From: adietrech@aol.com (A Dietrech)

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

Subject: Story: R&R 1/2 (TG, femdom)

Date: 3 Dec 1994 09:45:05 -0500

R & R

A fantasy, written by: Miss KarenAnne Brown

R & R...means rest and relaxation, right?

Well, not in my home, it does not. It means the utter and complete

reversal

of roles, that is what it means. So, how did this happen? I thought that

you

might ask.

Well, I will tell all, afterall, that is why you started to read this

sotry, right?

Anne and I have been married for eight years, now, with no children. I

am

glad of that, now. The last thing in the world I want, is to be a mother,

believe me. It is no picnic, just to be a housewife. I know.

I had married Anne, because, she was the epitomy of what I thought was

the

perfect female. She is pretty, with nearly white flawless skin, and long

thick dark brown hair. It is long because I insisted that women should

have

long hair, so, Anne grew it. Her eyes are dark brown, with a lovely

mysterious quality about them. I loved her dearly, and, I realize now,

that

part of that attraction was her womanliness, her femininity.

She was very docile and submissive. It never seemed to matter what I

wanted, or where I wanted to go. she just let me, and she seemed happy to

enjoy it. For example, she used to love wearing slacks. I told her that

women

should not wear slacks, so, she stopped wearing them whenever I was

around.

She gave me complete access to her body. I could touch her wherever and

whenever I wanted to. She would have orgasms, but, she would just lie in

bed,

as a completely docile female, and she seemed to enjoy it the most, when I

was the total aggressor.

All in all, we had become very happy together. She stayed at home and

made

a home for me. I earned the daily bread, and I was proud to treat her

well.

Though I was only 24 years old, I was a project manager at a local

factory,

and, we were living a pretty good life style. We even had our own cars.

Mine

was a minitruck and hers was a pink Volkswagon bug, but, she liked it.

One thing that saved me a pile of money, was that Anne made most of her

own

clothes, including some very sexy lingerie. If she went shopping for

clothes,

it was to see what styles were new, then, she would make them herself. She

had two closets full of her clothes. In fact, one of the three bedrooms in

our house is, in fact, a dressmaker's shop, for lack of a better descrip

tion.

After our second year of marriage, she asked if it would be alright for

her

to take some college classes, as she had a lot of extra time on her hands,

once the housework was done for the day. I agreed, and she studied, of all

things, design engineering, and, she got her degree. I was so proud of

her.

One of the things that had always floored me was this. It did not

matter

what kind of weather it was, or how busy she had been, when I walked in

the

door at 5:30, supper was on the table and Anne looked like something that

had

just walked out of a cataloque. She always looked so fresh and so pretty,

that she never ran the risk of getting me interested in some other woman.

Afterall, you do not go to the corner store for margerine, when there is

butter in your refrigerator, right?

As for me, I do not know how she put up with me. I was a machoman, or,

I

thought I was anyway. I knew the truth about myself, but, I often would

embarass Anne by touching her in the wrong places in public, just to show

off

how true my woman was to me. But, she took whatever I dished out, and she

just kept loving me. I often said things that would berate her, but, she

somehow seemed to understand that I had the great need to somehow try and

prove my masculinity, even if it was at her expense.

You see, I had some masculinity to prove, to. For one thing, I am only

a

half inch taller than my wife, and about 8 pounds heavier. I have also

been

blessed with a cute face. I also only shave twice a week. It is nearly

impossible for me to grow a beard. I know. I tried it.

To top it all off, I have struggled with something from deep within,

that

had started when I was very very young, and, though I have fought it every

day of my adult life, it has not left me. That, in fact, is the reason for

this story. It surfaced and got me into a lot of trouble, the trouble that

I

am in, now. Anne had never know about it as I had kept it a closely

guarded

secret. No one else knew.

Well, about eight months ago, my little Camelot came crashing down

around

my ears. Technology hand made my position at the factory, redundant. I was

laid off, allbeit with an excellent recommendation, but, still, I was let

go.

Three months and 200 resumes later, I was still unemployed, angry and

extremely frustrated. Our money ran out, and, so. out of desparation, I

had

agreed to let Anne look for work, to help supplement our unemployment

insurance benefits.

Wouldn't you know it? Anne got a job on her first interview. It was

hopeless to keep sending out the resumes, as we did not want to leave the

city we were in. Within two months, Anne got a promotion, to executive

status. I was happy for her, but, I was dissillusioned and angry to. I

began

to do the housework, take a lot of long walks, but, this old curse of my

life

surfaced again, and I had nothing to fill my time with. It became such a

strong obsesseion that, four months ago, I gave in to it once more.

