Sunday, June 19, 2011

More of this. I'm enjoying writing it. Enjoying comments even more.
She’d promised to let me watch. Could I do that? In the hotel, on the webcam, it had been different. Steve hadn’t known he was being watched. I hadn’t really had much choice. Maybe I didn’t now either. But could I do that? Watch my wife be fucked by another man? Could I take the shame, his mocking, his disgust? What would that make me? Not just a sissy, not just a voyeur, but someone who enjoyed being made little of, someone with such low self esteem that he could actually enjoy seeing his wife be taken by another man.
Who was I kidding, I scolded myself. I was already all that, and had been for a very long time, long before Heather had known of my secret desires. This reality was just the conclusion of my real self being pulled out into the open, and Heather’s eager embracing of my submissive nature.
In my minds eye, I could so easily picture the sight I had so often vividly imagined. Heather, reclining on the bed, her legs spread wide, her face just beginning to lose the flush of her orgasm, her body shining with sweat, her hair damp and lank. Her pussy lips, still gaping a little, a drooling trail of come beginning the dribble from the folds down to her asshole. Her face, smiling benignly, exhausted. Her finger, gently beckoning to me.
The thought was electric. Worth anything. I would overcome any shame to have it, to be there when it became reality. My hand had moved involountarily to my skirt, pressed against the bulge in my pantyhose. I snatched it away. Trembling I returned downstairs to check on the dinner.
I did not have much else to do but wait. I poured myself a glass of wine and wandered back upstairs. I set it down and unpacked my new clothes. They were lovely. Practical but elegant. I put them away and strolled back down again to the front room and the computer.
My files, the porn, my stories all seemed rather passe and juvenile now. I began perusing websites, bulletin boards. I searched for makeup tips for crossdressers, online clothing stores, and found myself drifting towards the transgender sites. Did hormones work I wondered. Was it that simple? Could you take a pill? Pills? And become more femine? How long did it take? Could it really be that simple?
As I read and clicked the time passed. It had grown dark outside. I got up and turned down the heat on the meal. If they weren’t home soon it would spoil. The phone rang and I hurried to answer.
Immediately I heard noise in the background. Too loud for a restraunt. A bar? A club?
“Hi babe.” Said Heather. “Me and Brad ... Stop it Brad ...” She laughed. “... Me and Brad went on somewhere to eat, so there’s no need for dinner.”
I could hear a voice, his voice, not the words, just a deep voice talking over her.
“You there? Honey?” She asked.
“Yes. Yes I’m here.”
She laughed again at something Brad said, or did.
“So, sorry.” She said, without much feeling. “Hope you didn’t go to too much trouble. You should go ahead and eat yourself, okay?”
“Okay. I will.” I said quietly. She wasn’t listening, she was laughing again.
“So. We’ll be home soon. Okay? Okay?”
She laughed again.
“I’d say don’t wait up, but I know you will, right? Right?”
“Yeah. Okay. Soon?” I asked.
She paused before answering, then real emotion entering her voice for the first time - “Yeah. Soon honey.” She answered, her voice, hard, meaningful. And then she hung up.
I returned to the kitchen, feeling numb. I made myself up a plate and sat to eat with little appetite. My mind still blank, I cleaned up, feeling nothing. I tried hard not to think of them together.
When I finished clearing up, an hour had passed, I sat again before the computer. I got out my credit card.
It was midnight before they returned. I was idly flicking through old stories I had written when I heard the key turn in the lock, followed by voices. I turned off the screen and stepped timidly into the hall.
heather entered first, laughing and stumbling hrough the hall door. She looked fabulous, glamorous, happy. her eyes Her eyes caught mine as saw her new boyfriend follow her into our house. He was tall, six foot one, and quite broad shouldered. Tanned and good looking, but more cute than rugged. He was smiling and laughing as he fumbled with relocking the door.
‘He’s nervous too.’ I thought. ‘Or drunk. Perhaps a little of both.
“Hi Honey. We’re home.” sang Heather with a laugh in her voice.
