Losing my job devastated me. All my life I’d learned that the man must support his family. Any man who can’t be the breadwinner is not a man; he’s a loser – beneath contempt. Being a stock broker only made this worse. I was used to pushing around lots of money, of being in total control over people’s lives. Now I’d lost control of my own. I could push anyone around: a multi-national company, a millionaire client, my wife. For weeks, I woke up every morning wishing I could just crawl into a hole and die. I really hated myself. Even though my wife Angelica tried to help, she only made my feelings worse. Every time I saw Angelica, I saw my failure reflected in her soft eyes. I wanted to run, to scream. . . to cry. I hadn’t cried since I was a damn kid! Angelica tried to help, but her efforts only made things worse. The first week she left me to my shame. The second week she tried to cheer me up, but she just couldn’t understand what I was going through. She’d say: “That’s ok honey, I’ll earn enough for both of us.” “Just relax dear, I’ll support us.” and so on. She just couldn’t understand that I wasn’t worried about money, I had plenty of money in the bank. I needed my job to prove that I was the man. Her words cut into me like a rusty dagger. For weeks she fired off these encouragements at me in rapid succession. The humiliation stung so much that my self-respect began to die. I became quiet and passive. All my sulking and passivity slowly led me to a state where I began to do what Angelica said without question. I no longer believed I had the right to speak my mind or to demand anything of my own. This was a total turn around from the way our marriage had been. In the past I was clearly in charge. This felt like Angelica’d made me submissive to her. Imagine that, I felt powerless against my little wife. (Actually, at 5′ 5″ she’s not much smaller than my 5′ 6 & 1/2″. I guess being physically small made my need to dominate others even stronger.) I felt neutered. The third week, her comments seemed even more emasculating. “Don’t worry honey, I’ll take care of you.” “Don’t worry yourself about providing for us, I’ll take care of that.” “I’ve got things under control darling.” And at times, whenever I stalled in some task she’d given me, she would offer to help in the most humiliating manner: “do you need me to help you with that honey?” “If you need my help with that, just say so darling.” I once decked my boss for trying to condescend to me in this way. But I couldn’t strike Angelica. My inability to stop her only emphasized my powerlessness. Angelica’s comments always sent a warm, soft feeling of helplessness down my spine. I could feel myself physically weaken as she spoke. The more she spoke, the less my will to resist. At first, her words made me angry and I wanted to lash out. It took everything I had not to tell her to stuff it. I struggled to convince myself that I needed to just accept what she said without fighting back or getting angry. I worked hard to train myself to remain passive. As time passed though, I became accustomed to her words. Gradually I stopped resisting. I still felt the sting of humiliation, but it no longer angered me. In the fifth or sixth week, Angelica’s tone changed again. I guess she’d had enough of my moping. One day after getting home from work, while still in her smart suit and low heeled shoes, Angelica started on me. “Listen Pete, I think it’s time you stopped moping around the house. You may not be able to find a job outside the house, but that doesn’t mean you can’t work. There are lots of things that need to be done around here and I don’t have the time to do them, with my job and all.” I looked at Angelica. I knew she was right, but I didn’t like her tone. I couldn’t understand why she didn’t just ask me, why did she need to remind me of her job and my uselessness? “What did you have in mind dear?” I asked in the soft tone I’d adopted lately. “I prepared a list. These are your new duties.” “My duties?” I felt my face contort in shock. Who was she to tell me my “duties”? “Be quiet!” I was stunned. For the first time in my life, Angelica had just given me an order. In the past I would have told her where she could cram it, but surprisingly I couldn’t now. I don’t know exactly why, but being passive for so many weeks had sapped my will to stand up for myself. I stood there in stunned silence as she continued. “I’m not going to put up with this anymore. You can’t find a damn job so you’re as good as useless.” That stung. I felt my spine tingle and what little resolve I’d found break. “You’re going to start helping out around the house. I earn the money, I’m the breadwinner. You aren’t. That means I call the tune and you dance.” I could feel a horrified, confused look creep across my face. Angelica watched my face as she reached down and removed her shoes, one at a time. “Face it Prissy, as long as I’m the ‘man’ of the house, you’re going to be the woman.” “What . . .” “Shut up, don’t ever interrupt me again. Now take this list and start working. I expect you to complete the items on this list everyday. Do you understand me!” Angelica handed me her shoes. They were still damp and warm. “You can begin by polishing these. Then get the rest from the bedroom and polish those too. Then start with the rest of the list.” Angelica turned her back to me and headed for the bedroom. I scanned the list, it was long. “But dear, how will I find time to interview if I have to spend all my time dusting, cooking, and shopping?” “That’s your problem. Besides, you haven’t gotten one interview since you lost your job. Now get to work and don’t say another word to me. You’ve made me angry.” Angelica closed the bedroom door behind her.
For the next few weeks, I did all the housework. I cooked, cleaned and did laundry. I ironed. I shopped for food and cut the grass. I did my best, but that never seemed to be good enough for Angelica. The first week I could do nothing right. No matter how hard I cleaned, Angelica came home and found more dirt or identified something I’d missed at the store. Angelica always inspected my work the moment she got home, even before she removed her work clothes. The humiliation I’d felt before was nothing compared to what I felt watching Angelica walk around the house in her chic business suits and her pumps inspecting my work with me following her around, standing at attention in each room as she inspected. I felt like some sort of maid. As I’d predicted, this work took up so much of my time that I literally didn’t have any time to interview – not that many people wanted to interview me. I figured though, that I would free up some time soon because I was getting more efficient at doing my duties. Unfortunately, as I improved, Angelica added more. For example, “doing laundry” soon meant more than just separating colors from whites and ramming them into the washer. Now I found myself hand-washing her underwear and nylons. I also learned to repair rips and replace buttons. My part of the laundry, by the way, was becoming smaller and smaller as I began to wear out my clothes. Unfortunately, I wasn’t getting any. We didn’t have much money because we’d agreed not to invade our savings – I had the key, but the money was in her safe deposit box. Since Angelica’s paycheck didn’t go too far, Angelica refused to buy me new clothing; she spent our entire clothing budget on her work clothes. This caused me a lot of grief. Working with all the household chemicals was taking a toll on my clothes. One by one my shirts and pants were becoming stained and ruined. Soon I was reduced to wearing old tee shirts and shorts. I needed to learn to sew just to keep what I had. I asked her for money and when she refused I begged her to get some money from the box. I even gave her the key and told her she could control that money too, if she’d just buy me some new pants and shirts. Angelica took the key and then just laughed at my predicament. “It’s not my fault you’re careless. Soon you’re going to run out of clothes. Then what will you wear? Are you planning on going naked around the house? I won’t allow that.” Angelica looked down at me, she stood taller than I in her three inch heels. She’d begun to wear those lately, I think just to emphasize her superiority over me. I don’t think she’d ever worn three inch heels in the entire time I knew her until now. It made me feel very small and weak having to look up to her. I could tell she liked that because she often wore her heels around the house now, even after the nightly inspections. I can’t imagine many women would lounge around the house in three inch high heels unless they had a reason. “We’re going to have to buy new clothes.” I’d thought about bringing this topic up ever day for a few weeks now, but I didn’t have the nerve. Besides running out of work clothes, I wanted to go out with some friends, but I no longer owned the clothes to do that. I hoped to bring the conversation around to a point where I could mention that. Angelica wasn’t going to let me. “No. We can’t afford it.” “But what will I do?” “Well I’ll tell you Prissy,” she’d started calling me “Prissy” lately when ever we fought; she said my whining reminded her of a woman. “You’re not going to like this at all. Since you don’t see anyone working at home, you’re going to start wearing my hand-me-downs.” My jaw dropped to my knees. “I guess I can bare the thought of you in drag around the house, but don’t go visiting any neighbors – I don’t want them knowing the humiliations I endure being married to you.” “I what?! I can’t. . .” “Shut up Prissy.” I froze obediently. A month ago I would have told her to go stuff herself, but for whatever reason I couldn’t say a thing. I guess I just realized that she really had me over a barrel. For months now I couldn’t find a job. I no longer earned a dollar and each day I didn’t, it became harder and harder for me to find a job. Angelica controlled all of our finances, so I couldn’t get a single dollar without her permission. I guess she also had a point: why bother replacing my clothes when I didn’t need them? No one ever saw me except her. Besides, I didn’t have to wear her most feminine clothes. I figured I’d just wear her jeans, maybe her shorts, and a few tee shirts. Nothing too bad about that. I guess those were the reasons I meekly accepted her will. Maybe I wanted to punish myself for my failings as a man. I don’t know. Whatever the reasons though, I remained mute. Angelica acted as if the matter were settled. She continued her walk around the house checking my work. I meekly followed her from room to room as she examined my work. Her every look nearly shamed me to tears. I knew she’d find a lot wrong today. Whenever we argued, she always found lots wrong with my work. She was going to keep me working all through the evening correcting all my “mistakes.” Don’t get me wrong by the way. I know I said “fought” and “argued” but we really didn’t fight these days. It was more a matter of her getting angry and me doing what she ordered. In a sick/funny sort of way, this is exactly the opposite of how it used to be. Whenever we argued in the past, I merely raised my voice and Angelica did as she was told. Of course, unlike her, I was only acting in both of our best interests. Angelica seems to be acting more or less without thinking about my feelings.
