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Date: Tue, 2 Apr 1996 23:30:15 UTC

Subject: Story: Learning Her Way, 1 of 4 (Femdom;petticoating); 2nd try

Lines: 569

This story is intended for adults above the age of 18. If you

are not 18 years or older, please do not read any further.

This story tells of a man being petticoated by his wife.

I hope all you fans of femdom literature enjoy it.

LEARNING HER WAY

Part 1 of 4

by Little Sissy Tippytoes

* * * * * * * * *

Ronald was joyfully suffocating. Helen's thighs were clenched

tight against his ears, her hands clutching at, clawing his hair,

as she loudly moaned, bucking her pussy against his open mouth.

Her moans and tiny shrieks were muffled roars in his ears, as he

jammed his face as hard as he could into her cunt, thrusting his

tongue into her hole, licking, sucking, nibbling, grasping with

his face at all her womanly heat, her wetness, pressing his nose

against her, savoring her bitter aroma. His arms were wrapped

around her thighs, pressing them tighter against his ears. He

was struggling now to find her clitoris with his tongue; it was

a difficult thing to do, because she had a prominent hood. This

was one reason she had a hard time climaxing when he ate her;

but he loved to bury his face in her pussy, so she indulged him;

he was her pet.

Over and over again he lapped at her pussy with his tongue,

kissing and biting, lost in her musk and her passion. She was

bucking against him, now, nearly thrashing on the bed, pressing

her feet into his back, moaning, keening almost, as he pressed

on, lost, lost, lostlostlost.

Finally, she did come. The heat, the passion, the total

surrender to her lust, at last drove her over the edge; and now

she was no longer bucking against Ronald's face, but was

thrashing about on the bed, causing him to lose his balance,

to lose his control. He faced a momentary panic as her grasping

thighs yanked his head up and down, and she now had both hands

grasping his hair, pulling at it in painful handfuls. He lost

track of his breathing, gave himself up to suffocation, reveled

in the possibility of dying, his face buried already in the

loveliest grave in existence. And, oh, how his heart thrummed

and shouted as it pounded against his ribcage! This is the

way to go, it screamed into his brain. This, this, this, ohyes,

ohmyyes, oh...oh...oh...

They were quiet now. Ronald's face was still pressed against

Helen's pussy, as he placed gentle kisses here, there, there;

gentle bites, tooth-pricks, here, there, there; little blowing

breaths to dry her and cool her. Her thighs were relaxed now,

and her hands no longer snatched at his hair, but gently rubbed

his scalp, and played with his hair, making little ringlets and

curls. Her breathing was slowly returning to normal, and she

gazed lovingly at Ronald's forehead as he planted his tiny

lovebites on her labia, and gently licked her dry.

"Ronald," she asked, "do you really love me? I mean, really,

really love me?"

"You know I do," he quietly replied. "What makes you ask?"

"Well, I've been thinking lately that your feelings towards

me are more lust than love. That's all," she said. She continued

playing with his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead,

carefully examining his eyes.

"But you're my wife," he said. "I love you more than anything,

more than my own life, even. There isn't a thing I wouldn't do

for you, you know that, don't you?"

"But, that's the problem," Helen murmured, continuing to stroke

his face and hair. "I'm not really certain you mean that. You

know, most of the things we do are things you were into before we

got married. Things I liked to do we never do."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Oh, like movies, for instance. I love to go to the movies, and

hold hands, and share my emotions with you, whatever we go to see.

But, lately, we never seem to go out anymore. We just sit around

the house watching stupid tv shows." Her voice began to take on

a slight whining tone, and she struggled to regain her composure.

She didn't want to whine and complain. She had other thoughts on

her mind.

"Well," said Ronald. "You know how exhausted I am when I come

home from work. Damn, I hate that job. Ever since we switched

to the new system, there's been less and less challenging work for

me to do. You know, you hear me complain often enough. Plenty of

work, but mostly routine. Boring, boring, boring. And when I get

home, I'm all worn out from the struggle just to stay awake."

They were quiet for a while, then Helen murmured, "Why don't

you quit, then?"

Ronald's eyes opened wide, and his face lifted above her tummy

as he looked her square in the eye. "What? You can't be serious!"

he exclaimed.

She said, "Oohh, maybe I am serious. Maybe I'm more serious than

I originally thought. Yes. Maybe I am; in fact, I know I am. I think

you should quit."

Ronald protested, "You mean you want me to quit and find a job

somewhere else? Doing what, might I ask? Have you given that any

thought?"

Helen looked squarely at him. "No, I don't mean quit and find

another job. I mean just quit. If you love me, you'll just quit."

Ronald sighed. "I don't get it. What would we do to recover

the lost income? What would I do if I weren't working? Have

you given that any thought?"

Helen pressed her hands against the back of Ronald's head to

insure he wouldn't back away. Then she sat straight up so she

was now looking down at the top of his head, his face still

held by her thighs. "As a matter of fact," she said, "I have.

I have given it a great deal of thought. And what I've concluded

is, if you really love me, you'll do this for me. And you'll

trust me to know what I'm doing. Do you trust me? Do you love

me enough to trust me, even though you may not know what I'm

thinking or planning?"

Ronald groaned a little at the pressure Helen was exerting on

his head, forcing his nose into her pelvic bone. His voice was

muffled, but she could hear him muttering, "I don't know. What

are you planning?"

She gazed lovingly down at him as she repeated, "I haven't

worked out all the details yet, so I can't say what I'm planning.

But, if you love me, you'll trust me to know that I want to do

the right thing for us."

She lay back against the pillows, releasing her grip on the

back of his head, loosening the grasp of her thighs, and sighed.

"I've been giving our relationship a lot of thought, lately,

and to be honest, I'm not happy with us as we are. I feel I'm

just drifting, and that's a feeling I don't like. I want to

know where I'm going. I want to be the captain of my destiny.

I've been riding in your car for too long, now, Ronald. And,

believe me, you aren't nearly half as bored as I am. So I

think the time has come to change the way we do things in

this family. I think it's time to put me in the driver's seat,

for a change."

Ronald looked at her in puzzlement. "What do you mean, you're

bored. I thought one of the joys of our relationship was the

excitement we both share. And, what do you mean, it's time to

put you in the driver's seat?"

Helen looked into his eyes, and replied, "I'm not really sure

what I mean, Ronald. I only know I'm not satisfied. I want,

no, I need, to feel we have some real direction we're going in.

And, like I say, I'm feeling like I have no input into where it

is we are going. I just this minute had this thought - well,

actually, I've been thinking about it for the past few months,

ever since you began complaining about being totally bored at

work. But, I keep thinking, why not get Ronald to quit? Why

not look at some new ideas in our relationship? Why not put a

little adventure back into it? Why not take a few risks?"

Ronald retorted, "That's all well and good for you to say,

my love. After all, what's the risk for you? You're not thinking

of quitting your job, are you? It's only my job that's at

stake here."

Helen smiled lovingly at him. "You're right. It seems as if

the risk is all yours. But, truthfully, the risk is ours, isn't

it? I just want you to think it over, think about how much you

love me, think about how much you trust me to do the right thing."

Ronald frowned. "Well, ok, I'll think about it."

"Good," said Helen. "Now, I'm really getting sleepy. Why

don't you be a good boy, and give me one of your super-sweet

back rubs, so I can get a good night's sleep? Hmmm?"

Ronald gave her pussy one last loving lick and kiss, and

then crawled up to where he could kneel beside her and gently

rub her back. Helen sighed, closed her eyes, and with a small

smile on her lips, drifted off to sleep.

After he was certain Helen was asleep, Ronald lay down beside

her. But, he was far from being sleepy. He lay there, troubled

in his thoughts, wondering what she was proposing. It was true

he had expressed unhappiness with his job - he had come to hate

going to the office - and he had lately not been very energetic,

either in doing things with Helen outside their home, or even

at home, including their lovemaking. Everything seemed to be

drying up and dying inside him, and his mind had begun drifting

back into those old fantasies which had frightened, and yet

fascinated him. He thought to himself, "How much does she know?

Am I being paranoid? Just when I begin fantasizing myself as

her slave, her maid-slut-slave, forced to do her bidding, she

comes up with this notion of having me quit my job. And she

says it's time for me to let her have the driver's seat. What

is she up to? Do I dare give in? Oh, how long I've wanted

to just throw myself at her feet in surrender, to give her my

heart, my soul...Do I have the guts to take such a chance?

What if she comes to loathe me, instead? What would I do?

How would I survive? No doubt, I need her...I do, I do...I

can't imagine any kind of life without her. But she's asking

me to give up an awful lot. *If* she even knows what she is

asking..." And so, rolling these disturbing thoughts around

in his head, Ronald slipped into an uncomfortable and troubled

sleep of his own.

* * * * * * * * *

"Wake up, sleepyhead!"

Ronald opened his right eye and peered through the sleep-haze

at his beautiful wife as she leaned over him, a bright smile

on her face and a spatula in her hand. He reached out and wrapped

his arm around her neck, pulling her down on top of him, kissing

her lips, her eyes, her nose. She struggled free, giggling and

waving the spatula. "Oh, you naughty boy!" she squealed. "Maybe

I should use this thing to spank you with." And she twisted herself

around to try to get a comfortable position to whack his butt with

the spatula.

He was fully awake now, and he tugged at her wrist, trying to

prevent her from succeeding in her desire to spank him, and the

two lovers rolled around in the bed, laughing and shouting.

Finally, Helen broke free and struggled to her feet beside the bed.

Ronald clutched her waist, and grabbing the hem of her shorty

nightgown, he pulled it up and kissed her on her pubic hair.

"Good morning, little kitty," he cooed into her tummy. "Does pussy

want a little kiss?"

Helen laughed and stepped deftly out of Ronald's grasp. "Come on,

now, lazybones," she scolded. "It's almost noon, and we're losing

our day."

While Helen returned to the kitchen to finish preparing breakfast,

Ronald went into the bathroom to shower, shave and generally wake

up for the new day ahead. But while he was showering, he remembered

the conversation of the night before. It disturbed him. He wasn't

certain what Helen was up to. He was sure she couldn't possibly

have figured out what he had been thinking and imagining for the

past few weeks. But why did she bring this up now? How coincidental

was it? He was clearly upset by the timing of Helen's proposal.

After they had eaten and were enjoying a second cup of coffee,

Helen asked, "Well, have you given any further thought to what I said

last night?"

Ronald answered, "How serious were you, Helen?"

Helen thought a moment, then replied, "At first I couldn't believe

I was serious at all. But this morning, while I was fixing breakfast,

I kept thinking, I can't give a reason for why I think this is the

right thing for us, and it certainly will be awfully expensive if we

decide to go ahead with it. But, I don't know, it just seems right.

I keep saying to myself, 'if he trusts you, everything will be ok,

even if you're not sure where to go with this.'"

Ronald looked deep into her eyes. "Any ideas at all where you

think you want to go?"

She hesitated, then said, "Well, to tell the truth, I am becoming

clearer and clearer in my mind about what I want to do. The longer

I think about it, the clearer my thinking becomes."

Ronald asked, "Would you mind sharing it with me, so I have some

basis for my decision?"

Helen shook her head. "No, sweetie, I'm sorry. I'd rather not

say. That's why I'm asking you to trust me. Trust my judgement.

I will say this: I am certain that whatever happens, it will bring

us closer together, and, for sure, you'll be much happier than you

are now. But, that's all I can say, for now."

Ronald sipped his coffee, clearly puzzled and upset by the whole

conversation. "Let me think about it, my love. I'll let you know

later on. Ok?"

Helen got up and came around to stand beside him. She bent over

and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, giving him a hug. Then

she kissed his cheek. "Take all the time you want, sweetie."

She picked up the plates from the table, turned her back to him,

and went over to the sink, where she busied herself rinsing the

dishes and stacking them in the dishwasher.

* * * * * * * * *

Later that morning, Helen announced she had a few errands to run,

and would be back after a few hours. Ronald waved goodbye as she

backed down the driveway and headed into town. Then he returned

to the house, flipping the tv on in the living room. But, as he

gazed at the images on the tv, his mind disconnected from what he

was watching, and began to drift into the dream-like state it had

been going into for the past several weeks. Vague thoughts began

to take form, troubling images taking shape in his mind's eye.

As his eyes closed and his dream took over, Ronald uttered a silent

groan, and let his mind wander wherever it would. An image formed.

It was Ronald, standing at attention, but naked. Not naked, actually,

but dressed in stockings held up by garters which dangled from

a corset fastened tightly about him, pulling in his waist so severely

he could barely breathe in it. It extended from just above his pelvis

to below his nipples, and its tightness forced his skin to gather in

a bulge which gave him the appearance of having two small breasts.

Below the corset, his penis stood straight out from his pelvis,

painfully straight in an enormous erection. Attached to his penis

was a ribbon, a pink ribbon, tied in a lovely, feminine bow. Around

his testicles was a tightly knotted cord which was pulled through

the separation of his legs, up his ass-crack and attached to the corset

from behind. This arrangement effectively separated his balls from

his penis. As the image became clearer, he realized that the ribbon

bowtied around his penis was also attached to the front of the corset.

The tension caused by the separation of his penis and balls was

uncomfortable, even painful. And yet he stood with a smile on his face.

On his feet were high-heeled, obviously women's, shoes, with the heel

being at least four inches and pencil-thin. A pink ribbon matching

the penis-ribbon had been clipped to the hair on top of his head.

And there he stood.

Ronald's hand unzipped his jeans, and reached into his drawers to

grasp his penis. He began to stroke it gently, moaning quietly, and

thinking only of release - release from his tension and release from

the image which crowded his thoughts and haunted his soul. And now the

image began to stroke its penis as well, matching Ronald stroke for

stroke. He began to increase the rate of his pumping, trying desperately

to come, nearly bursting into tears in his frustration, knowing that

this damned image of him, feminized, beribboned, was making him horny,

was causing his penis to swell, larger and larger, until he thought it

would burst; he wished it would burst; the need for relief was

overwhelming. He moaned louder now, and his stroking hand was a blur.

But he couldn't make himself come. He couldn't stand it any longer,

and with a shout of despair, he suddenly stood and rushed into the

bedroom, where he flung open the closet and reached far back in to

where an old leather briefcase rested on the floor. He yanked it open

and pulled out the contents - a pair of pantyhose, a pair of flaming

red panties with matching bra, and a transparent black half-slip.

He went to the bed, and, after undressing, carefully pulled the

panties up his legs, trapping his rock-hard penis inside them, forcing

it between his legs ("Oh, shit, it hurts!"), carefully with trembling

hands he pulled the pantyhose up, adjusting them so that no sags or

wrinkles showed. Then, just as carefully, he pulled the bra on, and lay

down on the bed. He rubbed his thighs together, reveling in the feel

of the nylon on his legs and causing his penis to be stimulated

by the movement. His hands clutched at his chest where the cups of

the bra were, and he moaned and gasped and rolled over and back until,

finally, oh yes, finally, he came in a shuddering climax which left

him sweating and grimacing and snorting in mindless desire. Oh,

blessed relief. At last, at last, he could relax. He could let the

image quietly evaporate. He could return the devil to its special

hell.

"I thought this was what you were up to."

The voice, though in actuality very quiet, exploded into Ronald's

consciousness. His eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright on the

bed. There, standing at the foot of the bed, was Helen, legs spread,

hands folded into fists resting on her hips, a stern, unsmiling face

and hard eyes staring down at the sight before her.

It was too much for Ronald to take. With a cry, he leaped from

the bed and ran into the bathroom, where he slammed the door, then

stood beating his fists against the back of the door and crying

loudly. Helen followed him and stood quietly at the door, waiting

for him to finish his tantrum. Finally, he began to quiet down,

his sobs now simply gasps of air into his lungs as he fought to

regain control of himself. After a few moments, when she could

no longer hear anything from the other side of the bathroom door,

she said, "Ronald, open the door and come in here, please."

