Shown Off 

By Rosie 

I sneaked out to my office, quietly. Pressed the numbers as softly as possible. Almost whispered into the receiver "I'm bringing her home." Then took my coat, walked out, opened the door to Alice's office.

"Ready when you are," I called out.

She smiled at me seductively, got up from her desk, got her coat, walked over close to me, then spoke softly, almost in my ear.

"Let's go, then."

I shivered, my heart pounding. No wonder - this situation had more than erotic value.

Alice Bradley was the new boss in our company. She hadn't been there long but had made quite an impact. Before she took over there were actually rumors going on about closing down our section and transferring some of the employees, but sacking most of them. Those responsible for the almost non-existent efficiency weren't worried, of course, they would be the ones to relocate. The company heads had made a smart choice when they brought Alice in. Within a week, she took complete control of the situation. Fired most of the slackers and had 'motivational conversations' with the rest of them. My boss, for example. He walked in her office like he owned the whole place (he didn't but apparently was close to someone who did). After an hour or so he almost crawled out on his hands and knees. Made good time to the men's room but not good enough for us not to notice his red, swollen eyes.

People were growing afraid of her. Well, not all of them. Not all of us. I wasn't, for one. Not that I'm that fearless, I merely had a clean conscience. I don't mean to brag about anything, but I'm a good worker. I always try to do my best. For employees like me, times got better. As the lazy-ass friends of the management got scarcer , we finally started to get noticed for our good performance. Some new positions were opening up and Alice was looking for candidates. I was looking to become the new head of our sector.

I had a pretty good feeling about it (there weren't that many candidates for that particular job), but that didn't mean I could just sit and watch my ass get bigger. Her decision wouldn't be based exclusively on our working skills, she claimed, so she wanted to get a bigger picture of us as people . She liked to come home with us, meet our significant other (if there were any), have a drink, and get a look at the household. Wouldn't except invitations to dinner instead, she liked to pop in at short notices, give them less time to prepare. See them as they really are, as she put it.

"If you can't manage your own home, then what kind of a manager are you?" she liked to say.

The position I was aspiring for wasn't that urgent to fill up so I got a pretty clear idea of what she was looking for before I could count on me being asked to take her home.

Naturally, I made good use of the time. My unemployed husband, Steven, knew all about what was going on , I had told him all about it. When I heard I could be up for the head of the sector, we spent quite a few evenings planning her visit.

Now while a wife is mostly of support to a working husband, a husband is not necessarily much help to a career woman. Even though he was unemployed, I had to show that he had put his macho pride behind and stood behind me one hundred per cent. He was pretty excited about the whole thing, being shown off and all.

I was pretty exited too. There was a little something I hadn't told Steven . I had developed a crush on Alice. My sexual tastes are not exactly those of a straight, heterosexual woman but I'd also never been attracted to a woman before. When she first walked into our offices, swaying on her heels, her long blonde wavy hair loose, dressed in a pink outfit with a pleated skirt, tailored jacket and a white blouse, she radiated an air of confidence and power, despite her emphasized femininity. Her unusual height helped a bit, but there was more to it than that. Something in the way she walked, talked or did anything made me a little bit more attracted to her each day.

And soon I began to sense that she had a thing for me! Nothing overly obvious at first. A few taps on the back, an arm around the shoulders when she was leading me somewhere. Gradually, it got more intense. She kept seeing me in private more and more. We were often the last ones to leave, rarely 'just checking something' in each other's office. Each time we found ourselves alone together, I wanted to throw myself in her arms, tilt my head backwards and let her have me.

Nothing happened, though. She was being a lady, knowing I was married, and I didn't want to be unfaithful to my husband. There were a couple of close calls, however. One time I was showing her something on my computer. She was sitting in my chair, I was standing behind her. I reached for the mouse, but her hand was already on it. I didn't let go, just held it. Felt her head press into my breasts. Not fully aware of my actions, my left hand slid by her side to her belly, then slowly upwards. When I finally realized what I was doing, I jumped up with a squeal, made up some excuse and sped out of her office.                 

So, now here we were, heading down to my car, doing an awful job trying not to bump into each other more than necessary. Luckily, we made it home safe and sound. Home, on the other hand, was another matter. I should have been expecting something, with the uprise of my husband's practical jokes lately. Or maybe I should have given him more specific instructions. Anyway, I rang the bell and in a decent time he opened the door - wearing my clothes !

Not that there's anything wrong with my clothes, mind you. He looked quite fetching in them, to be completely honest. A light gray business suit consisting of a tailored jacket and a tight, shortish skirt. It was a bit long for him, but since it still ended slightly above his knees, who could tell. It went well with his beige medium heeled shoes. His long blonde hair was put up in a neat bun, his make-up was immaculate. Very tasteful, though the dark shade of lipstick made him a bit too serious looking.

Hiding my aggravation with his attire, I hugged him and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Honey, this is Alice from work," I introduced her, "I was finally able to bring her home."

"Alice, this is Steven, my husband. Though when we go out, I call him Shirley."

She leaned over to him for a peck on the cheek, and obviously still taken with surprise only mouthed a silent 'Hello'.

"It's a pleasure to have finally met you," Steven said, "Sarah's been telling me so much about you."

"You are very pretty, Steven," she finally managed to say.

"Why, thank you," he said, blushing a little. Then he dropped a small curtsey. "Let me take your coat."

I could see he was taken with her by the same awe as me when she emerged from her black coat. Being taller than me, she literally towered above him. She shook her head and masses of golden curls fell down her shoulders. I noticed him gaping at her long legs, darkened by tan stockings, that ran up from her brown leather boots and disappeared in a cute short skirt. Grosgrain, greyish with a pink checkered pattern. She wore a matching jacket, too, of course. When his gaze met mine, he blushed and quickly adverted his eyes. I led Alice inside, leaving Steven to handle our coats.

She wanted to go to the bathroom, so I showed her to it. That was quite convenient, because I wanted a few words in private with Steven. He was already in the kitchen (in his apron), "preparing " some munchies and drinks (he had prepared them long before we arrived, all he was doing was making it sound like he was busy).

"Just what are you doing wearing my clothes?" I asked him

"Why not?" he replied, "she doesn't know these are yours."

"She might have seen them on me and remembered them," I said.

