Next part of Basque/Hotel. (I have to get a name for this - any suggestions?)
Continues straight from the previous part. I'll make a .pdf of it all soon.
Please comment if you like this.

She was so beautiful. She had slid to the floor in front of Brad, her back turned partly to me. She was kneeling, her head bobbing in his lap, her mouth sucking greedily on his cock while another stroked his shaft. She’d tossed her long hair over to the other side of her face so I could see her lips on Brad’s cock. She was making a low growling, moaning noise deep in the back of her throat.
Brad was trying to feel her breasts through the soft lambswool roll-neck.
She broke off her sucking.
“Cary, be a dear and take off my sweater, will you?” She asked with a smile.
Somehow, being asked to do this brought home the reality of the situation.  My wife was asking me to help undress her so her boyfriend could more easily fondle her breasts right in front of me. I rose to do so, my eyes fixed on her mocking smile. I could tell she was enjoying this enormously. She loved rubbing my face in her infidelity, displaying her body to me as her lover pawed at her. I loved her so deeply, so completely, and somehow, seeing her have sex with another man, knowing I’d lost her, just intensified my feelings.
As  I reached down to gently pull off the dark lambswool roll-neck, she caught my eye, licked her lips and winked at me.
Her head descended again to Brad’s lap and and I was close enough to hear the raw, profane sound of my wife slurping her saliva from her lover’s cock.
I sat back a little, unable to take my eyes off her mouth. His cock was huge, much much larger than mine, and Heather really seemed to be enjoying herself. Her eyes were shining, and I could detect a little smile, despite her lips being wrapped around a huge penis. Brads hands were inside her bra cups, pinching her nipples and fondling her heaving  breasts.
She broke off for a moment.
“What do you think of Brad’s cock?” She asked.
Without thinking, I replied. “It’s big.”
They both laughed.  “It’s a fuck of a lot bigger than yours anyway.” Said Heather. “I can’t wait to have it filling me up, fucking my pussy.  But aren’t you so like a  sissy.” She changed her voice to a mocking falsetto - “Oh, it’s sooo big.” And they both laughed at me again.
“Come on.” She said. standing up. “I want you to undress me.”
She stared at Brad, watching her, his cock now lolling in his lap, while I stood beside her, sissy handmaid to my mistress. She’d kicked off her shoes already. I fumbled with the zip on the side of her skirt. My hands were shaking.
“Come on Cary.” She teased. “Brad’s waiting. “You don’t want his cock to go soft do you?”
Brad laughed.
“I mean, if his cock goes soft, who’ll have to suck it hard again? Hmmm? I’ve already had my turn, haven’t I? You might need to get him ready, or else you won’t get to see him fuck me, and that’s what you want most in the world, isn’t it?”
At last, I had her skirt off.  “Yes.” I said. Desperate to avoid what she seemed to have in mind.
She’d turned to me, her face inches from mine.
“Pull down my panites.” She said. “Show Brad your wife’s pusssy.” I knelt and tugged down her silky panties. I stood again, and she draped her arms over my shoulders.
“Now. Ask him to fuck your wife.” She ordered.
I shuddered. Her eyes bored into my skull, leaving no escape.
“Please Brad. Fuh, fuck my wife.” I stammered.
 Heather glared at me. “Put some fuckin’ imagination into it Cary.” She hissed.  “Come on. We both know you can do better than that shit. Tell it like you mean it. We both know you do.”
I closed my eyes. I gulped. This was too real. Too much.
“Please Brad. Will you please fuck Heather. I’m .. I’m inadequate, and she’s never had good sex with me. And, and she really wants you to fuck her. And. And I want her to be happy.”
“Lovely.” Mouthed Heather to me, and she licked her lips. Brad was standing behind her.
“Sure Cary. I know she’s been gagging for a real cock for years. She couldn’t stop telling me in the club.”
 He nudged her knees apart a little with his own and she sank a little as her stilettoed feet moved apart a couple of inches on the hardwood floor. Her arms were still around my shoulders, her hands clasped behind my head. Brad moved closer, and watching her face, I saw, I felt his cock invade her pussy.
The look that came over  Heather’s face was both  wonderful and terrible. Her face creased in pain and pleasure as the huge cock stretched her pussy, forcing his way into her. I knew she’d wanted me to see her face up close to give me what I’d said I wanted, to show me in detail what she looked like when she had a real man’s cock inside her. I’d never seen her like this. Not in all the years of our marriage had I made her feel like this - like a woman. How sad and pathetic it must have been for her to end up with a man who could never satisfy her. Never touch the raw, sexual, feminine woman inside her. But now, here it was, in front of me.  How priviliged I was to see this. How she must love me to allow me to share in this with her.
Brad gripped Heather’s  hips with his huge hands and began thrusting into her.
“Oh man. Fucking your wife is the best!” He exclaimed. “She is such a fuckin’ slut! And she’s so tight! It’s like poppin’ a cherry.”
Heather let out a strangled laugh.
“Ha! Cary’s cock is so fucking small and pathetic.”
She paused, her head bobbing with the force of his thrusts.
“He never came close to stretching me.”
She paused again, gasping.
“It’d slip in.... and I’d have to ask ... uh .... is it in yet?”
And they both laughed at me, still fucking. The sound of my Brad’s thighs slapping off my wife’s as he pumped her, punctuating their laughter.
“Not like your cock Brad. Oh man. Now I know I’m getting fucked!”
Cary reached for her elbows, gripped both her arms, pulled her from me, and forced her down more, pulling her onto him, with each thrust, her high heels skittering on the polished floor.
He was fucking her now. In this position, she could only just fight to keep her legs from buckling. They weren’t making love together. He was fucking her. Literally in front of me.
Her head swayed and shook, her hair falling over her face. She shook it up, looked at me again.
“So ... this .. is what ... you .... wanted.    Seeing me ... getting ... fucked.   Is ... it ... all ... you ... dweamed of .. Cary?   ... Is it?”
She didnt wait for an answer.
“Euuggh. Fuck. Yes! Brad! Mmwah! Uh. Fuck my pussy!”
And suddenly he stopped, released her, and instinctively she fell to her knees in front of him, pulled his cock to her mouth and sucked hungrily on it, one hand on the shaft, the other, moving to her own crotch, fingering deeply into herself.
Brad grapsed her head with both hands and began fucking her mouth, rapidly, forcefully.
“Yeah. Suck it. Suck it. bitch” He barked. He looked over at me, his eyes clouded.
“Get on the couch sissy.” He ordered.
As I hesitated, unsure, he said “Gonna show you how to fuck a bitch.”
With a sense of shame at my relief, I realised he meant Heather, not me.
“This is what they want.” He said. “Cock. Gotta make them respect the cock. They need it. You’ll see.”
Heather ‘s  head was still slamming back and forth,  taking his deep thrusts into her throat.  Gagging noises came from her mouth. It was a terrible sight. If even just to let her stop, I clambered past them to the couch. sat on it, unsure what Brad wanted me to do.
“Sit back on the side.” He said and as I did so,  he released her head, pulled her up under the arms, deposited her between my legs so she was lying back on me, her head on my chest, her leags spread.
Heather’s hair was spread on my chest, her back pressed against my cock, straining inside my panties and hose. I could smell the soft scent of her shampoo from her hair, as familiar and lovely as ever. As Brad climbed onto the couch, she looked back at me, her eyes dabbed with tears from the throat-fucking she’d received.
“I want his cock.” She mouthed to me silently. The cushions sank as his wieght joined us, and Heather grabbed my wrists in her own hands, pulled my hands to her calves and I grasped them almost without thinking and she pulled my hands back, making me spread her legs wide for him.
My own legs were spread too, on either side of my wife. Brad’s bulk, his hugely muscled chest, his flat, sweat-slicked abs and  massive, engorged cock hulked over us. He positioned his cock over Heather’s pussy, pressing it between the soft folds of her mound, digging into her a little, then he gripped one leg with his arm and thust himself deep into her. Our bodies were pressed lengthwise together. I felt her gasp, release, grip, shudder and yield to him. His member buried all the way inside her. Her lower back was forced against my own cock, her legs suddenly trembling, her back muscles spasming against me, and with a sudden gasp, we were lost. Lost to the cock. To the fucking, to this alpha male, taking us, fucking us. Making us his bitch.
“Heuh. Heuh. Heuh.” Mewled Heather, little cat-like noises escaping from deep in her chest with each thrust of Brad’s cock into her.
“Jesus Brad. Jesus. Yes. Oh Yes. Heinnh. Heinnh. Fuck! Fuck yes. Fuck your bitch. Fuck your bitch.”
Her arms flailed about - stroking his chest, grabbing at her own nipples, reaching behind her to stoke my face - surprisingly tenderly. But there was no mistaking it. I was nothing to her now. Just a cushion. Everything was about the cock and the need to have it slide in and out of her. Deeper and harder and more delicious and insistent and forceful.
“You see, sissy? You see? You see your wife? You see her, how she really is?” Grunted Brad, his words forced between his teeth.
“She’s just a BITCH!” He grunted.
“Who needs the COCK!”
“Put on her BACK!”
“And  fucked like a BITCH!”
“Waaaaaaaah.”  Wailed Heather, her knees tembling uncontrollably, and the spasm began to rock her whole body as she shuddered in a terrific, clenching, terrible orgasm. Her whole body vibrated against mine as it took hold, yet I could still feel him pounding into her, rhythmic, primal, unstoppable.