The next day I wore Angelica’s clothes for the first time. Angelica “allowed” me to wear a pair of very tight pastel orange shorts. They looked like hot pants on me! I felt really gay. Underneath I wore panties. Things got worse. “I won’t have you ruining my clothes the way you ruined your own. From now on, when you work around the house, you will wear an apron. There are two in the hall closet.” I didn’t even try to fight her. What did it matter after all? I wore panties, hot pants and I painted my nails. It seemed kind of pointless to resist the apron. Besides, if I ruined the shorts, a skirt was definitely next! The next morning I saw the apron for the first time. I don’t think Angelica could have found a more feminine apron if she’d asked a designer to help her. This thing had lace and frills and a flowery pattern and everything. I laughed nervously to myself when I tied on the apron. With my bare legs sticking out below the apron, the effect was the same as me wearing a frilly white dress.
A few days after our “argument” about my diminishing clothing stock, Stephanie came home with a proposition. Actually, it was more of a statement than a proposition, but she presented it to me as an option. “I’ve found a way to save a lot of money. Right now I’m spending almost $100 a week going to the beauty salon to have my hair and nails done. If you learn how to do my hair and nails, then I don’t need to go there anymore and we can save that money. If there’s any left after our bills, I’ll buy you some new clothes. How does that sound honey?” I was happy about the idea of ditching the sissy pants, but man, would the guys at the bar laugh at me if they ever found out I did my wife’s hair and nails! “I don’t know, that doesn’t sound like something a man would learn.” “Not something a man would do?! Would a man make his wife support him?!” That hurt. I ran from the room crying. That’s right, crying! With all the stress on me, and the constant feeling of guilt wearing down my will, I’d become much more emotionally sensitive these days. Whenever Stephanie criticized my cooking or cleaning, it really hurt my feelings. I can’t really explain it, but it hurt that I tried my best and she didn’t care. Of course, Stephanie helped me feel submissive. All day every day I performed humiliating tasks for her benefit. I always cleaned her underwear and nylons. I always hung up her clothes. Once a week I cleaned and polished her shoe collection. And so on. These duties always reminded me who was the boss. And as if that were not enough, when Stephanie came home, she continued her inspections; making me stand at attention in my sissy shorts and outgrown tee shirts while she inspected my work, towering over me in her high heels and business suits. She’d also told me not to call her “Angelica” anymore; from now on I was to call her “Stephanie.” She began to call me Prissy much more regularly.
As I lay crying on the bed, Stephanie came in. “There’s no use crying about it Prissy, the matter is settled. Honestly, you’ve become such a sissy! Now wipe your eyes, get my make up kit and meet me in the kitchen.” I did as she told me. The rest of the night, Stephanie showed me how to do her nails. She began the training by working on my nails. As my nails became fire engine red one by one, she taught me about colors and cuticles and base coats and other things I never knew, or wanted to know, about. Soon my fingers dried and she moved on to my toes. When those too became bright red, she made me put what I’d learned into practice on her fingers. I learned quickly, but not quickly enough. I made two mistakes and would pay for each. “I see you need a lot more practice. You’re lucky that I have time tonight to let you correct these mistakes. On work nights, I won’t have that time. From now on, I want you to practice on your own nails twice a day.” Stephanie laid out the thirty-three different nail colors in her kit. “You will start in the morning by removing the color from the prior night. Then you will replace that color with a new color. When they’ve dried, I want you to use the Polaroid to take a picture of your work – fingers and toes. Then, in the afternoon, you will replace that color with a new color as well. Take a Polaroid of that one as well. You must go through each color once before repeating a color. When I come home, I will inspect your nails and collect the Polaroids. Then, after dinner, you can fix my nails for the next day.”
The next day I did as she asked. It felt strange when I first saw my fingers bright red, but it felt even stranger as I made each of my finger tips silver. When everything had dried, I took the Polaroids and then started on my chores. I had to work extra hard to finish in time to repaint my nails before Stephanie got home. Stephanie was good for her word, she collected the Polaroids and inspected my fingers and toes with a magnifying glass. After that, she inspected the house and then we ate dinner. In the evening she made me redo her nails. We repeated these events every day. Soon they became normal. At first I hated the idea of painting my nails. I felt humiliated and embarrassed. But after awhile, it just seemed like one more duty. It even became relaxing because I could just sit and watch TV or read my sports magazines as I worked. Soon it even seemed natural to have “Rose”, “Honey” or “Mauve” finger tips as I flipped through the Super Bowl preview pages. (I swore I’d never tell anyone, but I actually began to like painting my nails!) Of course, I always removed the polish from my fingers before I went shopping.