"Oh, come on. You haven't worn this suit in ages. Certainly not since she's come to your company. And anyway I might have been just going out."

"Even so," I persisted, "these are not too appropriate for you."

"Well you told me to look unprepared," he explained, "had I been expecting her visit, I'd be wearing something else. Is it OK now?"

"I guess," I said, still not too enthusiastic about his outfit.

"Do you want me to change?" he asked.

"Wouldn't that be rude? Changing just like that while she's visiting? Instead of taking care of her? But - perhaps you could have a little accident, spill something on yourself? Then you'd have the perfect excuse," I proposed.

"That's why I'm wearing an apron, remember?" he answered, "And I don't think you really want me ruining your clothes."

I was getting a little fed up with his smart-assed chatter.

"You'll just have to think of something," I told him. "And when you do, I want you in a more housewife type outfit, like you should have been in the first place."

"Maybe even some rollers in my hair," he suggested pertly.

"Maybe I'll spank you right in front of Alice," I said sternly. That wiped the smile off his face.

"Put on one of your dresses, and some brighter lipstick," I continued, "and wear higher heels. These are far too low."

"But I wanted to point out how much taller you are than me," he faked a groan and started pressing close to me, his arms around my neck.

"I'll take care of that," I said, untying his apron. "For the time being, you could at least take off your jacket, since you're obviously not going anywhere now."

He did as I suggested, showing me his lovely sleeveless white blouse.

"Aren't you going to take off yours?" he asked, batting his mascara'd eyelashes at me, "it's awfully warm in here."

He snuggled to me again, sliding his hands under my jacket, caressing me through the silk of my blouse. I took the hold of his leg, bent it around me so that his skirt rode way up to his waist. Ran my hand up his thigh and cupped his plump buttock. Felt that he was wearing teddies over pantyhose.

"When you change," I muttered, "change your lingerie too. Wear stockings and suspenders. Understand?"

"Sure," he said cheerfully and threw his head back.

I leaned over to kiss him but he stopped me, placing a finger across my lips.

"A - a - a! We don't want to ruin our make-up, do we?"

He quickly slipped out of my embrace, straightened out his skirt and put his apron back on. Took the tray he had been working on and took it to the living room just as Alice was coming from the bathroom.

I stood in the kitchen for a moment, catching my breath. That little slut Shirley always knew how to excite me.              

When I finally came to the living room, he and Alice were already sitting down. On the same couch. I wanted to sit next to her, but I guess I was too late. Talking some small talk, I was thinking how to swap places with my husband, when the opportunity arose. My darling little husband of course complimented Alice's boots.

"Thank you," she said, "I like them very much, too, but they're not at all comfortable. My feet are just killing me."

"Why don't you take them off?" he said.

"I don't know," she said, "you sure you wouldn't mind?"

"Why on Earth would we mind?" I asked, "in fact, Stevie here does the best footrubs in the world. Maybe he could give you one, huh  sweetie?"

In a short time he found himself kneeling before her, unzipping her boots, slowly taking them off. He started gently massaging her one foot, while the other rested in his lap. Alice got a little too comfortable, a little too careless and spread her legs just a bit. Enough that my husband stopped taking his (very womanly) part in our conversation. Alice decided to enhance his excitement by starting to fondle him through his skirt with her other foot. He looked at me, hoping to be 'rescued' from her, but I just nodded to let him know that I wanted him to carry on.

After a few changes of the foot to be massaged, he was sporting quite a bulge. He wasn't limiting himself just to rubbing the foot, his fingers started touching her ankle, her calf. Soon, Alice's pace of words began to slow , until she stopped talking at all. Even I was getting pretty turned on by this display. She pressed even harder into his groin while stretching the other leg out, providing my husband with a full view under her skirt. He was squirming on the floor, his skirt riding up. His hands were all over her leg between the ankle and the knee, her heel was resting on his shoulder, his cheek pressing into her foot. Suddenly, he sprung up.

"I'll go get you another drink," he gasped.

"Wait," I said, getting up myself, "let me help you a bit."

I stood behind him, holding him by his shoulders, making sure he was facing Alice.

"Here, let's tuck this blouse back in, eh?"

Her naughty feet had left his clothes in quite a disarray. I straightened out his skirt, tucked his blouse back in, using every opportunity to rub his very visible erection. It didn't take long before he leaned his head back, his eyes half closed, his mouth open. I kissed him on the neck, gently first, then progressing to biting him, touching his penis all the time. Finally I felt him spasm then sag into my embrace. A warm wet stain appeared under my hand.

"My, my," I said sitting down next to Alice, "you do get excited quickly. I think you'd better go clean yourself up and change."

He was only too glad to get away. For a moment I thought he was going to cry from embarrassment.

I turned to Alice.

"How was the footrub?"

"Fine, but a pity he had to stop so quickly," she said.

"Maybe I could continue where he left off," I suggested.

"Please do,"she breathed, then placed my hand over her knee.

"I believe he stopped right here."

We couldn't hold back any longer. She pulled me into her, kissed me feverishly, her tongue invading my mouth. I slid my hand up her thigh, way under her skirt, over the top to her stocking. Found out what got my poor husband so excited in the first place - she wasn't wearing any panties. Soon she reached an orgasm. When her spasms subsided, she laid me in her lap. Took a tissue from her handbag, wiped away the blurred lipstick from her face then reapplied it. She did the same for me, so we had the same lipstick painted over our lips. I felt like she was branding me as her property. I squirmed happily, rubbed my head against her belly. Her right hand started playing with my pants zipper.

"So," I said, "MY husband. How do you like him?"

"He's a jewel," she replied, "though I'm surprised you still refer to him as 'he', not 'her'. Tell me - how did he come out to you?"

"What do you mean?"

"How did he tell you that he likes dressing up as a woman?" she explained.

"It's been pretty obvious, at least lately," I said, "not that it would matter, though."

She gave me a puzzled look. Then I realized just what she had meant.

"Oh, you think he dresses like a girl because he wants to."

"He certainly gives that impression," she answered.

"He does, doesn't he?" I said, feeling not just a little proud, "but it's not been that way all the time."

"I'm not sure I follow," Alice said "Are you saying he's not dressed that way by his choice?"

I nodded happily.

"Why then?" she asked.

"Because I tell him to," I said.

"You make him wear dresses?" she said in disbelief, "why?"