A long minute passed, then the door slowly opened. Ronald stood,

still wearing the flaming red bra and panties and pantyhose, his

face a matching scarlet, drooping in shame, tears still streaming

down his cheeks, occasionally choking back a sob. Finally, softly,

he mumbled, "I'm so sorry, Helen. I'm so sorry. I can't even

explain what's going on. I'm so ashamed." And he continued his

quiet sobbing.

Helen said, "I noticed a few weeks ago you seemed awfully

distant and distracted. Something was obviously on your mind.

I couldn't quite figure it out. I thought it was just your

unhappiness at work. But, now I know. Oh, shit, now I know."

Ronald's eyes were still boring holes in the floor. He couldn't

bring himself to lift his face and look at Helen. "I don't know

what to say," he responded. "I have no explanation, I have no

defense. It's just some perverse notion that has taken over my

mind the last couple of months. Oh, I wish the last hour had never

happened. I wish I were dead."

Helen looked at him, her eyes full of hurt, her face set in anger.

"I can't talk to you right now," she said. "I feel like I want to

be sick. Look at you standing there...it's, it's disgusting...you

look ridiculous. Oh, I just don't know what to say."

And at that, she turned and ran from the house, getting back into

her car and driving away.

Ronald's mind was in complete turmoil. He threw himself onto the

couch and let the tears flow. "I've ruined everything," he thought.

"She'll never come back. How could she? Can I blame her if she

doesn't? Ohhhh...everything's all fucked up."

He sat on the couch, drained of all his energy, even to get up

and change into his regular clothes. As he looked at himself dressed

in women's underwear, he felt both ridiculous and ashamed. One part

of him wanted to rip the offending garments from his body. To take

them outside and bury them in a pit. Why had he let this obsession

possess him as it had? Why, why, why? He smacked his forehead, hoping

that perhaps an answer would pop out of his skull if he beat himself

hard enough. But nothing happened. No explanation emerged. Only the

image in his mind, the image of him in his feminine confinement, his

ribboned penis, his painfully stretched balls - that image

continued to taunt him, and he trembled and cried, sitting there on

the couch, his stockinged legs tucked up under his bottom, sniffling

and blowing his nose into a tissue, feeling helpless and absurd.

The shadows lengthened on the lawn outside, and the room grew dark.

Still, Ronald sat on the couch, fixed in his thoughts and reflections.

As the darkness filled the room, it grew a little chilly. But still

he sat, unable to move, even though his skin began to cover with

goosebumps and he shivered in the chill of the night air.

At last he heard the sound of Helen's car as it approached the

driveway and turned in. A few minutes later, he heard the front

door open and heard the rustle of shopping bags as she entered the

living room. He didn't dare look around to see her enter, though.

He was afraid he might have to look into her eyes. He was afraid

to see the hurt and anger he had placed there.

Helen passed him, muttering, "Disgusting pervert," and then

disappeared into their bedroom. A few minutes later, the bedroom

door opened and she tossed a pillow, a blanket and a robe out into

the hall. "You stay out of my room, you shit," she cried. "I don't

want to see or hear you anymore tonight. Do you understand?"

Ronald could only nod his head in abject surrender. The bedroom

door slammed shut. There was total silence. Ronald went to the

hall, picked up the blanket, pillow and robe and went back to the couch

in the living room. Exhausted now from his emotional upheaval,

he lay down, pulling the blanket over himself, and tried to sleep.

* * * * * * * * *

Ronald struggled to open his eyes. He could feel someone's

presence, but he was unable to recognize it; a voice, cold and

almost toneless: "Wake up, fairy." His eyes finally open, he

looked up. Helen was standing over him, legs slightly spread,

hands on her hips, the same look of disgust, hurt and anger she'd

left with him the night before.

"Should we finish it now?" she asked. "Is there any point in

continuing?"

Tears formed in his eyes. "Please, please, Helen. I need you.

I can't live without you. Please forgive me. Please." Broken

now, begging for absolution.

"I've got a lot to think about, Ronald. I'm not sure what I'm

going to do. If I decide it's worth it to continue this marriage,

the terms will be set by me. I asked you the other day if you

would be willing to trust me. Now you have no choice. If you

want me, it will be on my terms. You'll agree to whatever I

demand of you. You'll serve only my pleasure. Understood?"

Ronald nodded his agreement, even though he really wasn't sure

he did understand. But he didn't dare argue. He dared nothing

at all.

"Remember, I suggested you quit your job, since it was so

boring and pointless anyway? Now I'm telling you. You will go

into work this morning, and you will give notice that you are

leaving as of Friday morning. If you refuse me on this, then

it's over. Understood?"

Again, he could only nod his head.

"All right. Later on, I'll decide what happens next. But, for

now, that's it. You can use the bathroom to clean up and the

bedroom to change into your work clothes. But get this straight.

This house is now mine. You use it at my discretion from now on."

And with that, she turned her back on him and left, slamming the

front door behind her.

The rest of the day was hazy and blurry for Ronald. Filled with

the image of himself standing miserable and ashamed in front of

Helen, exposed in his bra, panties and pantyhose, he felt a sense

of loathing which he was unable to escape. And then there was

her demand that he give notice at his job. All day long, he sat

at his desk, unable to concentrate, with a sense of sick dread

smothering all other thoughts. Finally, he summoned the courage

to approach his boss and give notice, mumbling embarrassed, incoherent

explanations of his decision to quit so suddenly. Not only was

his wife upset and angry with him, but now his boss was furious with

him, too. "This is going to be one helluva week," he thought sadly to

himself.

When he finally returned home, drained from the emotional upheaval

of his day, he found a note taped to the front door. It was from

Helen. "Home Later," it said. Ronald entered the dark house,

defeated and anxious about what was going to happen next. A few hours

later, Helen arrived, once again with several shopping bags. She

strode past Ronald, who was sitting again on the couch, only this

time fully dressed, and went into the bedroom, slamming the door

behind her. Not a word passed between them. The next morning,

after another restless night on the couch, Ronald was again awakened

by Helen, who stood above him, glaring down at him with her eyes still

filled with anger and loathing. "Well, did you quit?" she asked,

her voice cold and formal.

"Yes," he replied.

She looked at him for a long minute. "When they give you your final

paycheck on Friday, I want you to take it immediately to the bank and

cash it. Got that?"

"Yes."

And she was gone without another word. The rest of the week followed

this pattern. Ronald would arrive home to an empty house. Helen would

arrive quite late, carrying a couple of shopping bags. No words would

pass between them. Ronald was becoming more and more frightened. What

if, after he quit, she threw him out, anyway? Where would he go? How

would he survive, especially without her? The silence was deafening,

and he felt overwhelmed by her anger and her disgust.

Finally, Friday dawned. Helen's parting words to Ronald were, "Call

me as soon as you've cleaned out your desk and picked up your pay.

I'll tell you what to do after that."

Ronald could only groan and hold his head as though he had a giant

hangover. This was it, he realized. Today he would find out what

Helen had in store for him. He wanted to run away, he wanted to hide

under a rock, he wanted desperately for this day never to happen.

At ten o'clock, he had cleaned out his desk and picked up his

paycheck. No one in his office even said goodbye. With his head

hung down, Ronald left the building and drove to the bank where he

and Helen had their account. He started to deposit the check, but then

remembered Helen's instructions to cash it. After that, he called

Helen to report the completion of her instructions. "You've cashed

the check?" she asked. "Good. Now, I want you to drive to First

Fidelity Bank on 34th Street. Do you know where it is?" Ronald

knew the bank; it was across the street from the bookstore-cafe Helen

managed. "I'll meet you there in an hour," she said, and abruptly

hung up.

Ronald drove to the bank and went in. Helen was inside, seated at

a desk with one of the bank's account officers. Acknowledging that

she had seen him, she signaled for Ronald to wait for her. After a

few minutes, she stood up, shook hands with the bank officer, and

walked over to where Ronald stood. "Do you have the money?" she

asked. He nodded affirmatively. "Give it to me."

Ronald handed the wad of bills to her. "Wait here," she ordered,

then went to the teller window. Ronald could see her filling out

what was probably a deposit slip, for she handed the slip and the

pile of cash to the teller, who in turn handed her a receipt.

That done, Helen walked over to where Ronald stood, nervously

watching her every move. "Do you know where the Bridgeville Used

Cars dealership is located?" she asked him.

He nodded. "Ok," she said. "I want you to meet me there."

She turned and walked out of the bank.

A half hour later, Ronald pulled into the used car lot. Helen

arrived a minute later. "I got the necessary papers from our

safe deposit box this morning," she told him. "Now, let's see

what your car is worth. Give me the keys." Ronald swallowed

hard. What the hell was going on? He'd just quit his job, just

handed her his entire paycheck, and now she was going to sell

his car? But he complied, though his hands shook so badly he

could hardly get the keys out of his pocket.

Twenty minutes later, his car was gone, sold for a fraction of

what he thought it was worth. Helen hadn't seemed to mind at all

that the salesman was ripping them off. In fact, she hardly

glanced at the check as the salesman handed it to her. She

instructed Ronald to follow her to her car. When they were seated

inside, she turned to him and asked, "Are you still willing to

trust me?"

He looked at the floor. "Yeah, but I have to admit, you've got

me scared to death. I don't know what's happening here."

She smirked and snorted a slight, "hmmphh," then started the

engine and pulled out of the lot. They began to drive toward

their neighborhood. Suddenly, Helen turned to him and said, "I

want you to pull your penis out of your pants. Now."

Shocked, Ronald could only reply, "Huh?"

"Do it," she ordered. "Take your penis out of your pants. Right

now."

Confused, hands trembling, he fumblingly complied, nearly getting

his penis caught in the zipper. They drove a little further in silence.

Finally, Helen whispered, "Masturbate."

"What?" he asked, not believing what she'd just said.

"I said masturbate, you little fairy," she said. "And don't stop

until you come."

Sheepishly, he began to stroke his penis, closing his eyes in an

effort to conjure up some mental image that would be arousing enough

to make him horny. In his present mental state there was no way he

could masturbate, because there was no way he could get erect.

"Having trouble getting a hard-on?" Helen smirked. "Why don't

you think of yourself in your dainty ladies' undies?"

Ronald groaned, but continued to stroke his penis. Finally, it began

to stiffen and grow warm. The image that filled his mind was not of

himself in women's underwear, though. It was a picture of himself

kneeling before Helen with his face buried in her crotch, slurping away

at her pussy, moaning in lust as she slammed her thighs against the

side of his head, heaving and bucking against his darting tongue, yanking

and pulling at her breasts, pinching her nipples and crying out in

orgasmic passion. As the image took on more definite shape, he felt

himself beginning to lubricate, which made his stroking easier. Softly

moaning, he continued to pull at his cock, pumping his hand up and down

as his fevered mind filled with the thought of his wife shrieking in

lust as his tongue seemed everywhere at once in her pussy. He could

picture every fold of skin, he could even smell the heavy, delicious

scent of her cunt. His hand slammed up and down the length of his

penis, and whether from real lust or just the stored up anxiety of

the week, he began to groan and moan, closing his eyes and hammering

away at his cockmeat. "Oh, shit, shit, shitshitshit," he cried, and

then suddenly there was release. All the pent-up emotion, all the

worry and anxiety suddenly erupted, and he shot his cum straight up

into the air, letting it fall down on his trousers and his hand.

Panting and sweating, Ronald finally began to come down from his

climax, and as his penis softened and shrank, his breathing began to

return to normal.

"Lick up the cum, faggot."

Ronald looked surprised, and started to turn to Helen. But he thought

better of that idea. Then slowly, reluctantly grimacing, he brought his

hand up to his mouth, and, nearly gagging, gingerly began to lick the

cum off it. He had never tasted semen before, and he was nervous.

Some boundary was being crossed here, and he wasn't sure at all where

this would lead. But he didn't dare upset Helen any further. So he

licked, then swallowed. Then licked some more. And swallowed some more.

"All of it," she said. "The cum that got on your clothes. I want

that cleaned up, too."

Afterwards, they rode in silence.

* * * * * * * * *

End Part 1 of 4

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From alt.sex.stories Mon Apr 8 01:08:17 1996

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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.femdom,an309248

From: an309248@anon.penet.fi

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Date: Tue, 2 Apr 1996 23:33:45 UTC

Subject: Story: Learning Her Way, 2 of 4 (Femdom,petticoating); 2nd try

Lines: 487

This story is intended for adults above the age of 18. If you

are not 18 years or older, please do not read any further.

This story tells of a man being petticoated by his wife.

I hope all you fans of femdom literature enjoy it.

LEARNING HER WAY

Part 2 of 4

by Little Sissy Tippytoes

* * * * * * * * *

When they finally pulled into the driveway of their home, Ronald

sat, holding his hands together to try to control their trembling,

and waited for Helen to speak. The silence that had enveloped them

during the ride home grew until he thought he would suffocate.

Finally, Helen spoke: "Two things you are to remember. Our

marriage depends on how much you are willing to trust me. I've

cleaned out our joint bank account and transferred everything to

an account set up in my name only. That's where your paycheck went

this morning. So now you have no money, and you have no car. So,

you better trust me. Second, you better never forget that from

here on in, you exist only to fill my needs."

Silence. Ronald's eyes were intensely focused on his clasped hands.

"Go in the living room and get undressed. Put your clothes in the

bedroom on *my* bed, and then go stand in the middle of the living

room with your hands behind your back. I want to see your arms folded

so your hands are holding the opposite elbow." Silence. "Go on."

Helen sat in the car while Ronald entered the house and did as

she had instructed. Several minutes passed as he waited nervously in

the living room, his heart pounding, his hands sweating as he gripped

his elbows behind his back. His lower lip trembled. He looked as

if he was about to break down in tears. Finally, Helen entered the

house, looked briefly at Ronald, nodded to herself, and walked past

him into the bedroom. She returned a few minutes later and placed

two shopping bags on the floor before him. She pointed to one of

them. "Open it, pansy." Ronald unclasped his elbows and reached

down to open the bag. "Look inside." Ronald looked, then lifted

his eyes to Helen's. "Now, dump the entire bag on the floor."

As he turned the bag upside down, several pairs of stockings

fell to the floor at his feet. There were at least a dozen pair,

all so sheer they were almost invisible. They were still in their

plastic packages, and as Ronald stared down at them, he noticed

the labels announced they were seamed. The second bag contained

a black corset designed to cover the wearer's body from tummy to

breast. It was rigidly boned, and was unusual in that the laces,

which normally would run up the back, were located in the front

instead. Hanging down from each side of the corset were three

long garter straps.

"All right, Rona," said Helen, pausing to let Ronald absorb

her words. He flashed her an anxious look. "Put on a pair of the

stockings. And you had better be sure the seams are straight,

fairy." Ronald looked at Helen apprehensively, then bent to

pick up a package of stockings. He tore it open, and pulled

them out. In his brief career of wearing women's underwear,

Ronald had never worn stockings, only pantyhose, so he had to

struggle a bit to get the stockings on properly, with the seams

straight and any wrinkles smoothed out. Finally, he stood up

and faced Helen. But he could not meet her gaze, and he kept

his eyes pointed at the floor.

After a moment, she said, "That's good. That's how you should

always be in my presence. Do you understand? Your eyes should

always be aimed at the floor when I'm around. Now, stand still,

Rona..." His ears burned from the change of his name to a feminine

one. "I'm going to put this corset on you." Helen instructed

him to stand with his hands held above his head. She fitted the

corset to his body and began to lace it up. He could barely

breathe as she laced, then tightened, then laced some more.

She then took two breast-shaped padded forms and placed them

in the corset's bra cups; this filled the cups out and gave Ronald

a more realistic feminine appearance. Finally, she was satisfied.

Ronald stood, feeling like he was on tiptoes he was so tightly

constricted. His breathing was shallow and labored.