One night I mistakenly told Stephanie that I didn’t mind painting my nails because it gave me my only chance to relax during the day. In and of itself, this was no mistake. The mistake came when I told her that I used that time to watch Sport Center or the national news. The next day, as I sat down with my nail kit, I flipped on the TV to discover that Stephanie had locked out all the channels but the fashion channel and the Women’s channel. When she came home that night, I wanted to complain bitterly, but I didn’t have the time. I guess she knew my complaint was coming so she kept me too busy to bring it up. She literally didn’t allow me a free minute to complain! From the moment she got home, she rode me like a dog. Nothing I’d done during the day was right. In fact, so much was wrong that she made me skip dinner so that I would have enough time to finish all the rest of my duties. She also took that moment to tell me that I’d been gaining weight and that I was going on a diet. “Working through dinner tonight will be good for you.” “Should I still serve you dinner?” “No. I’ll order a pizza.” And she did. Out of spite, Stephanie let the pizza boy in while she got change out of her purse. This gave him the full view of me as I worked. I wore my sissy shorts, a dress like apron, and long red nails. The flab on my chest even bounced a bit when I walked. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him staring at me. Then he began to laugh. On his way out, he said, “Good night ladies.” When he left, I stormed over to Stephanie. “I don’t apprecia. . .” “How dare you! Be quiet!” My resolved vanished. My strength melted. My will collapsed. I went from angry husband to quavering jello-like submissive. I cringed, waiting for the verdict on my outburst. Stephanie’s justice was always swift and vicious. “I will not take that from you Prissy! Get back to work. And don’t you ever, and I mean ever, speak unless you are spoken too again. If you do, I’ll make you greet the pizza boy in a dress and give him a big kiss. Do you understand me sissy?!” “Yes ma’am.” I scurried back to the living room to finish my dusting, relieved that the punishment was so light. It was difficult to tell where I’d left off with the dusting since I’d done a perfect job in the morning, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. I started over. As I worked, I still shook with fear and choked back tears. Soon I was near the end of my list, with only the kitchen floor left. It looked like I would still have some free time. I knew Stephanie was not in a good mood, but I had regained my resolve. I was determined to bring up the TV situation! Just then, she called me into the family-room. She sat on the couch watching TV, which she muted as I entered. Apparently my TV blackout wasn’t to be lifted for even a few seconds. “When you’re done with that filthy kitchen floor, you will polish each of my shoes.” “Yes ma’am.” Boy did I stand up to her! As she watched the nightly business report and world news, I ran myself ragged trying to re-mop the kitchen floor and polish her shoes. Usually I don’t polish her shoes until the weekend, but she had a big meeting the following day and wanted it done tonight. She said she needed all of them done because she wasn’t sure which ones she wanted to wear the following day. I didn’t buy the explanation. I don’t think she meant me to. After the shoes, I fixed her nails. I tried to speak, but I saw myself kissing the pizza boy. I waited for her to mention the TV, but she didn’t. Without a word said by me that night, she sent me to bed. I never got the chance to bring up the TV problem.
Of course, I didn’t bring up the lock out the following day either. Or the following day or the one after that. Since Stephanie never mentioned it, I never got the chance to talk about it. I just didn’t dare bring it up on my own! Slowly my life changed. Because Stephanie took the newspaper to work with her every day and she switched off the TV whenever I entered the room in the evenings, I was now cut off from the real world. I never even knew how the Super Bowl ended. I felt more alone than ever. The next day she told me to gather up all my sports magazines and place them in a large box. Because I could see what was coming, I only placed half my magazines in the box. I placed the other half into a dusty old box in the upstairs closet. While Stephanie spoke on the phone I snuck the box back to the closet and set it on the top shelf in the back. The box was heavy enough that Stephanie couldn’t retrieve it without my help and dusty enough that she wouldn’t want to. The remainder of the magazines went into the other box, into the trunk of her car, and off to who-knows-where. From then on, when I did my nails I read my old sports magazines and watched the fashion channel. I guess I should admit though that after a while the same magazines got kind of boring and I eventually started reading Stephanie’s fashion magazines (the only new magazines she allowed into the house). Soon my sports magazines were all but forgotten up in the closet.
The following weekend, Stephanie came home with a bunch of hair care bottles and a new hair drier. For the past four months, Stephanie had refused to give me any money to get a haircut. At this point, my brown hair hung down to my shoulders. I don’t know if she planned it this way or whether it was all a coincidence, but now Stephanie could use my long hair to teach me how to take care of hers. Like my nail training, she told me that I needed to take care of mine the same way I took care of hers. I hadn’t revolted much during the past few weeks, but this time I did. “I hate having long hair. It always gets in my face.” This wasn’t my main point, but it was better than silence. You wouldn’t believe the effort it took to force even that out of my mouth. “Alright, Prissy. There are several ways to keep the hair out of your eyes. You can either get a perm or you can start wearing a soft pink ribbon and tying your hair in a ponytail.” She’d outsmarted my objection. It was hopeless to resist her. Facing this Hobson’s choice – I took the ponytail. What I didn’t realize when I made my choice, was that she meant a girl’s ponytail. So there I stood, with a ponytail high up on my head, tied together with a pink nylon ribbon. My nails were silver that day, and I wore nothing the hot pants and a too-tight tee shirt. I’d been gaining fat in my chest lately and very few of my tee shirts fit. I was kind of embarrassing to see my formerly well toned chest bounce with all that flab. Between the ponytail and everything else, I’d learned my lesson. When she demanded that I dye my hair some sort of very feminine blond, I just shut my mouth and slipped into the chair.
The following week, I ruined the last pair of shorts completely by accident. I swear that I closed the bleach tightly like I always do, but when I reached for it, the cap popped off and ruined the pink shorts I wore. I wondered how Stephanie would react. I dreaded that night. As Stephanie walked into the house, she set down her brief case in the hallway and handed me her overcoat. I hung it up. “What happened to your shorts?” “I spilled bleach. . .” “How careless. I guess we’re out of shorts now aren’t we?” I nodded as she rubbed her hand over my shorts, causing my penis to grow. “Why didn’t you change into something nicer before I got home. Do you think I want to see you in bleach stained shorts?” “No ma’am, but I didn’t know what to wear.” I was going to be as submissive as I could bare to be. I would not risk making her angry. “I’ll take care of that.” Stephanie paused, thinking. “I think I’ll inspect the house first. But you’re not going to wear those shorts. Take them off.” I stripped to my panties. My penis stood at attention underneath the satin panties. The fabric did not stretch much, so my penis pulled the panties away from my body, leaving a gap at the top of the panties through which Stephanie could see my penis. “That looks painful.” Stephanie giggled as she rubbed one of her nails along the length of my shaft. This was the first time in a long time that she’d touched my penis with her hand directly. Usually, she fondled me through the panties. Oddly, I hoped I did not ejaculate because that’s very hard to clean out of satin! Needless to say, the inspection was emasculating. Then the fun began.
I stood virtually naked before Stephanie. She stood in front of her closet, holding up a very small sexy babydoll nightie. By “her closet” I also mean her bedroom. She’d kicked me out of the master bedroom weeks ago. I now lived in a small guest bedroom upstairs – the smallest in the house. “You can wear my nighties, I don’t have a problem with that,” make no mistake, this was not my choice, “but there will be conditions. I will not allow you to go around with hairy legs hanging out from under my them. From now on you will shave your legs.” I didn’t even try to protest. I hated this idea, but I just couldn’t bring myself to confront Stephanie. Looking up into her eyes made me feel weak and small and broke my will before I could say my piece. It wouldn’t have done any good anyway. Stephanie grabbed my hand and led me to the bathroom. Once there, she made me run a bath and then stripped me naked. “You can use my razor tonight, but tomorrow I want you to buy your own at the store. Buy the pink disposable kind, they work best.” Stephanie started shaving me, but soon left me to finish on my own. When I finished and rinsed myself off, Stephanie returned with a towel and some powder. I reached for my slippers. “What do you think you’re doing?” “I need my slippers.” “Not with my nightie! My nighties all have matching slippers. From now on, you wear those.” She tossed a pair of satin high heeled mules on the floor. These things had three inch heels! My slippers disappeared during the night.