"Why not?" I replied, "you saw what a sweetheart he is."

"Still, I'm finding that hard to believe," she said, "I've seen some forcibly feminized men, but none of them was half as a convincing girl as your Stevie."

"Really?" I asked, feeling complimented but also interested.

"Yes. I mean, they looked like women. If I'd shown you photographs of some of them, you'd never tell they were men. Some of them were even operated on. Collagen injections, breast implants. However, you can lead a horse to the water, but you can't make him drink. The second you'd see them in real life it would be patently obvious they were just men in skirts. No matter how their mothers or wives or whoever tried, each motion gave them away. So I can't believe that Stevie isn't a natural," she explained.

"He probably is," I replied, "but it took some coaching from my side to help him realize that."

"Well, I'm all ears," she said.

I started to tell the whole story...

It began when we got married. Right after the wedding we moved into this house. We didn't live together before, at least not full time. At the time, he was working and I wasn't. However, I knew I was going to get my job in about three months' time. Instead of telling him that, I decided to have a little fun. As soon as we got settled into our lives and he resumed with his work, I began to be the typical fifties housewife. The attitude, the dress (not the exact styles, though), everything. When he first came home from work I ran to the door, kissed him, took his briefcase, led him to the table, served him the dinner.

"Are we going somewhere, dear?" he asked me when he finally managed to say a few words amidst all of my attention to him,

"Whatever makes you say that?" I replied with a sugary voice while clearing up the table.

"Well, you've got this dress on, and the makeup..."

"Oh, silly," I interrupted him and hugged him affectionately.

He didn't question the dress again that evening and I was out of it soon enough, anyway. But by the end of the week, when I had put even a light petticoat underneath my dress, he asked me again what was the deal with the dresses.

"Why, it's so simple, honey," I said, as if I was explaining it to a child, "You're the breadwinner, I'm the housewife. You bring home the money. I take care of you, see that you're happy, and look pretty for you."

"OK," he said, "but you don't have to dress like that."

"What's the matter," I said, sounding alarmed, "Are you saying that you don't like the way I look? I could go change, if you want me to."

"No, no, I love the way you look, you look beautiful. All I'm saying is that you don't have to look that way if you don't want to. I'm not asking you to."

"That's so sweet of you, honey. This isn't the most comfortable outfit in the world," I began, trying to show how much I was suffering, "and these heels are killing me. But I feel I have to do it."

"Why?" he asked.

"Don't you see? It helps to define our roles in this house. No matter how much bother it is, it's necessary. I've seen many relationships, both mine and other people's, go to hell just because of mixed-up roles. Now I'm not saying that can be prevented just by wearing these clothes, but it sure helps. And as long as it does I'm doing it, because I don't want this marriage to fall apart. I don't want to lose you."

I was almost crying in the end. We hugged each other and he never raised the issue again. He quickly learned to enjoy it, having his little woman dancing attendance around him.

"I can't imagine you being little woman to him," Alice interrupted, giggling.

"That was a problem," I explained, "but I took care of it, somehow."

Mostly, I avoided standing next to him, at least when I was wearing heels (practically most of the time ). And when I did, and we kissed, I made sure he didn't have to stand on his toes to reach me. Anyway, he was being a very nice husband. Attentive. Brought me flowers every now and then, and other little gifts. Candy, a nightgown or some other piece of lingerie . Took me out almost every weekend. I also had to convince him that it was not appropriate for him to help me with the housework, especially when he saw me busy with some chore and he had nothing to do. But I managed to do it all mostly when he was at work, so I had more free time at weekends.

"How was he in bed?" Alice asked.

"I was getting to that," I said and continued.

Of course, I wanted him to be as dominant as possible, which seemed to be quite a problem at first. He learned quickly, though, that out roles didn't vanish in the bedroom and that it was perfectly OK for him to have it his way. He wasn't too comfortable with it at first, but he gradually became a quasi-dominant. He seemed very in charge and self assured in controlling the game as long as I was willing to play along. When I showed the slightest sign of resistance, he backed off. Luckily, I didn't do that very often, and didn't have to, he still was very considerate to my feelings. So anyway, just as he was beginning to take full advantage of the situation, he walked in one day, hoping to pat me on the ass, then lift my skirts and make love to me in the living room (he often did that and I loved it, to be completely honest), finding me wearing jeans and a t-shirt, no make up at all.

"Surprise," I yelled, before he could ask what was going on, "I got a job."

And that was the end of his happy days. In a snap, I completely dropped my housewife act. He accepted his share of housework, not to happily (and to think that just three months away I literally had to keep him from helping me) and acknowledged the fact that I no longer dressed up for him. What hit him the hardest, though, was the change in my bedroom attire. While I was the housewife, I'd put in the most sexy lingerie for him and I never slept in anything even close to unisex pajamas, silk and satin nighties at all times. Once I had the job - t-shirts and cotton panties.

He understood and tried to support me, but just couldn't keep quiet on that issue.

"Why did you stop wearing all those sexy clothes to bed, dear?" he asked somewhat timidly.

"What do you mean?" I said, pretending not knowing what he was talking about, "are you saying that I'm not sexy?"

"No, you are sexy, of course," he almost apologized, "it's just that I miss you seeing in the silky nighties."

"Oh, those. I don't wear them anymore."

"Why not?"

"Well, I'm not the housewife anymore," I answered, "so I don't have to."

"But I really liked you in those," he said, "couldn't you wear one? Just now and then ?"

"Probably," I answered, "but I really don't feel like it. Not now anyway, I'm a little tired of them."

He gave it a rest, but after a few days, he asked me again.

"Very well," I said, "I'll put on a nightdress if you wear something sexy for me."

"But I don't really have any sexy nightwear, you know that," he lamented.

"That's OK," I consoled him, "you can have some of mine."

"Huh? I can't wear your clothes," he said.

"Why not?" I cried, "I wore them all the time for you."

"But they're... they're women's clothes."

"So?" I said, acting as if I hadn't the slightest idea of what he was getting at.

"I'm a man," he said, "I can't wear women's clothes."

"Of course you can, silly," I said, "you just haven't thought of it."

"But they won't look sexy on me at all," was his final argument.

"I'll be the judge of that," I said, "so what do you say? Will you wear something for me?"