“Brad! Oh Brad! Yes! Brad! Yeah! Oh! Yes! Oh. Oh. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me Brad. It’s so good. Please. Oh yes.”
And I learned something about women. This was what they wanted. To be fucked like this. To come,  and still be fucked. Fucked through their orgasm and on, and on. Not stopping. Not holding out till she came and then finally gasping,  squirting into her, a weak spurt of seed. But on and on, and relentless to more and more fucking.
Brad never faltered or even paused. He slammed into her again and again and again.  Slapping her legs open wider and wider as she peaked and subsided and then, regaining her strength, she began to peak again, encouraging him to fuck her harder, deeper.
“Fuck me.” She gasped through gritted teeth.
“Fuck me.”
“Fuck your bitch.”
“Fuck your whore.”
“Fuck me.”
“Fuck me Brad.”
“Fuck me.”
I tried not to look into his eyes. But there was nowhere else to look. His face loomed over us, as he fucked my wife into submission on top of me.
“Wider bitch.” He rumbled. And Heather pulled her legs wide as she could to give him access deep into the furthest reaches inside her.
He pumped her relentlessly. Her breath shucking in and out of her body as his weight slammed into her again anad again.
And then, terribly, he slowed. I felt Heather’s body protest, cling, try to hold him in. But he pulled out and lay back and she desperately scrambled to bury her face in his crotch, to worship the source of the pleasure again.
He tenderly stroked her hair, lying back and breathing slow as she worked on his cock with her mouth, sucking and stroking like her life depended on it.
Now, her ass was right in my face. I could see her gaping pussy, actually trembling in front of me.
Brad’s breathing slowed a little.
“You know what your wife told me on the way over here?” He asked.
He didn’t wait for an answer.
“She said that you never made her come, not once. Not in five years of marriage. Man! How can that be man?” He shook his head.
“Seriously. She said her wedding night was the most dissapointing night of her life. She realised what a big fucking mistake she’d made, but like, she’d married you, and, you know, she was in love with you and wanted to be a good wife and all, so she was like, she’d just have to put up with it, forever.”
Heather was still sucking his cock, making little moaning noises in her throat.
“And because, like, you couldn’t make her come, but she was like, sorry for you, she’d pretend to enjoy sex with you, and that you were so stupid, and like, you must have never seen a woman come, not for real, you never even guessed. And, that was like what it was like. And I asked. I said, you-know, didn’t she ever want to cheat . And she said, yeah, she wanted to, but she was a good wife, so she never would,  no matter how many guys would hit on her. And you know? You know?”
He was looking at me. I just shook my head forlornly.
“You know. Sure. Like, guys can tell, you know, when a woman isn’t getting any, when  she’s horny, like not having been fucked properly, in like, years, man! She must have beeen getting hit on all the time. Like, giving off vibes, maybe hormonal or some shit. Like, when we met this evening? Like man, if she hadn’t already told me, I’d have known straight away, like there’s a woman who isn’t getting any cock, you know?”
“So then, right, she finds all this shit you have on the internet, and shit you’ve written, like fantasies, about her fucking around and treating you like a sissy, and wanting to wear women’s clothes and shit, and she was like - Whoah! What the fuck, and you were like jerking off to this shit, all the fuckin time? Like you were cheating on her, but like, with porn and shit, and she was like, oh man!  I can’t believe this asshole, doesn’t fuck me right, and all the time he’s like a fucking secret sissy. No wonder, and here she is, like saving herself. How fucked up is that?”
I shook my head.
He nodded, angry. “Yeah, so if you’re feelin’ sorry for yourself, feelin bad because your wife is fucking another guy in front of you, and like I would be too, but when she explained, and told me this shit - and it’s totally true, right? - yeah, I’m like, fuck yeah. Fuck him.”
“I’m sorry.” I said, pathetically.
“Yeah, you are one sorry asshole. Sitting there watching your wife suck another man’s cock. And now, I’m gonna fuckin’ show you. Gonna’ slam-fuck her right here. You want this cock Heather?”
“Oh Jesus yes, please Brad.” She said quickly, and she rose and presented her rear to him, straddling me on her all fours on the couch so her face was above mine.
I couldn’t really see Brad, just Heather’s head , framed by her beautiful auburn hair, and her breasts swaying above me,
She kissed me, her breath smelling of his cock, her face flushed.
“I love Brad’s cock.” She said, her voice husky. “i love being fucked and I love doing it in front of you.”
Suddenly there was a slap and her face winced in pain. He had given her a hard spank!
“Oh yeah!” She squeeled. “Do me. Do me now.”
And there was another spank and she squeeled, her eyes closing and then flying open again, sparkling at me. And then her mouth creased and opened wide and her eyes clouded and I knew he’d thrust his big fat hard cock deep into my wife’s pussy again, and she was loving it.
“Uuuugh.” She gasped, and she caught my chin in one hand, even as her body bucked with his first thrusts.
“I love my new life.” She said. “Finally getting fucked, by a real man, a strong man. Not my wimpy, sissy hubby. Not you. “
“Euuugh. Yes. It feels so good. So good in my cunt. Do I look good? Do I Cary? Do I look like I did in your imagination when you were writing your stories? Do I? Do I look like the perfect wife? Do I look like an angel? A filthy, slutty angel with a cock in her snatch? Do you love me now? Did you get what you wished for?”
She looked back at him over her shoulder, panting.
“Yeah. Yeah, fuck me. Brad.” She squeeled.
And he began to really pound her, hard and fast. Her head bobbed and shook and her voice became a low thrumming drone as he hammered her, and her face began to change colour and her mouth distended into a pouting scowl of pure sexual pleasure.
“UhUhUhUhUhnnnnnn. Oh fuck god yes please. Uhhnnnnnnnn.”  She moaned and I saw her come again, her eyes closed in ecstacy as Brad’s cock punished her pussy as hard as he could. I could hardly bear to watch, but pinned beneath her, I had no choice. As Heather came, her arms slid out and she fell on top of me, her cheek pressed against mine, her chest pressed on top of me, so I could feel, so clearly the force of his thusts and the effect they were having on my wife’s spasming body.
Flushed, sweating, every muscle tensed, she came on top of me,  her lover’s torso slamming out his rythm on her ass.
Even as she collapsed Brad still fucked her, wrenching into her now limp body with even more ferocity, until, I could hear his own breathing change, and suddenly he lifted her up by the shoulders and pulled her sitting again. His cock was inches from her face and she moved to suck it almost by instinct, but his hand held her away while the other pumped his huge, engorged phallus rapidly. He held her head with one hand and Heather’s eyes sought mine, a smile playing on her lips as she witnessed my reaction to this awful sight. As he began to spasm, she looked up to him, smiling, as his cock erupted a jet of white semen onto her face, from her lips to her hair-line. He bellowed in brute victory as another spurted over one cheek and over her eyelid and then another over her lips and into her waiting, open mouth. Then, amazingly he continued to spurt his come in smaller, but still copious jets onto her neck and her breasts as Heather licked and smiled and laughed in delight.
Finally, he was done. Gasping, he stood on the floor again, watching Heather grin at me in triumph.
“Happy, bitch?” He asked.
“Yes, thank you Brad.” She said, and then she just smiled some more, and then back at me, her face flushed, her breasts heaving, her fingers playing wither her swollen nipples, gently swirling his come around them.
“I don’t need to see this.” He grunted and, grabbing his pants, he lumbered from the room. I wasn’t sure where he was headed. I didn’t care.
“Come on hubby.” Cooed Heather. “We both know what you want to do. You’ve been so good. Come and get your reward.”
Her smile was electrifying. Knowing and powerful. She could see completely through me.
The sight of her come-covered face and chest was amazing. Gingerly I moved forward.
“No flinching Cary.” She warned. “Show me how you love this, or I won’t let you watch me any more.”
I gulped. I knew what she meant. Though this was something I’d fantasised about forever, I’d never really thought about what it would actually be like. I steeled myself, moved closer, and then, willing myself to do it, I eagerly licked a huge line of come that was beginning to dribble down  Heather’s breast. It was a little salty, but warm and musky. Heather’s smile deepened.
“That’s it. Good boy Cary. Like the man’s come off your wife tits. Lovely. Did you enjoy watching him fuck  me? Was it good?”
I couldn’t answer for a moment. I licked and slurped the thick jism from her breasts and then, she wiped the spurts of it from her cheecks and around her mouth, offereing her dripping fingers to my open mouth so I could suck it from her hand.
“MMmm. Nice spunk.” Murmured Heather. “Good boy for cleaning it all up. Good boy. Mommy is pleased with you. Are you happy that Mommy has a nice man to make fucky with her, are you? Good hubby.”
“Were you disspointed not to get to suck Brad’s spunk  from my pussy? Were you? Hmmm. Still, seeing me get a lovely facial must have made up for it a bit.
Now, me an Brad are going to go to bed together. You  clean up here, and when you hear us fucking again in our room, you can jerk yourself off. Okay? And in the morning, I’m sure Brad will have left a nice load of his spunk in my pussy for you to suck out again. Won’t you like that? Won’t you Cary? Yes. I know.”