"Now, faggot, attach your stockings to the garters." Ronald

struggled to bend over to snap each garter to the stocking

tops. His face flushed a deep red with the exertion of bending

over in the tight corset. Finally, he finished hooking up all

six straps, and straightened up, panting and gasping for

breath. Helen was silent behind him as he stood with his hands

folded quietly in front of him, hoping his breathing would return

somehow to normal.

Suddenly, he felt a weight on both ankles. His eyes opened in

shock as he realized Helen had just locked leg shackles around his

ankles. "Wha-?! Helen!" he cried. In an instant she stood in

front of him and slapped him hard across the face. "Shut up,

you perverted piece of shit!" she hissed, her teeth clenched in

an angry grimace. Then she said, speaking barely above a whisper,

"Listen, and listen good, Rona. We are going to do things *my*

way. I don't give a good goddamn what your opinions are, do you

understand? You just do what you're told to do. Remember? I

said our relationship was going to depend on how much you trust

me, and on how much you please me. Well, right now, it pleases

me to place you in these shackles. This is only the start, Rona.

If you can't handle this, say so now, and I'll release you and

you can go on your merry way."

Ronald's eyes began to fill with tears. "B-But, Helen..."

Again, she viciously slapped his face, nearly knocking him over

with the force of her blow. She brought her face right up to

his, so close he could see every pore. "And from now on, I am

'Ma'am' to you. Got that? Yes, Ma'am. No, Ma'am. And eyes down!"

Another slap, this one with her other hand. Now Ronald began

to cry in earnest. "Well?" she spat at him.

"Yes, Ma'am. Please, don't slap me again." SLAP!!

"You forgot to say 'Ma'am,' little fairy, Rona."

"Yes, Ma'am. I'm sorry, Ma'am." Ronald stood, eyes downcast,

thoroughly dejected. And frightened. He had no idea where Helen

was headed with this. And he trembled and shook as the tears

poured down his cheeks.

She stood directly in front of him again. "Those shackles

will stay on your ankles until I am satisfied with your performance.

The chain between the ankle cuffs is exactly eighteen inches long.

You will learn to walk in such a way that the chain is never drawn

tight. And you will walk, Rona, you will not shuffle like some

death-row prisoner on his way to the gas chamber. You will walk,

and you will look graceful doing it. Understand?"

"Y-yes, Ma'am," he gasped, trying to speak and breathe through

his heaving sobs.

"There is just enough slack in the cuffs for you to be able to

fit your stockings through to take them off and put them on each

day." She went over to the couch and sat down. "Now come over

here. I want to get a good look at you." Ronald shuffled over

to stand before her. In a flash, she was on her feet, and once

again delivered a slap to his cheek that nearly knocked him over.

She screamed, "I told you to walk, pervert! Not shuffle! Walk!

Go over to the wall, over there, right this instant. Go on. Get

over there. And you better walk gracefully, Rona. I'm warning

you."

Ronald tried to look as normal as possible as he slowly did

her bidding. His hips began a gentle sway as he carefully placed

one foot in front of the other, making sure to leave some slack

in the chain that joined his ankle cuffs together. When he had

finished crossing the room, Helen commanded, "Face the wall, pansy."

Ronald did as she ordered. "Fold your arms behind you, grasping

your elbows with your hands." Ronald carefully complied. "Now,

turn around and *walk* back over here to the couch." Ronald

slowly turned and carefully, oh so carefully, walked - minced

was more like it - back to stand before Helen. Helen looked at

him for a few moments, then got up and left the room. Ronald

could hear her in the bedroom. After a short while, she returned

and resumed sitting on the couch. Ronald noticed she had changed

out of her business suit, and was now wearing a casual miniskirt

and t-shirt which emphasized her ample, and braless, breasts.

Then, very quietly, she spoke: "Kneel down, Rona. Right there.

Yes, good. Now, fold your arms behind you again. Get used to

that. That is how you will present yourself to me at all times.

Eyes on the floor. Don't ever forget that. Now, I'm going to

ask you one more time. Do you want our marriage to continue?"

Ronald whispered, "Yes, Ma'am."

"Are you willing to share our relationship with each other on *my*

terms?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Are you willing to trust my judgement? Are you willing to submit

to me, to serve my pleasure and only my pleasure?"

Sweat was forming on Ronald's forehead and upper lip. His grasp

of his elbows was becoming slippery. He hesitated as he considered

Helen's question.

"Well? What is it, Rona? Are you willing to give yourself entirely

to me? Or not? Hmm?"

In a barely audible voice, Ronald replied, "Yes, Ma'am. I'll do

whatever you desire."

"All right, Rona. I'm going to confess that I'm not entirely certain

where or how far I want this to go. That's why I'm asking you to

put your trust in me. But if you're willing to do that, I know that

whatever conclusions I come to will be the right ones. Can you live

with that? Can you live with my demands on you, not even knowing

what's expected?"

The sweat rolled down his cheeks as the tears previously had. His

lips were trembling; his breath shallow and harsh. "I...I..." he

stopped, his brow knitted, obviously struggling to come to a

decision. "I..I...yeess, oh, lord, yes. I'm yours. I'm yours."

His voice trailed off to a nearly-silent moan.

Helen considered the person kneeling before her. This was her husband,

she thought. This was the man she had married, in whom she had placed

all her trust and all her hopes and all her dreams. And, look at him:

sweating, tear-stained face, eyes focused on the floor; wearing a tightly

constricting corset and stockings; kneeling with his ankles shackled.

She hesitated for just a moment. Is this what I want? Why don't I just

end this now? Why don't I just throw him out, or leave myself? Why go

on? Was it worth it? She gazed at Ronald, felt a warm rush of love

and - what, pity? - overwhelm her. "Fool," she thought. "I hope you

know what you're doing." Then she spoke aloud. "Look at my hands,

Rona. This is your wallet. I'm taking everything out of it. See your

driver's license? I'm cutting it into little pieces. See your credit

cards? I'm doing the same thing with them. From now on, you are

totally dependent upon me. For everything. Understand?"

Ronald's eyes filled anew with tears. He nodded, sniffling.

"Speak when you are spoken to," she demanded. Then placing her foot

against his crotch, she gave a small kick with her toes. Ronald

grimaced in pain and confusion as the swinging foot came into contact

with his naked cock and balls. Finally he stammered, "Y-yes, M-Ma'am,

I...I...understand."

She sat contemplating Ronald as he knelt before her. After several

minutes, she murmured, "It's time to begin." Slowly, she opened her

legs. Slowly, she spread them apart. Ronald, from his vantage point

before her, could see that she had removed her panties. His eyes gazed

directly into her pussy as it spread open before him. Holding his

shoulders with her hands, she carefully bent him forward, letting his

head drop into her lap, until his face was only a few inches away from

her gaping cunt. "Look carefully, Rona," she said. "What you see

before you is not just my pussy. It is your *queen.* You will worship

it as any good subject would its loyal mistress. The greatest honor

I can bestow upon you will be to allow you to place your lips and

your tongue into the mouth of your queen. Whenever you are in her

presence, you will be in a state of total abject servitude. Just like

now. Do you understand?"

Ronald's voice was muffled, but Helen could clearly hear him

utter, "Yes, Ma'am."

Helen continued, "Your greatest happiness will be in serving your

queen. Your greatest desire will be to do it well. Do you agree?"

Again, the muffled, "Yes, Ma'am."

Helen then said, "Rona, you have agreed to all terms and conditions

I have placed on you. Have you not?"

"I have, Ma'am."

"You're prepared to go forward now?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"There won't be any turning back from here on in, you know, Rona.

You belong body and soul to me, to serve my pleasure and my pleasure

only. Agreed?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"You may worship your queen, Rona."

Ronald pushed his face forward until his lips made contact with Helen's

hot, wet pussy. He opened his mouth as wide as he could and pushed it

as hard as possible against the lips, trying to glue himself onto her.

His tongue rushed out of his mouth and began licking the moistness that

covered her clit and her hole, drinking it in as though it were a magic

elixir to provide everlasting joy. He jammed his lips against her, his

nose crushed into her pubic hair, and he licked and sucked until she

began to respond, wrapping her legs tightly around him, crushing his ears

so he could barely hear her loud, orgasmic cries. Her feet began to

beat a steady tattoo on his back as she bucked and heaved against his

face, crying out in a voice filled with longing. Over and over again, she

scraped her pussy up and down across Ronald's mouth and tongue, rubbing

him raw and stifling his breathing; but onward he pressed, driven mad

by the raw tension of the moment and the nearness of release from his

pent-up passion. Onward and upward they climbed toward the ultimate

orgasmic heights, hearts pounding in time to Helen's beating feet as she

jammed-pushed-crushed herself against Ronald's face. Her hands formed

into fists and she pounded the top of his head. Then, with a long,

piercing cry, she came, and opened her fists to clutch at his hair,

pressing him tighter and tighter against her love-hole, humping her

passion against him, soaring into the clouds of overwhelming pleasure.

Finally, she was spent, and releasing Ronald's hair, she fell back onto

the couch with a loud sigh. Slowly, she let her legs relax and loosen

their grip on Ronald's head. As she did so, Ronald pulled his head

away from her pussy, taking in great heaving gasps of air, his chest

expanding in loud sobs.

The room subsided into a quiet hush again. Ronald once again knelt

straight up before the heavily breathing Helen. She looked down at

him and, pointing to her pussy, ordered, "Is that showing any respect

for your queen? Clean up the mess you made, sissy." And she grabbed

him by the ears, pulling his face into her pussy once again. Ronald

was almost overcome by the moment, but he calmed himself and began

to clean Helen's vagina. He licked, he blew gently across her labia,

and he cleaned up great globs of pussy-juice and sweat. Finally,

placing a gentle kiss on her clit-hood, he indicated he was done.

Helen ordered him to kneel straight up again. Once again she gazed

at him, trying to determine where and how to proceed with this thing

they'd set in motion. Finally, she said, "All right, Rona, you fairy.

I want you to stand and walk - not shuffle - over to the wall and

stand facing it." Ronald did as he was told, and soon he was standing

against the wall with his face squarely up against it.

Helen went into their bedroom and began removing his belongings

from his drawers and closet. Not just his clothes and underwear,

but his shoes, his jewelry, everything that attached him to his old

identity of Ronald, was placed in huge green plastic lawn and

leaf bags. Before she was done, Helen filled four bags full of

Ronald's things. Their home was a single-story 'ranch' type house

with a carport attached at the kitchen. There was no real attic

in the house, but above the carport there was a storage area which

was enclosed and was safe from the weather. One after the other,

she carried the bags of Ronald's belongings out to the carport and

wrestled them into the overhead storage area. Ronald, of course,

standing with his face to the living room wall away from the

hall which led from their bedroom to the kitchen, was completely

unaware of what Helen was doing.

Their house was small, containing only two bedrooms: the master

bedroom and a very small second room which they had converted into

a combination den/office. It was to this room that Helen now turned

her attention. It was furnished with a desk and chair, an easy chair

with a standing floor lamp, a small chest of drawers containing

sewing equipment and material, a sewing table, and a long walk-in

closet which ran the length of one wall of the room. At the moment,

the closet was full of odds and ends. The first thing Helen did was

clean out the closet, placing everything in the same kind of bags she

had put Ronald's belongings in. Then, she carried these bags to the

carport and shoved them into the storage space along with Ronald's

bags. Next, she slid the easy chair and floor lamp across the hall

into the large bedroom. She wasn't at all certain what to do

with the desk and chair, and the computer on top of the desk, so

she decided to leave them there for the moment. She went into the

bedroom and brought all the shopping bags she had accumulated during

the week into the den/office. Removing their contents, she began to

place them in the closet. There were two pair of high-heeled shoes,

perhaps three inch heels, but pencil-thin. There were two identical

French maid's outfits, with black satin on the outside and, under-

neath the very short skirt, one outfit had stiff crinoline petticoats

in flaming red, while the other one's petticoats were white. The

sleeves were puffy and short, and the tops had scoop necks fringed

in white lace. Each dress had an apron which tied at the waist and

covered a small part of the front of the skirt. Besides these out-

fits, there were two absolutely sheer shorty nightgowns that came

down to just above the wearer's genitals. There were no panties to

wear with them. And, of course, there were the stockings which

Helen retrieved from the living room and placed on the shelf

above the hanger rod in the closet. There was another corset as well,

just like the black one Ronald was wearing, only this one was

flaming red, like the crinoline petticoats in the maid's outfit

hanging below it. Next, Helen brought over a box containing a wig

form and a luxurious wig, which she placed on the dresser. Finally,

she brought the last shopping bag into the room. This bag contained

all kinds of cosmetics - lipstick, nail polish, combs, brushes,

perfumes and colognes, ponytail holders, bobby pins - everything a

woman would need to complete her toilette. When she was done, Helen

stepped back and looked the room over. Later she could move the

desk and chair out of the room and place them in the living room,

perhaps in a corner which now held only a planter with a huge

ficus growing out of it. Otherwise, the room was nearly ready for

"Rona." This would be his sleeping quarters and his workroom.

* * * * * * * * *

Satisfied, Helen backed out of the room, admiring her handiwork,

and then returned to the living room. Rona was still standing

against the wall. In a soft voice, Helen said, "Well, Rona, did

you not hear your queen enter the room?"

Ronald hesitated, then whispered, "Yes, Ma'am."

"Well, then, why are you still standing? Why are you not on

your knees paying homage to your queen? What kind of stupid

sissy are you, Rona?"

Rona, confused, started to turn. "I didn't tell you to turn,

did I, faggot?" Helen shouted.

"N-no, M-Ma'am," replied the terrified Rona.

"I said 'get on your knees,' didn't I?" she demanded.

"Y-yes, M-Ma'am," he said in a trembling voice.

"Well, pussylicker? Are you going to honor your queen, or not?"

Rona dropped immediately to his knees.

"That's better. You are really thick, Rona, do you know that?

When I say 'honor your queen,' you should know immediately to

drop to your knees. Shouldn't you?"

Rona nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

Helen contemplated him for a moment. "Wait right there," she

said. "Don't get up. Understand?" Rona nodded. Helen left the

room, returning in a couple of minutes. In her hand she held a

riding crop, with a firm grip and a nasty tail knotted into

the end. Helen continued, "I was hoping I wouldn't have to use

this on you. But you're such a thick-headed ninny, I figure I'm

going to have to use it just to keep you alert. Look over here

at what I'm holding in my hand." Rona's eyes widened when he

saw the crop. "Don't think I won't use it, either, faggot. You

are going to be one well-trained sissy slave maid by the time

I'm done with you. And that's a promise. Now, before we begin

your training in earnest, there's one other possession you hold

which I desire. Take off your wedding band and give it to me."

Eyes moist and puzzled, he removed the band and placed it in

her outstretched hand. "You don't deserve me, sissy. I don't

know if you ever will. Maybe someday. If you ever do, I'll

give it back. But, as far as we are concerned right now, I

think you're nothing more than a limp-wristed fairy, a worth-

less fag slut, with a penis so useless it doesn't deserve the

name. Now, stand up and walk across the hall to *my* bedroom.

Then I want you to lie down on the floor on your tummy.

Understand?" And she emphasized the last word with a flick of

the crop against Rona's ass cheek.

With a look of shock, Rona leaped to his feet and began to

shuffle out the door. "Don't shuffle, slut!" screamed Helen.

"Walk!" And again, the crop lashed out, this time severely.

Rona almost lost the grip of his elbows, and very nearly began

crying again. But he managed finally to take short, mincing

steps and, after what seemed like an hour, crossed the hall

and entered his former bedroom. He then lay down on the floor

next to the bed. Helen leaned over him, "I have a carpenter coming

here to install something for me, little sissy dick. You just

lay here on the floor and keep your mouth shut. Understand?"

Rona nodded, and Helen slowly backed out the door. Finally,

he heard her close the door quietly; and then he heard the

turning of the key in the lock. Too terrified, and too exhausted

as well to move, Rona simply lay there, determined to be quiet

and still until Helen returned with her next set of demands.