"I don't know," he still hesitated, "it just doesn't seem right."

"Look," I began, "Our roles have changed. Now we're equal partners, so it doesn't seem fair of you to ask me to do something for you while you refuse to do the same thing for me. Right?"

He nodded, I continued.

"I'll wear a nightie because I know it's sexy to you. And it doesn't matter if I'm asking you to put on my lingerie, black leather or an alligator suit, as long as it's sexy to me. But seeing how you still have some problems with it, I'll make you a deal: I'll put on my sexiest nightie if you only wear a pair of panties. How about that?"

I could see that he was seriously considering my offer, but he kept quiet.

"Think about it, dear," I said, "just ask me to lend you a pair when you're ready."

He didn't ask me that night, nor the following night, but after a while he finally managed the courage.

"Honey," he almost whispered, beet red in the face "could I borrow a pair of your panties?"

"Why of course you can, sweetie," I cried enthusiastically. I was going to make him choose a pair he liked best, but seeing he got just as much humiliation as he could handle, I just gave him a pair of relatively plain, but still silk panties, with some lace on the waistline and the leg openings.

I made him go to the bathroom to change while I slipped into the promised nightgown. He returned to the bedroom naked except for the panties, trembling as if he was being led to the gallows.

Other than telling him that he looked nice, I didn't mention it anymore that night. Instead, I tried to make him enjoy the panty-experience, pat his behind, stroke his penis through the silk until he was mad with excitement. He even kept them on after we had sex, even slept in them, though the following morning, the first thing he did was rip them off as if they were burning his skin.

However, after a few nights of plain t-shirts, he asked if he could borrow a pair again. I decided to take it up one level. Put on a sexy long silk nightie and handed him the most frilly panties I could find.

"I don't know," I said as he was pulling the pink satin up his legs, "when you wore them last time, I wasn't completely satisfied with the way you looked. The hairy legs sticking out of the delicate panties and all that."

"I told you so," he triumphantly said, expecting that I'd let go of the panty business, "I told you I'd look silly in the panties." He started to take them off again.

"The panties are fine, baby, leave them on." I said, "It's you that needs changing."

"Huh? What do you mean by that?" he asked.

"It's simple. You'd look much better in them if you shaved your legs," I said, matter-of-factly.

"What? No way," he said.

"Okay," I said, feigning being fed up with it, "if you're not interested, I'm more than ready to go to sleep. Here, give me back my panties, I'll take this nightie off-"

"No! Wait," he said as I was starting to undress.

"So you'll do it?" I cried, "oh, honey, you're so sweet!"

"I... um..." he tried to talk himself out of it, but it was too late. I ushered him to the bathroom, gave him my depilatory cream, told him to spread it all over his body below the neck and leave it on for about ten minutes. When he came back, all smooth with his privates and buttocks encased in shiny satin, I was so turned on, I just couldn't wait for him to enter me. I pushed him on the bed, pulled his panties off, hiked up my nightie and fitted myself around him. He responded with equal eagerness.

It seemed to him he had his happy days back, for a small price. All he had to do was to keep himself hairless and ask for a pair of panties each night and I'd dress just like I did in the housewife phase. Unfortunately for him, this exchange rate didn't last long. Every now and then, I'd put on one of my plainer nightgowns. Of course, he commented on it immediately.

"I could put on something more sexy," I told him, "if you wear something extra tonight."

Soon enough he learned to ask me for my camisoles, teddies, even bras. Sometimes he slept in my nighties, until eventually, I made it obvious I was only prepared to wear the same amount of lingerie he wore. One night, we were both in just panties and bras. When he asked me if that's all I was going to put on that night, I said: "Well, yes, I was going to wear just this, but if you put on a pair of stockings, I'll do it too."

That made it official. What he wore, I wore.

The next step was make-up. For him, naturally. At first, I tried to put some on him but he never let me take it further that just a few brushes of blush on his cheeks. He didn't care that much for me wearing make-up and he could see where I was headed, so he just steered clear off it. I tried something else. Once, as we were both dolled up in my nightgowns, I gave him a small gift-wrapped package.

"Here you go, a present for you," I told him.

"Thanks honey, what is it?" he asked.

"Well open it, silly!"

He unwrapped the paper, opened the little box and a tube of lipstick was left in his hands. He looked at me dumbfounded.

"Go on, try it on," I said before he could say anything.

Slowly, he sat down at the vanity table, opened the cap, twisted it until the bright red tip came out, then slowly applied to his lips. He looked at me. He did better than I expected him to, but still far from a decent job.

"The shade suits you, but you need more practice," I said, walking over to him, "here, let me help you this time."

I wiped off the excess lipstick, reapplied it where he had missed, made him take one quick look in the mirror then dragged him to bed and made love to him. Afterwards, I let him take it off. When he came back to bed, I asked him: "Aren't you going to thank me?"

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"Oh no," I said, "that won't do at all. I want you to say 'thank you Sarah for giving me the lipstick and helping me put it on.'"

"Oh, come on," he whined. Not relenting, I stared tickling him. He twisted and turned in his satiny wrapping, but couldn't get away.

"Stop, please stop," he breathed.

"Say it!" I said, tickling him some more.

"Okay, okay," he cried. I stopped.

"Thank you Sarah for giving me the lipstick and helping me put it on."

"You're welcome sweetie," I said, pretending he really meant what he said, "but that was just for this once. You have to promise me that you'll practice putting it on each night."

He didn't respond for a little too long, so I started tickling him again.

"Promise?" I asked.

"Yes, yes!" he breathed, exhausted, "I promise."

I made him keep his promise until he was skilled enough. Later on I presented him with mascara, then eyeliner, eyeshadow, blush, told him that he could always borrow my cosmetics. His nails were worked on, too. I made him file his fingernails and cover them with a clear varnish. as early as he started wearing my stockings so that he wouldn't ruin them. After I introduced him to make-up, his toenails were painted as well. He had longish hair, and I persuaded him not to have it cut. During the days, he wore it in a pony-tail, at night, he had to let it fall down. I usually put some ribbons in it, sometimes I even took the time to style it in a feminine manner.

In other words, in the bedroom, short of breasts and genitalia, he looked like a girl. It was time for my next move.

"Can I borrow this green nightdress?" he asked casually one night , as he was peeling off my stockings from his legs. I still had him asking for each article of clothing.

