made me think of Susan sucking Tom's cock.
Which made me breath quicker, horrified that there was a cock in my mouth.
Which made me breath quicker.
Which made me drool, serving only to actually suck the cock in my mouth.
Which made me fantasize about sucking Tom's cock, dripping wet from being inside Susan.
Which made me swell even more in the cage.
Which made me press backwards against the bedpost.
Some time later, after this cycle had repeated itself dozens of times, I heard Mrs. Stanton's heels clicking into the room, approach me. "I just wanted to see how my little sissy was doing," she said, touching my chest, my stomach, my swollen, trapped, penis. "Enjoying cock as much as Susan?"
"Nnnnmnmffff." I shook my head.
I nodded. Of course I was jealous!
"Oh, honey," she said softly, touching the side of my head, "there's no reason to be jealous. I'm sure if Susan asks him really, really nicely, after tonight, he'd think about letting you suck his cock, too."
I shook again, that's not what I mean! I did not want to suck Tom's cock, anyone's cock, for that matter.
"Don't worry, dear, I'll be sure to tell Susan that we talked about this. Maybe she'll ask Tom if he wouldn't mind a pretty little sissy licking his cock."
That's not what I meant. I did not, had not, the desire to suck cock!
I shook my head no, at the same time, sucking, as she walked out of the room again.
The heels, again, the click clack of Mrs. Stanton's heels as she approached me later, the same as I was, bound, tortured, trussed, teased, thinking of Susan, thinking of cock.
She was behind me, tugging at whatever connected my penis to the bedpost, making me breath, hence suck, faster. "Do you know what they call a cuckolded sissy like you who wants to suck cock, Michael," she asked softly.
"Hmmmmfff," I groaned, aching.
"Faggot," she whispered in my ear. "Is that what we should tell Susan you are? A sissy? A cuckolded sissy? A sissy faggot?"
"Nnfffff," I moaned through the cock gag.
"Sissy faggot," she sang leaving the room, "sissy faggot. Cock sucking sissy faggot."
I could not help it.
Over and over.
All I could think about was Susan, my wife, sucking a cock.
Susan, my wife, getting fucked.
Moaning in pleasure.
All while I stood there, legs getting sore, jaw getting sore, sucking.
Some time later, I heard the heels again, approaching me, stopping, as if looking at me.
After a minute, she reached out, touched my sore groin, then my gag, grunted in laughter.
I sensed Mrs. Stanton move closer to me, felt her hand reach back down to my groin, this time, taking my swollen balls into her hand, felt shamed by the pleasure that rushed through me by the contact.
And then I smelled it.
Under the blindfold my eyes flew open, to nothing but blackness, of course.
"Look what I found," Susan's voice sang out.
"Mother told me I'd find you in here, lover," she said, joy in her voice. "Look at you, patiently waiting up for me."
"Oh, you poor thing, but you look so adorable all tied up waiting for me to come home from my date."
I was shaking, the tremors of sexual energy were making every inch of my skin come alive, making the stockings, the lingerie, the breasts, everything, excite me more and more.
"Well, I'm home love, I suppose I'll go wash up and get to bed," she said, starting to walk away from me.
"SMMMFFFNN," I yelled into the gag.
"What, love? Did you need something?"
I struggled with bondage.
"You want me to release you?"
I nodded my head violently.
"I suppose I could stay up for a few...what do you want to do, sweetie? I suppose you're dying to know about my evening, no?"
Fuck no! I wanted to know nothing about it. Like I wanted to know if my wife fucked a man. What the fuck? But I felt myself nodding my head, yes, yes, yes.
"Hmmmm, I've been thinking about that the entire time I drove home, sissy. I knew you'd want to hear everything."
Suddenly, the tension was released from my crotch. Not the chastity cage itself, but the bond to the bedpost. My midsection lurched, free, if only partially.
"I don't have the key for that," she said, almost sad, "she wouldn't give that to me. I'm going to undo your hands now, for a second, anyway. I don't want you attached to the bed, but I don't want you free yet, either."
Susan released my hands, released me from the bedpost, but true to her word, immediately bound my hands back together, behind my back, making my release limited.
"Don't move yet," she ordered me, "not yet." I felt her fingers touching me lightly, my skin where exposed, through my stockings, through the lingerie everywhere else.
I trembled with every touch, every movement. Every time her fingers, even lightly, touched me, flames shot through me, shaking me.
"You want to know what happen, don't you," she asked seductively.
I shook my head, mumbled through the gag.
"Whether your wife was naughty," she flicked my swollen, sore balls causing me to yelp, "or nice," she finished, gently touching them.
I felt her trace her fingers upward, over my stomach. "Most husband would want to hear one thing, one thing only, that NOTHING happened."