Brad stopped when he saw me, blinked a couple of times. I didn’t know what Heather had told him to expect, of course, but in any case, he was surprised by me, or more likely, by my appearance.
“Brad. I want you to meet Cary, my husband.” said Heather, then laughed again.
Brad chuckled too. He was nervous. I found myself smiling back. He wasn’t quite the ogre that I’d somehow worked myself up to expect.
“And Cary. This is Brad. He is sooo funny. I’d forgtten what joker he was in college.”
“Hi.” I said to Brad, our eyes meeting, although what passed between us, I couldn’t say. Understanding? Confusion? Something anyway.
“Do you want to come through to the living room?” I asked politely. “Could I get you some drinks?”
“Oh, great Idea.” said Brad, removing his jacket and taking Heather’s too.
Heather’s eyes floshed briefly. She’d have preferred for me to do that, I guess.
“Yes. Drinks.” She said. “More drinks!” and they both laughed again.
I hurried into the kitchen and poured a glass of red wine for her, a scotch on the rocks for him. I reckoned that would be about right.
When I returned, I found them sitting together on the sofa, Brad’s arm draped casually around Heather’s shoulders. Even though I’d been expeciting it, the sight still gave me a pang.
Heather’s eyes searched mine out as I sat down.
“So, Cary, what do you think of Brad?” She asked, challengingly.
“He’s very handsome.” I replied, casting my eyes down, embarrased.
She laughed, while Brad smiled, slightly embarrased himself.
“Yes. Yes, he’s handsome alright.” She said. “And so succesful too. What is it Brad, most valuable player three years in a row?”
“Star player.” Corrected Brad, smiling.
She laughed. “Yeah, you’re a player alright.” and they both laughed at their private joke.
“You see, when I contacted Brad, and told him about our, situation.” She continued. “He said he’d love to meet up with me. And he told me about this time, he met up with one of his high school buddies, who’s married now, at his house? And Brad thought that this guy’s wife was coming on to him.”
“She was.” Said Brad.
“And Brad didn’t want to, you know, because this guy was his friend, and they were, like in his house. But then in front of her husband, this woman, she was like really coming on to him, and then she kissed him. And she said, it’s okay, that they were swingers.”
“And he looked like he was kinds into it.” Said Brad, with an innocent look, but a little smile too.
Heather laughed. “Yeah, like he had a choice. Anyway, like Brad needs no more encouragement.”
“She was all over me. Really.”
“And the guy says that they’ve done this before, like with another guy?”
I noticed that Heather was leaning in very close to Brad as she told the story. Brad looked very pleased with himself. His hand was draped over her bare shoulder, and Heather’s body was pressed very close.
“So Brad, says sure, and then she starts sucking his cock!”
“I mean, I’d done stuff kinda like that before, maybe in Vegas, with some of the guys at a cathouse. But never with like, a husband, there watching.”
“And Brad said. It was kind of weird, because the guy was talking about this, like they were both going to do her, but she didn’t suck her husband’s cock. No, just Brad’s. “
“Yeah, and he was just watching, and I could tell, you know? That he was going along with it, but he wasn’t really happy about it.”
“But she was.” Laughed Heather.
“Yeah.” Said Brad, and they looked at each other for a long moment and then moved slowly closer and then they were kissing, deep and slow. Heather’s hands moved around him and Brad gently stroked her thigh, up under her dress and onto her ass. I could see Heather getting more excited, her chest heaving and her feet began to twitch a little.
“Oh fuck.” gasped Heaher as they broke, and she turned to me, looked into my eyes as her lover’s hands roamed over her body.
“I made Brad wait till we got home.” She said. “I wanted you to see our first kiss.”
Then she continued.
“So, yeah, he was kind of into it, but not into it, if you can imagine that.” She said.
“Yes.” Said Brad, it was like you-know, he was trying to make himself believe that this was swinging. Pretending that it wasn’t just that his wife wanted to fuck another guy. So, she’s like, on her knees, giving me head, and he’s just sitting there. And he didn’t even try to like get her to suck him off too. So, I was guessing, you know, that when he said they’d done this before, like, it was just like this. that his wife was just fucking another guy and he was you know - just watching.”