"Ok," I said, "but just this once."

He stopped, looked at me.

"Huh?"

"I think I should stop letting you borrow my clothes all the time," I said.

He looked at the nightie in his arms.

"Why? I thought you liked seeing me wear them."

"I do, but you're ruining them. Some of my nightgowns are too long for you and you keep stepping on them. I'll have to have them re-hemmed."

"I can do that for you," he offered.

(He really could, he'd been learning to sew and was quite capable of doing minor repairs to our clothes.)

"I know, but that's not the point. It's time you got yourself your own lingerie."

"But I-"

"Enough talking," I cut his objection off, "put on the nightie and get your ass to bed, or I'll drag you in."

He was a little worried about what I had said, but I soon got him distracted and eventually rode him until he was lying still, helpless and spent. I got off him, tugged his nightie back into place and laid beside him, enclosing him in my embrace .

"So, tomorrow you're getting your own pretty panties," I whispered in his ear, "I bet you're all excited."

"Do I have to?" he begged, "I can't go buying lingerie. I'll be too embarrassed."

"Well, you don't have to," I said, "but you know what the deal is. And just what do you mean, you can't buy lingerie? You've done it before. This very nightgown you're wearing is a gift from you. The salesgirls won't know you're buying for yourself."

"Really?" he asked.

"Not unless you tell them."

I could feel he still wasn't comfortable with the idea.

"Tell you what," I began, "tomorrow I'll come with you, if you want me to."

"Great," he said enthusiastically, "it'll be like we're shopping for you."

"Hold it right there. I'm telling you this now, so that there is no misunderstanding at the mall tomorrow. I don't want you pretending you're buying your lingerie for me. You don't have to tell them you're shopping for yourself, but if you try to hint that your new panties might be for me, then I'm telling them myself.

The next day I picked him up after work and took him to the mall. He was a bit shy at first, barely managing to look at the items I suggested, let alone touch them. With time, though, he saw that noone was really interested in us, so he lost his inhibitions and got quite carried away. I could hardly follow him around the store as he was hopping about like a kid in a candy store, springing from rack to rack, holding out nightgowns. One of them got him so excited that he almost held it against him in front of the mirror, but he stopped just in time. He spent a fortune. We even managed to get him some shoes without him trying them on.

At home, he couldn't wait to model his new clothes for me. I was sitting on the couch, sipping a gin and tonic as he was coming in and out of the living room, each time in a different outfit. He was a little clumsy on his heels (he boldly went for the highest ones, but after nearly killing himself he settled for a pair of sandals with a more moderate heel), so I told him I wanted him to practice walking in them at least half an hour each day.

Not long after that, he began shopping on his own, often without telling me about it. When I happened to notice he was wearing something new and asked him about it, he just said: "Oh, this? You like it? I bought it so I wouldn't bore you with my old rags."

Old rags? A year after he put on his first pair of panties, he already had more sexy nightgowns and pajamas than me and the was talking about old rags? Not only did he look like a girl, he started talking like one too.

Then something unexpected started taking place. After I started having him dressed, he became totally passive in bed. When he was wearing only panties and bras, he was like a rag-doll, I could bend him just any way I wanted to. But the more he dressed like a girl, the more confidence he regained. And of course, the more he looked like a girl, the more he was able to seduce me and he was fully aware of that. Even before he started buying his own clothes, he sometimes got on top while we were having sex and after he didn't have to ask for my clothes, well... I did struggle with him in bed a few times, and ended on top of him, naturally, he could never overpower me physically, but most of the time, he was in charge. He even took back to spanking me.

"What?" Alice nearly screamed in disbelief, "Spanking you? You mean to tell me that you, Sarah Phelps, the office shark I know, let herself be spanked by her girlie-husband?"

"Only as foreplay," I tried to defend myself, feeling more than a little embarrassed

"Even so," she said, "I can hardly believe it."

"Just let me explain," I pleaded.

"Please, do," she laughed, "I'd love to hear that."

While I was the housewife, he seemed to be in control basically because I wanted him to be. He spanked me a few times, but it was my idea. Later, not long after his first complete set of lingerie, I was spanking him occasionally. Now, when he was all girlish and I expected him to be so easy to control, he became the opposite of his male self. He turned me on so badly, swaying on his high heels, his long silky nightgowns flowing down his body, clinging to every curve... And he was so full of confidence. He sat on the bed beside me, cupped my face in his hand, kissed me, then caressed my tummy and my breasts... All he had to do was simply to look at me and pat his knees and I'd be over them in a heartbeat. Then he lifted the hem of my nightie, pulled down my panties and tapped my bottom lightly. He threw in a sharp slap if I didn't squeal and kick my legs the way he wanted, though mostly I did. After he was finished, he'd lay me on the bed, take his nightgown off and make love to me. And I loved it! It began to worry me, so I thought of yet another way to cut his confidence down.

I told him that I wanted him to speak in a 'softer' voice, so I had him practice that. At first he frequently forgot to use it in the heat of passion, but I solved that by not responding if he didn't use his girlish voice. After that, he learned pretty quickly.

Also, to improve his figure, I bought him a corset (and he immediately bought himself some more) and started padding his bras. All that didn't help much: instead of being dominated by a man in girl's clothes, I was dominated by a girl with an erection, but that was pretty much all of the change. Although I did take credit for turning him into a girl.               

On the other hand, he never let his female persona out of the bedroom, or at least out of the sexual context. The best I could do was to get dolled up and watch some TV before going to bed. He followed suit and so foreplay began immediately after dinner. Sometimes I'd go to bed even before sunset, just to get him dress up earlier. The first thing he did in the morning, though, was to take off whatever he was wearing and hit the shower. The only time he was dressed in the daytime was when he was practicing walking in heels, but he just wore the shoes with his male clothes around the house. He wouldn't even put any stockings on. He learned to walk in them pretty quickly, anyhow, so even that ended. When he began doing his share of housework he had to wear an apron. The only aprons in the house were all terribly frilly, but he soon bought some plainer ones. He wouldn't even consider wearing just a pair of panties under his clothes around the house, for the weekend.

"I thought he liked dressing up by then," Alice said, her hand reaching underneath my jacket.