It was a Tuesday. As was usual, Tuesday was the normal wash day in our

house. After Anne had left for the day, I started to do the breakfast

dishes.

It overpowered me once again. I gave in this time. Anne would not be home

till around 5:30, so, I had enough time to do it, then to get back to

normal,

and there would be no reason for Anne to find out.

With my mind filled with the hundreds of delightful memories of my

youth, I

went into our bedroom, threw off my clothes and went to the bathroom. I

shaved and then, took a scented bubble bath. It had been years since I'd

felt

my nearly hairless legs with silky water on them. I got hard, but, I

resisted

the urges.

I dried and returned to the bedroom. Anne had drawers full of ultra

feminine lingerie. She loved to tease me with it. She knew that it turned

me

on. What she did not know was that every single chance that I had gotten,

when I was still living at home, even if it was only for half an hour at a

time, I got turned on by wearing my sister's clothes. Not even my sister

knew

that I wore her things. I loved going to school on days when we were not

having gym, and looking at all the pretty girls and knowing that I too had

on

a lacey bra and a pair of panties under my school clothes. I envied them

for

being able, and expected to wear their hems at their knees, while I was

forced to wear mine at my ankles.

I selected a red satin corsolette, that laced up the front. Anne is a

small

girl, but, this was still a boned garment. I stepped into it, raised it up

to

my waist, and laced it so tightly, that I had trouble breathing, I'd seen

her

wear this often and had envied her. I stuffed panties into the half cups

and

pulled painfully at the chest flesh, and, in minutes, I looked like I had

mounds growing out, like breasts. My nearly hairless chest, looked like a

girl's.

It was painful to sit at the vanity, raise my legs in order to pull my

nylons up to snap onto the lacey garter straps of the garment. I then

fitted

a pair of three inch heeled open toed sandals onto my feet, then stood up,

relishing that lovely sensation that can only be felt when you are wearing

taut nylons.

I slid my shod feet, carefully, into the lacey leg holes of a

delightful

teddy that I wanted to wear that day. It had at least five inches of lace

trimming the leg holes and bodice. I stood back, after carefully sliding

the

shouldler straps up and over my new bust, and examined my reflection. The

lace frothed out at my hips and shoulders. It was a delightfully feminne

garment, and I loved it. I adjusted between my legs, hoping that the silky

crothch would hold me in place. Then, I tied the little blue ribbon into a

bow at my waist. The red of the corsolette looked so sexy through the

sheer

white silk garment. The lacey bodice was also trimmed with a blue ribbon

that

ended in a tiny boy at the bottom of the Vnecked bodice.

That old familiar feeling welled up from deep inside, and it

overwhelmed

me. I accepted it, and, I loved it. I looked at the reflection for a long

time, and, felt that it was somehow wrong, that someone who felt the way I

did about wearing such lovely clothing should be denied the right to, just

because I had a penis. That was the only reason. I looked like a girl. I

wanted to dresss like a girl. I felt like a girl. I longed to be a female,

but, I also liked that little six inches of maleness, that was the only

thing

left of my masculine feelings. All the rest was a woman. I was looking at

her, and she was smiling prettilly back at me, waiting for her slip and

her

dress.

Daintilly, as was natural for me, when I let "her" out of her secret

closet, I sat at the vanity again. First I spritzed some perfume on my

neck

and the backs of my legs, then, with a mischevious grin, a spritze at my

crotch. I carefully applied eyelashes and eye makeup. I had spent many

hours

practising before my sister's mirror, and I watched Anne whenever I got

the

chance to, so I was very confident in the area of making up my face.

Anne had a dress that had long chiffon sleeves, a ruffled bodice, a

wide

belt, and a full flaring skirt. I had envied her right to wear it many

many

times. Now that I had the chance, I went looking for this little dream of

feminine fancy.

It was in the other room, but, I soon had the pink dress spread out on

the

bed, waiting for it to envelope my body in its utter prettiness. Again, at

the vanity, I donned earrings, a watch, a bracelet and a pretty pearl drop

necklace. I was a "she" again, and I almost wished that I was not married

so

that I could be "her" all the time. Then, with a smile, I remembered that

I

was alone all day, and that there was no reason why I could not be a girl

all

day. It would, I knew improve my sex life. I always had a constant

erection,

even from the age of eight, from wearing panties. It had cause me some

crisis

moments, on those day that I had worn Sharon's silky drawers to school.

Carefully, I paiinted my nails a dark pink, to match my lip gloss.