Minutes later I found myself in the living room in a red baby doll nightgown, a pair of real silk stockings, and a pair of red satin three inch high heeled mules with a book on my head. After I’d gotten out of the tub, I’d slipped into the mules and nearly broken my ankle on the first step. When I finally got myself standing upright, I wobbled like jello in an earthquake. Then my second step ended with my face on the floor. This convinced Stephanie to take me to the living room and teach me to walk in high heels. I’ll spare you the details of her instructions because until you’ve been there (I almost said “in my shoes”) you can’t appreciate the difficulty I had. Granted I’m not a big man, but I am a man and I’d never worn high heels before. For the next hour, Stephanie made me practice with the book on my head and my hands down at my sides – pointing out horizontally to the ground. A full hour of balancing, slap slap slap click click click. A full hour of yelling and teasing. Finally, Stephanie decided it was time for bed. My time for bed. She planned to stay up and watch more television, but I needed to go to bed. For some time now, she’d been sending me to bed at 9:30 unless she made me repeat my day’s work. I actually found it difficult to stay awake past 10:00 these days. I felt so self-conscious walking to my bedroom. Every single click echoed off the hardwood floors. Every slap of the shoe against my foot mocked me. As I slipped into my bed, Stephanie turned off my light. “Tomorrow you will continue your heel practice. Then you will wear the slippers while you do your chores all day long.” She turned to leave but thought to add one more warning. “I will test you when I get home, so don’t even think of blowing this off. I expect you make serious progress.”
I sat on my bed pulling the stockings down my legs. I’d done my nails and all the dusting. I wore the slippers all morning. My feet and calves hurt a lot. I’d gotten one shoe caught in the carpet and nearly broke my leg falling down. That taught me that I needed to be more delicate with my steps. The days of taking large steps while vacuuming and dusting were over. When I finished dusting, I removed the polish from my nails and headed to the bedroom to find something I could wear to the store. I certainly was not going to wear the mules or the babydoll! I didn’t know what else to do though. Ok, no laughing, but eventually I found a pair of denim shorts with a large pink star on the butt. To this I added my barely serviceable wing tips. In addition I carried the change purse Stephanie had given me. My nails were clear, but long. My hair was platinum blond. I probably should have just bitten the bullet and worn a dress, but I had to draw the line somewhere.
That evening Stephanie made me hop, skip, jump, pivot, dance, stand on one leg, and anything else she could think of. I passed, barely. “I’ll give you a passing grade, but you need a lot of work. From now on, you will wear heels all the time. The higher the better.” Then, for spite, she made me dust her (formerly my) office while she watched. I lost the office when I lost my job. Now she had the key and I was only allowed in under supervision. “You have very sexy legs. Those slippers are very sexy on you.” My sore muscles reminded me that I hadn’t worked out in months now. At first I didn’t feel like it, but now I just couldn’t imagine myself walking into a locker room full of big, strong horny men. I don’t know what they’d do once they saw my shaved legs, platinum blond hair, and satin panties, but I didn’t want to find out. Stephanie seemed to be keeping trim though. She never told me anything definite, but I think she worked out before she came home each night. After I finished dusting the office where I’d once spent so many late nights, Stephanie told me to go wash out our stockings and then go to bed. It was only 7:45, but I didn’t protest.
Without access to news or other people, I slowly lost track of time. I never knew how much my sense of the world depended on other people until I lost my access to them. One day I sat looking at my feminine legs as I balanced a delicate high heeled shoe on my toes. I honestly did not know if I’d been wearing heels for a couple of weeks or a couple of months! I tried to figure out the dates, but I couldn’t. My inability to time events only got worse as the days progressed. So please forgive me if I can’t be more precise about timing.
Sometime after I first started wearing her slippers around the house, Stephanie came home with horrible horrible news. For whatever reason, she’d invited my best friend Richard over to our house for dinner that night. She gave me less than an hours notice! Richard and I were drinking buddies from way back. In college we both ran track together. “Stephanie! How could you, why didn’t you. . .” “Don’t you give me that tone Prissy!” Stephanie raised her fist to me and I flinched. “After all I’ve done for you, don’t you dare raise your voice to me! Now hurry up and finish cooking dinner.” Stephanie headed out of the room, but stopped at the door. “And don’t forget to change.” I could feel her smirk run down my spine, breaking my will.
“Oh my God!” I thought. What would I change into? I had nothing at all masculine left to wear. I couldn’t wear a nightie and high heeled slippers in front of Richard. I’d be ruined. As I cooked I thought about my clothing option. I could wear the star pants shorts. I typically wore those and my wing tips when I went shopping these days. Although I wore these items to go shopping, I felt humiliated the entire time. On me, the shorts were more like hot pants. The big clunky shoes at the end of my soft, curvy shaved legs, the long platinum blond hair (Stephanie had made me put a slight lifting curl into the hair so it puffed out at the bottom), and the long fingernails all combined to make me look like more female than male. Most of the other customers called me “ma’am.” The guys at the cash register knew me as “Stephanie” because Stephanie made me use her credit cards – she’d cancelled all my cards. I never corrected the anyone because I didn’t want to explain why I looked more like Stephanie than I did like Paul. Plus, as Stephanie I could always get one of the boys to carry the groceries to the cab for me. Oh that’s right, I forgot to mention the cab. Stephanie tore up my driver’s license to save money on insurance. Now she gave me exact cab fair for my little trips to the store. In a bit of twisted obsession, Stephanie made me keep the cabby waiting while I shopped. This made me hurry (or I wouldn’t have enough cab fare) – I really had to run! This had the added nuisance of keeping me from stopping to read any magazines. Oh God, what was I going to do?
Once dinner was prepared, I hurried to my bedroom to change my clothes. I hung up my apron and kicked off the mules. I felt determined to get as masculine as possible in the few minutes left to me. Stephanie came in to watch me change as she often did – I hadn’t seen her naked since she kicked me out of her bedroom. I stripped naked and then replaced my panties with new ones. Stephanie decided to tease me. “Very sexy. Richard will like those.” “He won’t know about these.” “Well I certainly won’t tell him. I don’t want the world knowing what kind of sissy I married.” I hated when she said that. This was all her idea after all! I reached for the star-butt shorts and slipped them on. “Are you sure you want to wear those?” “I don’t have anything else.” “Well ok, but. . .” “But what?” “Well, honey. They do show off your nicely shaved legs. And they will certainly make your shoes stick out more.” I reached for my wing tips. “What’s wrong with my shoes.” “Well, since you asked, you won’t be wearing those worn out old shoes anymore. I will not have that. In fact, those are going in the garbage tomorrow morning. On the other hand, there’s nothing wrong with these,” she tossed some shoes onto the bed. Stephanie picked up my shoes and placed them in a bag she was holding. Then she went to my closet and grabbed the last of my tee-shirts and other clothes. The loss of my shoes really hit me. I felt confused. What was she doing? Granted my wingtips had numerous holes, but I didn’t have any other shoes! “If I don’t wear these, what can I wear?” I said more to myself. Stephanie pointed to the bed. I wished I didn’t see what I saw. The one pair were black high heeled pumps. These things were delicate and feminine. They had a glossy black finish and a four inch high heel. There was no way I could wear them. The other pair were pink wedge heeled sandals with lots of delicate little straps. The heels couldn’t have been more than an inch and a half, but they were very feminine. “I’ll give you twenty seconds to decide which pair for tonight and then I’ll decide for you.” I looked at the shoes. The sandals were probably easier to explain, except for the pink color. I could always tell Rick that my shoes were ruined and I had to borrow hers for the night. I guess he’d buy that with a pair of low heeled sandals. I made my choice. “Ok, I’ll wear the sandals.” “Good choice. That way I’ll be taller than you all night. Now would you like to continue wearing those shorts or would you rather wear some of my slacks?” “Definitely the slacks. Anything that hangs down over these shoes.” “Ok, put the shoes on and let’s go to my bedroom.” “Alright dear, let me just remove my nail polish.” “Uh, no. You can take the polish off your fingers, but not your toes.” “What?!” I mean heck, why not just make me wear a dress too? “Are you deaf or are you asking for punishment?” “I’m sorry Stephanie.” “That’s better. Oh, and if you remove the polish from your fingers, you’ll have to replace it tonight before you go to bed.” I could live with that.