I was breathing quickly, panting, feeling drool leak out of my mouth.
"But then most husbands don't have breasts," she said, raising her hands to my chest, "don't wear pretty lingerie, and don't spend all evening sucking on cock, do they?"
"Ggggmmmmfff," I slurped.
"Don't worry, sissy. She told me, sissy, she told me what you've got in your mouth and I love it." She lowered her voice, whispered in my ear. "I love it because I can tell you something, something to do. Every time I say his name, every time sissy, think of what's in your mouth. Think about it. Cock. Hmmmmm, cock. Tom's cock."
"Ghhhhhhhhhhh," I groaned.
"I know, I know, sweetie, it gets you so excited hearing me talk like that," she says, rubbing me, my waist, my ass. "It's so ironic, too. I think I should be a little mad at you."
"Yes, mad. Husbands are supposed to look out for their wives' chastity, not fantasize about them getting fucked by a strange man."
"Well that's what you fantasize about, isn't it? A man, a big, strong, masculine man, an alpha man, taking me, fucking me? Isn't that what you've fantasized about all night?"
I shake my head no, deny it, deny the very thoughts that have run through my brain, over and over and over.
"No? Well, maybe I should just go shower then, change out of my lingerie, wash up, freshen up. Maybe you're right, maybe I should just get ready for bed."
I kept quite, struggled not to move, grunt, shake. For the most part, I stood still, stood, not betraying how I really felt.
For the most part.
"You're twitching, sissy," she giggled.
"Nnnnn," I slurped again, sucking my own spit, the cock gag.
"It's funny, maybe you worried for nothing, my dear husband. On the way over there, Tom texted me.
-Meet me in the hotel bar where we can get something to eat.
I sighed, an audible relief, an audible gasp of disappointment. And thought of Tom. Of cock. I sucked. Tom. Cock.
"I know, love, I know. That's how I felt, too. Here I was fantasizing for weeks, thinking about it, struggling with it, and what, even after the last time I saw him, that's it? Just dinner? Like any other company guy I have to entertain?"
"Well, that's it, I suppose. Disappointed? I'm sure. So, I might as well tell you, I valet parked, walked into the hotel bar and looked for Tom. No where to be found, unfortunately. So, the bar tender asks me if he can help me. I told him I was meeting someone, a hotel guest. You should have seen it, love. He looked me up and down like I was...a hooker!"
I pictured Susan's outfit. The sheer hose. The heels. The dress. Discrete, maybe, high class, but yes, under the right circumstances, she could easily be mistaken for a hooker, easily.
"Tom Sampson he asked me. I told him yes. Well, he told me that Mr. Sampson was running late and asked if I could pick him up in his room, room 518, that our dinner table would be ready shortly."
Did nothing happen? I don't know if this made me feel relieved or disappointed. Fuck, was I disappointed that my wife did not fuck someone?
"So I go upstairs, lover, to tell you the truth, feeling a little hurt that he's rejecting me, even though I'm not sure I want to do anything anyway. I knocked on his door.
"I walked in, nervously; he was in the bathroom."
-I'll be right out, Susan. There is a bottle of wine there, pour us each a glass before we go to dinner.
It figured, well, this was it, it was just dinner. I know, lover, I know, you're disappointed."
"Nnnnn," I shook my head, not sure if I was or not. Had I really wanted this? Really? Had I really wanted my wife to fuck a man? What the hell, that was crazy!
"So I found and poured the wine, disappointed, just like you, lover, a little relieved, too, to tell you the truth." She had my balls in her hand, gently, almost absent minded, massaging them. "You know you're twitching. Your little balls are twitching, sweetie. Like you wanted more. Like you were anticipating what happened and wanted more."
I realized she was right. Not just my balls, my incredibly sore balls, but everything, all over, I was twitching.
"Well, not much more to tell, I'm sorry to say," she said, continuing to rub. "Tom..." She paused, must have heard me suck the cock in my mouth, suck the gag. "Yes, Tom," she said again, squeezing slightly. "He came out of the bathroom, while I was pouring. I guess he startled me. I guess I was staring. He was behind me; I saw him in the mirror. He was drying his hair with a towel. But that isn't what caught my eye. What caught my eye, lover, what caught my wandering eye, my needy eye, was that he was standing there, behind me, toweling his hair dry, wearing only boxer shorts."
"Ohhhhhggggddddd," I gaggled into the cock gag in my mouth.
"Oh god was right, lover. He looked as much a man as you do a sissy. Tan. Strong. Beautiful. Masculine. I have no idea how I managed to hold onto the wine glass in my hand. I don't mean to offend you, lover, but I've never seen a hotter man in my life."
-I just need to get dressed, then we can go downstairs.
"He came up behind me, taking a glass of wine from my hand.
-Unless you'd rather just stay in, Susan.