I had always had a thing about silk or satin slips. So, when I did wear

dresses, I loved to wear two slips. Now was no exception. I took two white

silk slips from the middle drawer, and, seconds later, the slithery

material

was rustling to my every movement. I loved the sound. It was

so...so...feminine. That was the only word that I could think of. I was

feminine, in that sound that was being generated from my body. Both slips

had

delisciously full and effeminating skirts to swish about my nyloned

thighs.

I then raised my dream dress, up, over my head, and, holding it up, I

looked up at the insides, the view that only a girl gets, of her dresses.

Slowly, I let that pink delight descend, enveloping me in it femininity.

In a

moment, I had the near perfect fitting dress on, wrists buttoned up,

zipper

all the way up my back, and the wide belt buckled. My sister Sharon is a

very

pretty girl, but, she never had anything so pretty or delightful as this

dress that I was wearing now. I felt like I was on a pink cloud.

I spent nearly an hour watching myself practice sitting in a delicate

fashion, stooping to pick up something off the floor, and, of course,

hundreds of graceful curtseys.

At last, I tore myself away from the lovely vision in the looking

glass,

and went to the kitchen, where I donned a ruffled apron. The last thing in

the world that I wanted to do was to ruin or stain "MY" dress. I did the

breakfast dishes, then went around the house, with a loud rustling, and,

of

course, just absolutely thrilled with my completely overwhelming sense of

being a feminine person, even delighting in that constant ache in my

pantified crotch. Even that constant pain seemed, somehow, to be worth the

price of wearing such a lovely dress.

Of course, the tune "I'm the happiest girl, in the whole USA", ran

through

my head, as a constant refrain, continually reminding me that I had

totally

effeminated myself, that I had not even the excuse of being, somehow,

forced

to wear my pretty dress. I was a feminine male, and, I loved the feminine

more than the masculine.

I was a "SISSY". I admitted to myself for the first time in my life,

that I

was really, a SISSY boy, who would rather be a girl. Somehow, admitting

it,

made it seem more sensuous.

Remembering my tasks, I gathered the laundry and took it all to the

basement and proceeded to wash, dry and fold the clothes. I felt so

complete.

I hate what my girl self does to me, totally effeminating me, but, she

makes

me complete, somehow. I had such a joy, as I did womanly work, in womanly

dress.

With an armload of freshly ironed clothing, ready for Anne's closets, I

cheerfully climbed the stairs, and entered the bedroom, just as Anne was

entering it from the bathroom.

"Oh...my God...what...what the hell are you doing...God... I'm married

to a

goddamned faggot..."

"No...no...Anne, it isn't like...that at all...You don't understand...

Anne?"

"Just you shut your mouth...PANSY"

Crestfallen, I volunteered to change out of the dress. "I'll...uh...get

changed..."

"Don't bother. It's too late now to try and be a man. I can see what

you

are. I don't know how you could have kept me fooled for so long."

"You...want me...to stay dressed like this?"

"Yes, now get the hell out of here. I'm sicker now than I was when I

came

home. Get out of my sight you "FAIRY"."

I lay the pile of dresses on the bed, and retreated, fearfully. She

really did look pale, but, she obviously did not want her pantied husband

around at this moment. As soon as I closed the door behind me, I heard a

click. She had locked me out of the bedroom.

I was forced to wear my dream turned nightmare.

Not knowing what else to do, I went back to the basement, finished the

laundry, and then prepared our supper. Anne would not respond when I told

her

supper was ready. At bedtime, I quietly tried the doorknob, but, it was

still

locked. I had no access to my own clothes, so, I slept on the couch, in my

woman's clothes. Corsolettes are very sexy, but, they are terrible for

sleeping in. I was so scared of upsetting her, that I slept in what I was

wearing. I did not want her to know that I had put on other of her

clothes.

It was a horrible night.

The sound of the coffee grinder woke me in the morning. Anne came into

the

livingroom, and took a long look at her effeminated husband. I was laying

on

the couch. I blushed as I realized that my dress's skirt had worked it way

up, and, she could see the lacey hem of my teddy. Blushingly, I tugged at

my

skirts to get them to a place of modesty. She did not even say one word.

She

just stared, then left the house, without eve drinking her coffee. I could

tell that she had been crying.

Fearfully, I was certain that my happy home was going to be no more,

because, I could not control a biological urge.

I nervously disrobed. For the first time in my life, I did not have an

erection, while wearing female clothing. I was too scared of what I might

have brought onto myself. I cried nearly all morning.

When Anne came home that night, she did not even talk to me. She again,

went straight into the bedroom and locked herself in. I had never seen her

act like this. I would do anything to get her back, but, she repeatedly

refused to talk to me when I knocked at the door.