I sat on the bed in Stephanie’s bedroom, looking at the silver nail polish on the ends of each of my toes as they stuck out from the pink sandals. Although these shoes had relatively low heels, they felt very awkward. Each step I found myself expecting my heel to hit before it did. It’s hard to describe, but I found myself walking nearly tip-toe to compensate. I figured I could explain the shoes to Rick by telling him that I’d ruined mine that day and I wore these as a stop gap measure. I didn’t know how to explain the nail polish. I wasn’t too sure how to explain my fingernails either. I’d removed the polish, but they still stuck out 3/4 of an inch past the tips of my fingers and they were oval shaped. As I stripped them of color, I never even suggested cutting them because I didn’t want to give Stephanie any reason to get nasty. I didn’t have the time to make it up to her before Rick showed up. “Here, these should do nicely.” Stephanie handed me a pair of pink slacks. My eyes began to object, but Stephanie cut me off. “These will match your shoes. You need to match dear.” Stephanie then tossed me a very delicate white silk blouse. I didn’t object. Instead, I meekly stepped into the slacks. This was a new experience for me. The zipper ran up the back. Fortunately, I’d become so accustomed to my long nails that this presented no challenge to me. The second thing I noticed was that the pants were very tight around the hips. “These don’t fit.” “Oh yes they do. They’re supposed to fit very tightly around your hips and then flair out by your feet. That way they show off your panties.” They did. Man, I hadn’t worn bell bottoms since the 1970s! Fortunately, the pants hung down over the sandals. When I walked, my toes snuck out from underneath, but when I stood still no one could see what I wore. The panty lines were a problem too. As I admired my feminine rear in the mirror, Stephanie came up behind me and stuck something on my chest. My chest tickled as she rubbed her hands over my nipples. I felt them grow. That was weird. “Boy, you are getting fat. From now on, you wear a bra until you lose some weight.” I knew she was right. I had a lot of fat on my arms, my chest, my hips, my thighs. I didn’t eat much, so I couldn’t understand this. In fact, my ribs even showed a bit. I don’t know how it happened, but I looked very pudgy. I watched as Stephanie pulled my flesh into the bra. It really looked like I had small, female breasts. “How did I get so fat?” “You eat like a horse. I’m going to have to cut your intake. And if you want motivation, you’re wearing a bra until you lose some of this flab. I can’t believe how gross your body has become.” Still, she couldn’t take her hands off my erect nipples.
Rick looked in good health. He’d obviously been working out a lot. From the conversation, I gathered that he’d been working out with Stephanie. I guess she looked a little more fit too. Man, I hadn’t worked out in forever. I wonder what all this repetitive light lifting was doing to my muscles? I knew what it had done to my waist line.
In case you hadn’t noticed, I skipped the part where Stephanie made me greet Rick at the door. It’s too humiliating to retell. Suffice it to say that he noticed right away and that he laughed and made fun of me. Further suffice it to say that despite myself, I had a raging hard on the entire time -not for him, but for the humiliation I felt as Stephanie watched him terrorize me. Stephanie pointed out my hard on and they had more fun at my expense. At one point she threatened to pull my pants down and make me masturbate for the two of them “as the evenings entertainment.”
As I swished my way around the kitchen, with the sound of my heels clicking my humiliation on the hardwood floor, Stephanie and Rick sat down at the table. Actually, I should say Stephanie and Richard. Stephanie ordered me to call Rick “Richard.” She also made me serve the two of them so that they could engage in conversation. I didn’t join them in their conversation. Stephanie didn’t seem to mind. Her and Rick spoke about many things. Unfortunately, I couldn’t keep up with what they were talking about. I didn’t know what the Fed did last week or how the market was performing or even who won the recent election. Honestly, I didn’t even know we had an election. I guess I remember Stephanie coming home with some voting material, but she didn’t let me see it. She just dismissed me with, “this no longer concerns you.” Their conversation continued during dinner. I just looked down into my plate. In fact, I don’t think I’d looked Richard in the face for more than two seconds the entire night. I could only guess what he was thinking and what he would tell my other friends. I hadn’t seen any of them since Stephanie did what she did to me and now they’d know why.
Something that really confused me during dinner was when Stephanie slipped her foot out of her shoe and began rubbing it over my foot. I didn’t know what to make of this. Was she turned on by my humiliation? Was this her way of saying she wanted me above Richard? I didn’t know, but I wished for the best. Maybe she was about to snap out of whatever had gotten into her and I’d be set free. As usual, I thought wrong.
Around 8:50, Stephanie was rubbing her finger around the rim of her glass, looking into Richard’s eyes. “Say, let’s go to the living room and get more comfortable.” I thought she meant me, but she looked at Richard as she spoke. He responded first. “Ok Angelica. Do you want me to help you clean up here?” “Oh heavens no, Prissy will get that. Won’t you dear?” I meekly nodded my head. She wasn’t satisfied so I responded verbally. “Come on Rick, Prissy’s very good with the kitchen.” With that, Richard and Stephanie rose and walked to the living room. On the way there, Stephanie grabbed his hand!
I felt angry! I felt humiliated and angry! I couldn’t believe my wife would have the nerve to hit on my best friend right in front of me! I wanted to storm into the living room and tell her off. I saw myself kicking Richard out of my damn house. . . but then the image crystallized and I saw that the foot I’d placed on his rear was encased in the pink sandal. I saw my reflection in my glass-like silver toe nails. I looked like a beautiful woman. I seemed to shrink smaller and smaller. Suddenly, Richard turned around and picked me up like a child. He carried me back to the living room and handed me to Stephanie, who spanked me repeatedly. I cried and I begged, I screamed, but I couldn’t break free from her firm grasp. Finally she stood me up and I could see that she towered over me. She slapped me and knocked me to the ground. Again, again again. I snapped out of my nightmare just as I dried the last dish. I decided to hurry to the living room. I knew I couldn’t kick Richard out of my house, but I could certainly keep the two of them from being alone. As I stepped into the living room, the sight of my wife sitting on my friend’s lap greeted me like falling bricks. I wanted to cry or scream, but didn’t get the chance. “Oh good, you’re done. Go get your nail kit and come repair my nails. You need to paint yours as well, it’s nearly your bed time.” I hesitated. “Tonight?” “Of course. I told you that if you removed the polish, you’d have to replace it. Why is tonight any different than any other night.” “I thought because of Richard. . .” “Well I certainly doubt he’ll want his nails painted. I think you’re the only boy who likes that. Now hurry up.” I knew better than to argue. I scurried off to get my nail kit and return within the time she usually allowed. As I left the room I heard her explain my “bedtime” to Richard. Upon my return to the living room, I noticed that Stephanie hadn’t moved an inch. She looked at me and shook her head. “I will not have you ruining my pants. Go change into something more appropriate for doing nails.” A look of sheer terror crossed my face. “Hurry up. You’re embarrassing me.”