"He was just like this, sissy, right behind me." Susan had me turned around; she was close, close. I felt the heat from her body, close, but not touching me.
-I'm married, Tom.
"He moved , so close, I felt him brush my back." Susan mimicked what he must have done, moved closer yet to me, brushed my back. It felt like she was wearing just her lingerie, like me, had disrobed, like him.
-I love my husband very much, Tom.
"I told him. I told him, lover, I told him I was married."
I exhaled, loudly, felt drool fall from my mouth. I felt suddenly relieved, yet suddenly deflated.
"I thought you'd be proud of me, sweetie, right? I mean, fending off the advances of a man?"
I felt my head hang, mixed emotions running through me. Nothing. The anticipation for nothing. Relief, yes, but all that fantasizing, all that thinking, the mental preparation, agreeing, nothing.
"I know he wanted to fuck me, lover. But I told him I was married."
I was panting now, shaking, suffering.
"I know, he said, I know," Susan whispered in my ear. "He tossed the towel on the bed, but a hand on my hip, the other, on my other hip, lower, my outer thigh."
Susan duplicated the actions she described, duplicated, one hand on my right hip, the other on my left thigh.
"I was shaking, Michael, just like you are right now. The sexual tension was so thick, just like right now.
-I love my husband, Tom.
"My eyes closed. I wanted him to move his hands, to step back, to get dressed. He didn't. He moved closer still, his chest pushed up against my back, his hands started to massage me."
Susan moved, her breasts pressed into me. She massaged my right hip, my left thigh.
-I'm sure you do love him Susan. But you're in a hotel room with me for the second time when one of us is half dressed.
"He said this, love, said this slowly, seductively, lifting the hem of my dress."
-You're in my room, Susan, wearing a garter belt, stockings. It doesn't matter if you are married. It doesn't matter if you love him. It doesn't matter. I know what you want, I know why you're here.
Susan kept massaging me, kept rubbing her breasts into my back through the satin camisole. I was on fire now, burning, heat, pain, in my crotch, heat, pain, in my stomach.
-Tell me to stop, Susan.
"He whispered in my ear," she said, whispering in my ear.
-Tell me to stop. Now. Because if you don't I'm going to take your dress off. I'm going to pick up where we left off last time. Tell me to stop, because if you don't now, right now, this instant, I'm not stopping, I won't stop. I won't stop.
I knew what she was doing. She was telling me what he said, his command to her; she was giving me the same command. Telling me to tell her to stop just the same as he told her to tell him to stop.
And I couldn't.
I could not tell her to stop.
I wanted more. I wanted to hear more.
I desperately wanted more.
I was too far gone, too far sissified, too far into fantasy.
I wanted more.
"He reached up and unzipped my dress, honey. I tried to tell him to stop. I tried. But I could not. The words, they, they would not come out. I was screaming them in my head, but no sounds came out. Nothing. He dropped my dress to the floor, let it glide between us, then..."
She said nothing. I felt her breath, felt her heat, felt her shaking.
Then I felt her pelvis move forward, touch my rear, felt her press upward, her panties, her mound, pressed up into my pantied ass.
"I felt him, Michael, I felt him closer, I felt him press against me. Him. I felt Tom. I felt his...his...I felt his cock press up against me, against my ass, for the second time. Through his boxers, I felt it. And all I could think about was I wanted it. I wanted to feel it. Not just against me through clothes, like before, I wanted to feel it out, naked, hard, hot, touching me. I couldn't tell him to stop because I wanted him, Michael, I wanted him so badly. And he bit my ear, then spoke..."
She paused, ground gently into me, simulating a man, simulating a cock, touching me. I was so swollen, so engorged, I thought my penis would burst the chastity cage open.
-If you don't say no, now, right now, you know what I'm going to do to you Susan, don't you? I'm going to fuck you, Susan. I don't care that you're married, I don't care that you're in love. I'm going to fuck you, do you understand? I'm going to fuck you like you've never been fucked before, Susan.
"Gggfmmfff," I moaned as Susan pressed into me, as I pictured her, like this, a man, Tom, pressed against her.
"He took a step back, for not more than a second or two, then he pressed against me harder. He was naked now, his cock, erect, free, was pressed against my ass, twitching, throbbing, touching me."
-Do you understand, Susan?
Susan was breathing heavier, matching me, matching my level of stress, of excitement.
-Do you understand me?
"He was pressing against me, harder."
-I'm going to fuck you, Susan. Tell me to stop, now, or I'm going to fuck you. Do you understand?
"I whispered it, so quietly, I knew he could not hear, but I could not bring myself to say it louder, to admit."
-Yes, Tom, yes!
-Do you want me to stop, Susan?