“And so you fucked her there, with him watching?” aksed Heather.
“No. She wanted to go upstairs, so she leads me up there, and she’s getting undressed all the way up the stairs. You know, throwing her clothes everywhere, and he kind of just trails along behind us, with her ignoring him, and it was like he didn’t even know if he should come into the bedroom with us. At that stage I didn’t know if he was going to join in, I just wanted to fuck her. She was really really hot.”
“And he did join you guys in the bedroom?”
“Yeah, but he just kind of perched there, on the end while she lay down. And I was like, trying to ignore him too, and after a minute I just kind of forgot he was there too. Because, you know ...”
Heather laughed. “Because you were too busy fucking his wife right in front of him?”
He laughed too. “Yeah, and oh man, it was fuckin great, and usually, if I’m with like a woman, I’m usually kind of worried about, you know, wanting to take her ass, but she was really into it.”
“And she just ignored him the whole time?”
“Yeah, well kinda, sometimes she’d look over at him and maybe say something, like telling him how big I was and how good a stud I was, stuff like that.”
“Fuck.” Said. Heather. “And this guy was like a friend?”
“Kinda yeah. I mean, I dunno about now.”
Heather laughed again and caught my eye.
“So, when you were done, what then?”
“Yeah, well, I was thinking that maybe then, he’d like get a turn, and I really didn’t want to see that, but you know, I was still feeling kind of guilty, so I was gonna stay, but then she was like all asking me questions about when we could meet up again, and she was asking me about other guys on the team, and maybe she and some of the other guys and me could meet up. Like she was into, you know, doing more of us.”
“But not her husband?”
“Nope, like he wasn’t even there.”
“So what happened then?”
“Well, I was done, I just kind of left, and he let me out the front door.”
“And didn’t he say anything.”
“Not really, he just was acting like nothing much had happened, although I could tell he was pretty worked up. He never said anything though.The last thing he said as I left was ‘Thanks Brad’.
Heather laughed again. “Thanks Brad.” She repeated. She looked at me. “You’ll have to say thanks to Brad too when he’s done fucking your wife.”
She smiled. Her hands were in his crotch.
“Because, if what I felt in that nightclub is right, he’s going to give me exactly what I want.”
She smiled at him, and they kissed again as her fingers unzipped his fly and dug into his pants. They emerged with a huge flaccid cock, dark and flabby.
“Oh my goodness.” Said Heather. “Fuck! No wonder she was so excited. Jesus, Brad, I’d forgotten you were so fuckin’ huge. “
She slid to the floor and turned her back to me, leaning in to Brad’s crotch.
“Oh yeah.” He moaned as my wife’s fingers peeled back his foreskin and she stroked him with both hands.
“Yeah Heather, it’s been too long girl.” He said. “I never had head like you used to give me back in college.” He said.
Her hands were pumping harder now, coaxing some stiffness into his giant slab of meat.
“When that bitch was talking about fucking the team, I thought of you. You were like our mascot. Yeah. The way you used to sneak into the changing rooms after a game?”
She glanced over her shoulder at me.
“I always made sure to take care of you first though, didn’t I?” She asked, licking her lips.
“Yeah. Even though you were, like, the first team slut, I knew you liked me fucking you best.”
“Well, you were the star player.”
Her eyes, locked on mine, Heather lowered her face to his growing phallus and opened wide to take head of his cock into her pretty mouth.
“Aaaaaah.” Sighed Brad. “Fuck, Heather, how’d you end up with a pussy like this?”
He looked over at me, the pussy.
“Fuck, man? How’d it happen? How did you go from marrying this sweet piece of ass to prancing about in panties, watching her fuck another guy? Huh?”
Heather answered for me, lifting her head and pumping him with her free hand.
“I’ll tell you why. You know what my husband loves more than anything Brad? Panties. He loves wearing them. And pantyhose. Yes. That’s it. He loves it more than anything. He loves dressing up like a sissy. Seriously. He just wants to be a girl. Isn’t that right Cary?”