What could I do? I don’t know. Maybe I could have stood up to her, maybe not. Before all this happened, I would have said, “hell no bitch” and told her where to stick it. But now I was helpless against her. Every time I stood up to her, she made me regret it. Why should this be any different? I felt so nervous stepping back into the living room in my light blue babydoll and three inch high heeled mules. There was no explaining this to Richard. Of course, with everything else that had happened, I don’t think one more humiliation was going to change his mind. Of course, Richard whistled and made some snide comments. The whole time Stephanie just watched in amazed silence as I took this abuse and smiled as I’d been ordered. As I neared, she took the photo bag from my kit and showed them to Richard. “Look at the good work Prissy does on her own fingers and toes. All of these are of Prissy.” They both giggled. Stephanie took a couple of the photos and shoved them into his shirt pocket. “Why don’t you keep these as a momento.” Then they fell back to kissing. As business-like as I could, I walked over to the couch and set up my tools. Soon I was busy stripping Stephanie’s finger nails and toe nails and adding new colors. The whole while Stephanie sat in Richard’s lap kissing him. I hated them both. Strangely though, I felt aroused the entire time. As I look back, I think this was the first time I genuinely felt aroused by my humiliation. That or maybe when I let Richard in to begin the evening. Sadly, arousal has become my first reaction. I’m not too sure why, but I think maybe I finally decided that if this was going to happen to me, I was going to find something private to enjoy about it. Whatever the reason, from that moment on, her humiliations began to arouse me as much as they horrified me.
When I finished Stephanie’s nails, she inspected them. Then she asked Richard to inspect them. He said they looked good to him. “Well, they are good but not great. I think tomorrow Prissy should have to practice three times instead of twice. Why don’t you pick out the colors for her tomorrow Rick?!” Stephanie laughed and giggled. Richard took his time, but eventually found three colors for me to wear the next day. “Those will look lovely on you dear. Now, hurry up and do your fingers, it’s nearly 9:00 pm.” Obediently, I worked on my nails as quickly as I could, without making mistakes of course. When I’d finished, Stephanie and Richard inspected my nails. I felt sick to my stomach when Richard held my hand to carry out the inspection. I passed. “Good, now pack up your kit. It’s 9:00 pm, bed time.” “Bed time?” Richard chuckled. “Yes. Prissy goes to bed at 9:00 pm sharp unless I give her permission to stay up longer.” This explanation was entirely for my benefit since she’d already explained it to him while I summoned my baby doll and nail kit. “I don’t think we need her up tonight do we?” “No. . . I think it would be better if SHE went to bed.” “You heard Rick, dear, go to bed. I’ll expect to see you in the morning bright and early.” As I clicked my way down the hallway, feeling like a man who’d been castrated, I could hear my wife and my best friend making out on my couch. I don’t know how far they carried things that night because my room was too far away to hear anything. Besides, I wouldn’t have heard anything through my tears.
Oddly, it didn’t seem like that big a deal to wear high heeled pumps to the grocery store. I’d been wearing the heels so long at home now that I felt odd in anything else. Between my exposure to Richard, the pizza boy, the post man and a girl from work who came by occasionally with some documents, and with the guys at the store already calling me Stephanie, it just seemed logical to wear the pumps. Call me crazy, but the pumps became so normal for me so quickly that I didn’t think twice about wearing them anywhere!
By the way, after the first night, Richard came over more and more often. Soon he came over at least three times a week. Each time I’d prepare dinner for him and Stephanie and then I’d paint her nails as they made out on the couch. Ho hum I guess. Actually, I guess there’s no point in lying. This made me furious. But since I couldn’t express my fury, it made me feel weak and impotent.
In some ways, Richard was worse than Stephanie because I viewed him as a rival for my wife. Sadly, he had the inside track. He knew this too and he did little things to guarantee his position. One night, as Richard and Stephanie sat on the couch making out, I accidentally dropped some pink nail polish on his sock – it’s an honest mistake when you have one inch oval nails. He didn’t see it that way though. He hit the roof! He began yelling and screaming – calling me sissy and pathetic and a whole host of other names. I cried like a little girl! This only made him angrier. Before I knew what was happening, he literally picked me up and placed me over his knee. SMACK!! SMACK!!! His hand came down on my exposed rear like a hammer! I screamed and squealed! Tears poured down my face. I tried to pull away, but the clothes I wore made it impossible for me to get any balance to fight his power. Or, I guess he was just stronger than me. Finally, Richard let me go. I ran from the room, losing one of my slippers in the process. No sooner did I hit the bed in my room than I heard Stephanie ordering me back downstairs! I don’t know why, but I figured that she was calling me to tell me this whole game was over and I’d be released back to being a man. I figured she’d thrown Richard out and she was going to beg me to forgive her. Boy was I wrong. As I hobbled downstairs holding the other slipper (I swear I walked funny when I wasn’t wearing my heels! I’d become so accustomed to them that I literally hobbled without them because I couldn’t bring my foot down flat anymore!), Stephanie returned to the living room. There she ordered me to replace both slippers. Then she ordered me to kneel before Richard and to beg his forgiveness for running away from him!!!!!! I couldn’t believe my ears! Fortunately, Richard was very gracious about my apology. I guess it helped that Stephanie promised to make it up to him. I found out what that meant the next morning when I brought her breakfast in bed (I did that every Saturday and Sunday). Standing in the bathroom door was Richard, naked as the day he was born. I don’t know that it really interests anyone, but his dick was huge! It positively dwarfed my dick -which seemed to be getting smaller underneath all this nylon. At the time I thought I was crazy, but I truly believed my dick was shrinking. Either way though, his dick was huge! I’m not gay or anything, but it really was an impressive dick. When he walked, it literally swayed back and forth! Wow. Stephanie saw me staring and ordered me to set down the breakfast and go about my duties.
On another night, Richard got angry at me for not replacing all the buttons on his shirts that day. I really tried, but Stephanie had given me too many other chores. I tried to explain, but he didn’t want to hear it. Soon I stood before him crying. I knew a spanking was coming, but it didn’t. Instead, Richard shook his head and told Stephanie, “you know what the problem is don’t you? The problem is that you let her get too close. You shouldn’t let her call you by your first name.” Stephanie seemed intrigued. I saw a light go on in her eyes. “What do you mean?” “I mean that she should have to call you Ma’am or Mistress or at least Ms. Baxter.” “That’s a wonderful idea. I knew something seemed wrong.” From that moment on, Stephanie was Angelica to Richard but Mistress to me. Richard was Rick to Mistress but Master Howard to me.
The next day, Master Howard brought me a box containing two complete French Maid’s uniforms! One was pink and the other was black. I won’t describe these things because you’ve all seen my picture by now. I will say though that it was very disconcerting to see breasts! I’m not sure how they did it, but I had major cleavage jutting out from the low cut blouse on the uniform. To increase my suffering, by the way, Master Howard included four inch heels with these uniforms. He always had to make bad worse for me. I’d love to see him in heels!
As I bent over to pull the bedsheets out of the washer one day, I felt a small hand toss up the petticoats under my maid’s skirt and firmly rub my stockinged rear. Both Master Howard and Mistress liked to see me in the maid’s uniform during the day. (Mistress also liked to take pictures of me performing my chores. She said she placed them on her desk at work. Apparently, I was a big favorite with the guys and the girls!) At least I could wear something tasteful to go shopping! Back to the hand on my rear, I froze, afraid to resist. Slowly, the hand rubbed up and down my rear. Then it slid between my legs. That’s when I jumped. I shot around expecting to see Master Howard. Instead, I saw some horny teenager! I didn’t know what to make of this. I was about to smack the kid when I heard Mistress’ voice in the background saying, “say hello to Master Butch, Prissy.” I obeyed, but my face turned red with the humiliation. It took Mistress a week before she explained to me that the horny young boy I was to obey in all things was her sister’s son. Imagine that, my wife ordered me to obey a sixteen year old kid in all things! I even had to call him Master and sir! Right from the start, things did not go well with Master Butch. This kid was horny. He was all hands. And he really liked me. I guess no one told him who I was before I became Prissy!