It hit me, I was about to find out, if my wife fucked a man. I was about to find out if I was cuckolded. If my wife, with my full knowledge, cuckolded me. Fucked a man while I was home, feminized, womanized.
"No," Susan whispered in my ear. "No, I...I told him no, Michael, I told him no. I wanted him, I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted it so badly, I needed it. I wasn't sure up until that minute, but feeling him, his cock, hard, thick, pressed into me, a man's cock, I wanted it, I wanted him so badly."
-No, Tom, no, please, no, don't stop, please.
"He moved backwards, ever so slightly, backwards, then forward, quickly, and suddenly it was between my legs, touching me, sticking out. His height made it push upwards, pressured upwards, up against me. He moved his hips back and forth, Michael, the friction, the heat, the hardness."
As Susan said this, I felt her hand come between us, first on my ass, then lower, between my legs. Her hand, a surrogate for his cock, she was him, I was her. Her hand between my legs like his cock was between her legs. A man's cock, between my wife's legs, touching her.
-Are you wet, Susan?
"He asked me. Wet, Michael? Was I wet? I barely knew him, this man, and he had his cock, his naked cock, between my legs, asking me if I was wet. I'm married, Michael, I'm married, and a man was touching me, asking me if I was wet. Wet? Was I wet?"
Was she? How the fuck could she not be wet? If she wasn't excited, if she did not want this, maybe, but like this?
"I felt a sharp pain on my ass, sissy, suddenly, a snap, pain. He had slapped my ass. Not too hard, but hard enough."
-I asked you if you're wet?
"His voice was firm, but not...not meanly. I answered, softly."
"Fuck, of course I was wet. I was fucking soaked, Michael, soaking wet. A fucking man's cock was fucking rubbing on my panties, rubbing on my pussy. Of course I was fucking wet."
"And then he stepped back, his cock pulled from between my legs. I didn't mean to, but I groaned. I didn't mean to show him how excited I was. I felt him peel my panties down, slightly, over my ass, not all the way down, though. And then, his cock, his cock, he pushed it back between my legs, and...and right up against me, against my pussy, lover, touching me, rubbing me, wet now, like me."
Susan's hand was between my legs, rubbing, my ass, touching my balls, flicking my trapped penis. His cock on her, her hands on me. I was breathing so heavy, breathing and sucking, sucking and swallowing, his cock, the cock gag. Cock.
Susan's other hand was moving now, on my chest, my stomach, my crotch. "His hands were everywhere, his mouth was biting my neck, my ear. I felt him reach lower, down my stomach, then...he touched me, Michael, he touched me, sissy, his fingers found my pussy."
I was breathing so heavily, I thought I was going to pass out from too much oxygen. I pictured him, behind my wife, naked, his cock touching her, his fingers touching her.
"He was moving his hips back and forth, rubbing me with his cock. I was fucking moaning, delirious, dizzy. And then, oh god, Michael, then..."
"Snnnn," I started to moan into the gag, "Susan," I blurted out, realizing she had undone the gag, pulled it from my mouth, pulled the cock out, "oh Susan!"
"Wait, lover, wait," she said, unbuckling my hands, removing my blindfold, spinning me around to face her. "Then," she said, stopping, pulling me to her, kissing me, hard, deep, wet, insistent.
"I felt it, felt it like I've never, ever felt it before. I was wet, soaked, like...like you'd been licking me for hours. His cock, just his cock rubbing me, got me wetter than I've ever been. I felt it, press against me. The head of his cock, his large bulb. He pushed, ever so gently, ever so slightly. It was like a ball, a hammer, so thick. My legs got weak, I almost fell, but he held me."
I looked at her, standing right against me, wearing just her lingerie, her body, her soft skin, pressed against me, against my lingerie. I looked into my wife's eyes, looked at her as she told me about a man, about a cock, inside her, touching her.
I was listening to my wife tell me about a man's cock inside her!
-Are you on the pill, Susan?
"He asked me, just standing there, the head of his cock inside me. I was confused."
-What? The pill?
-Are you on the pill?
"He asked me again, pushing an inch deeper into me. I moaned. Oh, fuck, Michael, fuck, oh fuck."
His cock was inside her? Tom's cock. A man's cock. Inside her, inside my wife! Fucking her. And he wanted to know if she was on the pill? Why would that matter? He wasn't planning on...on...fuck, oh fuck!
-Tom...fuck...ohhh...yes, but, Tom, I...
Susan kissed me again, kissed me, pushed me backwards, right onto the bed.
"He pushed, Michael, slowly, steadily, pushed, and it went deeper, and deeper, and deeper. Oh, god, Michael, I...I never felt...never felt anything like that inside me before. I...I never knew a cock fit inside a woman like that, filling her, filling me, everywhere, touching, everything; I was on fire, I was shaking, I was so...I started cumming right away, I started cumming and I didn't stop, every second he was in me, every second, every stroke, I came and came and came."
