Changes Ch. 04

Author's Notes:

(1) This is still mostly fantasy;

(2) It is best to start a book at chapter one;

(3) If the reader does not enjoy cross dressing, he or she may not enjoy this story;

(4) If there is a cross dresser in your life (who is either you or your partner) perhaps it might be beneficial and fun to read.

*****

That was another beginning in so many beginnings. The next morning, we were like new lovers, touching and giggling in bed, smelling like sex, that mix of body fluids and pheromones, unmistakably unique to us. I awoke with the girdle and panties still around my ankles and she teased me, saying, "For God's sake Steph, pull up your panties!" It should have been embarrassing, but for some reason it wasn't, not with her. In fact, once she saw me again with my girdle pulled up, she reached for me and grasped my silicone breasts, pulling me toward her.

"Damn," she said, "Pull the girdle down again; I changed my mind. You on top this morning."

I couldn't believe it. She laid back and I positioned myself over her with my morning "woody". She was moist and ready and as I entered her we both gasped and then sighed. There was a moment of intense rapture. Then she did an odd thing; she pushed me out and just used my tip to stimulate her clitoris.

"I want to use you, baby," she whispered, "You can put it back in when I say." She had a sweet, teasing look.

I was hot for her, and this made me hotter, wanting her but not having her consent. I stayed obediently over her while she closed her eyes and did what she wanted to do, moving my penis around as if it was her private vibrator. My arms were getting tired holding myself up and just as I said, "Please Sarah! Let me put it in!" she made a light yelp as she had a mini-orgasm. When she caught her breath, she said, "Don't plead, and don't ever whine. I don't like that. You can put it in now, and let's try a little game."

I was listening as I penetrated her again, but was so wrapped up in passion, I couldn't speak in sentences. I managed, "Game?"

She had a naughty grin on her face as she said, "You don't come until I say you can come. Agreed?"

I smiled back. "No, I can't control it like that," I whispered breathlessly.

"What?" she said. She pushed me out abruptly and said firmly, "Well, learn to control it!"

"Sarah!" I whined.

That was it. It wasn't anger; it wasn't anything but a decision on her part. She pushed me away and said, "Okay, masturbate then." And she got out of bed hurriedly to go into the ensuite bath closing the door behind her. I thought she was joking, but then I heard the shower start. Jesus, I thought, what the hell was this all about, and where did it come from? This was a new trait that she had never before displayed and it, quite frankly, alarmed me.

Later, when we were having breakfast together, I tried to bring it up, but she brushed it all away, only saying that she had laid out an outfit for me to wear for the day and that there was housecleaning to do. I kissed her goodbye at the door, still dressed in yesterday's girdle and bra, and she left, smiling and radiant as if nothing had happened. Any observant person at her office would know she had sex the night before. They just wouldn't know it had been with a woman, or that this was more than just sex now; it was...well, it was the beginning of something more, something where the power had shifted.

This sulking and angry outburst on her part had left me bewildered, even more so because of the way she acted immediately afterward, as if it never happened. But now I understand the methods she used. And after all, they were effective; I don't whine or question her at all now; it's just not worth it.

Our lives had changed. Every night, sometimes fueled by copious amounts of wine, we explored and asked each other questions, what we liked, what we didn't, as we navigated the labyrinth of our previously hidden fantasies and emerging lifestyle. Actually, that's not entirely true; and come to think of it, she asked most of the questions and I answered. I didn't really know it then, but I was being led like I had a ring through my nose. Not that it was a bad thing; I loved every second of it; and she was full of pleasant, erotic surprises. The other thing that I realize now is that this was not so much my journey, as it was Sarah's. She seemed to be awakening to something within herself, to the possibilities my fetishes presented to her in this evolving adventure, and like a child in an imaginative game, she had her perspective, and mine had to fit that, or the game couldn't work. I never talked to her about it; I didn't want to for fear it would spoil the delicate balance of exploration. I sensed that to question it would break the spell, so I selfishly left it alone.

The padded girdles arrived as predicted, but they were a disappointment, crudely made and resembling bumps only. They were a non-issue, and I mention them only to demonstrate that over the weeks, months, and years, we tried many things, and not everything worked for us. Neither of us liked them even though it was agreed that I should wear them until the silicone padding wraps (which we ordered that same day) were delivered in another two weeks. The development of this lifestyle was comprised of many instants of unbelievable eroticism, with intervening periods of waiting with patience and anticipation, much like an erotic staircase, a series of flat spots with sharp changes in elevation always leading upward.

While the perfection of the cross dressing and feminization was taking place, a new twist began to emerge. Sarah had started to show me clothing and devices from bondage sites on the Internet, and we laughed and giggled long into the nights at the extremes of fantasy and fetish. It was intensely fun and erotic to state our likes and dislikes as we browsed around, but I didn't know she was taking mental notes. Almost every time we surfed these sites we eventually found ourselves at that Internet site where we looked at each other and said, "What the...?", and we would laugh and call it a night.