Four days after Master Butch first arrived, he announced to me that I was just “a typical dumb girl who knew nothing.” This all stemmed from the various conversations he’d tried to start with me during those four days. I must admit that I seemed useless in those conversations. First he hit me with the sports questions. I hadn’t heard one word about sports since this whole thing began, or at least since I stopped reading my old sports magazines. Well, I put my foot in my mouth so many times that he stopped talking to me about it. I didn’t know that the Super Bowl had been played the weekend before he arrived or even who played. I didn’t know about two teams who’d moved or about two expansion clubs. Then he hit me with the news quiz. From what I could gather from his derisive comments, our troops were engaged in some large peace keeping mission overseas and a whole bunch of new countries had come into existence from other ones – but I’m not too sure where. For a while, he even had me believing that they had some sort of civil war in Yugoslavia until he told me he was just kidding. I felt really stupid for believing that one. Then he quizzed me about movies and TV and the such. I didn’t know what he was talking about. He really seemed to like something called the “Xphiles,” but he couldn’t explain it to me. I don’t even want to know what that is. Finally, he asked me what I did know. I thought and I thought, but all that came to mind right away was fashion and house work. What else could I tell him? How Master Howard humiliated me? He just laughed as I mentioned either.
The night after failing my quiz, I felt the urge to go get my sports magazines down from the closet. I needed to do something to rescue my masculinity. After I was sure everyone had fallen asleep, I snuck out to the closet for my next big surprise. Try as I might, I simply couldn’t get the box to budge. Either someone had added a whole bunch of weight to this box or it was stuck to the closet shelf. No one was going to move this box! I wasn’t going to be beaten that easily though. I returned to my room to grab the chair from my vanity. As quietly as I could I dragged the chair out to the closet (it was too heavy to lift). I pushed the chair against the closet, kicked off my slippers, and stepped up onto the chair. Just then I felt a hand on my rear! “What are you doing Prissy?” It was the kid! He didn’t remove his hand from my rear. “I’m looking for something Master Butch,” I whispered. “Must be some sort of big secret.” He got louder. I began to panic. “Please, don’t wake Mistress. She’ll be very angry Master Butch.” “Angry with you maybe, but not me. Let’s see what’s in the box you’ve got your delicate little hands on.” And with that, the kid placed his other hand on my other butt cheek and lifted me off the chair. Then he stepped forward and easily pulled the box down from its shelf. I stood by looking passive, like a little girl who is caught doing something she shouldn’t be. I knew I couldn’t run away. I was amazed he lifted the box so easily. However, I didn’t have much time to wonder how a sixteen year old kid could be so much stronger than me, a full grown man. As soon as he had the box to the floor he popped it open. “An old sports magazine? Imagine that?!” He was getting louder again. “Please Master Butch, please don’t be so loud.” I begged, placing my hands on his chest. “I don’t know, I think that Aunt Steph should know about this.” “Please don’t tell her. I’ll do anything Master Butch.” The tears began to roll from my eyes. Every day I sank deeper and deeper into Prissy. I couldn’t afford to give Mistress any reason to make things worse. “Good, that’s the tone I like.” Master Butch placed his hands on my rear end again, this time under the skirted bottom of my babydoll. I swallowed hard, determined not to resist whatever he did. “First of all, I don’t want you to become any smarter than you are. I’m going to toss out all these old magazines tomorrow morning. If I ever catch you reading anything like them or a newspaper, I’ll tell Aunt Steph what I found here tonight. I like you hopelessly ignorant. Second, tomorrow I’m going to ask Aunt Steph if we can go on a date. If she agrees, then you agree. If she doesn’t, then I’ll think of something else. Understand?” “Yes Master Butch.” What else could I say. Maybe Mistress would cut this kid off before he got too big for himself. I’m her husband dammit, she wouldn’t let this happen to me! “Good.” Master Butch pulled me tight against him, squeezing my rear in his hands. “Give me a good night kiss.” I froze. I knew I couldn’t resist, but I was not prepared for this. Suddenly, without warning, he jammed his lips against mine and began sucking on my face. I clenched my teeth shut and closed my eyes. The humiliation was intense! A God damn sixteen year old boy?!!! And to make it all even worse, my cock shot up like a flare. I had to drop my hands to a very submissive pose to cover my crotch. This encouraged him to continue the embrace. Finally, it ended. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He bent over and picked up my slippers from the floor. He kissed both shoes on the vamp. Then he handed them to me and said, “you’re very beautiful Prissy.”
I’m going to skip the bit where Master Butch asked Mistress if he could take me out on a date. She laughed and laughed and then agreed. The following Friday night I found myself wearing a tight mini, some very high heeled sandals, a loose top, a low cut bra, and a lot of makeup. I’d been wearing make up for months now, so I did my own make up for the date. I sat in the passenger seat of the car looking longingly at the pedals. I hadn’t been allowed to drive since Mistress tore up my license. That meant I was entirely homebound except when Mistress gave me cab fair to go to the store. Now that Master Butch was here, he had begun to drive me around wherever I needed to go. Usually I got to wear something a little conservative, as compared to my maid uniform, when I left the house. Not today. As Master Butch backed out of the drive way, he slid his hand onto my leg and began to massage my inner thigh. I didn’t know if I was allowed to resist. I guessed I wasn’t. “Where are we going Master Butch?” “Don’t call me that tonight. Call me ‘honey.'” “Yes honey.” “Good. We’re going to see the movie ‘Grease.'” “Did they re-make that movie? I remember seeing it when I was young.” Master Butch laughed. “I love the way you don’t keep up with things. They’ve re-released it. Did you honestly not know that?” “No sir, I didn’t.” “Well I’ve never seen it, but I hear it’s an excellent date movie.” And so my date began. For the next several hours we walked all over this downtown section where they’d put a bunch of restaurants and a theater (I didn’t know they’d built this) and then we saw the movie. The entire time, Master Butch made me hold his hand while his other arm rested over my shoulder. Emotionally, this was a very difficult moment in my life. I’d been locked up at home for so long that I longed to be out among people again. I don’t know for how long I’d been kept this way because I didn’t have anything to mark the time against, but I figured that I hadn’t been out of the house (except to shop) for months. On the other hand, it scared me that someone might make me as a man. Sure, I wore a mini and heels, but that doesn’t mean I looked like a woman – at least I didn’t think so. So even though no one else seemed to notice I couldn’t help but fear my eventual discovery. Actually, I guess I should mention that I did get a couple of wolf whistles. Strangely, they gave me comfort. The most confusing aspect of this night was my being on a date with a teenage boy! No matter what I did, this kid was going to have his fun. There was no way out of it for me. So I figured that I might as well try to make it as bearable as possible. The only way to do that was, for tonight only, to tell myself that I am a woman named Prissy and act accordingly. That seemed to help me enjoy myself. I guess I even had a good time. Ok, I had the best time I’d had in a long time and if the price was to let this boy touch me, I was willing to pay it. When Master Butch leaned over and started kissing my neck, I didn’t even mind. I did stop him though when he tried to make the next move. I loved watching the movie. I hadn’t seen anything but the fashion channel from however long now. Man, I really wish I knew how long it had been! Any ways, this was the first movie/entertainment I’d had for as long as I could remember. I soaked up every minute of it! When the movie ended, we poured out of the theater in a large group. Since I hadn’t been in such a crowd for a long time, this was genuinely a bit frightening. I guess I panicked a bit because Butch had to stop, grab my hand, and pull me through the crowd. Thank God he was there. You know, re-reading this part of the story, I’m kind of ashamed to leave this in here. Let me just say that I am a man and I can take care of myself. It’s just that when you’re wearing four inch heels and a tight mini from which your dick could pop out of at any time, you really do need someone to protect you. So if you’re laughing at me, don’t. This incident said more about the vulnerability of female clothing than it does anything about my masculinity.