“Yes.” I said, maybe not very loudly.
“And he looooves watching me get fucked. Yeah.”
She turned to me.
“You enjoying watching me suck Brad’s cock? Huh Cary?”
“Would it be just perfect for you if I let you wear a sluttier outfit, would it? Something really sexy, while you watch me and Brad fuck?”
She resumed sucking Brad’s cock while she awaited my answer.
I knew where this was leading. I was wary.
“No.” I said quietly.
“No? You’re sure? She was slapping herself on the face with his cock. It was now enormous, but still not completley hard. It was like Brad and I were from different species - the size of my cock bore such little relation to his.
“You don’t want to slip into that little pink satin dress? I think you’d enjoy it.” She sang.
She was saying something to me without letting Brad know. But no. I resisted. I didn’t want to do it.
“Okay, you just watch us have fun then.”
As she sucked and licked his cock, Brad tossed her hair and pressed her deeper onto his shaft, fucking her throat and making her gag. His eyes were clouding and his colour was changing, darkening. And Heather was changing too. Her breath getting shorter, her face flushed, her eyelids fluttering.
“Did you know Heather was a total fuck-slut when she was in college?” Asked Brad suddenly.
My eyes flicked to hers, her mouth sealed around Brad’s erection, but her expression was too hard to read.
My heart was pounding, painful, my mouth so dry I could hardly form the words.
“No. No I didn’t.”
“I guessed not. Heard she’d cleaned up her act after she graduated. But yeah. Your wife was the campus bike. Everyone had her. And then, one time, she came to a team party at the start of the season. Supposedly no girls allowed, but she snuck in to the hotel. At first, she was just giving blowjobs to anyone who wanted, but then, one of the guys took her into a bedroom to get some privacy, but some other guys followed and soon she’d spread her legs and everyone had a go. From then on, it was like she belonged to the team. She musta drunk a gallon of our spunk every season. “
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The Heather I had married, who I’d been married to for five years, wasn’t like that, or at least, she hadn’t been. She’d been so demure, so chaste and innocent when we had first met.
And yet. And yet. She’d always been so coy about her past. There had been those looks form her oldest friends when we’d announced our engagement. I hadn’t thought she was a virgin when we met, but, but I’d always been surprised, dissapointed that she was so, so indifferent to our lovemakeing. I’d always put this dows to my own shortcomings and inadequacy, assumed she just wasn’t that into sex at all. But had there been more? Was she so wanton, so sluttly that our pedestrian, run-of-the-mill sex lives had been boring, pathetic?
She had reacted so quickly, with such extreme measures to my secret fetish. Had it been more than just her anger at my dishonesty? Had she secretly been pleased that she could once again behave like a total slut?
I caught her eye again, her mouth distended with Brad’s cock, her drool dribbling down his shaft, her hand playing with ball sack. Her eyes twinkled at me, and then she winked.
I still couldn’t quite believe it was true. Maybe she’d set him up to say all that. Brad was grinning at me. Was he laughing at me because he’d helped twist the knife of humiliation another turn, or because he’d fooled me into thinking my wife wasn’t just a cock-hungry slut now, but that she’d always been?

Tuesday, June 07, 2011

No comments in over a month - what am I doing wrong?
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, here.


I was still sobbing a little as I got ready for bed. Heather had put me in my place forcefully and mercilessly. I was a wimp. A cuckolded sissy wimp. How could I enjoy - no, luxuriate in - such a painful shaming experience?
I didn’t know how, only that I did. In fact, as I got ready for bed, the only real regret I had was that Heather wouldn’t see and be able to comment on my girly nightdress. I pulled it out of the drawer in what was now my room. It was the softest, swishiest babydoll nightdress I had been able to find. Pink satin with a lace bodice and darts around the edge, it had white lace bows all over the straps and hem. I had recenly got a pair of pink opaque pantyhose to wear with it and I pulled them on as I prepared for bed. The soft babydoll fell gently over my head and my chest as I draped it over me. I’d washed it with a perfumed conditioner and it smelled and felt divine.