A long time passed, and Rona nearly fell asleep. But, then, he

heard the doorbell chime, heard Helen speaking in a muffled tone

to someone at the door; then, he heard two pairs of feet walk

past the bedroom door going toward the den/office at the end of

the hall. The door closed and the house was quiet again, until

suddenly, Rona could hear the sound of a hammer banging on a wall

in the other room.

The hammering continued for a long time, and then the house

grew quiet again. A long time passed before he heard anything else.

Then, he heard what sounded like something being pushed along the

hall past the bedroom door. After a short while, the house grew quiet

once again. A few minutes later, Rona could hear the sound of the

front door opening, could hear the muffled voices, could hear the

sound of the door closing. The house became silent once more.

After another seemingly long interval, the bedroom door opened.

Rona could hear Helen as she quietly entered the room. Suddenly,

his world exploded in pain. Helen began to beat down on his ass

with the crop. "On your feet, my sissy maid!" she shouted.

"Time to start your training!" Rona stood as quickly as he could,

given the impediment of the shackles and his futile efforts to

dodge the blows being rained down on his rapidly reddening ass.

Finally, Helen was finished. The two of them stood facing each

other, Helen glaring with fire in her eye, Rona grimacing in pain,

freezing his eyes to the floor. "You pussy wimp," seethed Helen.

"I ought to beat you black and blue. Now, take off your corset

and your stockings, pussyboy."

After Rona had finished undressing, Helen had him walk down the

hall to a bathroom next to the office/den. Since the master bed-

room had its own attached bathroom, they had never used the 'guest'

bathroom, except when they entertained. This bathroom would soon

become Rona's. He hadn't used a toilet since early that morning,

so Helen allowed him that luxury, then ordered him to climb into

the shower stall. "I'm going to shave you hairless," she declared.

"You looked ridiculous in those stockings with all that hair on your

legs. And while I'm at it, I may as well get all the rest of it."

After he had showered, Helen had Rona lather himself up; then,

as he stood shivering in the center of the tub, she carefully

shaved off all his body hair, including his pubic thatch and a

few stray hairs she found in the crack of his anus. After finishing

the shave, she rubbed some lotion all over him, allowing the chafing

and burning feeling to be soothed. When that was done, she ordered

him out of the tub, and then closing the toilet seat lid, she had

him sit on it. She looked at him with a serious expression. "You

better sit very, very still, Rona. I don't want to be responsible

for slicing your head open." She then produced a pair of shears and

proceeded to cut his hair down to a short stubble. She completed

the job by then using a straight razor to shave him completely bald.

She then applied lotion to his scalp, just as she had done for the

rest of his body. When she was satisfied with his appearance, she

stood and ordered him to follow her. "We're going to examine your

new room," she said as she walked down the hall to the office/den.

She held the door open and motioned for Rona to enter. Rona stepped

into the room and looked around. Helen said, "The carpenter replaced

the windows with opaque glass, so someone outside the house can't

see that inside it's been boarded up. This allows you plenty of

privacy, you see."

Helen pointed to the closet. "You see all your pretty new

clothes are in there? You have two uniforms with matching corsets

and shoes and lots of stockings. And you have a couple of nighties

to allow you to sleep comfortably. You'll notice the carpenter

built a bed for you in the closet, with a trundle drawer under it to

put your lingerie and other personal items in." She next pointed to

the chest of drawers across the small room. "All your cosmetics

and other toiletries are on top of the chest," she said. "Your

wig form and wig are there, too, as you can see. The drawers are

full of sewing supplies, bed and bath linens, and material for

various uses. You're going to become an expert seamstress,

littledick. Oh, yes, as you can see over in the corner, I've put

the ironing board. The iron is in one of the drawers. See, this

is your office as well as you bedroom. Any questions about your

new room?"

The naked, shaven Rona bowed his head and mumbled, "No, Ma'am."

Helen said, "Of course, things are always subject to change,

but for the time being, and especially during your training period,

your routine is going to be extremely strict. You're going to

learn to walk, stand, sit, kneel, as I desire it. You're going to

learn how to make yourself up and how to arrange your wig in a

variety of styles. You're going to learn how to dress yourself

and especially how to lace yourself into your corset each day.

And you're going to learn how to cook, how to clean, how to sew,

all the so-called womanly arts. But, mainly, you're going to

learn how to worship your queen and be obedient to her." Rona

blushed at this last remark.

"Each morning, before you dress, you will masturbate yourself

to a climax. This will be the only sexual activity in which

you may please yourself. You will climax into a small paper cup.

After you have reported to me and been inspected, you will then

drink the contents of the cup, and you will lick it clean. Now,

it's been a long day and I know you're tired. I'm going to let

you go to bed and we shall begin your training in the morning."

She watched as Rona went to the closet and took down one of

the nighties and put it on. It covered him down to his hips,

leaving his hairless cock and balls exposed. "Get a good night's

sleep," said Helen. "I'll see you in the morning." She turned off

the light, and softly closed the door. The last thing Rona heard

before falling into an exhausted slumber was the sound of a key

locking the door.

* * * * * * * * *

End Part 2 of 4

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From alt.sex.stories Mon Apr 8 01:08:19 1996

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~Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.femdom,an309248

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~Date: Tue, 2 Apr 1996 23:35:10 UTC

~Subject: Story: Learning Her Way, 3 of 4 (Femdom,petticoating); 2nd try

~Lines: 740

This story is intended for adults above the age of 18. If you

are not 18 years or older, please do not read any further.

This story tells of a man being petticoated by his wife.

I hope all you fans of femdom literature enjoy it.

LEARNING HER WAY

Part 3 of 4

by Little Sissy Tippytoes

* * * * * * * * *

"GET UP! GET UP! GET UP!"

Rona groaned and opened his eyes. Suddenly, he sat up as he

saw Helen's arm descend. He screamed as the riding crop bit into

his shoulder, and tried to roll away as the blows rained down.

"Too slow, pervert!" Helen screamed. "Get up right now!"

Rona struggled out of the sleeping bag and got to his feet.

WHAP! the crop bit into his ass cheek. "On your knees, fairy!"

Helen shouted. Rona immediately dropped to his knees. "Hands

behind your back! Arms folded! Grab those elbows!" Rona

hastened to obey. "You are in the presence of your queen, you

worthless cunt! Show some respect!" Helen walked around the

kneeling figure, tapping her thigh with the riding crop. Rona

blinked and cringed at each slap. Helen stopped circling Rona

and, in a quieter, but still firm voice, asked, "What did I

tell you was the first thing you were to do in the morning,

slut?"

Rona struggled to remember Helen's instructions. He had been

so tired last night that her words were a blur in his memory.

Then, it came to him. "I am to masturbate into a paper cup,

Ma'am," he mumbled. SMACK! Rona gasped as the crop bit into

his ass. "Get to it, pussyface! And, by the way, you refer to

yourself as Rona. Got that? Your identity belongs to your

queen. There is no longer 'you'. It's Rona. Rona." And she

slapped him again with the crop. Rona grasped his penis and

began stroking it. But, because of his nervousness and his

need to urinate, he had a difficult time coaxing it into an

erection. "Keep working, faggot. We're going to stay here until

you have completed your duty."

Helen stood above him, her legs slightly spread, the crop

held loosely by her side where Rona could see it as he knelt

before her pulling on his semi-erect penis. Finally, after

what seemed like an eternity, his cock began to stiffen and

swell. Sweat formed on his forehead and his upper lip as he

struggled to maintain the erection and bring himself off.

He silently prayed for the ordeal to end. The pace of his

pulling increased; he grimaced and groaned and the sweat

poured down as he pummeled his hapless dick. Finally (oh, thank

god!), he felt the climax approach. His stroking became frenzied,

and the knob of his penis became purple in hue as he pounded

away, trying to bring the relief he so sorely craved. And

then, in a gush, the milky sperm shot out of his penis into

the cup he held in his other hand. He sighed, more like a moan

than a sigh, as the cum disappeared into the cup. At long

last, he was done. He continued to milk himself, though, until

his penis had shrunk to its normal flaccid state.

"Drink up, pussy," Helen sneered at the kneeling man. "All

of it. I don't want to see any cum left in there when you're

done." Rona drank what he could, then licked the sides and

bottom of the cup until it looked completely clean. Then,

face blazing red with embarrassment, he handed the cup to

Helen for her inspection. "Pretty good for the first time,"

she remarked, after she had looked the cup carefully over.

"All right. Now you may walk - gracefully, mind you - to

the bathroom and take care of your toilet needs. Stand up,

bitch." Rona stood up, but kept his eyes aimed at the floor.

Helen tapped him on the ass and he carefully stepped to the

door and into the hall, making sure to keep slack in the chain

between his ankles and trying not to shuffle as he made his

way slowly into the hall to the bathroom. Helen, following

behind, said, "Don't close the door. You don't deserve any

privacy."

So Rona arrived at the bathroom, where he was finally able

to sit on the toilet and relieve his aching bladder. Then he

washed his face and hands, and carefully shaved under the

watchful eye of his wife. When he was done, she flicked him

on the ass with the crop, and said, "Now, time to get dressed.

You have a big day ahead of you." Rona repeated the careful

walk back to his bedroom, then stood in the center of the room

waiting for Helen's instructions.

"First, put on a pair of stockings. And remember: no

wrinkles and seams perfectly straight."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Rona carefully slipped each stocking through the ankle cuffs

and slowly pulled them up each leg, making sure to smooth out

any wrinkles and insuring the seams were centered and straight.

Helen handed him one of the corsets. "Now put this on. And

I don't want to see any slack in the laces when you're done.

Got that?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Rona wrapped the corset around himself and struggled to pull

it as closed as he could. Beneath the laces was a zipper which

allowed him to close the garment. But, because it was so

tight, he had a hard time catching the zipper so he could pull

it up. Finally, after much struggle the zipper was closed;

Rona was out of breath. But now came the real struggle. The

laces had to be tightened and tightened again, over and over

until Rona could feel no slack at all. He could barely breathe

when he'd completed the lacing, and it was a struggle to bend

over to attach his stockings to the dangling garters. But with

much huffing and puffing, he finally finished snapping them

in place. Then he straightened up and dropped his hands to his

sides to indicate he was done.

SMACK! The crop struck his thigh so hard it raised a welt.

Rona cried out, and tears tumbled out of his eyes.

"Idiot! You should know by now the proper way to stand is

with your arms folded behind you, hands grasping elbows. Haven't

you figured that out by now?" And she lashed him again with the

crop.

"Oh, Ma'am, I - R-Rona - i-is sorry, Ma'am," he cried. And

immediately folded his arms behind him in the proper position.

"Now, maybe I can see how well you've laced your corset up."

Helen placed her fingernail against each lacing, trying to

insert it under any that might be loose. It certainly looked as

though Rona had done a good job. His face was florid from the

exertion and the difficulty he had breathing.

Helen faced him and said, "All right. You pass. Now, I'm

going to help you into your heels. From now on, you will put

them on yourself before you put your corset on. I don't think

you can bend over enough to do it the way you are now." She

inserted each foot into the high-heeled shoes causing Rona to

lose balance and begin to stumble and sway a bit. "Worthless

pussy bitch," muttered Helen. "You better learn how to deal

with this, or you'll find yourself in big trouble, missy.

Now, we're not done yet." She handed Rona a white satin ribbon,

about 3/4 inches wide. Rona held the ribbon in his hand. He

looked thoroughly confused.

"I want you to tie that ribbon around your worthless cock,

just behind the crown. I want it tied as tight as you can get

it without cutting off your circulation. And I want it to have

a perfect bow on the top side. Got it?"

Rona nodded. "Y-yes, Ma'am."

"This way, you won't be tempted to mar your feminine appearance

with an ugly erection. Go on. Make a nice bow, pansy."

Rona tied a good tight knot, making the crown darken in color

until it was almost as purple as when he had masturbated earlier.

Next, he tied a bow. It wasn't perfect, but it was passable.

Helen examined the completed job. "You'll have to do much

better than that in the future if you want to properly worship

your queen, slut." Then she looked deep into his eyes. "Now

you see why I want you to masturbate in the morning. Hopefully,

you'll be able to control your urges when you are serving your queen."

She turned and started towards the hall. Teetering precariously,

and painfully - the high heels were tight - Rona followed behind,

struggling to walk as gracefully as possible - and breathe - and

ignore the growing ache in his penis. When they finally reached

the kitchen, Helen turned to Rona. "After you have dressed, and

of course you normally will put your uniform on over your sissygirl

underwear, you are to come here to the kitchen to begin preparing

my breakfast. For the time being, you are under severe discipline

and I am limiting you to one meal a day, which will be lunch.

Later, when you've completed your 'basic training,' we'll see

about allowing you to eat twice a day. This will depend, obviously,

on how good a slut-slave you become. The way you're going now,

I can guarantee you it'll be a long time before you get more than

lunch. You are, however, permitted to drink as much water as

you like. But, you will only be allowed to pee when it is convenient

for your queen. I'm sure by now even an idiot like you understands

this little condition. Right?"

In an almost whisper, Rona replied, "Yes, Ma'am."

"Now, there are two other points I want to emphasize right now.

I'm going to tell you this once, so you better be very clear in

your understanding, and you better never, ever forget what I'm about

to tell you. Whenever you are in the presence of your queen, you will

kneel directly before her, and your eyes will never leave her. Second,

when you enter her presence, before you kneel, you will approach and

curtsey. When you have received permission to kneel, you will do so,

and you will worship her with a kiss. Likewise, when you are dismissed,

you will worship her, stand, curtsey and leave. And always, always,

always (these 'always's' punctuated by slaps of the crop against her

thigh) your arms are folded behind your back, hands clasping elbows.

Unless of course you are carrying something. Now, do you understand,

miss fairy cunt?"

Rona, eyes lowered, nodded. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

"No, Ma'am."

"Worthless bitch."

Suddenly, Helen lashed out with the crop, smacking Rona on his thigh,

causing him to scream in terror and pain. "Well, you are in the

presence of your queen, girlycock! Why aren't you curtseying?" And the

crop landed viciously on the reddened thigh again.

Rona attempted a very poor curtsey. After all, he'd never done any-

thing like that before. His effort was so ridiculous that even Helen

couldn't help but laugh. "No, no, no, you clumsy bitch. Here, let me

show you how and then you can practice. You look ridiculous." And she

continued to laugh, while Rona blushed with shame. Helen showed Rona

how she wanted him to curtsey; not a deep royal curtsey, but certainly

deeper than a little dip. She then had Rona practice it several times.

Rona was becoming exhausted by the effort to balance on the high heels

as he curtseyed, and to try at the same time to breathe normally.

He was so overwhelmed with his discomfort at the too-tight corset and

too-tight shoes and awkward posture, he paid hardly any notice to the

increasing pain in his penis. If he could have looked down and seen

it, he would have noticed the head growing a deeper and deeper shade of

purple. For the moment, however, that was the least of his concerns.

His biggest worry was pleasing Helen with his curtsey. By the time

she finally allowed him to kneel before her, his ass was glowing red

from all the blows of the crop. Tears poured out of his eyes, and he

was gasping and coughing in his effort to capture air into his lungs.

As Rona knelt before his queen, Helen lifted her skirt, revealing she

was wearing no panties. "You may worship your queen, slut," she said.

Rona leaned forward and placed a light kiss on Helen's pubic mound.

"Hold your lips there and count slowly to ten," Helen instructed.

After a few moments, Helen said, "All right. That is about how long

your kiss should last." She lowered her skirt and continued, "Now,

as I said, you shall remain kneeling in the presence of your queen

until you are either dismissed or are presented with some task. Now,

get up and prepare my breakfast. I've left a menu on the counter next

to the stove."