I was so swollen, I might as well have been erect. If not for the cage, I would have exploded just with Susan's body touching mine. MY WIFE WAS GETTING FUCKED BY A MAN!
"Oh god, honey, there was a man inside me. I had a man's cock inside me. His bare cock! I started to say something."
-Tom, you need to wear...
"But he cut me off. He pushed his cock inside me and cut me off."
-The results of my STD test are over there on the night stand. You're on the pill, Susan. I'm going to fuck you, just like this. No condom.
"I just moaned, Michael, I just moaned and moaned and moaned every time his cock pushed into me, split me open. I didn't care. I didn't care about anything but his cock, inside me. I didn't care, I just wanted him to fuck me."
On the bed, Susan was now next to me, squeezing, kneading my balls. It didn't matter that I could not get fully erect, her words, her touch, her lingerie, my lingerie, everything, pushed me so far into a zone of sexual excitement, nothing mattered, nothing.
"And Michael, honey, I wanted him to cum inside me."
"You're thinking of his cock, sissy," she said, a statement more than a question.
I just shook, her words true, reading the image in my mind, his cock, entering her, sliding in, sliding out, pushing, wet, thick, throbbing.
"I know, sissy, I know. A man's cock, Tom's cock, inside me, inside your wife, a cock inside me for the first time in so long."
"Oh, Susan," I moaned, trying to bite my lip, trying to keep it together, trying not to betray what I was feeling.
She licked the side of my neck, up to my ear, blew softly, whispered. "Just like the sissy you are, just like a woman, getting excited thinking of cock. Getting excited thinking of your wife getting fucked by a man. Getting excited by getting emasculated. Mother told me, she was right, how excited you'd get, how you really are a sissy, how hearing that a man can do something to me that you never could would make you feel. I want you to cum, sissy, I want you to cum. I want to see that it's true, that you like it, that you like being a sissy, that you like being a cuckold."
"I can't Susan, I can't," I groaned, cursing the cage, cursing her mother, cursing everything.
Susan kissed me, full on, mouth, all over mine, her tongue, deep inside me, wet, like everything, passionate, hard, long. "Have you ever tasted cock, sissy?"
"What," I asked, stunned. No, no! Of course not.
She kissed me again, just as hard, just as passionate, longer still.
"Have you ever tasted cock?"
She kissed me again. "He pushed deep into me, deeper, the deepest yet, held it. Oh fuck, I was shaking so hard, he was touching me, deep inside me, touching me somewhere you've never touched me. God, sissy, never have you done that inside me. He held it, then pulled back, back, and out. I was moving my ass, my pussy, searching for him. Tom, I groaned, begging. He laughed. Tom, I begged again.
-Get on the bed, Susan.
-Tom, fuck, please!
-On the bed and I'll make you feel like that again. On the bed, on your hands and knees.
"I turned around, took my hands off the wall where I'd been holding myself, felt my knees start to buckle."
-That's what a man does to a woman, Susan. I'm guessing the husband you love so much never made you feel like that, did he?.
"I lowered my head, blushed."
-Did he, Susan? Answer me.
"I turned, stopped, stared, Michael, I just stared."
I knew what she was talking about even before she said it. I felt it, saw it too, felt it in my mind, my insides, all over.
"His cock, Michael, oh fuck his cock." Susan said this, her eyes closed, rolling into her head. "Thick, hard, wet, glistening, that thing, that thing that was inside me, filling me, touching me."
-Is it polite to stare?
-I know, Susan. You love your husband, but he doesn't have a cock, does he?
Susan squeezed my balls, hard, when she said this, reminding me that I did not have a cock. A not so subtle jab, telling me, that I was not a man, that I was a sissy.
-I don't want you on your hands and knees, yes. Sit, Susan, sit on the edge of the bed.
"I knew right away what he wanted, sissy. I wanted his cock in my pussy, fucking me. He had other ideas. I was still staring at him, at his cock. I knew what he wanted, but paused. He was covered with...with me, with my juices."
Susan had a thing. She did not like kissing me after I went down on her, and certainly did not like licking her juices off me.
"I sat, but looked up at him, made a face, gross."
"He walked towards me, looked down at me."
-Open your mouth, Susan.
-I don't like to taste myself, Tom.
-I didn't ask what you liked, Susan.
I NEVER spoke to Susan that way. NEVER. EVER.
She kissed me again. "I opened my mouth..."
She kissed me again.
"And tasted him."
"His cock, myself."
"Just like you are, right now, sissy."
Cock. Cock. Cock.
I kissed back, deeper than her, hungrier than her, disgusted, unable to stop, deep desire, tasting her, moving that aside in my brain, finding it, him, tasting, wanting, needing.