"He did, and that was more than obvious in the bedroom, but-"

He was nonetheless a man. And men don't wear lingerie. Now matter how much he liked it, he couldn't get over that. In the bedroom, he had a perfect excuse to dress up - that was just a way to get me to dress up which was why he was doing it in the first place. But during the day, he had no logical reason to. I had nothing to offer him for that he wouldn't already have. I thought that was as far as I could push him. I wasn't complaining, I got far more than I wanted. Even if I wasn't in control, the sex was great, he looked great in his nightwear and was happy wearing it. I could settle for that.

Then he lost his job.

I really felt sorry for him - it really hit him hard. On the other hand, my housewife-role theory was about to give a bountiful harvest.

He was looking for a new job but just couldn't find any, at least any that didn't require relocation, which was obviously out of the question. During that time, he became pretty depressed. Worried himself sick. Lost interest in sex, stopped wearing his lingerie and nighties. After about three weeks, it became clear that he wasn't going to get a job, it became time for a little conversation.

"So, Stevie, did you find any jobs yet?" I asked him, trying to break the ice. Instead, I broke him down. He just started crying like a baby. I held him in my arms, caressing his back and his head. Finally, he calmed down a bit.

"Look, honey, it's not your fault that there are no positions available for you. There's nothing you can do about it. Maybe you should stop looking for work, at least for a while," I told him.

"But what about our income[BW4] ?"

"It's not that we need money, you know that. At this moment I'm making more than both of us did when I started working."

"I know, it's just that I don't want to stay at home with nothing to do," he sniffed.

"There's plenty to do," I replied, "the house is becoming a mess. If we're both working, we hardly have time to do the basic chores and lately, with you letting me do all the work, it's fallen behind quite a bit."

"But I've been looking for work," he defended himself.

"I know, and I'm not saying that the mess is your fault. I'm just saying that we can afford you staying at home. In any case, you're better off at home than wasting your time at those interviews when you know in advance you won't be getting a job."

"You really think so?" he asked.

"Sure. You need to relax anyhow."

"Okay. I'll try."

He threw himself into housework and within a week, the house was perfect. I was really pleased with him and never hesitated to tell him that. One morning, when I was eating the breakfast he made me, I casually remarked: "Do you know what your current status is, honey?"

"I'm unemployed," he answered, "why?"

"No, I mean your role in this marriage."

"Oh that," he said, hesitating a bit, "well, I take care of the house, cook,..."

"Exactly. And what does that make you?"

He waited for a second.

"The house husband?" he asked carefully.

"Not quite," I said, "but you got the house part right. Now seriously, what is you role?"

"Please, Sarah," he pleaded.

"Go on, tell me," I insisted.

"Housewife," he mumbled.

"What? I can't hear you."

"Housewife," he said with a clearer voice.

"Right. Now I want you to say 'I am the housewife' in your nice soft voice."

He looked at me as if pleading for mercy, but I was relentless.

"Say it!" I hissed.

"I am the housewife," he said, sounding like a girl. His voice was cracking up a little at the end.

"There there, sweetie," I comforted him, "That wasn't so bad, now was it?"

He still couldn't speak, he just shook his head.

That evening, as we were going to sleep, I said: "You know, tomorrow morning I want you to serve me breakfast in your nightie."

"What? Why?" he asked.

"For a very simple reason. You keep wasting too much time with changing and showering each morning. You can do that after I'm gone to work."

"I'll be cold," was his only complaint.

"Put on a robe, silly. And put on some nicer aprons, instead of the butcher types you've been wearing."

In the morning he did as I told him. When I came back from work he was wearing a pink, frilly apron. After dinner, which was delicious of course, and I said that more than one time, we sat down in the living room.

"You know, since you're being such a good housewife, you might as well dress the part," I said.

"I'm wearing this apron,"he replied, picking at the lace of the bodice.

"You know full well what I mean."

He looked at his feet.

"You want me to wear dresses," he said quietly.

"That's right," I answered, "and since you know what I want, why aren't you doing it?"

"I'm a man," he said, "I can't wear dresses."

"I wore them when I was a housewife," I said, "It's your turn, don't you think?"

"But you wore dresses because you're a woman" he persisted.

"I'm still a woman now," I objected, "yet you don't see me running around in those flouncy dresses, do you? I wore them because I was the housewife."

"What I'm saying is that the dresses are just the housewife version of female clothes," he said. "Can't I wear the housewife version of male clothes?"

"Why honey," I laughed, "by definition there is no housewife version of male clothes."

"So you're saying that being a housewife equals being a woman?" he asked. "Is that it? That I'm a woman now?"

"Of course not, dear, you'll always be a man," I consoled him, "You are my husband and I am your wife. Nothing can change that. I'm talking about our roles, the functions we perform within this marriage. I am the breadwinner, thus the dominant one, and you are the submissive one. Now flouncy dresses express submission yet they are still very pretty. There is no equivalent in male clothes."

He tried to say something, but I silenced him with a quick motion of my palm and continued.

"I'm not saying that being a housewife implies not being a man, I'm saying that being a man implies not being a housewife. Now I want you to override this implication and believe me, clothes are the most effective way, especially in our case. Don't you agree?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"I still don't see why do I have to express any more submission than I already do with my actions. And I don't know about the pretty part."

"Don't you get all modest on me here, we both know how pretty a girl you can be."

He started to capitulate .

"I don't have any girls clothes," he said slowly.

"You can always borrow mine, at least for the present," I answered. "In fact, why don't you go put something on right now? Use anything you like on the left side of the closet or in the boxes."

He reluctantly went to the bedroom. Ten minutes later, he appeared, dressed in my red knee length pleated skirt, a white blouse with padded shoulders and billowy sleeves, white high heeled shoes, full makeup. Even a ribbon in his hair.

"Oh, honey, you look just so pretty," I squealed with excitement, clapping my hands.

"Thanks," he said. Then switched back to his male voice.

"But I really don't see why I have to do this."

I was beginning to lose my patience .

"I think you still need certain things put in perspective. Get over my knees."

His face went pale. He stood frozen before me.

"Please, Sarah, don't do this," he pleaded, back in his girlish voice.

"Over my knees," I repeated, sternly.

Slowly and without a word more, he obeyed.

"I am the boss," I said as I lifted up his skirt. I pulled down his panties.

"You do as I say."

The first smack landed on his bare ass. He twitched. He yelped at the next one and after a few, he was crying like a girl.