It was quite an effort for Rona to stand. The uncomfortable shoes,

with their pencil-thin heels, were difficult to stand in, especially

with his arms folded behind him. He could imagine that, if he had to

kneel for any length of time, he would probably collapse trying to

stand. This thought filled him with terror, and he considered spending

whatever free time he might get practicing this maneuver just so he

wouldn't incur Helen's wrath again. Once on his feet, he walked as

gracefully as possible over to the counter and looked at the list.

As it turned out, Helen's menu was not particularly difficult to fill;

she hadn't asked for anything exotic or difficult to cook. After

bringing the food to the table, Rona knelt beside Helen's chair to await

further instructions. After a few moments, Helen said, "I think while

you are serving a meal, you may stand, so that you may respond more

quickly to my desires. But your eyes remain fixed on your queen.

Got it?"

Rona replied, "Yes, Ma'am," and once more struggled to his feet.

As she ate her breakfast, Helen explained to Rona that she had the

next two weeks free from work. She had applied for all her vacation

leave on the pretext that there had been a death in the family and

she was needed to help settle certain financial and property affairs.

Her boss, who owned the bookstore-cafe she managed, lusted after her,

and was easily manipulated by her because of it. He gave her paid

administrative leave instead of making her take vacation time, and

then told her to take all the time she needed to resolve all these

issues. "So, I have lots and lots of time to take care of your

training, little Rona-fag. By the time I'm done, you'll be a perfect

pussy slave."

The rest of the day Rona spent practicing walking, curtseying,

worshiping his queen (which involved long sessions of cunnilingus)

and all other types of obedience. Helen gave him a short lunch break

so he could eat a small salad and a glass of water. He was also

required to take a vitamin tablet. She pondered the possibility of

obtaining a prescription for estrogen pills. She wasn't sure if the

estrogen would help or not; it didn't matter, actually. Either Rona

would break and become her pussy-whipped slave, or he wouldn't.

And if he didn't, Helen planned to just throw him out of the house

and send him on his way.

And so the training continued. Every mistake, no matter how small,

was punished by several lashes of the crop. Every small failure was

met with derisive comments from Helen. By the end of the day, Rona

was physically exhausted and emotionally spent. As he removed his

shoes, stockings and corset, Helen reminded him that this was just the

beginning. He had a long, long way to go, and a great deal to learn

before he would truly be worthy to be subject to his queen. Before

his head even hit the pillow, Rona was already asleep.

* * * * * * * * *

The next morning began much as the previous day had. Rona awoke

to Helen's screams of, "GET UP! GET UP! GET UP!" This time, however,

he was allowed to urinate, and to shower and shave, before having

to masturbate into a cup and drink the cum. Again, he was ordered

to put on his stockings, corset and shoes. Only this morning, he

had to put his heels on before lacing on the corset. When he had

completed these tasks, Helen handed him another ribbon, which he

dutifully tied around his limp penis. Once again, she marched him

into the kitchen and ordered him to prepare and serve her breakfast.

By this time, not only was he mentally and physically exhausted, but

he was ravenously hungry. He'd only had the small salad at lunch

yesterday. After Helen had completed her breakfast, and Rona had

finished clearing and washing the dishes, he then spent a long

session 'worshiping his queen,' a painful affair as his prick would

start to become stiff, but the agonizing constriction of the tightly

tied ribbon around his penis would force Rona to nearly scream aloud.

Helen experienced three orgasms while Rona's talented mouth lavished

all its energy and skill on her pussy. Rona was gasping and choking

by the time Helen loosened the grip her thighs had on Rona's head.

Then Helen ordered Rona to walk - "gracefully, remember" - to Helen's

bedroom, and to lie face down on the floor beside the bed. Rona did

as he was instructed, and once he was in place and somewhat comfortable,

Helen told him she had asked the carpenter to return to complete some

more modifications to Rona's room. Helen then left the room, locking

the door behind her. Silence descended on the house, and it was quiet

for a long time. Despite his efforts to remain awake, Rona's exhaustion

and hunger overcame him, and slowly his eyes closed and he began to doze

off. Some time later, he was awakened by the sound of a hammer pounding;

the sound was coming from the area of the house near his room and the

bathroom. For several hours, Rona lay there on the floor, becoming

hungrier and hungrier, while the hammering and sawing sounds continued.

Finally, they stopped, and the house grew quiet again. Rona wished Helen

would come into the room and announce that it was time for lunch. But

there was no sign of Helen. There was no sign of any life. The house

was absolutely still. Rona dozed on and off as he lay there on the floor.

Finally, the door to the bedroom opened, and Helen stepped inside. She

tiptoed over to Rona, who was asleep beside the bed. She leaned over

until her mouth was only inches away from his ear. "WAKE UP, FAGGOT!"

she screamed. Rona nearly leaped out of his corset. Helen gave him a

tight smile. "Follow me, Rona. I want you to see what I've done with

your room." Rona stumbled to his feet and followed Helen as she went

down the hall and entered Rona's room. When Rona stepped into the room,

he didn't see anything immediately different, but as he followed Helen's

gaze, he suddenly realized what the carpenter had done today. An opening

had been cut into the wall so that Rona's room now opened directly into

the bathroom. The carpenter had also removed the hallway entrance to

the bathroom, sealing it off with drywall. He had also repainted the

walls of the hallway and Rona's room. Rona looked puzzled.

Helen laughed. "Now I can leave the house and know that you are

safe and sound all day," she said. "You now have your own 'apartment.'

See? You have your sleeping area, you have your 'office'" - here she

pointed to the ironing board and the sewing machine - "and you have

a bathroom and a kitchen." Rona looked confused, until Helen pointed

to a corner of the room. There sat a small refrigerator, a sort of

large plug-in cooler. "You can place your lunch in the refrigerator.

So, you see? You'll be comfy and cozy all day, while I'm out slaving

away, trying to earn a few dollars to pay all the bills. Now, on

your knees, bitch." Rona knelt. "Worship your queen." Rona worshiped.

After lunch, with Rona preparing a lovely ham and cheese melt sandwich

for Helen, complete with lettuce, tomato, a side of chips and a tall,

cold glass of iced tea, while Rona nibbled at his own skimpy lunch of

salad greens with sliced cucumber and cherry tomatoes, ice water and his

vitamins and pill, Helen continued the training. Rona was required to

practice walking - "gracefully" - up and down the length of the hall. He

was required to practice moving to his kneeling - worship - position,

holding his knees together as he lowered them to the floor, then holding

them together again as he stood. He also practiced curtseying, pretending

he was wearing his maid's uniform, holding the hem of an imaginary skirt

as he dipped prettily before his queen. Over and over he practiced his

maneuvers, and every tiny mis-step, every slight mistake, was corrected

viciously with a crop lashing and insults screamed in his ears. Only

twice through the long day was he allowed to rest, once when he nearly

collapsed trying to stand up after kneeling for a prolonged tongue-lashing

and whip punishment, and once when Helen allowed him to relieve himself

on the toilet. Finally, the day ended with Rona preparing dinner for

Helen and serving it, using all the skills he had learned that day to

provide the most perfect service he could.

When she had completed her meal, Helen had Rona follow her into the

living room. There, Rona was required to kneel and place his face

between her legs, his mouth inches away from her moist vagina. Helen

had him repeat his pledge to devote his life to his queen, to give up

his own pleasure to serve only hers. He promised to love, honor, obey,

cherish and serve his queen to the uttermost of his ability. He nearly

wept with joy when Helen finally allowed him to kiss and lick her to

orgasm.

Her pleasure taken care of, she ordered Rona to turn on the tv, and

then to go clean up the dinner dishes and the kitchen and dining room

in general. Rona hurried to comply and was soon finished with these

tasks. He returned to the living room, where he fell to his knees as

gracefully as he could and with head bowed informed Helen he was done.

She ordered him to stand and follow her to his room. She explained,

"Normally, you will serve me until you have prepared me for bed and

insured I am comfortably tucked in. But, I know you are totally

exhausted - as you will be through your entire training period. So,

I am going to allow you to go to bed now, ok?"

Rona was overcome with gratitude, "Oh, thank you, Ma'am. You are

so good to Rona. Thank you, thank you."

Helen dismissed him, then followed him to his room, standing in the

door watching, an amused smile on her lips, as he removed his sweat-

soaked corset, his heels and his stockings, and pulled the brief nighty

over his head. "Nighty, night, pussy slave," she called softly as

the fatigued Rona slipped into the closet bed. Then she turned out

the light and closed the door. The last thing Rona heard was the sound

of a key in the lock to his door, and another key locking the bathroom

door. He didn't care. He was too worn out to move.

* * * * * * * * *

The rest of the week passed quickly for Rona. Although the training

took on a very tedious aspect, the constant practice walking in the

hall, measuring his footfall over and over again; the continual curtseying

and genuflecting with both knees; all of these things quickly became

tiresome. But Rona's responses began to become automatic. He didn't

have to think about his responses to Helen's commands. He simply acted

instantly. It got to the point where he began to be able to anticipate

her next demands. Of course, the training didn't sail smoothly along;

there were many failures, many mistakes. And Rona was reminded of these

instantly and painfully. The riding crop punishment grew more and more

severe as Helen's insistence on absolute perfection increased.

Along with the 'basic' training, Helen also began to introduce what

she called 'feminization' training. Rona learned how to apply makeup,

how to do a manicure and a pedicure, how to brush, comb, and style his

hair (the wig of luxuriant human hair). And more. How to stand using the

proper posture, knees and feet together, arms folded behind him, hands

gently grasping the elbows. Rona could stand motionless for over an

hour without losing his composure. He learned how to keep his face

expressionless while engaged in his domestic duties. He learned how to

carry a tray of food, making it look effortless. He learned obedience,

docility, total submission to Helen's will and desires.

There was one major improvement in Rona's situation. The size of his

daily meal grew by a small, but immensely pleasurable amount. In

addition to the few cucumber slices and cherry tomatoes he was allowed to

add to his greens, Helen permitted him to add a sliced hard-boiled egg

and a light sprinkle of cheddar cheese. She also added one small roll,

without butter. Rona felt like he'd been invited to a banquet. It made

him even more grateful to Helen, and ever more desirous of being her

perfect pansy slave. He would actually get moist in his eyes thinking

of how glad he was she had kept him to train him to serve her pleasure

and her desires.

By Saturday, the beginning of his second week of training, much of

what Rona was doing had already begun to seem quite natural to him,

even applying makeup, doing his nails, and taking care of all the

other feminine chores he was required to do to improve his appearance,

to make himself look more feminine. That morning, when Helen woke

him, she seemed a bit friendlier, a bit less distant and harsh. Rona

performed his by now familiar ritual: toilet, shower, brush teeth,

carefully shave, masturbate, consume the cum, and return to his room

to dress. But this morning, she surprised him. "Today, you will

begin to wear your uniform," she said. "And I've bought you some new

shoes to make yourself look even more feminine." She went to the

closet and returned with two pairs of open-toed high heels. The heels

were even slimmer than the heels on the shoes Rona had been wearing,

though that hardly seemed possible. And they must have been at least

six inches! "We're going to try walking without the shackles today,"

she explained. "I think with these slightly higher heels, your step

will just naturally become a bit shorter. Anyway, we are going to

test the length of your stride after you've completed your kitchen

duties."

Rona simply dropped his eyes to the floor, and replied, "Yes, Ma'am,"

in his now habitual subservient whisper. "Thank you, Ma'am." But,

inwardly, his heart sang. Now he could really be a feminized fairy

slut! The dress! The shoes! Rona wanted to throw his arms around

Helen in grateful embrace. But he simply stood there, eyes focused on

the floor at his feet, awaiting further instructions. Quickly, he

pulled on the stockings she handed him, then stepped into the new

shoes. They really were severely arched! He felt like he was standing

on tip-toe. He knew he wouldn't be able to take long strides in these

shoes. He hoped he would look graceful and womanly when he walked in

them. He took the corset and quickly and expertly laced himself into

it, putting in the breast forms and joining the garters to his stockings.

Helen watched all this with a bemused smile on her lips. Then she went

to the closet and pulled down one of the maid's uniforms. She turned

to where Rona stood and held the dress out to him, as for his

inspection.

"I want you to notice something unique about this uniform dress,"

she said. She lifted the petticoat. Sewn into the waistband of the

inside of the dress and attached at both the front and rear was what

appeared to be a flat, narrow elasticized rubber strap. The strap

itself had two openings cut into it in the part near the front of

the dress. Helen pointed to the larger of the two openings. "This

opening will be used to hold your sissy balls in place. The other

one is for your worthless cock." Rona stared at the strap with a

growing sense of apprehension. Helen continued, "Obviously, with

this strap in the way, you can't put this dress on by pulling it

over your head. You have to step into it and pull it up around

yourself. And before you close the zipper, you have to fit your

cock and balls through these openings in the strap. Go on, little

pansy cunt. Try it on."

Rona curtseyed slightly. "Yes, Ma'am," he whispered. He laid

the dress on the floor and stepped gingerly into it, hoping his

legs straddled the strap properly - it was difficult in the skintight

corset to bend over and look. Slowly, he bent, gripped the dress

with both hands and pulled it up to his waist. He could feel the

strap touching his balls and the crack of his ass. First, he put his

arms through the puffy short sleeves, then lifted the front of

the dress and, holding the strap with both hands, he felt for the

opening through which Helen wanted him to slip his balls. It was

smaller than he originally thought. He realized he was going to

have to endure tremendous discomfort to squeeze his balls through

the opening and then fit the strap snugly to the base of his scrotum.

After much grunting and groping, and nearly ripping his balls from

his pelvis, Rona managed to squeeze them through the opening. Care-

fully, he slipped the strap into place at the base of his scrotum.

It was tight! Rona felt like he'd just been kicked, only the kick

was going on and on and on. Gingerly, he sought the second, smaller

opening. When he found it, he knew his penis was in for an even

worse punishment than his balls. But after much pulling, twisting,

sweating and moaning, Rona finally succeeded in shoving his penis

through the opening and slid the strap all the way to the base.

In addition to the extremely snug fit, Rona realized his cock and

balls were being unnaturally separated, his balls being pulled

backward toward his ass, and his penis being directed upward so

it was almost vertical against his lower abdomen.

As he continued to struggle into the tight dress, Rona realized

with horror the true nature of the torture Helen was subjecting

him to. In order to close the zipper, he would have to pull upward

as hard as possible, forcing the strap to fit snugly into his ass-

crack and to press even harder against his sore genitals. The

dress itself was incredibly snug. Rona struggled mightily to

force the zipper closed, holding what little breath he could manage

to get in. Finally, uttering a low moan, he completed the task.

If the extreme heels alone hadn't made him feel like he was on

tiptoe, surely this torture chamber of a dress did!

Helen slowly circled around Rona, inspecting his uniform. She

said, "I could have had that strap attached to your corset. But

I decided to have it sewn into your dress, instead. Can you figure

out why, pansy?"

Rona thought for a moment. He was so distracted by the discomfort

of his outfit, he could barely think straight. "No, Ma'am," he

finally whispered.

Helen grinned. "First of all, it's much more difficult to fit

your strap in place when you have to do it by feel alone. All that

material from your petticoats blocks your view. So you have to really

work to punish yourself." She giggled. "Second, and most importantly,

it serves to remind you constantly that you are nothing more than a

petticoated faggot slut." Rona blushed in shame. "It's going to be

a lot of fun watching you try to pee in this getup. Because you can't

remove the dress until bed time. Oh, yes, this is gonna be fun."

She stepped up to Rona and put her face inches away from his.

"You're mine, you pussy-whipped little fairy. Now, don't forget to

tie your little ribbon on your little cocky, pussygirl." She handed

him a satin ribbon. He lifted the petticoat and reached beneath the

hem of the skirt, trying to find his aching penis. It was difficult

to tie the ribbon in a bow without being able to see what he was

doing, but he finally managed to complete that task. Helen nodded her

approval.