Yet another new story. So much easier to start than to finish. Let me know if I should continue with this or go back to an earlier story.

"Call me Mistress" she whispered fiercely.
"Yes Mistress." I whispered back, gasping.
She was so firm, so commanding, and I could tell she wasn't acting, she was more and more turned on, but not in the usual way, this was different.
"Please Mistress." I said as she pushed me back towards the bed, but I wasn't sure what I saying 'Please' for - 'Please stop.'?, 'Please go on.'?, 'Please don't hurt me.'? I was lost.

I'd known that working together would change our relationship, but nothing prepared me for how it would turn out.
When I lost my job with a local IT firm, I'd spent several months looking for work before my wife took charge.
"Look Dave, my firm needs IT staff, you need a job. What's the problem? Start on Monday."
The problem, though I couldn't admit it, was that I didn't want to work with my wife. She was a partner in a powerful law firm, and I was a lowly IT consultant. Admittedly, our salaries were similar, but if I went to work in her firm, I would be a lowly functionary in a company where she was near the top.
Still, I had found nothing else, and we needed the money, and Clara was becoming insistent. I resolved I would try it, and keep looking for something, somewhere, anywhere else.
From the start, it was as I had feared. On my first day, my new manager brought me round to introduce me to  my new colleagues, the non-legal staff. She introduced me as 'Carla's husband'. I could feel people sizing me up as they said hello. 'So, she's a partner, and he just works in IT?' they were thinking. When I would pass Carla in a hallway, she was usually with one of the other partners, or a legal secretary. She'd flash me a tiny smile, acknowledging me, but we wouldn't talk. At lunchtime, I'd eat in the small canteen with the other staff, while the partners would usually go out to lunch, or be served food in their offices. Occasionally someone would ask why we didn't eat together, and I had to grit my teeth and say that it wouldn't be appropriate, which, of course, was exactly true.
At the end of the day, we'd drive home together. Since Carla would sometimes need a car during the day, she would drive us both in her car. As we drove home, she would still be in 'work mode' and we wouldn't talk much. She might ask me how my day had been in an off-hand way, but it wouldn't be till later at home that she would relax and we'd be our usual, married selves around each other.
And, maybe I was imagining it, but I felt that it took longer and longer for normality to reassert itself, as the weeks passed.
Eventually, it had to happen. Carla had a problem with her PC, and I was called to her office. She was having a meeting with the senior partner, and they moved to the coffee table in her huge office while I tried to figure out what was wrong with it. Eventually he left, just as I realised what the problem was, and we were left alone together.
"So, is it fixed?" She asked curtly.
"Yes, Carla, it's all back to normal now." I replied, putting the final touches to the simple software fix.
She gave me a look. "You know, I think it would be more appropriate if you called me Miss. Stevenage during work hours." She said, following it up with a mirthless smile.
I blinked. "Really? But there's no-one else here." I said.
"Yes. But I'd still prefer it. It's more professional, I'm sure you'll agree."
She was sitting at her desk again, and looking back to her papers.
"Yes. Miss Stevenage." I replied. She gave me a quick smile and she nodded towards the door. I was dismissed.
As I returned to my desk, I wasn't sure how this exchange made me feel. I wasn't angry, but I felt, ... something. I'd been put in my place, but not in an unpleasant way. I sighed. This was how it would be, I realised.
On the way home that evening, I could tell something was up with Carla. She was more intense, wired. She drove fast all the way home. She glanced at me a few times as she drove, but she hardly spoke at all. I wondered if I had done something wrong.
When we got home, I prepared the dinner. Usually we took turns. More recently I'd been doing more and more of the cooking, since often, Carla would return with work from the office that she'd want to get out of the way. This day though, she hovered, pouring a glass of wine and looking slightly edgy. I tried to make conversation, but she didn't really engage with me at all, and after a while I stopped trying.
During the meal, her manner was still strange, and I really did begin to think something was wrong.
As I started to clear the table, Carla still sat, sipping her wine.
"Carla, have I done something wrong?" I asked her, straight out.
She smiled a little, shook her head, and came over to me.
"Call me 'Miss. Stevenage' again." she said, and I realised, her strange look - it was lustful, vampish.
"Miss. Stevenage?" I asked, confused.
She smiled, shook her head. "No. Like before. Like in the office."
I wasn't sure. But the prospect of turning her on was very tempting. Recently, sex had become less and less common, and I was keen to feel anything between us. I tried to summon back the submissive frame of mind from our workplace situation.
"Yes. Miss Stevenage." I repeated.
She smiled. Her arms curled around me.
"I like that." She whispered. "Do you feel it too?"