"I tasted him, tasted his cock. Just. Like. You. Are."
I kissed her again, deeper still.
-More, Susan, that's it, suck, Susan, suck my cock.
"More, Sissy, that's it, suck, sissy, taste his cock."
"Ohhhhhhhhhh," I moaned.
"Yes, sissy, cock, cock."
-Now, on your hands and knees, Susan.
"I did as he said, as he ordered. I scooted back on the bed, turned over, offered myself to him, to Tom, to his cock. I felt...a longing, Michael, I wanted him, back in me. But I felt vulnerable, too. I was willingly offering myself to him, willingly, begging to be fucked. Part of me felt like an animal, a dog."
"Oh god, Susan, Susan," I whimpered.
"Turn over, sissy, on your hands and knees like I was, offer yourself, sissy, like I did. Offer yourself to a man, to his cock.."
I turned over, dizzy with sexual desire, the image of Susan in my mind, Susan, half naked, begging a man to fuck her, Susan, my wife, needing, wanting, a man. I pictured a man, Tom, behind me, behind us, Susan begging to be fucked, me begging to be fucked.
"I was an animal, rubbing myself, offering myself. I wanted to be mounted. I was in heat, Michael, and all I wanted was to be taken, by a man, by the strongest, the biggest, the toughest man, the alpha man. I wanted him to take me.
I was panting, an animal myself, the beta, the loser, the submissive.
"He knew, too, Michael, he knew he was taking me, he wanted me to know, you to know, Michael. He wanted us both to know that I was his. Married or not, I was his.
-You love your husband, Susan?
"I felt him get on the bed, felt his warm body near mine."
-He makes love to you, tenderly, softly?
-Yes, Tom, please.
-I'm not going to make love to you, Susan.
-Tom, please, I need it.
Cock, she needed his cock.
"I was begging, Michael. I was begging him to fuck me. Begging him to mount me. I was in heat, Michael, in heat."
-I'm not going to make love to you, Susan.
"I felt the head of his cock, wet from me, from my mouth, touch my lips, soaked. I begged him. I was afraid he was going to stop, that he was teasing me."
-What, please, please, Tom, please.
"He stopped, right on the edge. I tried to push back, but he pulled back to match me, keeping his cock head on my lips, not allowing it inside me.
-I'm not going to make love to you Susan.
"Please Tom, fuck, please, please, I want you.
"Oh Michael, Michael, it was so...forceful, oh fuck."
-I'm not going to make love to you, Susan, like your pussy husband. I'm a man, Susan, I'm going to fuck you!
"He was inside me, so quickly, so violently, so totally." Susan had moved around, was on her side, her back to me, her mouth near my stomach. She looked back up towards me. "In me a way I've never, ever felt before, sissy, ever."
"Turn back over, lover, I want to show you something."
I did, on my back again. Susan turned her head back to my stomach, licked, wet. "Do you know how two women make love, Michael? Do you know how a woman and a sissy make love? The same. Soft, touching, licking."
She licked my stomach again. "You make love to me like a woman, Michael. So soft, so tender, so gentle. And I love it so much. So unlike Tom. He fucked me, Michael. Hard. Deep. Like an animal, and I loved it soooo much!"
Susan climbed on top of me, her ass facing me, licking my legs, my stockings, her breasts, covered by her bra, resting on my thighs.
"I was like this, Michael, on my hands and knees, I'm doing for you the same thing I did for him. I'm on my hands and knees for you, Michael, but you're making love to me like a woman. He was fucking me!"
"Oh, fuck, Susan," shook as I felt her licking my balls.
-Oh, fuck, Tom.
"His balls were slapping against my pussy every time he pushed into me, seemingly deeper each time. When I offered myself to him like this, all I wanted was his cock. Deep. In me. All I wanted was cock. All I want from you is your tongue, sissy, your tongue, your mouth, your fingers. I want what a woman has from you, all that you have to offer."
She turned her head back towards me. "Are you my sissy?"
"Oh, fuck, Susan," I shook again, moaning louder.
She took my balls in her hand. They were heavy, sore, full. She massaged them; it hurt; it felt wonderful.
"Are you my sissy," she asked again, looking me right in the eye.
"Yes, Susan, yes," I answered, my mind collapsing into her, into her body, into her slave, into her pet. "Yes, I'm your sissy!"
"I offered Tom this and he took it, took me, fucked me, like a man. I'm offering you that and you're just accepting, sissy."
She looked back down; her head bobbed as she kissed the plastic chastity cage, licked my swollen shaft through the sides. She slid back, her panty covered ass moved towards my face, the satin crotch covering her pussy.
"He was fucking me harder, Michael, harder. I can't believe the feeling, I was getting so dizzy."