She then instructed Rona to remain standing while she stepped out

of the room. When she returned, she was carrying an alarm clock and

a three-legged stool with no backrest. "From now on," she said,

"You are going to be my full time petticoat slave. When you are not

serving me, you will be locked in here, in your room. I'm giving

you this alarm clock so you can wake up in the morning ahead of me

and prepare yourself for the day ahead. When I wake up and come to

get you, I will expect to find you standing in the center of your

room, facing the door. You will be fully dressed and made up and

prepared to serve me. You won't know when I'm coming for you,

except that you can pretty much guess it won't be before 7 in the

morning. But you will get up, attend to your toilet, dress yourself

in one of your uniforms, and wait for me. That's what the stool is

for. While you're waiting, I'm sure you'll want to relax. Consider

this stool your easy chair. It will also come in handy when you're

working at your sewing machine. As I said, you will not remove any

of your clothing before being sent to bed at night. You will be

constantly prepared to serve me. You have no idea if I might decide

to come home early from the store. So you can't make assumptions.

Any questions, cunt?"

Rona shook his lowered head back and forth. "No, Ma'am," he

whispered.

"Worship your queen," said Helen. And Rona carefully knelt to

pay the proper obeisance.

* * * * * * * * *

The walk down the hall from Rona's room to the kitchen seemed to

take forever. The tightness of the corset and the dress, the upward

pressure of the strap and its strangling grip on his cock and balls,

the severe height of the heels, his arms folded behind him, hands

grasping his elbows - all these conspired to cause extreme discomfort

for Rona as he attempted to walk gracefully to the kitchen. He had

no idea whether he looked graceful or not, but at least he heard no

complaint from Helen.

He moved slowly and carefully about the kitchen, preparing her

eggs and toast and coffee; then, oh so respectfully and formally,

he served them to her, standing quietly and attentively behind her,

ready to refill her coffee cup, or respond to any other instruction.

Finally, Helen finished her breakfast and Rona removed all the dishes

from the table except her coffee cup. When the dishes had been

washed and dried, Rona returned to the dining room. He curtseyed,

careful not to cause too much pressure on his testicles, then

carefully stood to one side, eyes trained on Helen's pussy, waiting

further orders. When she had completed reading her newspaper and

drinking the last of her coffee, she turned to Rona and said,

"Worship, bitch." Rona fell carefully to his knees. Then, slowly

approaching her, he gently lifted her skirt and peeled it back

until her panties were exposed. Then, ever so carefully, he pulled

her panties aside until her moist vagina was revealed. He moved his

face into the separation of her legs, savoring the musky aroma of

her pussy; he began to kiss her pubic hair, then dipped his head further

and further downward. She shifted forward in her chair to give him

better access to her slit. Slowly, lovingly, he brought his tongue

into contact with her clit-hood, lifting it gently until he could

lick her clit directly, sending shivers of pleasure up her spine.

Now she began to hump actively against her slave's pussy-juice smeared

face. As the intensity of her humping increased, Rona's tongue became

ever more animated, licking Helen's clit, then dipping downward to

enter the hot, wet recesses of her hole. Back and forth his tongue

traveled, and his mouth jammed ever tighter against her labia. Now her

intensity began to increase. Her legs tightened harder and harder against

the sides of Rona's head. He could hear her muffled moans as she humped

harder and harder against him. He was in agony. He could hardly breathe,

his cock and balls felt like they were being twisted off, his knees were

sore, his tongue was rubbed raw.

In short, he was in heaven.

Helen was in a heaven of her own. She grabbed his wig with both hands,

shoving his face tighter and tighter against her pelvis until he thought

he would suffocate. Then, with a loud, prolonged groan, she came in a

series of rapid spasms, now beating her fists on the top of Rona's head.

Finally, she was done. Her legs loosened their grip, and her hands

gently rubbed and smoothed his hair. He was gasping and choking for

breath, but tried to look as normal as possible. Slowly, she released him,

and he placed one final soft, lingering kiss on her pussy before slowly

pulling her panties back up over her pubis, carefully pulling her skirt

down, smoothing it out as he did so. He then backed slowly away and

resumed his kneeling position.

When she had managed to calm down, Helen turned to him and said, "Now,

we're going to practice walking in your new uniform. I want to be sure

the length of your stride is within the limits I prescribed. Otherwise,

I'll put the shackles back on you. So, stand up, and let's get started."

She had Rona lead the way out to the hall where the practice session

would take place. Helen had placed a plastic plate on the floor filled

with powder. Rona was to dip each of his heels in the powder before

walking to the other end of the hall. Once there, he was to turn about,

curtsey, and return. Helen would then measure the distances between

the heel-marks in order to determine an average length of stride, and

a minimum and maximum length as well. There was a surprise waiting for

Rona at the completion of his up and back walk. Helen had brought along

a glass and a thermos full of ice water. She explained to Rona that he

would be thirsty after the exertion of walking a round-trip of the hall

in the tight outfit and super-high heels. The full glass would be set

on the floor. Rona was to pick it up by bending at the waist, and then

drink it and return it to the floor. Then he was to curtsey and wait

for the next walk.

Over and over, Rona made the trip, bending painfully at the waist at

the end of each walk to drink from the freshly refilled glass. Because

of the very stiff crinolines and the shortness of its length, his uniform

skirt was almost like a tutu. It was short enough to reveal a good deal

of leg nearly to the tops of Rona's stockings. When he bent over, the

rear end of the skirt pointed straight to the ceiling exposing his

haltered cock and balls, which were a bluish-red in color from the

tightness of the strap harness. Needless to say, Rona was in agony, an

agony of pain from his strapped genitals, and an agony of shame from

the embarrassment of his exposure. His cheeks were almost as red as

his balls. Helen smirked every time Rona bent over to pick up the glass,

gasping for breath from the exertion of bending in the tight corset and

dress. Rona's eyes were moist; it looked like he was about to start

crying.

After a half-dozen trips, Rona began to feel the need to pee. All the

water he'd drunk, not to mention the pressure on his lower abdomen, had

finally caught up to him, and he could feel a crisis approaching in his

bladder. He began to blush harder as he tried to control himself, to

put his thoughts on something other than the discomfort in his penis

as it twitched with the need to go. Drops of sweat appeared on his

forehead; he began to perspire heavily under his skirt. Finally, he

couldn't stand it anymore. Helen seemed oblivious to his suffering.

He was afraid to ask her for permission to relieve himself; but he was

more afraid not to ask. What if he lost control here in the hall?

The thought filled him with terror. Finally, he could stand it no

longer. "M-M-Ma'am," he stammered fearfully. "M-M-May I-er,uh- m-may

R-Rona b-be excused to pee?"

Helen looked at her obviously uncomfortable husband. "But, I haven't

finished measuring your stride, Rona. This is very important, you

know."

Rona hung his head. "Y-yes, M-Ma'am," he muttered, and continued

walking. Minutes later, he finished his twelfth round, and tried to

bend over to pick up the full glass of water at his feet. But he

discovered that when he bent over, his bladder felt like it was about

to empty its contents. He struggled to reach the glass, but found he

had to make a full bend to do it. A full bend, however, might cause

his bladder to burst. He bobbed up and down, unable to reach the glass,

unable to fully bend. He couldn't stand it any longer. He burst into

tears and, sobbing miserably, begged Helen for relief. "P-p-please,

M-Ma'am, p-please," he wailed. "R-Rona's g-going t-to p-pee."

Helen reached out with the ever present riding crop and lashed him

fiercely across the backs of his thighs, brushing the edge of his

balls. "You sissy wimp!" she screamed. "You pussy cry-baby!" SMACK!

SMACK! SMACK! "All right," she said, "go relieve yourself, bitch.

Hurry up!"

Rona headed quickly for the bathroom, tears pouring down his cheeks,

his hips rotating wildly due to the high heels and the mincing steps

he took. Helen nearly burst into laughter over his ridiculous appearance.

She followed him down the hall and watched as he pulled the toilet seat

down, then turned and sat on it. Because of the angle at which the

strap harness held his penis, if he sat up straight on the seat, Rona

would only succeed in pissing on his petticoats. So he bent over,

nearly double, and used his fingers to bend his penis as much as he

could to aim the stream into the bowl. As the piss flowed out of his

penis, he nearly howled from the painful pressure on his severely

bent cock. As he neared the end of his efforts, he felt unbelievable

relief flood over him. He wanted to fall on the floor and weep in

gratitude that his bladder was empty once again. He was so grateful

he began to thank Helen profusely, sniveling and choking as he did so.

Finally, he was done. He stood up and lowered his skirt, smoothing

and straightening it as he did. He turned to the sink and washed and

dried his hands, then turned to face his mistress. She looked at him

a long time, then said in a soft voice, "Fucking sissy. You really are

a fucking sissy." Then she stepped aside and ordered him to lead the

way to the kitchen. Once there, she instructed him to prepare a lunch

salad for himself. While he was occupied at this task, she went back

into the hall and measured the last set of heel marks, the ones Rona

had made as he hurried to the bathroom to relieve himself. Then, she

returned to the kitchen.

"Well, sissy slut, you did pretty well, even during your mad dash

to the toilet. The longest stride I measured all morning was fifteen

inches, and the shortest stride was twelve. Your average is about

fourteen inches. That's very good. As a reward for your good effort,

I am going to let you have a long break. As soon as you've finished

making your lunch, put it in this styrofoam container I'm holding, and

put in a napkin and a plastic fork - see the package of plastic forks

on the counter? They're for you - and follow me down to your room."

Rona hastened to obey. "Yes, Ma'am," he said, putting the last

slices of carrot into his salad. He then placed the bowl into the

styrofoam container, along with a roll and the napkin and plastic fork

Helen had told him to include.

"Follow me," said Helen, leading the way out of the kitchen.

Rona followed her to his room, then, upon her command, he placed

his lunch package in the small refrigerator Helen had installed the day

before. Helen waited until Rona was standing straight again, knees and

toes together, arms folded behind him, hands grasping elbows. "This

will be your routine," she told him. "You will prepare your lunch each

morning while you are preparing my breakfast. When I am ready to leave

the house, I will escort you to your room. You will bring your lunch

with you. You may eat at any time you wish. But I remind you that,

until you have completed your more advanced training satisfactorally,

this is your only meal of the day. Be sure you plan around that fact.

You will remain in your room, either performing whatever tasks I may

assign you, or resting and preparing yourself to serve me when I

return. Do you have any questions?"

"N-no, Ma'am."

"When I open your door, remember, I expect to see you standing in

the center of your room, facing the door, eyes on your toes, and

hands and arms in their proper position. Got that?"

"Y-yes, Ma'am."

"Worship your queen, slut."

Rona carefully slid to his knees and reached out to lift Helen's

skirt as gently as he could. He then carefully placed his hands in

the waistband of her panties, pulled them slowly down until her pubic

mound was revealed, then leaned forward and placed a long, slightly

moist kiss on her pubis. He then replaced her clothing, smoothing

everything out. Then he knelt quietly, eyes glued on the front of

her skirt, awaiting her next instructions. She said nothing, only

turned on her heel and walked out of the room. Rona heard the door

close and the key turn in the lock. He remained kneeling for a few

seconds to be sure this wasn't a trick, then slowly helped himself

back to his feet. This was the first time he'd been alone, aside

from bedtime, since Helen had begun his training. He wasn't sure

what to do. He walked to the closet and discovered Helen had locked

the door. He would be unable to lie down on his closet bed for a

short nap. He wandered over to the mirror and stood gazing at

himself for a long time. In spite of his sense of shame and guilt,

he was secretly pleased at his reflection. He actually felt he

looked quite good all dressed up in his feminine garments. Eventually,

he grew restless and went over to sit on the stool. It had no back,

and no cushion, and was not particularly comfortable. But it was

much better than continuing to stand on tiptoe in the absurdly high

heels. So he sat down, carefully arranging his balls to reduce any

stress on them, and lifted his feet off the floor, hooking his heels

on the horizontal support bar. It would be a long, boring afternoon;

Rona realized that this was the first of many long, boring afternoons.

He had traded his boring job for this. But oh, how exciting this

boredom was!

* * * * * * * * *

End Part 3 of 4

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From alt.sex.stories Mon Apr 8 01:08:21 1996

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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.femdom,an309248

From: an309248@anon.penet.fi

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Reply-To: an309248@anon.penet.fi

Date: Tue, 2 Apr 1996 23:36:11 UTC

Subject: Story: Learning Her Way, 4 of 4 (Femdom,petticoating); 2nd try

Lines: 661

This story is intended for adults above the age of 18. If you

are not 18 years or older, please do not read any further.

This story tells of a man being petticoated by his wife.

I hope all you fans of femdom literature enjoy it.

LEARNING HER WAY

Part 4 of 4

by Little Sissy Tippytoes

* * * * * * * * *

The second week of Rona's 'basic' training was spent in perfecting

his skills at being Helen's servant. He learned how she wanted the

house cleaned (one day each week would be devoted to that activity);

he learned how to wash and fold and iron; he learned how to assist

her in dressing for work and preparing for bed; he developed his

cooking skills; he began to learn basic sewing (Helen was going to

let him make his own dresses); in short, he was slowly becoming

thoroughly petticoated. And, of course, there was his obedience

training. He continually practiced walking to Helen's standards,

sitting, kneeling, bending over for the crop. Helen's discipline

seemed to be working. There was little, if any, hesitation in

carrying out instructions; there was an attitude of total submission

to her demands; Rona was becoming domesticated and petticoated.

And he worshiped his queen. Oh, how he worshiped her! Helen was

surprised that in such a short time, only a week and a half, he

seemed to have completely submerged his will altogether. He seemed

to live only to do her will, the will of his queen. In fact, no

matter how harshly she spoke to him, no matter how spitefully she

ridiculed him for allowing her to treat him so badly; no matter how

viciously she used the crop to punish the most minor infractions,

there was an air about Rona of complete contentment. Helen guessed

that, bizarre as it might seem, he had found his true calling.

She could only shake her head in utter disbelief.

Then an incident occurred which changed forever her relationship

with her husband-slave. She had returned to work following her

second week of training Rona. A pattern had been established, and

she felt he was working out so well it was safe for her to leave

him home alone while she picked up the thread of her career,

managing a bookstore-cafe in Bridgeville. She didn't like having

to lock Rona in his room all day and would have preferred allowing

him free reign of the house (he could keep it spotless all the

time!). But, she was concerned that her training and her discipline

might all break down if he were given too much freedom. Locking

him in his room each day to iron and sew, or simply to sit and wait

for her return, the return of his queen, seemed an acceptable

alternative.

On this one morning, however, Helen was sitting at the counter of

the cafe, enjoying a cup of coffee and perusing the morning paper,

when the carpenter who had fixed up Rona's room entered and took

a seat at a table near her. As he was ordering some coffee, he

glanced up and realized who Helen was. He picked up his cup and

sat down next to her. "Well, hello," she said the moment she

recognized him. They exchanged pleasantries for a few moments

and then he said, "Say, I wanted to ask you about that room I

altered for you. You know, I don't often do alterations like that

one, you know. I mean, walling up the windows and the hallway

entrance to the bathroom, and then cutting an entrance to the

bathroom from inside the room. And building a bed in the closet.

I mean, I don't want to get personal or nothin', but it seemed

to me at the time you were gettin' this room ready for someone

to move in. And I figured it was a lady, 'cause you painted the

room pink. But I couldn't figure someone, especially a lady,

sleepin' in a closet! But, anyway, I didn't want to get too nosy

about it. But it sure was odd."

Helen said, "Well, I guess what I did in that room might seem a

little strange to some people. But there's a perfectly reasonable

explanation for it, really. But, while we're on the subject, I'm

wondering if you might be free sometime to do some further

modifications to the house. For instance, I'd like to enclose the

carport. You know, turn it into a garage. And I'm thinking of

putting up an enclosure around my patio. Think maybe you might

be able to stop by sometime and give me an estimate?"