I wasn't sure what she meant. But I could  tell she felt something. She liked the feeling of power, of superiority.
"Yes. Miss." I said quietly.
She kissed me suddenly, passionately, fiercely. It had been so long since I'd felt such a kiss. It took my breath away. As my head spun, I realised she'd never kissed me like this before. So intense, so overpowering. She released my mouth, but sill held me close.
"I love ordering you what to do." She whispered. "Do you like it?"
I wasn't sure if I did. But, to be honest, I didn't care. I was absolutely sure that I did like the way she was kissing me, and that was my overriding thought as I whispered -"Yes Miss."
She smiled triumphantly. "Yes. I knew. When I told you to call me Miss Stevenage, I thought you'd laugh. But you didn't and then when I so curtly told you to leave ... I didn't even say it did I? I just gestured towards the door? Yes. It felt so good. I nearly rang you back so I could order you about some more. Do you like this? I've felt, oh I don't know, so fucking bored with our marriage for so long. But this? Uh. I want this."
Her hands had moved downwards. She was caressing my ass in an aggressive way. Like a man might grab at a woman's.
"I want you ... " She paused, and I moved my hands to her breasts, but she angrily slapped them away, "... to do what I say!" She hissed. "No!  Bad!" she said. "You're going to fucking obey me. Right?" She demanded. "From now on, I'm not your wife. I'm your boss.  Understand?"
"Yes Miss. ... Miss Stevenage." I said, shocked at how agressive she'd become.
"Call me Mistress" she whispered fiercely.
"Yes. ... Mistress."
My voice had risen an octave to a strangled squeek.
"Please Mistress." I gasped.
"Oh yeah. You like this too." She growled. "Go down on your knees."
I hesitated, unsure. I was so turned on, but Carla, she was frightening.
She put her hands on my shoulders, pushed down, impatient.
"Go down on your knees. Bitch." She hissed.
I was so shocked, I hardly felt my will weakening, my knees bending. I found myself kneeling in front of her, my face level with her waist, the hem of her soft grey dress in front of my eyes.
I gazed up at her. She smiled a sneering, triumphant smile, and began to slowly raise the hem of her dress to reveal her thighs. Her pantyhose were sheer tan, the lycra shining softly.
Slowly her panties were revealed beneath. Deep blue, satin and lace. I pressed my face into her mound and I felt her drop her dress over my head, felt her hands move to the back of my head, press my face into herself through the material of the dress.

More of this. I'm enjoying writing it. Enjoying comments even more.

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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?”

“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?”

“Yes.”

“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?

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.

"Hello?"

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.

"Yes."

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.

"Yes."

"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.

"Bill, you know the way you keep forgetting to take out the trash, and then we have a week of stinky garbage in the yard?

Yeah, well, I know you hate it too, but you keep forgetting. Do you think there's anything we can do to improve your memory?

What? No, that's a stupid idea. I was thinking, you know, that some reinforcement is what you need.

Yeah, reinforcement. Where you remember something bad happened when you forget to do something. That helps you to remember, understand?

Oh, I don't know. Something painful. Like, maybe a spanking.

You're laughing, but it isn't funny. I'm serious.

I'm thinking that you might benefit from a spanking. Yes. You know the way when we have an argument, and I win, and then you're all sulky, and then I have to tell you not to be such a baby? Yeah, well after those times, you're much better behaved. Yes you are.

Well, I think that a spanking will be even better. It'll help with your attitude. Yeah. I do mean that, I mean you'll be happier. And better behaved.

You know the way you feel when I let you suck on my tits? Yes. Yes that's right, well, it can be like that. Yeah, because sucking on a nipple is like what a baby does. And going over my lap will be like that too.

Yeah, sure, you can suck on them after I spank you. That'd be nice. I think I'd like that too. And if you want you can call me 'Mommy'. Sure baby.

Yeah, come on over here and put yourself on Mommy's lap.

"You think he'll like it?

Who? Jim of course.

Yes, I'm going to see him tonight. Why do you think I'm getting all dressed up? I bought this skirt and top today for goodness sake.

Well what did you expect? You told me you fantasied about me dating other guys ... Oh, okay, sure, about fucking other guys ... Yeah, well I have to date first, stupid. I don't want him to think I'm some sort of slut.

Oh for fuck's sake, don't pout. He's just a boyfriend. I like him, he makes me feel good. I love it when he puts his hands on my ass when we dance. Yeah, the other night. Yes, he was there, with all my work friends, he does work with me you know. Yeah, everyone saw, of course they did. What did they think? Well, duh, they would have guessed I'm cheating on you with him. At least most of them would, Annie wouldn't have had to guess, she saw me sucking him off in the cloakroom.

Yeah, of course, I mean I'd led him on all night, I couldn't send him home with blue balls, could I, not if I wanted to see him again. Oh stop sulking, yeah, I never give you blow jobs. You know I don't like it.

Honestly, I don't know what you're complaining about. Having blue balls is all part of being a sissy wimp cuckold.

What? Aren't you? Wasn't that you telling me how your fantasies about watching me fuck another guy? Isn't this you sitting here watching your wife get dressed to go out with her boyfriend? Well isn't it? Aren't you getting a hard-on just talking about it? Yes you are.

Now, tell me, you think he'll like it?

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

I think you are. When I felt you stiffen up in the movie theatre, I thought 'Hello? What's this.'

You know when I mean. Of course you do. You forget that I know you so well. I know you like legs. Of course I do. We've been married five years and you adore mine, always have. I sense your reaction when you see some other woman's legs that you really like. I feel it. I know. And it's okay, nobody expects their partner to wear blinkers. If I see a guy I think is sexy, I'm sure I give off signals too.

But that was more than just that wasn't it. That scene? When she got so vampish? And then she threatened to take him over her knee? You reacted right then. You got so quiet. Sure you reached for some popcorn, but that was covering, right? And when she pulled him over her lap? Fuck, you were so quiet, so tense, so stiff, you might as well have screamed 'That fucking turns me on!' right there in the theater. Did you know I knew? Were you sure? Are you sure now? You keep glancing over.

Back then, I was so surprised, so intent on your reaction, I hardly noticed my own. But I kept thinking about it. And then I wondered, why? Does the idea turn me on too? It does. I'm thinking about putting you over my lap right now. Can you tell? Are you nervous? Let's find out.

This is a continuation of the hotel story which starts here.

Due to incompetence, or maybe drink, I have managed to lose the .pdf version, or else I'd repost it again.

Anyway, please let me know what you think. This is 'harder' than almost anything I have ever done.

----------------------------------------------

To say I was in two minds about Heather returning home would be a jaw-dropping understatement.

At times, I felt such a sense of dread, shame, and almost painful humiliation that I would find myself rooted to the spot, unable to move, shaking in horror at some re-lived memory of the preceding days.

At others, I would almost float about the house, high on love, and sweet feelings and rapturous wonder. In fact, perhaps I felt like this all the time, even when the shameful memories intruded.

For so long I had had these shameful fantasies. For so long I had been indulging in thoughts about being cuckolded, about being dominated, even humiliated by women. And not just women in the abstract, but, my wife.