Her pussy was slowly moving back towards my face, slowly. I smelled her; she was clearly wet, soaked, remembering it. I could see, her panties were damp, moist. She was excited, charged. But the scent was stronger than she usually was, strong, musk.
"He was pushing, deeper, holding, pushing, holding, shaking. It hit me, Michael, he was getting close to...
Her pussy was right over me now, just out of reach of my nose, my tongue.
I wanted her.
I wanted her!
No, the scent. No.
"He wasn't wearing a condom, sissy," she said softly, gently brushing my face with her satin covered pussy.
-Fuck me, Tom, fuck me.
Susan's fingers were on the outside of her panties, touching herself, touching my mouth. Fingers dancing over the satin, the moist spot, the dampness, over her clit, over my lips, over my tongue. Skin. Satin.
Susan lifted her hips up, her fingers moved her panties to the side, exposing her swollen pussy, red, wet, musky, beautiful.
No, no, no, no, no. My brain was screaming. No. No. NO. NO! NOOOOOO! I knew what was there, what she was telling me, what she wanted me to know, what she wanted to shove in my face, literally, figuratively.
-Cum in me Tom!
-CUM IN ME TOM!
-Yes, Susan, yes!
"No, Susan, no!" I shifted, lifted my legs up, my knees into the air, my feet firmly on the bed, as if to scoot away from Susan's pussy.
Two things happened at the same time, both terrifying me, revolting me, sending me to a place of pleasure I'd never been.
As soon as my legs moved up, I felt Susan's hand, fingers, wet, leave my balls, run downward. At the same time, Susan lowered her hips, lowered herself to my mouth, open, yelling, protesting. Her pussy spread open by her one hand dropped right onto my mouth, my tongue forced into her. While part of me screamed inside, another part, involuntarily, opened my mouth wider, opened at the touch of her softness, wetness.
At the same time, her other fingers, the other wet fingers, found something, me, something new, an opening, circled, touched, pressed.
I knew the smell, Susan, intimately. I knew the other smell, the musk, without being told. Cum.
I knew the taste, Susan, lovingly. The other taste, deeper, stronger. Cum.
I was tasting cum. She was feeding it to me, forcing it into me, the substance, the image, Tom, fucking her, cumming inside her.
Susan's fingers pressed, opened, pressed into me. I was not sure which to push away from. Moving from her fingers pushed my open mouth deeper into her pussy, my tongue deeper, touching, tasting, her, him, the wetness, her, his cum. Moving away from her pussy pushed me deeper onto her fingers, pressing into me, fucking me.
I wanted to run from both, but could not, physically or mentally. I wanted to run from the cum, run from her fingers. All I could think about was cock, now. Tom's cock. Inside my wife, inside me.
I licked, heard her moaning, immediately a wave of orgasm making her spasm. She jerked, her fingers pushed into me, found the spot, a spot somehow connected to my penis, a spot inside me.
I started shaking, no, a spasm, just like her. I'd never felt this before, ever. The feeling built up, higher, higher, the pressure of her fingers, the taste of him, of her.
I felt her ride the wave of orgasm, what she did, a surfer, on the ocean, going, the power, under, around, all over. I felt her, felt the same thing, a wave, not an explosion, an unending wave.
I felt a wetness along with the wave, a dribbling. Oh, fuck, I was cumming, too. There was no explosion, just a wave, along a wave, cresting, then continuing as she fingered me, continuing as I licked.
"That's it, be a woman, be a woman!"
Everything finally receded, the wave washed away, my orgasm, hers. I felt her licking me, licking up what had dribbled out, the wetness, cum that has fallen, rather than exploded, out of me. She licked it up as she continued to move her pussy on my face, as I continued to lick her, the cum from her, the cum that Tom had pushed into her.
I drifted back to earth some time later. Minutes, maybe hours, time lost meaning to me. Femininity danced over my skin, inside me, throughout me.
"You can't go back."
"You can't go back, Michael."
Another wave, subtle, small, an aftershock. "Susan," I gasped.
"You can't go back, Michael," she whispered in my ear again.
"She was right, Michael, she was right."
"Who," I asked, knowing who, not knowing what.
"What do you mean," I asked, eyes heavy, lazily looking over at Susan, who was next to me, gently rubbing her fingers over my stomach, my breasts.
"Oh, nothing, nothing."
"Susan," I asked again, opening my eyes, focusing.
"She said if she did this for me, I'd better be sure, that I'd never be able to go back to the way things were."
"Did this for you? I'm confused. Did what for you?"
"Feminized you, silly."
My brain was seizing onto something, wait, was she seriously, yesterday, but I could not grasp it, did not want to grasp it. "For you?"
She looked at me, just stared at me.
Her lips twitched.