The urge to masturbate was almost overpowering. Almost. I couldn’t even think of disobeying Heather now, not after having been put over her knee just so she could enjoy seeing me cry.
I wondered if I could ask her to put me in a chastity device. It would certainly make it easier not to masturbate.
Oh god! I missed Heather already. My little bed was so lonely and empty. How much worse would it be when I knew she was sharing what used to be our bed with another man? But oh god, the thought of sucking spunk from her crotch was unspeakably arousing. And in any case, it wasn’t like I had a choice in how my life turned out now anyway.
Heather had made everything very clear. She loved me, but she didn’t desire me sexually - she never had. I was to obey her in everything. She would help me by breaking my spirit, destroying my pride. This would help me to accept my subservient role. She would fuck any man she wanted, and my role was to serve her and please her in any way I could.
What was there to regret? Spelled out like that, my past life seemed like a sham, a waste of time.
How many times during our past life had I longed wear her panties, for her to hint that she was attracted to other men? I had spelled out my fantasies in stories and imagined what they would be like, played out in real life. Now, here it was, reality. I’d seen Heather dress in lingerie to please another man. Seen her on her back, her pussy rammed full of another man’s cock. Heard her moans and whimpers of satisfaction, lust. Heard her spell out how she’d never been satisfied by me. Seen her look of contempt at my sissy fetishes.
My cock was hard but not uncomfortable inside the pink opaques. The delicious feel of the pink satin babydoll enveloped me. I fell asleep, savouring it’s soft embrace.

I woke early and got ready quickly. I had heeded Heather’s comments the previous day and put aside plain cotton panties, flat shoes and a sensible white blouse and knee-length black skirt. Black pantyhose completed the outfit, and, while I’d have liked to wear something a little sexier, the pantyhose and skirt were enough.
I got breakfast ready, and while I was wondering whether to wake Heather she stalked into the kitchen in her robe.
She sat to eat without a word, and when I moved to pour her coffee she waved me away. Heather had never been a morning person, and I took the hint and left her alone. I went upstairs and busied myself tidying her room. I drew her a bath and laid out fresh towels. When I heard her returning upstairs I retreated into my own room until she was safely in the bath and then hurried back downstairs to clean away her breakfast things.
I was nearly finished when the phone rang. It was unlikely to be for me. I heard it ring again. Heather was in the bath. I skittered over to the phone and picked it up.
It was a man, a voice I didn’t recognise.
"Oh, hi. I was looking for Heather. Is she there?"
My heart was pounding. This could be anybody, but my mind immediately imagined that this must be some lover of Heathers, impossible though that would be.
"I’m sorry, she can’t come to the phone now, could I take a message?" I said, trying to keep my voice even.
"Sure." Said the confident voice. "Tell her Brad called, and I got her message, and that I’ll see her tonight. Got that? Cary is it?"
"Yeah. Yes it is. I got it." I replied, ice suddenly flooding my veins.
"I thought so." Said Brad. "We’ve never met, but I knew Heather when she was in college."
There was a long pause. I had to fill it.
"Oh, right." I said.
"Yeah." Said Brad evenly, letting more silence fill the space around our words.
"Right, so I’ll pass on the message." I said, trying to sound calm and unconcerend.
"I know you will." He said, and immediately hung up the phone, leaving me suddenly listening to the dial tone.
I stood there for a moment, my brain stunned into stillness. I could hear Heather moving around upstairs. I wondered if I should help her, or leave her be and go back to the kitchen. Brad must be a former boyfriend, I thought. Maybe Heather had emailed him last night. Maybe she’d told him she was cuckolding me. Where were they going to meet I wondered.
"Cary! Get up here now!"
Heather was shouting from the top of the stairs. With a start I realised she’d called me several times, while I had stood dazed by the telphone.
I hurried upstairs, my skirt flapping on my thighs.
"I was waiting!" She said when I reached the bedroom. She was in a robe, still wet. I could tell she was trying not to let her anger show.
"I’m sorry." I stuttered. "I was, eh, miles away."
"Not good enough." She hissed. "Was the call for me?"
"Yes." I said.