At first it had been less personal, but lately, for the last few years, I’d begun actually fantasising about Heather dominating me, about Heather giving me orders, about Heather fucking other men. In my favorite fantasy, I was going down on her, her soft thighs pressed softly against my ears, her fingers pressed gently against the back of my head, as she pulled me ever so slightly into her, and her voice, loving, gentle. "That’s it Cary, go softly, my pussy’s so sore from fucking Steve. That’s it, suck the come from your lovely wife’s pussy."

And then, the horror - she’d found out. Everything. She was so angry, so hurt and angry. And why woulnd’t she be? She had every right. And now, oh God, the fantasy had intruded. No, not intruded - taken over - the reality. She had fucked another man, let me watch, shown me what the reality of being a wimpy cuckold husband really was. It had nearly blown my mind. The pain, the hurt of seeing Heather, my Heather, held down and taken, mounted, fucked by another man. Hearing her make the sounds that I had never heard her make before. Seeing the look on her face as his cock drove her to orgasm after orgasm, seeing his come dribbling from her pussy, listening to her words as she told me, that she’d loved it, that there was more of this to come, that this would be my life from now on, that I would never make love to her again.

At least, at least there were consolations. Wonderful consolations. She had told me I could wear women’s clothes. Wonderful, soft, feminine women’s clothes. Of course, since she’d been away, I’d hardly been out of women’s clothes. I was wearing a skirt and blouse right now as I cleaned and made sure the house was perfect for her return.

I loved wearing women’s clothes. The feeling of slky panties was the best. Just wearing a pair made me feel that nothing could spoil the good mood that began as soon as I pulled them on. Going completely dressed was the very best. Soft pantyhose on my legs, the wonderful warm feeling on my thighs. A soft chemise under a tight silk blouse. And so feminine, a skirt and heels.

I had resolved to meet her wearing a full set. There could be no hiding anything now, so what was the point? This was my life now.

As the hour approached I became more and more nervous. Several times I ran back to the PC to check her last email.

"Cary,

I’ll be home by 3:00 on Sunday. Don’t meet me at the airport, I’ll make my own way there. I want the house to be spotless. I will be inspecting it. Have something ready for our dinner at 7:00. In fact, plan all the meals for the next week. You’ll be doing all the cooking from now on.

Apart from that, don’t worry. From when I get home, we’re not going to have any recriminations. I will not be throwing your past behaviour and dishonesty in your face. I don’t want to be that sort of person. What is done is done.

Just in case you might have some lingering doubts about what I said to you while I was away - forget them. I meant every word. I wasn’t acting or saying things for effect. You will be doing everything I say from now on, and I am going to do exactly what I please. Get used to it.

I love you, and I always will. Looking forward to seeing you,

Heather."

Was this the beginning of something wonderful in our lives, all my fantasies come true? Or would I find that the reality of what I’d always dreamed of was a terrible, tortured existence of pain and humiliation that I had brought upon myself?

What was the worst that could happen? What could be bad, so bad that I couldn’t take it, that hadn’t already happened? I bit my lip and strained to imagine. Nothing, nothing except one great black thought. What if Heather stopped loving me? That was the only thing. Noting else mattered, or maybe it did, but in a good way. Only if she stopped loving me. And yet, and yet, there it was in black and white on the screen. "I love you,

and I always will." I had to believe it. I had no other choice.

And I heard her key in the door, and my blood ran cold.

I skittered to the hall in my heels, all of a sudden acutely aware of how I was dressed, the tightness of my skirt, the silkiness of my blouse.

The door opened. Her suitcase came first and then Heather, dressed in her business suit, all professional and glamorous.

Her face, as she saw me - surprise, shock, delight, maybe amusement, then a warm smile.

"Hi honey. Did you miss me?"

I just smiled, emotions coursing through me, and tears pricked my eyes.

"Aren’t you going to help me with my bag?" She admonished.

I sprang towards it, grateful for something to stop me from welling up.

"You can bring it straight to the laundry." She said. "You can start on washing everything later. Right now, I want to freshen myself up and then I’ll inspect the house."

I picked up the case, and with a smile, Heather went upstairs.

I hurried to the laundry with the case. As usual, she’d packed the dirty clothes into a plastic bag. I removed that and poured the contents into the hamper. As I did so, I caught sight of the crumpled lingerie she’d worn withSteve. The reality of it hit me for six, but there was no time. I hurried upstairs with the case.

I brought it into the bedroom. Heather was seated on the bed, just pulling on a dark cashmere jumper, her suit and underthings discarded on the cover. She looked up at me.

"Right, Cary, a few rules. First, you should knock when you want to come into my bedroom. Go out and come back in again."

I stopped, stupid for a moment.

"Go on." She said, not harshly, but firmly. ‘Her room?’ I thought? Not ‘Our room’? I turned and went out again. Paused, caugth my breath, smoothed out my skirt, knocked.

"Come in." Called out Heather.

Was she serious? I wasn’t to see her undressed, not even risk seeing her without her clothes on?

I stepped in. She was smiling, but not like this was a joke.

"Right, you can unpack my case, while I talk." She said.

"First off, yes, your outfit is nice, but it simply won’t do for work around the house. I know, you’d probably like to wear a kinky french maid outfit, but that’s not practical either. You’ll hjave to buy new clothes for yourself.You need some plain, pleated skirts, and plain white blouses. And flats, not those things. You’re not going out for the evening, you’re working. Take them off and put on some flat shoes now. No jewelry or makeup either.

You may wear a hairband, and you must look neat and clean, but unless there’s some special occasion, you won’t be getting all glammed up. Otherwise, well, it won’t be special , when there is an occasion, will it?"

She smiled again. I was placing her hair things on the dresser. I nodded to show I understoond.

"Next, yes, this is my room from now on. You are going to move into the spare room. It just wouldn’t work any other way when I have a man over."

I glanced at her, met her eyes. She was staring right at me. Like steel. Her gaze was so firm.

Without breaking her gaze, she stood, walked over to me.

"Does that hurt?" She asked. "Hearing me talk about how I’ll be sleeping with other men?"

She was very close. My women’s clothes, which I loved so much, seemed to sap away any power I had to resist, protest. Inside I was being sliced up, but I couldn’t even express it.

"Yes." I squeeked. "It hurts." I was so nervous, trembly, upset, but Heather seemed so sure, so firm.

"Good." She said. "It should hurt. Otherwise, how do I know you love me?"

"I do love you." I managed to say, my voice a barely audible gasp.

"Yes." She said. "I know. And I love you. But you’ll never share my bed as a mana again."

Her words cut deep. So deep.

"But don’t worry. You’ll get to share. The spare room is next door. You’ll get to listen, to imagine. To remember what you gave up." Her eyes searched mine, her lips parted, she seemed almost hungry. My eyes began to sting, I tried to swallow it away, but a lump was rising, my eyes were filling.

"Oh yesss." said Heather slowly. "That’s it, cry."

She was so cruel. She was enjoying this. She wanted it.

"Heather please." I whispered.

"No, no no." She said. "This is good. Cry. Be weak. Accept it. This is how you’ll get through this. Accept it. Accept the hurt, the pain, the humiliation. Cry. Blubber like a little girl. Know in your heart that it’s true. Be weak and feminine and accepting, even of the pain. Enjoy it, even though it hurts. Be soft and pathetic and yielding. Not like the big strong studs that will be fucking your wife. Mmmmm. Let it go. Cry for me."

And my shoulders shook and I let it go and the tears fell down my cheeks as the sobs bubbled out.

Heather gazed at me in triumph.

"Mmmmm. So girly. Crying because his wife fucks other men. But it’s okay. Being girly is wonderful. It makes you feel so, so good. Surrendering, being weak. Giving in. You know you love it. And there’s so much more. Getting spanked. Being dominated, Mmmm. And the very, very best. Getting fucked."