And so the bondage games began. The locking ball gag was a total surprise, and it was weird that this was the first bondage device she bought for me. I would have thought that the more common first choices would have been wrist or ankle cuffs, but she danced to the beat of her own drummer.

When she put it in my mouth that one Friday night and I heard the click of the lock behind my head, it was a feeling I have trouble describing. I tried to push it out of my mouth and I tried to fumble with the lock, but after a while I succumbed to the realization that it was locked in place until Sarah decided to unlock it. She said as much with a fiendish grin, "You're going to stay gagged tonight Stephanie, so I can have some peace and quiet okay? I'll unlock you when I want you to please me later."

"Mmf, mmf," was all I could say. I was always being surprised and put off balance by her ideas, like I was being pushed around in a dark room by forces unknown, always ending in her orgasm, most times ending in mine.

It was so selfish, mean and erotic all at once. I loved it. And true to her word, later when we went to bed, she did unlock my gag and I served her well, so that she had several intense orgasms, eventually pulling my head up and pressing it onto her still heaving bosom. It wasn't long before her breathing became long and deep, and I realized she had gone to sleep; she had had no intention of letting me enter her. This was the new and emerging Sarah, one that was training me to have an orgasm when she chose, not when I did. I went to the washroom and masturbated. For quite some time I did this often, but it was interspersed with the most mind-blowing sexual encounters with my new wife, so that being used by her occasionally didn't really bother me. She once told me that women are often used like that: the men come, and the women are left to dream of what could have been.

"Get used to it," she said, "As Stephanie, you don't have as much control. And that's the way I want it."

I still get locked into that ball-gag device periodically, but now it's just a peripheral thing rather than the only bondage item. The evolution of her domination fantasy and my submission was a dynamic, moving thing, never static, always new, and always built upon earlier compliance on my part. I never knew what was coming at me next. Still don't.

Then the work clothes arrived as promised. It was like a door to but another new room full of bizarre fantasies had been thrown open. And as usual, I walked in and the door slammed behind me, no handle on my side. The name on the door read "humiliation".

That morning after breakfast, Sarah said, "Your housework clothing arrived yesterday."

"Oh good," I said absently.

"It's very specialized. I told people at work I was going to be late coming in this morning, so go get showered and shaved so I can get you dressed."

I hadn't tweaked that something far-reaching was about to happen, so I said, "There's no need. Just go ahead. I'll wear what you put out, just like always. Don't worry." I continued reading the newspaper.

Sarah laughed and swatted my newspaper down, saying, "No. Can't you take a hint? Go have a shower and shave, and while you're in there, I'll get it ready for you. You're going to love it. It comes with new shoes too. Now scoot!"

I chuckled to myself as I stripped yesterday's girdle and bra off and climbed into the shower. Life was so much fun now, so full of surprises. After shaving my face, chest, underarms and legs I let the hot water fall on me, watching the rivers of water run down my hairless body like water off a polished and waxed car. I was shiny and new. My penis bobbed up and down asking to be stroked, but I decided wisely to wait until later, as always, after Sarah left for the day. She couldn't stop me if she wasn't here to do so.

What I saw on the bed made my heart sink. This was not my fantasy clothing. It was something else.

"I want you dressed in this today until after supper. After that you can wear a dress or skirt of your own choice. You'll wear this any day that you do housework, or any other day that I tell you to just because I feel like it." She giggled. "Do you like it?" Her cheek was bulging with her tongue.

Now I got it. This was HER fantasy clothing for me. "Sarah, really? Come on! I can't wear that. It looks stupid!" I said, whining.

Her look said it all. I had whined. Then she held up the red satin French Maid's dress with the attached crinoline which made the skirt portion puff out below the waist. The ultra-feminine outfit had an associated petite white apron and a bonnet for the head, and there were white lace accents everywhere. She punched the skirt and it bounced about and made a swishing sound against the crinoline. "Isn't this cute?" she said excitedly, trying again.

"No. No, it's not cute," I said, laughing nervously. It was the wrong thing to say. Her face changed.

"Well, just get your stockings, panties, girdle and bra on and give it a try okay? No harm in trying is there?"

"Jeez Sarah, I can't wear that. I'd even prefer men's clothes to that."

But when she gave me "that look" I reluctantly stepped into the bizarre dress, putting my arms through the puffy sleeves while Sarah zipped it up the back. I was just about to turn around to look into the mirror when I heard that familiar clinking sound of a lock being closed shut.

"What did you just do?" I asked with a laugh.

Sarah grinned like a Cheshire Cat. "It locks on. The top of the zipper locks to a metal ring at the neckline of the dress. You can't get it off."

I stared at myself in the mirror and my face turned as red as the dress, but not for the reasons I had anticipated. It looked surprisingly sexy, if you like that sort of thing, and the feel of it on my skin was luxuriously cold, slippery and feminine. I walked about and it felt light and cool as it rustled and swished. Then I felt the lock, shrugged, and said, "All I have to do is get some scissors you know and cut the cloth so I can get the dress off. The lock idea...it's kinda silly."

"Of course," she said with a trace of ice, "But then your statement that you would rather wear men's clothes would without any doubt become reality. You see how the lock works now?"