"Sure," he said. "I'm free almost any evening."

They discussed a time and date when they might get together,

then shook hands and the carpenter left the cafe.

* * * * * * * * *

Several nights later, the carpenter arrived to discuss the

projects Helen had in mind. Helen had just completed a discipline

session with Rona, and was locking him in his room when the front

doorbell rang. She took a second to compose herself and calm her

breathing - Rona had just finished a long session worshiping his

queen - then, her face still slightly flushed from her orgasm,

she walked to the door and opened it. She held the door open

and the carpenter entered. She invited him to come into the

dining room to discuss her plans, and offered him a beer. With

a smile, he accepted and the two of them sat at the table, enjoying

their beers and discussing the projects Helen had in mind. As

they talked, Helen felt herself beginning to look at the carpenter

in a different way than she previously had. She noticed his young,

strong, handsome face, his lean body and hard muscles. She felt

herself growing attracted to him. Opening another beer for each

of them, she decided to test him a little to see if maybe he was

as interested in her as she was becoming in him. As they relaxed,

she said, "I expect you've already noticed I'm not wearing an

engagement or wedding ring. Actually, my husband and I just

recently divorced. As part of the settlement, I got the house.

That's why I'm making all these changes."

He said, "I guess it gets a little lonely here all by yourself,

huh?"

Thinking he was responding to her comment with a come on, and

being quite a bit interested herself, she replied, "Yes, it is a

bit lonely. It's nice having a man around, you know. Especially

on a chilly evening." She smiled, she hoped, seductively.

"Yeah, I don't like being alone, either."

She tilted her head so she was looking up through her eyelashes.

Then, trying to sound as sexy as possible, she half-whispered, "Oh,

are you alone and lonely, too?"

"I've been lonely for quite awhile," he said.

"Do tell," she purred. "Why don't we take our drinks into the

living room and continue this conversation there?"

"Sure thing," he said, and got up to move.

When they were seated on the couch, she turned to him and said,

"I don't want to seem too forward, but, you know, if you're feeling

as lonesome as I've been feeling lately, maybe we can remedy that

situation. I'm an awfully good cook. Perhaps you could come over

for dinner sometime."

He looked at her for a long time, but said nothing. Thinking she

had made a mistake, perhaps annoyed him with her boldness, she

apologized, "I hope I'm not offending you. Actually, I like you.

I think we could have a very enjoyable evening together."

The young man looked down at his hands, watching them as he

nervously scraped the label on the bottle with his fingernail.

"Well, actually, I guess maybe I ought to level with you, 'cause I

know you're looking like you're getting kind of interested in me.

I don't want to be dishonest with you, or lead you on, or anything.

So, to be truthful, I gotta say I don't swing your way."

Helen was clearly disappointed. "Oh," she said, her face registering

her disappointment. "I'm sorry to hear that. I thought you were

expressing an interest in me. I guess I was foolish to think so."

"What I mean," he said, "is that I'm not a man for the ladies.

If I was, I'm sure I'd be interested in you. In fact, I'm amazed

there isn't a man in your life. You're a beautiful woman."

She smiled. "And you're a beautiful man. Damn."

They sat in silence for a while, sipping thoughtfully on their beers.

Then Helen turned to him with a look on her face that made him think

she had just made some sort of discovery. It was a look of puzzled

hopefulness, as though she had encountered something new and

unfamiliar, but yet saw an opportunity in this encounter.

She asked, "May I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure," he answered. "Oh, and the name's Woody. What's yours?"

"Helen," she said. "Well, Woody, you seem like a real man's man.

I mean, you have that rugged, masculine look about you. And I'm just

curious, because I know next to nothing about men like you. But what

kind of person are you attracted to? Is it another person like your-

self, strong, virile, good-looking? Or do you favor someone who, you

might say, perhaps, is softer, more, er, uh, feminine, let's say."

Woody laughed. "I see what you mean. Let me ask you, can I be

frank about this?"

"Sure."

"I'm attracted to any guy who gives first-rate head, to tell you

the truth. I don't care if he's the body-builder type or what you

straights call a pantywaist. If he'll go down on me the way I like

it, he's got my attention." And he laughed again.

Helen smiled. "Ok, how about men who, uh, dress like women? Do

you ever find them attractive? Not just effeminate men, pantywaists,

as you say; but, truly feminized men, who, like, disguise themselves

as women."

"Hmmm. Tell you the truth, I've never done it with a female

impersonator. A lot of them are straight, actually. Why? You got

someone in mind you know about?"

Helen looked carefully at the handsome, well-muscled man sitting

next to her. She wondered how far she might dare to carry this

conversation. She decided to proceed cautiously. "Well, it's possible

I may have someone in mind. But before I go any further with this,

I want to be sure it's not going to cause anyone to be embarrassed,

either you, or, umm, the person I'm thinking about right now."

She could tell his curiosity had been piqued. He frowned thoughtfully,

seeming to think deeply about this information she had imparted to

him. Then he said, "Well, I guess the most embarrassing part of this

conversation ended when you didn't throw me out after I told you what

kind of guy I was."

"Can you keep a confidence?" Helen asked him.

He looked straight into her eyes. "Yeah, sure. Yeah. I'm certain

I can. Of course. I mean, you can trust me. What kind of confidence

do you mean?"

"Well," she said, hesitantly. "If I thought my revealing this

confidence to you might lead to something beneficial for the both of us,

I wouldn't think twice about doing so. But I'm not sure if that's the

case here."

Woody looked confused.

"Let me explain," said Helen. "I know of a person who is, like I said,

feminized. Not just effeminate. But he is what people in olden days called

'petticoated.' He dresses in female attire, for instance, not because he

wishes simply to impersonate a woman. No, no. He wears women's clothing

as a sign of his submissiveness, his willingness to be dominated by a

woman."

Woody said, "I've heard of guys like that. I've never met any, though.

I've met cross-dressers, you know TV's, but they weren't like that at all."

Helen continued, "Furthermore, this person I'm thinking of, as far as

I know, has never had a homosexual experience. I'm positive he thinks

of himself as straight. He just wants a woman to dominate him. To make

him do her bidding."

"Most men fall into that category," Woody joked.

"Most men don't allow themselves to wear extremely feminine clothing,

or to become virtual slaves of their women. Do they?"

Woody answered, "No, that's for sure. They certainly don't go that

far."

Helen said, "But some men do. And this is the kind of man I'm thinking

about. Like I say, he thinks he's straight, and he probably is. But, as

part of his total domination by his mistress, he feels he must be

humiliated as much as possible. So, his mistress has been trying to figure

out ways to do that, to humiliate him. And she figures that one sure way

would be to have him submit to a sexual relationship with another man.

After all, he thinks he's straight. Making him into a cocksucker would

really humiliate him."

Woody's eyes widened a bit. "Oh, I get it. You mean this guy's wife,

or girlfriend, or whatever, wants to turn him into a cocksucker just so

she can show him how inferior he is to her?"

Helen blushed slightly. "Yes, correct. Something like that. Would

a relationship like that have any sort of appeal to you?"

"I don't know," he said. "I've never done anything like that before.

I guess I'd have to take this straight guy and teach him how to suck my

dick and take my cock up his ass. Is that what we're talking about here?"

"Exactly," she said. "And I would arrange to give you a place to do

it in, and all the time in the world to enjoy yourself. Later on, if you

wanted to, you could take him out. But, at first, it would have to

be done privately. First, because he's shy and second, he needs to

become more naturally female. I'm afraid he might stand out in a crowd,

even at a place where people like this congregate."

"Let me get this straight. You're proposing to introduce me to this

guy who is a TV, a transvestite, and then you're going to let me, uh,

pop his cherry. Right?" She nodded. "And if I like the action, you'll

let me do this as often as I want to." She nodded again. "And if I

really, really like it, you'll let me take this person out in public

as though he were my girlfriend or something. If I want to. Is that

about it?" She nodded again.

He laughed out loud. "Lady - Helen - you are really something. You

invite me over with this bullshit excuse that you want to hire me to do

some more stuff for you. Then you try to seduce me. Then, when that don't

work, you try to fix me up with some poor fool you know that you want

me to turn into a fag. You take the cake, you know that?"

Helen's face began to redden. She giggled slightly. "I guess it does

seem kind of silly, doesn't it? Maybe we should just forget it."

Woody waved his hand. "No, no! That's not what I mean. I'm just

making an observation here, that's all. Actually, I am kind of interested.

I'm not sure I want a permanent deal with this character; but, I gotta

say that having free, available mouth and ass at the snap of my fingers is

a very tempting proposition. I may be nuts, but I'm thinkin' I might just

go for it. Especially now, since my latest lover has split for the coast

and I am, indeed, kind of lonesome."

They sat in silence for a few moments. Helen noticed that Woody had

emptied his bottle. She asked, "Want another beer? Maybe we can talk a

little longer about my offer."

He handed her his empty. "Sure. Sounds good to me."

She went into the kitchen and brought back two more beers. She wasn't

sure about him, but the drinking and her apprehensiveness were causing her

to become a little bit tipsy. She cautioned herself not to be too hasty

or she might blow this opportunity to further humiliate and petticoat

Rona.

Helen stared straight ahead for awhile, then turned slightly towards

Woody. "Would you like to meet this person?"

Woody quietly answered, "Yeah, I think I might at that. When did you

have in mind?"

In a near-whisper, she said, "Tonight. Right now, in fact."

Suddenly, Woody's eyes grew wide. "You mean he's here? Wait a minute.

Yeah. Yeah! Now I get it. He's in that bedroom I altered, isn't he?"

Helen nodded.

Woody let out a low whistle. "Well, I'll be damned. Who is he? Your

boyfriend? No, you wouldn't keep a boyfriend. Your brother? Your

husband? But, you're not married..."

Helen interrupted him. "Legally speaking, he's my husband. But one

day I caught him wearing women's underwear and masturbating in my bedroom.

I called him a pansy and a faggot and a lot of other names. Then I gave

him a choice: he could leave and we would divorce; or, he could stay and

submit to my will, let me petticoat him. I took his wedding ring away

from him, because he doesn't deserve it. And I took my wedding ring off,

because I don't consider him to be my husband anymore. He's my...I

don't know what he is. My slave?"

Woody's eyes grew wide. "And he's living in that room down the hall?

Now I'm beginning to see what's happening here. And you want to punish

and humiliate him. And I'm going to be your executioner, huh?"

"I guess you might call it that. But, you're right. I want to punish

him as many ways as I can for the hurt he caused me, for the total

disgrace he is. But, in spite of all that, I still love him. It's all so

messy, you know?"

"Hmmm," he replied. "I see where you're coming from. Well, why don't

you bring him out here and let me have a look at him? Maybe this will

work out. Then you'll be happy; I'll be happy. Who knows? Maybe even

he'll be happy. But if it doesn't, no harm. I'll just leave, and it'll

be like this never happened. Ok?"

She smiled and her face seemed to smoothe out, as though all the

tension in it were being wiped away. "Great," she said. "Wait right here.

I'll go and get him."

She got up and went down the hall. Woody could hear a lock turning in

the door at the end of the hall. He heard her voice speaking in a

commanding tone, but couldn't make out the words. Then, as he sat sipping

on his beer, he watched as Helen emerged from the room, followed by what

looked like a woman dressed in a super-sexy French maid's costume. She was

a few inches taller than Helen, but as she approached, walking in very

short, exaggeratedly feminine steps, Woody realized she was wearing

extremely high heeled shoes. Helen and the, what, woman (?) entered the

living room. Helen's husband was heavily made up, and although he was

dressed in the dainty maid's outfit, and wore high heels, and his face

was made up and there was polish on both his fingernails and toenails,

it was obvious Woody was looking at a male. He nearly burst into

laughter. He thought, "Shit, this is gonna take some real effort to get

horny with this guy looking like that. Damn." He said to Helen, "So,

this is the person we've been talking about?"

Rona's face blushed a deep red. Helen said, "Yes, this is the pansy

slut I was describing. What do you think? Would you like him to suck your dick?"

Rona's mouth shot open. He nearly staggered and fell. His eyes darted

all around, although he maintained his discipline and did not let them

leave the floor in front of him. He looked like he was ready to burst

into tears.

Woody smiled. "I think it might be worth my while, Helen. Do you want

him to do me here, or are we goin' back to his room?"

"No, no. I want this consummated right here. I want to watch, if you

don't mind. I want to make sure he does this right. He has a tendency to

fuck up a lot, don't you, Rona?" She glared at her obviously distressed

husband.

Slowly, in the whisper which was now Rona's habitual level of volume,

he said, "Y-y-yes, M-M-Ma'am." Helen lifted the rear of Rona's skirt and

patted his ass.

"Good girl," she said. "Now, kneel down here in front of Mr. Woody. You

will, of course, call him 'Sir.' Woody, this is Rona, my pansy slut-maid, and

soon-to-be cocksucker. Rona, say hello to Mr. Woody."

Rona knelt, then, with lips trembling and eyes still restlessly moving about

the floor in front of him, he whispered, "G-Good e-evening, S-Sir."

Woody could barely contain his laughter. He smiled over at Helen, who

moved over to the couch and sat down. Then she waved her hand at Woody.

"Ok, Woody, he's all yours."

Woody looked down at the kneeling Rona. He reached out and placed his

finger under Rona's chin and said, "You've never done this before, have

you?"

Rona stammered, "N-n-no, S-S-Sir."

Woody said, "Well, it's easy. Just reach over and unzip my fly."

Rona hesitated, then gingerly took Woody's fly in his thumb and

forefinger, and slowly pulled down on it.

Woody smiled. "Now, pull my cock out of my drawers."

Rona was shaking all over. He was ready to cry. In fact, his eyes were

so filled with tears, he could barely see what he was doing. Finally, he

reached over and grasped Woody's penis, nearly squeezing it in his

frightened state. But, he managed to release it from Woody's briefs, and

it was now exposed and inches from his trembling lips.

Woody said, in a low, sexy voice, "Now, Rona, give it a little kiss,

right on the head, where the opening is. Just touch it with your lips."

Rona leaned slightly forward. Slowly, tears now rolling down his

cheeks, ruining his makeup, he placed his lips on the head of Woody's

penis. It had a soft, rubbery texture, and a certain male arome, but

Rona was too emotionally distracted to be able to tell what it might

taste like.

"Now, Rona," continued Woody. "Let your tongue lick it all over,

slowly. Start at the head and work down to the base. And keep kissing

it while you lick it."

Rona tried to comply with Woody's instructions. He moistened his tongue

as he began to lick the soft penis, then started the blowjob in earnest.

He alternated little peck-kisses with short licks as he worked his way

from the tip down to the base. Then, at Woody's instruction, he placed

the penis in his mouth and began licking in a circular motion around

the root. Woody nudged his head and softly said, "Back and forth, sweet

bitch. Up and down. Keep lickin'. And cover your teeth with your lips.

Oh, yeah. Sweet baby. Use that tongue some more like that. Oh, oh,

yeah..."

As Woody moaned, Rona continued alternately licking the cock in his

mouth and running it up and down, in and out. his lips pressed gently

around the soft skin as he fucked up and down. Slowly, he began to

feel the cock begin to swell and grow warmer and warmer. Woody reached

down and took Rona's arms, pulling them up until Rona's hands were in

his. He then took Rona's hands and placed them on his asscheeks.

Then he put his own hands on the side of Rona's head so he could control

the pace of Rona's sucking. Rona's tongue seemed to be everywhere at once

as he licked and sucked away. Woody's cock stretched and swelled,

completely filling Rona's mouth. Rona's head rocked back and forth along

the length of the hot, hard cock. Back and forth, slowly at first, then

increasing in speed. Then Woody would pull Rona's mouth away until only

the knob of his prick remained in Rona's mouth. Then, slam! and the

dick would be shoved all the way back to Rona's throat, forcing him

to gag slightly and moan loudly. Then the slow in and out motion would

resume, again building in speed and intensity.