She’d advanced on me so close. Her eyes - hungry, cruel, predatory.

"You want that, don’t you sissy?" She hissed. "You fantasise about it, don’t you?"

"No. No."

"Oh it’s sooo good. A big, thick cock pressing at your soft, puckered hole. Slippery and twitching. Hot."

Her hands were lifting the hem of my skirt.

"And it presses, nudging, presses against you. At your entrance. And you know. Oh, you know. How so very fucking good it would feel inside, but you can’t. No. Too big."

I felt her fingers creep upwards towards my panties.

"But he’s so strong, and he’s on top and your legs are far apart, and inside, oh, inside the aching."

Her face was nearly touching mine, her breath hot on my cheeks and her fingers traced the outline of my satin panties through my pantyhose.

"And then, oh god, he presses his hard, hot strong cock against your pussy hole and it moves in, pushing in against your tightness and you can’t hold it out and you stretch and his arms are around you and you want it and you spread your legs for him even wider and oh fuck, it slides in more and your pussy stretches out so wide and oh fuck he’s inside you and you hook your legs up and around him to pull him in to you and you want

him to fuck you and you beg and he presses harder and it hurts but it’s so fucking good and you cry out and it’s in so deep and uh."

Her eyes fluttered.

"He’s fucking you." She whispered.

I was electrified, her words had brought me somewhere else entirely.

"When you watched him fucking me - that’s what you thought about isn’t it?"

She caressed my behind through the pantyhose and panties and leaned in so close, her lips brushing my ear.

"What does it feel like? What is it like? You want to be fucked."

I could only gasp her name "Heather."

She smiled. "Me too." Her lips found my ear again. "I love being fucked by big strong men with big hard cocks. And you love watching me be fucked don’t you?"

"Yes." I whispered back, the shameful admission making my wet cheeks burn.

"What do you love most? Seeing his cock go in? The sounds I make? What?"

"T-The look... The look, on your face."

"Oh yeah? The hungry, horny look? The look of pleasure? Knowing that you can’t give me that? The way I don’t care about your feelings? Only about how good he’s making me feel? Wanting to please him. To be a good fuck."

"Yes."

"Interesting. Mmm Hmmm." She agreed. She took a step back, appraising me. "And you love dressing up in sissy clothes, don’t you?"

"Yes." I said, my voice a strangled squeal.

"Tell me, are you looking forward to being my live-in sissy cuckold husband?"

"Yes Heather."

"Goooood. Because let me tell you Cary, I am looking forward to being fucked good and hard, over and over and letting you know all about it. "

She paused and looked back at me, appraising me, seeking my reaction.

"Tell me Cary, what are you thinking now?" She asked.

I gasped. Caught my breath.

"H - Heather, I huh, I d-don’t know. I eh, I ..."

"Just tell me, what’s going through your head right now."

"Really? I, it’s stupid. I mean, I think I’m thinking that I want you to, eh, inspect the house, like you said."

She laughed.

"Fuck. Really? Really? Well, I suppose I did say I would. But yeah, okay. Tell me, what are you hoping, that I’ll find somehing wrong and punish you, or that I’ll be pleased with the good job you did? Hmm?"

"I want you to be pleasd with meeee." I squeeked, my voice still not able to return to normal.

"Go on then, show me what you’ve done." She replied, with a smile.

I brought her down to the kitchen and showed her the groceries I’d got, the meal planner I’d prepared and how I’d cleaned and wiped out all the cupboards, washed the floors and all the other chores I’d done while she was away. Through it all Heather seemed vauguely disinterested, even bored.

When I brought her to the laundry and began showing her how I’d washed everything in the hampers she took more of an interest.

"Show me what you were wearing while you were doing the housework." She said.

I showed her the blouses and skirts I’d worn, the pantyhose and panties I’d borrowed.

"Hmmm." She frowned. "You’re going to have to get a whole new wardrobe. For a start my stuff won’t fit you and I don’t want you wearing it, but also, this is all far too fancy. You’re picking out all my best work clothes, but this is suited to a career woman, someone with a proper job. You need plainer, more fuctional things. White blouses short black skirts, plain white cotton panties, that kind of thing. Stuff more suited to your role at home.

She saw the look on my face. She smiled and put on a mocking pout

"Oh dear, does the ittle sissy want to wear lots of lovely silky ladies panties? Does ooo?"

Tears stung my eyes again at her words.

"Don’t be silly Cary, sexy panties and clothes are for women who want to attract men. Men to fuck them, you understand?"

She spoke as if I was a particularly slow child.

"And you don’t want that, do you?"

I just looked shamefaced.

"Do you?" She insisted.

I shook my head.

"Are you sure?" She asked again. "Because if you’re not, I’m sure we can do something about that? You know?"

"Okay. Right, you seem to have done a reasonable job, but it’s really only just adequate. I want you to finish all the laundry and ironing. I’ll eat around seven. In the meantime, I have some calls to make and I need to do some work on the computer." She smiled. "Okay sweetie? I am pleased with you." She added.

She left me to my chores. I immersed myself in the cycle of sorting, washing, drying and folding. I put the dinner on, and kept an eye on it while I worked. I could hear Heather in the front room on the phone. Every now and again, I’d hear her laugh, and wonder who she was talking to, but I didn’t dare eavesdrop.

I set up the ironing board in the kitchen and set to it. There was a lot to get through.

I thought about Heather, and the astonishing change she had gone through. Before, I’d perhaps doubted if she really meant any of what she’d said. I’d thought maybe, she was just playing an act to punish me somehow, or that she was doing it ironically. Now. I realised she had to be sincere, that she really did want this, enjoy it even.

And did I? I considered it as best I could, but I couldn’t imagine anything being better than the feeling that wearing women’s clothes gave me. I longed for the feel of them even as I stood there in my pantyhose and patent shoes, ironing Heather’s panties. The thought of Heather sleeping with other men was so painful, and yet so delicious. Watching her with Steve had been mind-blowing. Seeing her spread her legs for him had

simultaneously broken my heart and flooded me with love. If I was honest, the only part that had been a problem was watching it on a poor quality webcam. So, despite everything, yes, if Heather was happy then I was more than happy.

I heard her high heels coming into the room.

"What are you so happy about?" She asked, walking over to the ironing board.

I smiled at her. "I’m just happy." I said.

"Really?" She asked. "Really? Happy doing the ironing? Happy being a cuckolded sissy wimp?" She asked, challenging me.

I looked her in the eye for the first time since she’d come home.

"Yes." I said quietly.

She smiled a broad, loving smile. "Oh Cary, I’m so glad. I really want you to love your new life as a cheated-on husband. I mean, I know you’ll still feel the pain, and I want you to, but I want you to want it too. Do you? Do you still?"

"Yes Heather."

"Really Cary? Spell it out for me, and I’ll let you masturbate in front of me."

"I, I want you to cheat on me."

She smiled. "More." She said.

"I, I want you to sleep with other men."

"More." She said, and she took my hand and lead me around the ironing board to the settee and sat in front of me. She waved imperiosuly and I knelt in front of her.

"Take it out." She said. "You can masturbate yourself while you tell me."

I got onto my knees in front of my wife and tugged my little cock from it’s panty and stared as she hitched up her skirt a little.

"I, I love you Heather." I stumbled. "I, I don’t deserve you. And, and I know I’m not good enough to make love to you. I, I just need to be near you and see you. I want you to be pleased with me because I am caring and considerate for you. And it’s such an honour just to be able to see you and see your lovely legs."