I let out a chuckle and shook my head, and the lock suddenly became real in my mind. But Sarah's approach to all this seemed different now. She was either a good actress playing the part or she was actually being this new dominant person, and I was confused as to which it was. But the result was the same regardless. "You'd stop all this fun, just to get your way? Why? I thought this was going so well. Jesus, I don't have to do EVERYTHING you say, do I?" I laughed weakly.

Sarah sighed and struggled to come up with the appropriate words. "Yes, actually you do, at least with regard to this way of life we're developing. Look, I'm having fun. And I like doing things to you that turn you on, but just in case you haven't caught on yet, I'd never do anything with you or to you that didn't turn me on too. It has to go both ways, and so far it does, don't you think? The more I've researched this, the more I get excited, and the more I believe I know you. You enjoy being told to do things like this; you don't want to have a choice, do you? Do you or don't you enjoy this? Make up your mind."

I didn't answer, nor did she wait for one. "Now, let's start again: nothing's gone off the rails here. Not yet. I want you to wear the dress. Just wear the dress. Not that you could get it off now anyway." She stood there staring at me with her hands on her hips, with really no expression on her face.

"I see," I said. This was a new turn of events. This appeared to be a slightly veiled threat, playful perhaps, but I wasn't sure. I didn't want to risk it. If I didn't do as she suggested, it might be all over, all the dresses, all the girdles, all the makeup, all of it, gone. Back into the closet. This was confusing.

My inner thoughts screamed, "Wear the dress! And forget about cutting the lock off; the symbolical nature of it was far stronger than the steel of the lock."

The decision was mine to make (sort of) and I made it, right or wrong. It was a pivotal one which I have never regretted. Well, sometimes maybe, but I needn't go into that. "Okay. Where are the new shoes then?" I asked, subdued. I was acting my part in the scene, but in truth it was more than that. This moment was when the power exchange really took place. I saw the alternatives, understood what the lock really meant, and I wore the dress. She smiled.

The shoes weren't pretty at all, but they had the highest heels I had ever worn. The leather straps wrapped around my ankles as I tried them on. Sarah was at my feet and she fastened the ankle straps temporarily with a hasp, following quickly with a lock snapped in place on each shoe strap. To get them off I would either need yet another key or some leather cutters.

"What?" I asked, astonished, "These lock on too? Why?" I was both dismayed and excited. Being "forced" to do these things had now become my second favorite fantasy. Sure, I could cut both off, but that would defeat my fantasies. It was now a delicious, vicious circle.

Sarah just continued to smile smugly. She had me.

"Wish I could be here to see you prancing about with your duster, but I have to go. See you at suppertime sweetie. And don't look so lost. I know you're enjoying this as much as I am." She kissed me on the lips and reached under my dress to feel my rock hard penis under the girdle. She patted it twice and said, "See? I knew it. Enjoy your day, Maid Stephie. I'll have the keys with me."

I blushed intensely, not admitting it verbally, but I knew it too. It was part of the game: not admitting to the turn-on. For a man, however, there never is any place to hide regarding such things. If something is erotic to us, our cocks get hard; it's that childishly simple. Thus the humiliation factor became my third favorite fantasy. Wear women's clothes; be forced to do so; and revel in the humiliation of it.

I heard Sarah's high heels clicking away to the garage, and then she was gone. Here I was. I looked down over my satin covered silicone breasts with my hands stretched out to the side. I couldn't see past my skirt to my toes because of the extreme billow of the crinoline and skirt. My calves were already straining, I struggled to keep my knees straight in the extremely high heels, and I remember shaking my head in confusion, wondering how I had been swept so far down this erotic road.

I thought about this as I fixed my lipstick and prepared to do the housework. I had been cleverly trapped by my own fetishes, and this had been amplified by Sarah's desires to exploit me as well. I had often dreamed of this, what it would be like to be dominated by a woman whose fantasy it was to dress me up in women's clothes. I never imagined it would become reality. I never imagined that the woman would be my wife.

I left the bedroom, struggling to walk in the heels. I felt so erotically female, and I had to adjust my stride so that I took smaller steps. I'm sure I didn't look that feminine though, as my hands and arms were stretched out slightly as if I was walking a tightrope. But it felt right walking in them, felt right wearing that dress, the bra, pantyhose and girdle. They hugged me with exquisite firmness like a second skin, and a feeling of contentment floated about with me, in that erotic bliss of fetish. I started to dust the house with my dust brush, a dainty feathered thing which matched my predicament: fragile and feminine, although the fragility had nothing to do with femininity. The fragility was me, and that was independent of gender.

As I worked, I felt as though something had just taken place, something of historic proportion for me, and it sort of felt like an anticlimactic event, as if I had simply passed into some new plane of being. There was no smoke and mirrors to this trick; it was like I just walked into another room of closure and shut the door behind me. Periodically I reached behind my neck and felt the lock at my neck, and then looked at myself in the mirror and shivered with anticipation and...I think it was fear. Because I didn't know exactly where this was going, where it was going to finish, or even if it would finish.