"Can't you see?" smack smack.

" I'm doing this because it's best for you, best for both of us."

Smack smack smack.

"The more we're aware of our roles, the better."

I stopped. His ass was glowing red and my hand hurt. I helped him get dressed, pulled him in my lap and waited till he stopped crying.

"There there," I whispered, "I'm sorry, but you just couldn't seem to understand.. But tell you what - to make it up to you, why don't I take you shopping, get you some pretty dresses?"

"Will I have to be dressed as a girl?" he sobbed.

"Why, naturally."

He started crying again.

"What will the people say when they see me?"

"Well, I can't say for sure, but it'll probably be something like 'look at that pretty girl. How cute she looks in that dress she just bought'".

He couldn't help but giggle a little.

"You really think so?"

"Sure. Look - you look like a girl, walk like a girl, you even sound like a girl. All you need is a girl's name I can call you by outside. I mean, if I call you 'Steven' in front of all the salesgirls, they'll probably suspect something. So, how about I call you 'Jenny'?"

"I kinda like 'Shirley' better," he sobbed.

"Shirley it is, then."

He smiled through his tears.

"So he's been living like a woman ever since?" asked Alice, her hand now in my panties.

"Only to the outside world" I answered, squirming happily. 

"Between him and me, he's my husband. I call him Steven and all that. Sometimes Shirley, but just as a joke. I still enjoy sex with him as a man."

"So how is it, now that he's the housewife? Still spanking you?" she asked mockingly.

"No, no. I'm in control now. He knows it's his job to please me. We have sex when I want it and the way I want it. Although I have to admit, he has his ways with me. Knows exactly how to turn me on."

"Really? How about this?" she said and wiggled her fingers inside of me.

"Mmmm. Wonderful," I purred.

She withdrew her hand.

"How's he with the outside world?"

"Oh, he's great. Once he realized everyone took him for a woman, he even made a few friends with the women in the neighborhood. Introduced himself as Shirley Benton, Mrs. Phelps' housekeeper. Benton is my maiden name."

She submerged her fingers again. I arched my body against her hand.

"You know, one thing still doesn't fit in," she said.

"Hm?"

"You in the housewifey dresses. You still keep them?"

"Sure. Stevie borrows one every now and then, when I think he's spending too much on clothes."

"Could you put one on?" she asked "Just now?"

"I guess."

"Great!" she said, pulling out her hand. I got on my feet and felt her pat me on my bottom. In a haze of sexual excitement, I hurried to the bedroom.

I brushed past my husband at the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Never mind. What took you so long?"

"I was changing, like you told me to."

"Well you certainly took your time."

"It's not my fault," he said, "this darn nail polish takes forever to dry. Anyway - how do I look?"

He looked spectacular. Just the way he should have when he opened the door. A long light blue silk dress with a subtle pink floral pattern, matching pink lipstick and nail polish. Pale blue pumps.

"If you didn't have to entertain Alice right now, I'd drag you right back into the bedroom," I said.

He snuggled close to me and hung his hands around my neck.

"Do I have to go down there alone? I'm scared of her," he whispered, "you saw what she's done to me."

"That's fine, she did the same to me," I said, "don't worry. I'll be down in a minute."

He kissed me on the cheek and walked away. I looked at his outfit again. That was going to be hard to upstage, but I had just the dress in mind. Found it almost at once, and it went well with the black undies I was wearing. Took off my jacket, blouse and pants, then put the dress on. Took a look in the mirror. It clashed a bit with my lipstick. I was going to repaint my lips when I stopped. I didn't want to erase Alice's mark. Instead, I began searching for another dress. It took some time, but I found it finally in one of the boxes.

A beautiful yellow silk gown with long billowing sleeves and a scooped neckline that showed a daring amount of breast. Tight at the bodice but then flared out below the waist. Started looking for appropriate lingerie. I found some white stockings, panties and a bra fairly quickly, but somehow I just couldn't find a white garterbelt. I was going to give up and take a light blue one, but then I remembered I could just take one from my husband. In his lingerie drawer, I found something even better - a nice white corset with built in suspender straps. Perfect. It gave me some trouble, but I managed to put it on somehow. I also borrowed a white slip while I was browsing through his drawer. Then I looked around for some shoes. I got those with the highest heels that I could find yet still do a halfway decent job walking in them. My nail polish, of course, didn't match my lipstick, so I had to repaint my nails. That also took some time. While waiting for the second layer to dry, I walked up and down the room a couple of times, enjoying the feel of the corset pushing my breast upwards, the feathery touches upon every curve of my body, the caress of silk brushing against my thighs, the swishing of the hem around my ankles... How nice it felt. I'd never realized how much I missed that.

Just before leaving the bedroom, I took a quick look in the mirror. Decided that the dress needed a little flounce, so I dived in the boxes again, this time for a petticoat. Found a light one, stepped into it, arranged it up under the dress, then walked out.

When I came to the living room, Alice had just finished painting Stevie's lips with her lipstick, only that he was sitting next to her and not in her lap, as I had been . Anyhow, he still got to be branded. Instead of jealousy (both of my husband and Alice), I felt joyous that we both could enjoy this wonderful woman.

"What did I miss?" I asked, not really having any trouble guessing what went on here.

"Nothing much," Alice replied, inspecting her work on Stevie. Then she turned to me. Her face literally lit up.

"Oh, wow! You look absolutely gorgeous!"

I could feel myself blushing.

"Why thank you."

Dropped a curtsey, just for the fun of it.

"Mmm," she hummed, "turn around a bit."

I turned around and as she drew a little circle with her finger in the air, did a quick twirl. My skirts flared out, revealing my petticoat.

"Stevie, go stand next to your wife," she told him.

He came up to me shyly, avoiding my gaze. I hugged him around his shoulders.

"You two look just so precious together!" she purred .

Stevie's arm sneaked around my waist, hugged my hip. I turned to him, put my palm on his cheek. He looked at me.

"Sorry," he whispered.

I wanted to tell him that it's nothing to be sorry about, that it's wonderful. Instead, I just kissed him gently. Alice was squirming excitedly all the time[BW7] .

"Okay, that's enough for now," she broke us off, "sit down over there."

With almost identical motions of straightening out our dresses, we sat down on the sofa next to the one she sat on.