The drive home brought me my biggest shock to date. Master Butch decided to take a short cut over some new bypass. I had no idea where we were until we pulled up at lover’s lane! “Uh, Master Butch sir, this is lover’s lane. Shouldn’t we be getting home?” “We will. I just want to spend some time with you.” And with that he leaned over and wrapped his arms around me. I tried to push him away but he was just too strong. His hands were everywhere! So were his lips. Without any warning at all, I suddenly felt something I’d never felt before. His hand reached under my unbuttoned blouse and yanked on the low cut bra. My right breast fell out! Let me repeat that. My right breast fell out! We were both too shocked to move. Master Butch was afraid he’d gone too far. I was stunned that I had a right breast! I knew I was getting a bit fat there, but I certainly didn’t have what could be called a breast. At least until he released it from my bra! (No matter what I’d tried, I kept gaining fat on my chest lately. I guess this was the culmination of that. Mistress kept me on the diet but it didn’t seem to be working, she kept telling me I wasn’t losing any weight.) A moment later, I felt the most intense sensation shoot through my body as his finger traced my rather large nipple. I quickly swatted his hand away and tucked my breast back into the bra. I felt my penis unload itself into my panties. I prayed that didn’t leave a stain. “Please sir, I can’t.” Master Paul sat back and watched me re-button my blouse. “Ok. But you have to give me a nice kiss.” I hesitated for a moment and then did it. One little peck, clean on the lips. “Hmmm. That was nice, but not quite satisfying. You know what I really want before I take you home?” I shrugged my shoulders, terrified at what he would say. I was even more terrified at the realization that my cock was sticking straight up under the mini. If he turned on a light or grabbed for my lap, we were both in for a major surprise. “I want a blow job.” “No!” I said more to myself than to him. I knew if he insisted, I’d be giving my first blow job in a matter of seconds. He, however, backed off. “Ok, then give me a hand job. But you’ll owe me.” The rest of that night, you just don’t need to know about.
Master Butch stayed with us for another month before he left for a semester at school. During that time I was subject to having my rear rubbed and my breasts pinched. Master Butch would also walk around the house dropping objects, just to watch me bend over to pick them up. Fortunately, I never had to provide him with more than I did that night in the car. Which is not to say he didn’t try. Fortunately, he was unwilling to order me.
I’m going to skip ahead a bit in time here to keep the thread of the story. Many things happened before Master Butch returned, but they just aren’t as interesting as his return. If you really want a run down, let’s just say that I never wore pants again, Master Howard started spending more and more nights with Mistress, Mistress dyed my hair a lovely auburn color that really fit my complexion, and Master Howard introduced a weakly photo shoot. Apparently, he sold the pictures at work. Oh dear, there is one more thing I forgot to mention. My breasts continued to grow! They were now really large and very sensitive. Mistress liked to tweak my enlarged nipples just to see my face contort. I knew this wasn’t right and I begged her to let me see a doctor. She refused.
Master Butch returned as the weather got warmer again. I guess I’d been Prissy now for maybe a year, maybe more. It’s hard to say for sure. Well one day I was bent over the washer and suddenly I felt a hand on my rear! Deja vu! I shot around like lightening. Suddenly I felt two strong arms wrap around me and lift me up in the air. These arms belonged to Master Butch. Standing behind him was a second young man, who I was to call Master Roughhouse. “It’s so good to see you again! Give me a kiss, for old time sake!” “It’s good to see you too again Master Butch.” I held out with the kiss. He noticed my hesitation. “Come on, don’t make me box your nose.” I got the hint. I leaned closer and planted my lips on his. He’d grown a bit and I had to stand on tip-toes, even though I wore four inch heels! When he released me, I curtseyed to Master Roughhouse as I was now required. He could barely force himself to pull his eyes away from my legs. I felt an erection beginning at the humiliation of being eyed by this boy. I acted quickly by placing my hands over my penis. “My friend Roughhouse is going to stay with us while I’m back. Won’t that be fun?” Fun is not what I would call it. Well, ok, part of it was fun, but weird.
For the next several months, Master Butch and Master Roughhouse fought for my affections. Both inundated me with date requests. Mistress of course made me accept one date each week, alternating between the two boys. During the week, the boys brought me little gifts like flowers, chocolates and nighties. They watched me as I worked in my uniforms, often pinching my rear or tweaking my nipples. Then one of them hit upon the idea of leaving me little romantic notes in his pants pockets which he’d given me to be washed. Mistress liked to make me read these notes at the dinner table before her, the two boys, and Master Howard. Of course, the boys treated me much better than Mistress or Master Howard. They would open doors for me, carry large packages, pull out my chair when I sat down and so on. I felt positively feminine. If I’d been at all gay this would have been absolutely wonderful. Since I wasn’t, this was merely entertaining; and, to tell the truth, a little fun. I don’t get much interaction with people anymore and this was a chance to deal with someone who didn’t view me entirely as a slave. Frankly, I liked the attention. The only thing I missed was sexual contact with a real woman. I wanted to touch Mistress so badly. And seeing Master Howard walk around naked, sometimes with Mistress running her fingers up and down his massive erection, I wished that could be me – with the erection, not feeling it.
One day the boys became very nasty with each other. Apparently, their oft-stated desire to go further with me had come to a head. As I stretched to dust the top of a book case in Mistress’ office, the boys came storming in. You know, a quick aside here. I just realized that for weeks, Mistress had been leaving the paper from the prior day in her office. Sometimes she forgot to lock the door. Other times she let me in to clean the office. I saw the paper sitting there the whole time and I never once thought of picking it up? What was wrong with me? Back to the confrontation. Master Butch was the first to speak. “Look here Prissy. We’ve been talking and we think it’s time you picked one of us and went all the way.” I tried to deflect his advances. “But how could I sir? I can’t decided between you and Master Roughhouse.” “Well, you better.” Master Roughhouse was not as articulate as Master Butch. He also didn’t have the ammo Master Butch did. “You know, I was reading through some old sports magazines the other day and they said that when two men compete for a girl, the girl must chose between the two and go all the way with the winner.” I felt a tear forming in my eyes and an erection forming in my panties. I had to think fast to avoid total disaster. For obvious reasons, I couldn’t let either of them feel between my legs. I demurely dropped my hands to cover my erection. Then I spoke, “there is another way sir. If you’ll let me explain.” “I’m all ears.” I knew what I had to do. “I’d be very happy to satisfy both of you with my lips if only I didn’t have to go any further.” The boys huddled. They were obviously intrigued by my offer. I felt repulsed. I didn’t know if I could do this. “We agree. But we want it now and we want it in the living room at the same time. We don’t want you to short change either of us. Also, we want to suck on your lovely titties. Agree?” Much to my shame, I agreed.
As I wash out my panties, I guess there isn’t much more to say. As the boys sucked on my breasts, I came in buckets in my panties. I didn’t think my shrunken penis still had it in me. I can still taste the salty taste of the boys’ semen in my mouth. They promised not to tell Mistress. Of course they said I’d owe them for that. I’m glad they’ve kept their words. I think they did it out of sympathy for the way Mistress treats me. Lately, she often overpowers me and spanks me right in front of everyone for even the most minor infractions of her rules. Yes, you heard me right. Somehow my wife is now significantly stronger than I am. I learned this one day when she wrestled me to the ground and I couldn’t free myself. The boys seemed genuinely concerned for me. I guess that’s sweet. But I wonder what they would say if they knew I was really Uncle Pete?