I glanced up at her face. She was smirking, watching me wank in front of her.

"And, and I want to listen when you, when you cheat on me, and I want to, I want to know, that, that you’re being satisfied and that you’re happy."

"More." She opeded her legs a little wider.

"And I want, I want to be allowed to come into your room, after, and, and..."

"More."

"And to be allowed, be allowed to put my head, between your legs and ...."

"More." A little wider.

"And to put my head between your legs and suck, suck the come from, from your pussy."

"Good. Good. And I’ll let my legs close on your head and you’ll suck and suck like the good little sissy cumslut you are Cary. Stare at my legs Cary. Stare at my crotch. This is what your life is now."

Really, just the sight of her upper thighs in her pantyhose wa mindblowing. How could I have ever have thought I could fuck her?

"I want you to know Cary. Know that your wife fucks other men. That I love being put on my back and fucked and used. That I get slam fucked every night and my pussy is filled with other men’s jism. I want you to feel it. I want you to be there. I want you to hold me in your arms while another man fucks me, and then see the look of disgust in his eyes as you beg me to open my legs so you can suck his spunk from my cunt."

"I want you to be my little boy, always frustrated and fascinated by Mommy and her hunky friends. In love with her, but never allowed to share with her.

Never allowed to be with her like a man, like all the men she takes to her bed. I want you to know. Know all the intimate details of my lovers. How they make me feel, the size of their cocks. What they’re like in bed. Are they tender? Are they rough? What do they like me to wear for them when they fuck me? Do they like me to go down on my knees in front of them to suck their cocks? Do they prefer fucking my cunt or my asshole? Do they

spank my ass? Do they make me pant with lust, or feel all gooey and girly inside? That’s what does it for me. I love telling you all this, showing you, seeing the pain in your eyes as you realise again and again that you’ve lost me, that your loving chaste wife is gone for ever, replaced only with pain and shame and humiliation.

So that’s it little Cary. Go on, Fiddle furiously with your useless little dicky while you stare at your wife’s crotch. Go on. Tell me Cary, do you love me? "

"Oh yes Heather."

"Do you love me in spite of how I’m treating you, or because of it?"

"I love youany way Heather. But yes, because of it."

"Good. Now stop wanking. Hands off right now. That’s it. I don’t want you coming. I want you desperate and horny all evening."

Heather rose from the couch and smoothed out her dress. My heart was pounding and I could hardly believe that she intended to leave me like this. She must have seen the look on my face, because she broke out laughing.

"Oh fuck, look at you!" She laughed. She flicked my cock with her patent high heel shoe.

"You look so dissapointed. Did you think you were going ot get to come? No! No way. I decide when and if you get to have any release. And I know you’ll be even more attentive and pethetically submissive when you’re horny and denied. I want you completley in your place while you do your housework . Go on, pull up your panties and tidy yourself up. That’s it. You’re not smirking to yourself now are you?"

I stood awkwardly and tucked my raging cock back in my silky panties and pulled up my pantyhose Heather was already walking away. She turned and barked at me.

"Come on. Get on with your work!"

I skittered over to the ironing board and resumed my duties. Inside my heart thumped and my poor aching balls and cock compained painfully at being so ill used. I felt a lump in my throat and tried to fight it down., but a tear trickled down my cheek. Heather walked past again, returning to the front room. She didn’t even notice.

I continued my chores for the rest of the evening. i finished ironing and folding, ans then I washed up he dinner dishes and made up some salad for Heather to bring to work the next day. I made it with the home-made lightly garlic flavoure croutons that she liked.

I went upstairs and moved most of my stuff out of what used to be our bedroom and made up the single bed in the spare room. All the time, I felt strange, strange but wonderful. Heather had crushed me, whipped me, and inside, I felt sadness, but also such peace and love an contentment. So, while I felt sadness, I wasn’t sad, or at least it was so bittersweet that the sweetness cancelled the bitter.

I brought the clean laundry upstairs. Cleaning out my clothes had freed up some drawers, so reorganised Heather’s things to give them a little more room as I putt them away. As I carefully folded Heather’s lingerie, I thought about how she was right, beautiful lingerie was for proper women to dress themselves in to please and attract men, men who would fuck them properly. I didn’t deserve fancy panties, I would make do with plain

white cotton, and plain skirts and blouses. I’d still be dressed as a woman, and that’s what really mattered after all.

I took some more of my things and moved them to the spare room, what was now my room. I was just tidying those away when I heard a voice behind me.

"What are you doing?"

Heather had come in to the room. She must have changed out of her heels, as I hadn’t heard her on the stairs.

"Just tidying away my things." I said. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Yes." She smiled. "You can help me get ready for bed."

I followed her into the bedroom. She was so sure of herself, so confident and in charge. Her career had always been successful. I wondered if this change would make her even more dynamic and forceful at her office.

"Undress me." She told me, her tone warm, but not inviting. I unzipped her skirt and helped her out it and then the rest of her clothes, either folding the items or putting them aside for the laundry as necessary. When she was down to her underwear she went into the bathroom and I took the opportunity to neatly hang away her suit and take out the nightdress I’d picked out for her.

She returned and smiled at my choice. She removed her own bra and panties and handed them to me for the laundry. I lifted the nightdress and helped her into it.

"I’ll wear panties to bed tonight dear." She said.

I nodded and opened the drawer, selected a pair, held them up for her approval. She smiled and nodded. It was all so natural, as if we had been doing this all our lives.

I sank to my knees and Heather stepped into the panties. I gazed up at her as I tugged them up her legs and into place.

"Did you cry some more?" She asked. She must have noticed the redness around my eyes.

"Yes." I admitted, embarrassed.

She smiled kindly. "Over me. That’s nice. " She said, as if I had done something special for her.

"I’m sorry I missed that." She said. "I’d like to see you cry some more. Would you?"

I shook my head, confused and surprised. She wanted to see me cry?

"You can’t or you won’t?" She asked. She shook her head. "It doesn’t matter. You will. For me. Come here." She lifted me up as she sat on the end of the bed. She pulled me to her and kissed me.

"You want me, don’t you Cary?" She asked.

"Yes." I gasped, my head spinning from the kiss.

"But you know I don’t want you, don’t you?"

I cast my eyes down, but she lifted my chin so I had to look into her beautiful green-brown eyes.

"No. I don’t want you. I don’t want your icky little-boy pee-pee near me. Look. Look at my beautiful body. It was made for a real man to fuck. You know that don’t you?"

A single tear stung at the inside of my eyes, the hard lump returned to my throat.

"Yes." She whispered, pleased. "You’ll cry to yourself, all alone in your little bed tonight.

She pulled my head to her bosom, let my tears wet the soft, satin fabric that encased her breasts.

"Good boy." She cooed softly. I was in heaven between her breasts, and then I felt her hand move to the back of my head, force my head down, down towards her crotch.

"Sniff. Breathe." She whispered, pressing my face to herself. I nuzzled, mewling a little myself, lost in the delicious perfume from her nightgown and panties.

"That’s it." She whispered. "Sniff your wife’s pussy. It’s as close as you’ll get to it, my sissy cuckold husband, becuase, I. Don’t. Want. You."

I felt her other hand fasten around my wrist, pull me across her.

"I want big strong men to fuck me. Long, thick cocks to fuck my pussy. Tall handsome men to kiss me, make me feel weak and girlish, put their hands inside my panties, make me pant with lust."

She had draped me over her lap. The heel of her hand pressed against my temple, turning my head, making me look back over my shoulder at her beaming face.

"You don’t get to FUCK me." She hissed, her eyes on mine and her free hand smacked hard on my ass on the word, "FUCK."