"What you should do, is to see if wanted to take it myself, and then either bring me the phone or take a message. You don’t get to decide who I speak to, do you? Are you in charge here? Are you?"
"No." I squeeked.
"But you think you can decide who gets to speak to me, it seems."
"No. No. I’m sorry."
"No. And then. Instead of coming up here with the message, and to help me get dressed, you just stand there like a moron leaving me calling you!"
"I’m sorry!"
"I’ll make you sorry." She hissed. "Go and get my hairbrush."
Trembling, I went and fetched the flat silver-backed hairbrush from the dresser and nervously handed it to her.
"On the bed." She ordered, curtly. "And pull up your skirt."
I bent over the bed, acutely aware of my ass hanging over the edge. I reached behind and flipped up my skirt to receive my punishment.
"Count them." She ordered, and before I had time to think I heard the swish and then felt the pain explode across my left buttock.
It was so painful it drove all thought out of my head, and before I could unclench my teeth I heard the awful sound again and a second terrible swat hit my other cheek.
"Count!" ordered Heather as she whapped me again. It was so much worse than her hand.
"Nggh. Three!" I gasped.
"No. That’s one. You weren’t counting." She said and whacked me again.
"Nghaaah. One" I quickly gasped, having the presence of mind not to make the same mistake twice. How high would she go? The pain was terrible.
The smacking noise of the brush was ghastly, but the swish it made was worse, heralding the terrible pain to come.
By the time I gasped out "Six" I knew I would not be able to sit down that day.
"How many more do you need?" She asked, pausing for a moment.
My brain whirled. How many? None! But I knew that wouldn’t do.
"F-four?" I stammered, hardly able to believe I was asking more more.
Without pause she hit me again.
"Seven!" I shrieked, suddenly realising that this sounded like I was asking for even more.
"Eight, Nine, Ten." I counted.
"And one more for good measure." Gasped Heather and gave me a final, hardest smack with the hairbrush on my upper thigh that made me jump on the bed.
As I struggled to rise, Heather sat and let her robe fall open to reveal her nakedness beneath.
"Look away." She ordered. "Look only at my feet.
I stood, my head bowed.
"Now, the message." She said.
"It was Brad. He got your message. He said he’d see you later tonight."
"Right. Anything else?"
"No. That was it, except he said that knew you in college."
"Yeah. Do you know who Brad is?"
"No." I said, my voice gone very quiet. My ass felt like it was on fire, the pain spreading down my legs, into my thighs.
"He’s Brad DiTorrino. Heard of him?"
"I eh, maybe, is he a football player?"
"Well done. You’re not much into sports, are you Cary, but even you have heard of him.
Yes, he’s a star player. We dated in college. In a way, I gave him up for you. How’s that for a thought? You want to know what I told him in my message?"
The word wouldn’t come out. She would know I was lying. I couldn’t say it.
I could almost hear her smile. My eyes were fixed on her feet, flexing and stroking the bedroom carpet.
"Of course you do. I told him Cary, that I’d found out my husband has fantasies about me being with another man, and would he like to meet up with me?"
"Oh Jesus."
"Yes. Does that excite you Cary? Do you want to watch another man fuck your wife? Again?"
I was so twisted and desperate again. When I’d got her first email suggesting this I’d gone through the same agonies. Now, so immediate, with Heather asking me directly, it was so intense, so powerful.
Briefly, I tried to imagine what would happen if I said no. I couldn’t. Like a moth to a flame, I was drawn to what hurt me.
"Of course you do. You’re a cum-sucking faggot sissyy loser. But just in case you suddenly get ideas that you might want to protest or disobey me in any way, just remember, Brad is a fucking beast. He has received 6 penalties for violent behaviour on and off the pitch. Get out of line and he’ll smack you around, and I’ll let him. You bear that in mind, right cuckold?"
"Yes Heather."
"I’m planning for Brad to be my regular boyfriend. He’s a fucking stud, and that’s just what I need. He’ll think it’s cool to fuck a married woman, and he’ll think it’s hilarious that you won’t do anything about it, not that you can anyway. So do what we say when he’s here right?"