Rona's heart pounded against his tight corset. His mind raced with all

sorts of thoughts and impressions. As Woody continued to fuck his face,

Rona realized he was finally becoming what Helen had called him when

she wished to insult him: a faggot and a pansy. He was really a

cocksucker now. But what was so disturbing was that he was truly

enjoying this experience; and, even more, he was frightened by the

realization that he enjoyed this more than he enjoyed eating Helen's

pussy. Again, his eyes filled with tears as the knowledge grew

within him that he probably was a pansy, cocksucking, slave-slut.

But the knowledge that he was enjoying this brought a new awareness -

he wanted to do a good job of it. And so, as Woody's dick grew inside

his mouth, Rona began vigorously to fuck back with his mouth. His

tongue began lapping at the cock and, without Woody's urging, he began

bobbing his head up and down on the steaming rod, pistoning back and

forth in movements that were becoming more and more frenzied. It was

almost as though he wanted to swallow Woody's cock, to take it all the

way in, to become one with the strong, masculine tool jammed in his

mouth. He became slightly aware of Helen seated on a chair; he could

see from the corner of his eye that she was masturbating in a frenzy

of wanton lust, moaning and writhing in the chair. He could hear Woody's

lustful groans as his excitement mounted and his climax neared. But

mostly he became aware that, instead of feeling nervous or being

reluctant to do this thing he was doing, Rona was now welcoming Woody's

cock in his mouth. It was what he was meant to do in life, he could

feel, and he embraced his new position, his new role, completely.

He became aware of the aroma arising from Woody's pubic hair as his nose

would be buried in the thatch on each downstroke; oh, how he savored

that manly smell! He could feel the wrinkled softness of Woody's balls

as they bounced gently against his chin. Oh, how soft! How silky! But

mostly, he could feel the cock in his mouth changing temperature,

growing hotter and hotter and hotter. Then, he could tell the

explosion was imminent.

"Suck it all in, slut," Woody murmured. "Swallow it all." And Rona

cried in earnest as the first wave of sperm crashed into the back of

his mouth, and he tried to swallow it without losing the rhythm of his

stroke. But, finally he surrendered to the spurting cum, and simply

rammed the boiling penis all the way into his mouth, pressing his nose

against Woody's pubic thatch, and concentrating on swallowing the hot

salty milk of his master. His hands clutched wildly at Woody's ass as he

tried to pull all of him into his burning mouth. Tears poured out of his

eyes as the thought of what he was doing overwhelmed his mind, and was

overwhelmed by his cry, "Oh! yes! oh! good! oh! yes! oh! good!" over

and over as Woody's cum-stream filled his mouth and spilled out onto

his chin. He could hear Helen loudly groaning as she came in wave after

wave of orgasm.

Finally, slowly, the crescendo passed. Rona could feel Woody's penis

growing softer and smaller. He sobbed, wanting to keep this wonderful

organ in his mouth forever; he kissed and licked and kissed and licked,

but to no avail. Woody slowly released his hold on the back of Rona's

head, and gently pulled his dick out of Rona's mouth. Rona leaned

forward, wanting to keep his lips in touch with the retreating penis,

nearly falling over from the effort. But Woody was cruel. He stepped

back, leaving Rona kneeling, head down, sperm slowly dripping from his

chin, hands hanging empty at his sides.

Woody looked over at Helen as she sat in the chair, legs straddling

the arms, pussy splayed wide open, gently rubbing it as she returned

from her orgasm. "You sure this guy's never sucked dick before?" he

asked. Rona blushed.

Helen said, "No, this is his first time, as far as I know. Why do you

ask?"

Woody said, "If this is his first time, then I guess you have what I

would call a real natural here. He gives head like he was born to the

job. I've been blown by experts, and this bitch beats 'em all." Rona

continued blushing, but, astoundingly, he felt a flush of pride at

Woody's compliment.

Helen said, "That good, huh? Well, what do you know?"

Woody said, "Oh, yeah. Better than that, believe me." He stepped back,

put his penis back inside his jeans, zipped up, and sat down on the

couch.

Helen said, "Rona, go and get Mr. Woody and me something to drink.

What would you like, Woody?"

"Beer sounds fine."

Helen said, "Make that two beers, Rona."

Rona stood, his legs shaking from having knelt so long. He curtseyed

deeply and minced into the kitchen to fulfill Helen's request.

While Rona was in the kitchen, Woody turned to Helen and said, "Listen,

this husband of yours is one great cocksucker. I'd like to get more of

that stuff. In fact, I'd like to have him around all the time. I think

he and I could really relate, if you know what I mean."

Helen realized she might have a wonderful opportunity on her hands.

"Well, Woody, you know, anything's possible. Maybe we can talk more

about this later."

Just then, Rona returned with their drinks. The two sat quietly,

enjoying their beer, while Rona stood in a corner, waiting patiently for

any demands they might wish to place on him. When he finished his beer,

Woody stood up to go. He looked at Rona as he said goodnight to Helen.

"Tomorrow. How about if I come see you at your store tomorrow, and we

can talk about this deal?"

"Fine," she said, and opened the door for him. After he had gone, Helen

turned to Rona and said, "Well, Rona, looks like you were a hit with our

guest. He was so turned on, he wants another date. How do you feel about

that, cunt? Think you might like another go at Mr. Woody's dick?"

Rona blushed deeply, and, staring at the floor, murmured, "Yes, Ma'am."

In a barely audible whisper, he said, "Rona would."

Helen laughed hard. She lifted Rona's skirt and smacked his ass loudly.

"You naughty slut," she said. "C'mon, it's time for bed. We'll talk about

this later."

* * * * * * * * *

The next morning, Woody entered the bookstore looking for Helen. He

seemed preoccupied and rushed. Helen took a break and the two of them

sat at the counter of the cafe talking over coffee. Woody said, "Listen,

Helen, I've gotta be honest here. I couldn't sleep all night for

thinking about your husband - what's his name? Rona? - and the fantastic

blowjob he gave me. And I ain't kiddin' when I tell you I sure would

like some more of that good stuff. What's the possibility of my getting

to see him again?"

Helen smiled slightly, then said, "Well, Woody, here's the way I see

it. I'm glad you're so interested in Rona. I think it would be

wonderful if he were to become your lover. But I don't think I'm ready

to give him up entirely. So here is what I am proposing to you. You

can have him as your lover, but to get him you will have to move into

my house and live with him."

Woody said, "Now, why would you want me to do that?"

Helen replied, "As I said, I'm not prepared to give him up entirely

yet. Also, if he begins a relationship with you, he's going to become

influenced by your involvement in his life. He's obviously going to want

to please you, and so he'll try to do things your way. I certainly want

you to have an influence on him, and I certainly want him to please you.

But, I have an influence on him also. And I want him to please me. The

way I figure it is, if you move in to my house, you can work with me to

be sure his training continues without a lot of contradiction and

controversy."

Woody looked puzzled. "What kind of living arrangement are we talking

about? Do I get free use of the house, or am I going to be restricted in

the things I can do?"

Helen said, "Well, what I'm thinking is, you will sleep in Rona's room

- I have some ideas you might want to use to fix it up - and use that

bathroom, obviously. The refrigerator would be shared. Meals would be

shared. You would pay half the rent and utilities. The only demand I make

is that you continue Rona's discipline and training as I originally

envisioned it. You can make as much use of him sexually as you wish, the

more the better, in fact. But, he is my, uh, servant, if you will, and

he will serve the way I want him to."

Woody thought about Helen's proposal, sipping his coffee and pondering

her words. Finally, he said, "Ok, Helen. I think we've got a deal. How

soon can I move in?"

Helen smiled broadly. "As soon as you wish, Woody. Tonight, if you'd

like. Now, let me show you what I was thinking of as a way to fix up

Rona's room for the two of you..."

That evening, shortly after Helen had enjoyed her dinner, and Rona had

cleared the dining room and finished washing the dishes, and was now on

his knees worshiping his queen, the doorbell rang. "You go into the

kitchen, Rona," instructed Helen. "I'll go see who's at the door."

Rona stood and hurried on tiptoe to the kitchen, where he partially

closed the door, then leaned his ear to the opening to hear what was

going on. Helen answered the door, then spoke in a friendly tone to

whoever was there - Rona couldn't make out her words - then the door

closed again. Rona could hear the voices as they came closer. Oh, no!

It was Mr. Woody! Rona's heart began beating wildly. His hands began to

sweat as he held the door tight with his fingers. Woody! His thoughts

were a riot of confusion: joy, because this masterful man had returned;

fear (can I do again what I did yesterday?); anxiety (will he like me?).

Rona thought he would faint dead away. Then he heard Helen call, "Rona?

Come in here, Rona."

Eyes glued to the floor, arms folded rigidly behind his back, Rona

stepped from the kitchen, through the dining room and entered the

living room. He paused to curtsey, then stood, trembling nervously,

before his queen.

Helen beckoned to him, "Come over here, Rona. I have something to say

to you."

Rona minced fearfully over to the center of the living room, his eyes

still cast down on the floor.

Helen said, "Rona, you remember Mr. Woody."

Rona whispered, "Y-y-yes, M-M-Ma'am."

Helen continued, "Well, it seems that Mr. Woody is quite impressed with

your talent." Rona blushed. "It seems he's so impressed by you, in fact,

he wants to move in with you. To have you for his lover, you might say.

Or, probably more accurately, he wants you for his slut whore." Rona

blushed even harder. His knees began to tremble, and he was beginning to

feel lightheaded.

Helen said, "Before he does move in, however, he wants to be certain

this relationship with you will work. So he thought he might discuss it

with you himself. Come over here and kneel down before your master."

Rona wasn't sure he heard her correctly. 'Master?' Did she mean - ?

Unsure that she meant what he thought he heard, Rona stepped toward

Helen. Suddenly, she lashed out with the crop, smacking him on the thigh

below the hem of his skirt. "Stupid bitch!" she shouted. "I said kneel

before your master, not your queen!"

As quickly as he could, Rona adjusted and knelt in front of Woody. As

he was arranging himself, Rona's eyes fell on the front of Woody's

jeans. His cock stood exposed through the open fly. Rona heard Helen's

voice quietly say, "Worship your master, cunt." Rona, sweating hard by

now, leaned forward and attempted clumsily to put Woody's cock in his

mouth. "Use your hands, idiot," he heard Helen say. Gently, he took the

semi-erect organ in his hand, and as he had done the previous evening,

he began to kiss and lick it. Although he was sweating and nervous, he

wasn't quite as fearful as he had been yesterday. He knew how it would

feel to swallow Woody's penis, and he knew the aroma of Woody's manhood.

He also knew the overwhelming sense of pleasure that had possessed him

the day before. So, tonight he was more prepared, more eager to please

(and be pleased), and he began sucking Woody's cock in earnest. Up and

down his head moved over the fast-stiffening penis. Deeper and deeper

it disappeared into his mouth as he learned how to find room in his

throat-opening. He laved and licked, savoring the flavor and the

texture, especially as it grew harder and hotter, and seemed to grow to

an enormous size. Rona's eyes were closed, but he could see with his mind

what was happening. And now that he was sucking this man's dick in

earnest, his heart began to beat, not from fear, but from excitement.

He wanted so badly to take Woody's cum into his mouth, to swallow his

essence, to be joined forever to him.

But Woody had a surprise in store for Rona. Just as Rona had adjusted

to a steady rhythm and was sucking loudly and joyfully, Woody took his

head in his hands and pulled his mouth off the palpitating penis. He

looked into Rona's confused eyes and said, "Turn around, bitch. It's

time for the newlywed to lose his virginity." Rona's eyes flew open.

Fearfully, he hesitated, but as Woody stared deeply into his eyes, he

realized he had no choice but to comply. Slowly, he turned around.

Helen smirked, enjoying his predicament. "Rest your head on your elbows,

and get that sweet ass as high as you can," Woody said. Rona did as he

instructed. Woody's hand reached out, and Rona could feel something cold

and moist against his anal opening. Then Woody's finger was inserted

into the opening and Rona could feel the same substance being spread

inside him by Woody's cork-screwing finger. Finally, Woody was ready.

"Relax, bitch, and you'll love this." Rona tried, he wanted to relax,

he wanted to love this, just as he was beginning to love the feel of

his master in his mouth. But he was so nervous and anxious he was having

difficulty loosening up. He felt Woody's hot, hard penis gently probing

his opening; then (oh, shit!), he could feel it enter his asshole. His

sphincter began to stretch to accommodate the huge organ being inserted

into him, and he tried to relax, to let himself open up to this fearsome

object. Slowly, slowly, Woody pressed himself deeper and deeper into

Rona. Then, slowly, slowly, he began an in and out motion, gently

fucking Rona as he knelt nervously in front of Woody.

But, as Woody began to fuck him, something happened to Rona. He let his

mind open up to what was being done to him; and suddenly he realized, as

he had yesterday during his first blowjob, that this was where he

belonged, this was what he was meant to do, this was his destiny. And he

began to fuck back at Woody's pulsing cock. Softly at first, then louder,

he began to moan and pant in growing intensity; and, in spite of the

discomfort of Woody's penis (huge! monstrous!), he determined to make

this experience one that Woody would love and he himself would never

forget. And so he fucked, trying to match his own back-and-forth rhythm

to Woody's; it got better and better and he felt hotter and hotter as

the pace quickened. Soon, he lost all track of time, of place, of

anything except the wonderful feeling of the cock buried deep in his

ass, and the rhythm and the heat and the dampness of their sweaty bodies

joined in this act of love. His moans grew louder and louder and he

began to smack his forehead with his hands in cadence with his rutting

buttocks. This was the most intense, most exciting event of his life;

even more than when he lost his virginity to Helen on their wedding

night. This was his true wedding night, this was his real life, to be

the bride of Woody's marvelous organ, to love, serve, honor and obey

this eight-inch hammering muscle rod. Rona wanted to cum, but the

harness and the ribbon prevented him from obtaining an erection.

Nevertheless, he could feel his own sperm boiling inside his scrotum.

And now he wept in sheer joy, crying aloud in ecstasy, being ridden

to the climax of his first ass-fuck; and then it happened - Woody

erupted, shooting his hot cream deep into Rona's bowels, Rona was weeping

now (oh! oh! oh!), and thrashing about under the strong hands of Woody

who rode him as though he were a bucking bronco while his dick shot load

after load of cum into Rona's virgin ass. But soon (too soon!) it was

over, and Woody slowly removed his softening cock from Rona's still-

palpitating anus. Then, speaking softly and gently to the still weeping

Rona, he said, "Clean me off, bitch."

Rona quickly turned to face Woody and eagerly, tears streaming down

his cheeks, took Woody's cock in his mouth, licking, kissing, licking,

kissing, blowing gently on it to dry it. Finally, he was done, and he

knelt straight again, eyes down, arms folded behind, crying quietly now,

feelings of shame and guilt conflicting with the stronger feelings of

love and joy.

The three of them were silent. Then Helen said, quietly, to Woody,

"He really went off like a rocket, didn't he?"

Woody, still breathing a little hard, said, "Helen, this guy is a

natural. His mouth, his ass, his energy, his enthusiasm. I think we've

all just made a helluva discovery here."

Helen leaned over until her face was directly in front of Rona's.

"Well, sissy. Looks like you just got yourself a roommate. But nothing

changes. It just means that you now worship your master as well as

your queen. Understand?"

And, kneeling there before his queen, clad in the tight-fitting

corset, the skirt with its constricting genital harness holding his

bluish-tinted balls and penis, the absurdly high-heeled shoes, the

sheer stockings (with seams straight!), the makeup smeared with cum

and pussy juice, the disheveled (though luxuriant) wig, Rona, eyes

peeled to the floor before him, replied in his usual whisper, "Y-Y-yes,

M-M-Ma'am. R-Rona u-u-understands." And secretly, deep within his

singing heart, he smiled...

END

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