I noticed her breasts bounced a little with the force of the blow. The pain of the spank hardly registered. It was her words that lashed me.

"Your wife fucks other MEN."

Uh.

"I suck their giant COCKS."

Eaah.

"You only get to WATCH."

Aaaah!

"Your wife thinks you’re a WIMP."

Aaaaaah.

"She doesn’t want your COCK."

AAAH!

"You’re only fit to sniff her CROTCH!"

AAAAAH"

"I spread my legs for MEN!"

AHHHH!

"They fuck my aching CUNT!"

AHHHHHH!

"They fuck me in the ASS!"

AHHHHHHH!

"And come all on my FACE!" Ah!

"And on my TITS" Ah!

"And in my CUNT!"

Ah! AH! AH!

Her hand was really smacking me now, hard and as fast as she could manage. I was blubberng, sobbing, crying. Tears poured from my eyes as she spanked and spanked and spanked.

At last she slowed and stopped, her ches heaving. She pushed me off her lap.

"Show me." She ordered.

I could hardly stand, but with trembling hands I tugged down my pantyhose and panties, lifted my skirt and half turned so she could see my ass,

She spread her legs and leaned back on the bed smiling.

"Mmmmm. Lovely." She said, appreciatively. "Now say thank-you."

"T-thank you Heather."

I sobbed, my voice cracking with the last of my sobs.

"Good boy." She replied, her smile wicked and cruel. "Now kiss my feet and fuck off to your own room and no wanking yourself Cary. Understand?"

I nodded and got down on my knees to kiss her proferred feet.

"Good night honey." She called kindly as I crept away, her gentle voice only serving to turn the knife one more delicious twist.

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I don't want to spoil this for anyone, but I feel the need to point out that in my mind Heather really does love Cary. yes, she's enjoying this, but a large part of what she does and says is because she knows he enjoys it so much.

Since posting my link to Strict Wife Magazine, I've had a few letters from readers. Here's the first.

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Dear Strict Wife,

My husband has dropped several hints about wanting a wife-led-marriage. While I haven’t engaged with him about this - I’ve carefully avoided his hints - I am a little interested.

There seem to be several pros and cons, and I’d be interested in your feedback.

Pro. I like the idea of putting him in his place. He does annoy me occasionally, and it would be great to be able to just shut him up when he gets argumentative. On the other hand, does that really work for other women? I can imagine him just wanting to get a kinky thrill out of being dominated by his wife, and not actually doing what he’s told when there’s no sexual context.

Pro. I’ve always liked being dominant in bed. In fact, that’s the way it usually is between us, and I know that he likes that too. In fact, that’s the way he’d like it to be all the time. But, occasionally I like to just get fucked myself. I think if we were to adopt this kind of lifestyle 24/7 then I might miss that - not that it works very well right now in any case.

Pro. I’m not certain about this, but I think he would like to cross dress. Actually, I suspect he already does. I kind of like that idea, if it were an occasional thing, but I’d hate the idea of anyone else finding out about it. I wouldn’t like my parents or our neighbours to know. I worry that if I let him, that eventually he’d want to go out in public in a dress. That sounds horrible. Also, I think he might just look totally ridiculous or slightly creepy, and after seeing him dressed, I wouldn’t want him to ever do it again.

Pro. I do love him, and if this is something he wants, and I found I could live with it, then I’d do it. But I have a concern that if we try it, he might back out of it, and our relationship would be damaged by the experience. I have read a bit about this, and that seems pretty common. I don’t want him to try this, then back out of it, and have feelings of shame or guilt or not being able to ‘look me in the eye’ afterwards.

That may all sound pretty wimpy to you balls-of-steel women who do this on a 24/7 basis. Don’t get me wrong. I am a strong woman. I don’t doubt that I can do this, my concerns are more about whether I really want to or not.

Looking forward to, what I hope will be constructive feedback.

Jennifer (full name withheld at correspondants request)

Dear Jenny, This is a great letter, and you sound like a great wife. Not wimpy at all!

Your concerns are very typical, and the fact that you raise them makes the chances of you creating a successful wife-led-marriage all the better. The kind of problems that you envision do happen, but they happen because couples embark on changing their marriage with their eyes closed to the problems. Being aware of these ‘cons’ means you’re much less likely to experience them.

Lets take your concerns one at a time. Firstly, does putting him ‘in his place’ as you put it really work? Yes it does, if you do it correctly. And your concern is correct, if your wife-led-marriage is just a means for a kinky thrill for your husband then it won’t work, either for you or him. In a true wife-led marriage, female-dominant sex is a by-product of the relationship, not the reason for the relationship. He must obey you because you make him obey you, not as a trade-off for wife-dominant sex. This is easier than you think. He wants you to be dominant because he is submissive, and this is part of his nature, not just a sexual kink. If he has got to the stage of dropping hints then he is already quite a long way down that road. Where you should start is not with sex, but purely by being more dominant in your everyday relationship. You may not think it, but this is actually what your husband desires. There does not need to be a sexual element to your behaviour, nor should there be. However, this is not simply being bossy or bitchy. Being dominant is exactly that - be dominant. Tell him what to do, in the expectation that he will comply unquestioningly. Don’t whine or argue or reason - just tell. You don’t have to be imperious or vampish or bullying, your manner should be neutral, detached, normal. The effect you want is not in your manner, or even what you tell him to do, it is in the fact that you tell him at all, expecting obedience.

Your questioning whether this can ‘work’ is understandable. Why would he want this kind of relationship? But you already know the answer - he is weak, he is sumbissive, he is a follower, not a leader. This is what he wants because this is in his nature. Sexual desire may be a factor in this, as it is with most impulses in males, but it is not the only factor. However, if you link the two in his mind, then that is what he will respond to. Under no circumstances should you reward him with sex of any kind when he complies with your orders. His reward is your appoval of his obedience. Conversely, if he does not obey, his punishment is your anger with him.

Now, cross dressing. If you think he is wearing your lingerie surreptitiously, then you are almost certainly correct. If you refer to Dr. Connor’s article in this issue, you will find lots of helpful advice regarding a cross-dressing husband. Your concerns are natural, but easily overcome. If you do not wish him to dress publicly, simply forbid him to do so. By the time he gets that far, he won’t even be able to imagine disobeying. Also, he will almost certainly look riodiculous when dressed as a woman completely, but this is not necessary. You can indulge his fetish as a reward, or for your own amusement, or, even more importantly to reinforce his submission to you, simply by allowing him to wear lingerie under his clothes. This is just as effective, and only you and he need know.

Now, your concerns regarding your own sexual needs are very common, and you are correct, turning your husband into a sissy will certainly affect your image of him as a sexually dominant partner, even occasionally. Most women in such circumstances find that they can easily have their satisfied outside the home. How you go about doing that is your own affair, if you’ll excuse the pun. You will almost certainly find that your husband already fantasises about such liaisons. It is by far the most common feature of a sissy husbands desires. Some women of course, find such a course morally questionable. If that is your case, then yes, you do find yourself in a quandry. However, I would offer the following observations. If you already feel this way about your husband, then is he really satisfying your needs, even occassionally as things stand? Also, if as I assure you, your husband would be happy to acquiesce in such an arrangement, then where is the moral question?

As to your final question, I believe you already know the answer. What if he wishes to back out of such an change in your relationship? The question contains a tautology. If you choose to pursue this course, of taking the exclusively dominant role in your marriage. then it is your decision. If he agrees, then he simply cannot back out of it. He has surrendered control to you. If you do wish to do this, then do it. From that point on, your decisions will be the only one that counts.

Yours, XXXX XXXX