"Yes Heather."
"Pull down your tights and panties and go stand in the corner. I want to see your ass while I dress."
And so I stood in the corner, facing the wall, my skirt pulled up and my ass on show while Heather dressed in the smart, glamorous dress suit I’d laid out for her.
When she was done, she let me get back to my duties. Soon, she was ready to go to work.
"Honey, come here." She called from the hallway.
Quickly, but apprehensively I skittered to her.
"Now, I know you’re hurting, but I don’t want you getting morose and depressed here." She said kindly.
She opened her jacket, revealing her tight lambswool top. Underneath, the outline of her satin and lace bra was just visible against the flesh of her generous breasts.
She put her arms around me, pulled my face between the soft mounds.
"Mommy loves you baby." She said softly. "She only wants you to be happy. You understand?"
"Yes." I whsipered, more to her breast than to her.
"But Mommy needs cock." She whispered fiercely.
"I know." I said.
"If you’re a good boy, Mommy will let you watch Brad fuck her tonight"
"Thank you. I love you Heather."
"I know. I love you too Cary." She said and she she held me close to her for a long moment, and then she was gone, out the door to work, leaving only her sweet scent behind her.
I breathed out, realising how tense and worked-up Heather’s presence made me. I took stock. My wife was planning a date with another man. She was going out to work while I was left to look after the house and serve her and her boyfriend. But, she still loved me, and I was free to wear what I liked. Or, at least what Heather deemed was appropriate. Ruefully, I admitted to myself, that, of all the rules she had imposed, that was the one that chafed the most. Yes, my pantyhose and panties and skirt felt lovely, but really, I wanted to wear sexier clothes.
Still, my outfit made me very happy. And, I was forced to admit, the thought of Heather getting herself royally satisfied by her boyfriend was very exciting, and also made me happy in an odd kind of way. I thought again, was I happy? If I could have done, would I go back to the way our lives had been before? No. I wouldn’t have. Like Heather had said, I was a cuckold sissy, and I liked it. More, I loved it. I wouldn’t have my life any other way.
But she’d said more, of course. She’d said I was a sissy faggot. Was I? No. I pushed that thought away. I didn’t really want that. Not really.
I had a lot to do. The breakfast things needed to be cleared away, the beds made, there was washing to be done. I would get on with all of these, and then have some lunch. I smoothed out my skirt, and got to it, the feel of my pantyhose keeping me comforted and secure while I worked.
By lunchtime I had done all that I could. I made myself a little sandwich and ate it alone at the kitchen table. I had a problem. I needed to go out to get groceries and do some more errands. Of course, I could change into men’s clothes and go out, but I really didn’t want to do that. I cleared my plate away and went upstairs to Heather’s bedroom. I sat at her vanity and looked at myself. I knew I could do it. I had made myself up many times before, but eyebrows were the problem. I’d never had the guts to pluck or shave them before, it was instantly noticeable. I picked up the tweezers, and began to pluck.
An hour later, I appraised myself coolly. I wished I had a wig. Maybe I could get one? No. I just needed a hairband. Heather had one somewhere, she hadn’t worn it in years. I searched until I found it. Yes, it helped soften my face and take attention off my male hair length. My eyebrows were shaped, my face made-up my lids shaded. I’d swapped my blouse for a rollneck lambswool sweater and added clip-on earings. I could pass. What’s more I felt terrific. I was aware that none of this had been sanctioned by Heather, but I wasn’t thinking about that right now. In a way, I sort-of reasoned, she had conttol over my male life. As a woman, I had some independence. I was awae that that argument wouldn’t stand up to any scrutiny, but for the moment, it was good enough to give me the confidence to get downstairs, snatch up the car keys and walk out the front door.