"So," I said to her, tapping Steven's thigh, "what did you and my gorgeous husband talk about while I was gone?"

"This and that," she replied, then turned to Steven.

"Your wife is so fascinated by how beautiful you are, that's all she can talk about. She completely forgot to mention your work experience."

She turned to me again.

"You see, Sarah, it turns out Steven's just the man I need for the head of your sector."

Suddenly, I had a bad feeling about this.

She smiled. "So I said to myself, 'what the hell, we need some fresh blood anyway' and decided to hire him for the position."

My head began to swirl. I'd worked so hard to get what I had and this woman was going to take that all away from me? My promotion? My husband? After all the effort to dress him by my taste, now he's suddenly free to put on whatever he wants? I felt like I was going to be sick. Somehow, I managed to hold back my disappointment.

"Well," I said to him, "looks like you're my new boss. We better get your old clothes from the attic."

Steven said nothing, just looked at me with an apologetic expression. So that was what the 'Sorry' was about.

"Not so fast," Alice said, "Before you get too depressed about this , I have something in store for you, too."

"Really?" I said, feeling a new wave of hope rising in me, "What?"

"We'll get to that later," she replied, "first, I want to make clear I'm not taking Steven into the company."

I couldn't really follow.
"Huh? But you just said-"

"I know what I said," she silenced me. "I'm not employing Steven Phelps but Shirley Benton."

"What the-"

"Yes, your husband is a working girl now. He'll work as a woman," she declared.

I was astounded. Turned to him.

"Are you OK with this, sweetie?"

"I guess," he shrugged helplessly.

"Not that it matters so much," she added.

"Anyway," she continued, "we're going to have to do some paperwork. Get him new ID's for his female self. Then work some on his looks. He'll need a pair of breast forms right away. Later on we could take a look at more direct methods."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Some hormone treatment, for starters. Widen his hips a little and get a start on his breasts, afterwards we'll maybe do some implants. Laser treatment for his facial hair."

"But won't hormones make him impotent?" I worried.

"Not necessarily," she replied, "they can do all sorts of wonders with them these days."

"Even so," I argued , "this whole thing sounds awfully expensive. I'm not sure we can afford it."

"The company's health plan will take care of that," she said, "the important thing is that we take no chances of Shirley being discovered. And by the time summer rolls around, she'll have some cleavage to show."

He giggled at her remark. I turned to him, cupped his breast.

"Oh honey, isn't that great? We'll get you some real boobies."

He hugged me, then turned back to Alice.

"You're not going to cut off my, um,...?" he asked nervously.

"Of course not," she consoled him. "Not unless you want to."

I felt him shudder.

"Well, this was pretty unexpected, I have to admit," I said.

"Now what is it that you have in store for me?"

"You?" she said like she didn't know what I was talking about. Then acted as if she suddenly remembered.

"Oh, you. I'm putting you in charge of the new operation."

Wow! That was more than I dared even dream about. On the hierarchy ladder, I was now just one step below Alice.

"Oh thank you, Alice, thank you so much," I was almost slobbering.

"Don't thank me, you deserve the position. Just clear your desk by tomorrow evening as I'm bringing Brenda in to fill your space."

"Tomorrow? But the operation doesn't start in at least three months. What will I do until then?"

"You'll stay home a bit, wear your pretty dresses again," she said casually, "it's about time you got out of those pant suits. Don't think you won't be busy, though. Shirley's going to need all the support from you she can get."

"Why do you keep talking about him as a 'she'?" I giggled.

"Because she'll be working as a woman, and I don't want any slip-ups about calling her 'he'. Maybe this is too big an invasion of your privacy, but I want you to do the same. And Shirley? If she addresses you as a male, I want you to correct her and tell her that you're a girl. Ok?"

He nodded.

"Good," she said.

"Now. Tomorrow I'm taking you to do the paperwork and see some doctors about the hormone treatment, maybe get your ears pierced if there's any time left. The next day, I expect you in the office, you'll have a lot of catching up to do."

My excitement over my husband, sorry, Shirley's new life began to vanish as a air of desperation started sinking in. Alice noticed that.

"What's the matter, Sarah? You look so glum, aren't you happy?"

"I am," I said, "it's just that I'll be staying home now for some time and the new operation is almost across the town from the company's home building..."

"Yes, so?"

"I don't know if I'll see you again," I whined.

"Don't be silly," she said, "we'll all be seeing each other quite a lot. In fact, we should start right now. Why don't you two girls go to the bedroom and slip into something more comfortable? I have a few calls to make, so I'll join you a bit later."

I waited by the vanity table as Shirley was looking in the closet for our nightwear. I blushed a bit when he, sorry, she handed me the most ridiculous baby doll set. A frilly pink bundle of satin I once bought for him, but he seldom wore. Didn't complain though, I knew that Alice would love me in it, until I saw what she picked out for herself. Plain blue silk pajamas.

"Hey! That's not fair. Why did you give me this baby dolls, if you're not wearing anything like that?"

"Well," she said with a smug voice, "I think our clothes should express the roles in this marriage."

That was a bit too much for me. As much as my shoes allowed me, I leaped onto her. She screamed as I knocked her down on the bed. Pinned her down and started tickling her.

"Why you little backstabbing bitch," I said as she was wiggling helplessly under me, "taking my job behind my back. I ought to give you a good spanking."

"Stop, stop," she panted through her laughter, "it wasn't my idea, she just did it, you know how she is."

"I know, I know, I was just joking," I said, kissing her than helping her get up. Unzipped her dress and turned around so she'd unzip me.

"How do you feel about all this, honey? Are you sure you're OK with it? You don't have to do it, you know," I said, stepping out of my dress.

"It's OK. I mean, I'm scared about it, but so excited at the same time. But how is it for you?"

"I'm a bit scared myself. On the other hand, I'm happy that you finally have a job and still get to dress as a girl."

"I am a girl now," she said. I couldn't help it, just had to kiss her firmly.

"Anyway, can I borrow some of your suits," she asked after we finally broke the kiss, "I don't think I'll have the time to do any shopping soon."

"Of course. I mean, you wore them before, haven't you?" I said I won't be needing them anytime soon, looks like I'm the housewife now."

"We both are, when she's around," she said, helping me into my nightie.

Just about then the door started to open.

The End.