"I knew, Michael. I knew you were a sissy. Even if you didn't know. I knew. She knew. She's been telling me, she was right, it was obvious."
"You knew," I repeated again, feeling betrayed.
"She was right, Michael."
"You asked her."
"No, she asked, I acquiesced. No, that's not quite right. I wanted it, too. I allowed it because I wanted it. But that's not all, Michael."
She sat up on her elbows.
"I allowed it because she was right, she was right that you wanted it; that it would make YOU happy."
"I wanted it," I repeated, again, a stab of betrayal.
As if dealing with a child, patiently, she looked me in the eye, spoke sincerely.
"You're a sissy, my dear husband. A sissy. Look at you, in bed with me, wearing lingerie, with breasts. You're a sissy. No man I know would ever do this just to do it."
Tom's name flashed in my mind.
"No man does this just because. You allowed it to happen because of what you are, your nature. You may not have known it, but you're a sissy, you can't change that. Mother simply opened a door. You embraced it."
"But I didn't..."
"Are you a sissy," she interrupted me, looking me right in the eyes.
"Susan," I blushed.
"Yes," I sighed, feeling a wave of relief wash over me, relief that overcame the betrayal, overcame the anger, the self doubt.
"Yes," she agreed.
"I love you Michael," she said, kissing me.
"But," I said, tried to say.
"Only you, Michael, only you."
The next morning, Susan's mother stood in the foyer, bags gathered around her, a uniformed driver at the door, waiting to carry her things to the car, carry her to the airport, to home.
Susan was, like I, was still wearing the lingerie she wore out last night, to bed with me, a satin robe covering her, giving her a modest amount of modesty in front of the driver.
Susan hugged her mother. "Thank you, Mother," she said simply, softly, "thank you."
Her mother was not her normal frozen self, was more relaxed, emotional. "No, thank you, Susan, this is best, for both of you."
She stepped back from the embrace, looked to me. "You understand?"
"Yes, Ma'am," I said, conscious that the driver was staring at me, saying nothing, speaking volumes with his eyes.
"Good. I mean that, I do." She reached out to me, ran her gloved hand over my face, almost tenderly. "Shall we," she broke off, to her driver.
"Yes," she said, turning back to Susan.
"I...um," Susan stuttered, almost blushed. "The key?"
I felt my pelvis lurch. The key!
"The key, Susan?"
Yes, the fucking key!
"The key, the key for..."
Mrs. Stanton laughed. "One moment, driver," she said, turning to the door where the driver set down the bags, stood, watching the entire interaction.
"I know dear. I'm sorry, you're still a little nervous, I know. We didn't discuss that, did we. A plan, anyway. See, that's the thing about a new mistress, she can be a bit lax in dealing with her new sissy, giving into the inevitable begging for release. That would put you in an awkward situation, a situation I'd rather you not worry about just yet."
Oh, fuck, she wasn't going to!
"Mother, I don't think..."
"I know you don't Susan, I know. But then what's it matter. You're not going to, nor should you, for a least the first month or two. So why tempt fate? Why let him hold any illusion, any hope? No, for now I'll hold onto the key," she said, patting her neck where the key hung on a gold chain.
Susan sighed. "When?"
Mrs. Stanton laughed. "That's the ironic thing, dear. In a month, maybe two, it won't matter. When he accepts his status, accepts being a sissy. Because when he does, he will have been broken of any desire to use it anyway."
"But Mother, I..."
"Of course, Susan, of course. I left the dildo...and there is always Tom, if the mood strikes."
I looked to Susan. Tom? If the mood strikes? Again?
"Look at your sissy, Susan, quickly. That look on her face is priceless. Of course, Tom, sissy, of course. She isn't going to fuck you, well, except to milk you like she did last night."
I blushed, how could I not, knowing she knew.
"Oh, sissy, don't you realize? See, Susan, why I'm holding the key. Sissy, the only way you're going to orgasm is when she milks you. That's the only kind of orgasm you can have with the cage on. That's the beauty, sissy, you'll beg her to do it, and she will, won't you Susan? Every time you fuck Tom, every time, you're going to fuck your sissy, like a girl, and make him dribble and moan."
Mrs. Stanton came closer to me, touched my face. "Every time, sissy, every time she comes home full of a man's cum, you can look forward to cleaning up the mess and to a sweet, feminine orgasm. Every time, sissy, every time."
With that, she left, taking her wild-eyed driver, leaving me, Susan, us, much different than when she arrived.
When the door closed, Susan turned, looked to me.
"You want to do it again, Susan," I blurted out.
"Yes," she said softly, looking away.
"I love you, Susan," I said, thinking again of Tom, the taste of his cum still in my mouth, the feeling of being milked still in my mind.
"I love you, sissy, I love you more than you can ever know."