I grinned to myself, delightedly as I turned into the street, not much caring if a neighbour saw me. Driving as a woman felt wonderful. I found myself laughing at nothing as I sat in traffic. I arrived at the supermarket in a daze. I smoothed my skirts as I stepped out the car. It felt great. I strolled into the shop, trying not to grin all over my face. I picked up my groceries and made my way to the checkout. The shop wasn’t busy but there were a few people at the tills. Was i getting second glances? Not that I could tell. The assistant was young, pretty, bored. She rang up my groceries without a thought and told me the amount with a yawn. To her, I was just another middle-adged housewife, picking up her shopping. I was so pleased with myself I took a detour to Pennys and picked up some pantyhose. I got some panties too, and then noticed the shoe section. I got a basket.
Only the bulk of my shopping made me stop. and head for the tills, I couldn’t carry any more without dropping things. I had blouses, some skirts and a couple of plain dresses that I hadn’t even tried on as well as the panties, hose and shoes.
"Wow. You’re buying a lot of clothes." said the cashier, rather pointlessly. I didn’t care.
"Yes. Yes I am." I agreed, and I grinned at her. She just smiled back, oblivious.
I raced home, trying to keep my emotions in check. I was experiencing a wonderful rush, quite unlike anything I’d ever felt before. Everything before had been playing. This was real. Just like I’d only played with the idea of sumission and cuckoldry before, but when Steve’s cock had sunk into my wife’s pussy, it was finally real. Now, I knew, before I’d just been playing dress up, now I was really dressing as a woman. And I wanted it, always.
Back home, I stowed my purchases in my room and checked my appearance. Yes, I hadn’t been just kidding myself, I could pass, but it could be so much better.
Now though, I needed to get on with things. I put away the groceries and began preparing the meal. Heather hadn’t said, but I guessed she wasn’t intending for me to eat with her and Brad.
I felt a twinge at that. I felt so happy with myself after my afternoon shopping that I wanted to share it with Heather. The thought that she was intending to spend her evening with this other man made me sad, jealous. Still, I knew she had needs. ‘Mommy needs cock.’ She’d said, even as she’d held me to her bosom that morning. And somehow, the thought of her getting cock, having a romantic evening with an exciting man, having the thrill of being fucked by an handsome, virile boyfriend made me happy and excited too. I hoped she would enjoy it, that it would go well. So, I prepared the meal as well as I could. I laid a romantic table for them, chilled some wine. Put some suitable CDs by the stereo and went upstairs to turn back the sheets on her bed.
After I was done, as an afterthought, I pulled some petals from the stand of flowers I’d laid on the hall table and scattered them on the sheets. Doing that felt so bittersweet, I almost choked up. She was my wife, but this was all I could do for her. The romance, the physical intimacy, the sex would be with another man. Not me. He would be the one to kiss her, to undress her. He was the one she would smile at. Brad would make her eyes sparkle, then close in passion. It was his cock that would press against the folds of her pussy, would part her lips, shove inside her, make her gasp in yielding, feminine pleasure. Then she would spread her legs around him, press her heels into his back, pull him into herself, gasp his name and hug him close to her. Brad would fuck my wife. I imagined them together, him - silent, powerful - her, perspiring, needy, whimpering, her perfect rear bouncing rhythmically off and into the mattress again and again, as he fucked her, her knuckles knocking on the headboard, as her arms waved helplessly above head, his fingers kneading her nipple, squeezing hard, painful, cruel, her squeel of delight, encouragement. Then, the bitten, muttered, pleading profanities as his orgasm built, her obesiant, submissive encouragement to him to finally release into her, as gratfeul thanks for the base, sexual pleasure he had given her. The offering of her face, her breasts, her belly as fitting sites for his seed. His triumpant climax, his use of my wife as his whore, his slut, her grateful happy acceptance of his cock, spasming, jetting his thick spunk onto her pretty, smiling, appreciative face, coating her forehead, her eylids, her chin, her throat, her breasts. Her eyes locked on his as she laps and coaxes the fluid onto her lips, and gently squeezes the last oozing drops onto her mouth.
Would she think of me then? Call me to her? To see? To witness? To prove again her unfaitfulness? To show me again how I was nothing to her? To demonstrate to her lover this pitiful pet who once was her husband. Would I amuse them? A post coital entertainment. The pathetic cuckold, grateful only for a chance to clean the spunk from his wife’s face.