Thursday night, when she came home, it was obvious to me that she had

made

some decisions. She looked at me, beckoned for me to follow her to the

bedroom, where she took off the two peice suit that she had worn for the

day

at her office. I wondered if she wanted sex. I hoped so. I hoped that I

would

be able to get it up for her. I was curious. She then told me to undress,

which I did, as quickly as I could.

I stood nakedly, feeling very vulnerable, and foolish, and, I watched

her,

as she removed her bra and panties. She then sat, removed her nylons and

her

garterbelt. She stood, and pointed at the little pile of her discarde

clothing on the floor. She seemed, somehow, bigger than me.

"Well, you wanted them. There they are. They are yours now. Put them

on."

I was too dumbfounded to do anything, but, I was too scared of losing

Anne,

to disobey her. I did what she told me to do. I sat and began to put on

the

still warm clothing that she had just taken off.

As I dressed, Anne unpacked a large bag that she had brought home with

her.

I saw that she had pantsuits, that could have passed for men's suits, in

it.

I did not say anything, though. I just proceeded to put on her things. I

could not help but get erect. I felt humiliated and forced to effeminate

myself, and it turned me on. I hated myself for being so weak. She smiled

when she looked over at me and noted the bulge in the front of my panties.

She sat and watched me as I lowered the slip over my head, and adjusted

the

thin shoulder straps. I felt so vulnerable and exposed under her gaze. I

picked up the longsleeved silk blouse and slid it up my arms. I buttoned

the

cuffs, and reached behind me, to button up the blouse, up to my neck. I

opened up the skirt, stepped into it, and pushed my blouse and slip down

inside it, as I raised it to my hips. I closed it and buttoned it at my

left

hip, then slid up the zipper. I sat on the bed, under her watchful eye,

and

stepped into the shoes she had worn all day. I stood, and slid the jacket

up

my arms. I then placed on the jewelry that she had piled on the bed.

She stood and threw a large box at me.

"Put that on."

Nervously, I opened the box and found that it held a long page boy

style of

wig, in a dark brown, almost the identical color of my own longish hair.

I'd

never worn a wig before, so it took me a few moments to figure out what

was

what. I pulled it on and adjusted it. The hair fell to my shoulders, and

the

bangs fell to my eyebrows. It felt like real hair.

"Do your makeup, FAIRY."

I looked over at her. She was sitting in a corner wicker chair, wearing

the

jeans and the sweatshirt that I had taken off. This was the first time in

years that I had seen her in anything but knee length hems. I was shocked.

I

sensed, that, our roles were now reversed. I wasn't sure whether I liked

my

wife being manly, or, if I really wanted to live a womanly life. She was

also

wearing men's sneakers.

"Admit it, Pansy. I can see from the bulge in the front of your skirt

that

you are turned on by being a woman. You love your new clothes, don't you,

boy"chick"?"

I was so ashamed, I said nothing.

"Admit it Pansy. I want to hear you say it."

"Yes...I do, Anne."

"Well, for the first time in our marriage, you are being completely

honest."

She stared hard at me, then slowly raised herself to her feet and

walked

over to stand in front of me.

"Well, I must say this for you, you are a mnre believable looking woman

than you ever were a convincing man. You look like the kind of woman that

any

man would be happy to be married to."

She reached out and gently grasped at the bulge in my skirt. Her hand

moved

slightly, exploring the skirted shaft. I was nearly dying with passion for

this woman cum man.

"God, as a woman, you turn me on like nothing else. I find it sexy to

find

you wearing your new clothes. Now, Baby, I bought two magazines, and I

want

you to read them. I am going out to buy some cigarrettes, maybe go and

have a

beer or two. I'll be back, when I get here. You read the magazines."

She handed them to me, and left. I was amazed. That was the first

sexually

aggressive thing that she had ever done, and though she was no longer

there,

I could still feel the burning hot hand through my skirt, as it had

squeezed

and explored the shaft in my panties.

Reading the magazines, I had to stop three times, to raise my skirt and

masturbate myself. They were about pretty men, men who were forced to live

as

women, by women, and, in two of the case studies, it was a man who forced

them to live as women. They was about enforced peticoating, or

transvestism,

or, as it was also called, cross dressing.

Anne returned home, and she smelled of cigarettes and beer.

"Did you read them both, Sweetcakes?"

I just stared at her. She had gotten her beautiful long hair trimmed to

a

short bob. It was almost mannish.

"Yes, Anne..." I sputtered.

"Well, and what do you think?"

"Anne, I...uh...I just enjoy sometimes wearing girl's clothes. I don't

want

to be a woman. I don't want to be like those ...men...dominated like

that."

"Oh, quit your whining. Do you want to stay married to me, yes or no?"

"Yes...of course...you should not even need to ask that. I love you

mnre

than anyone in the world."

"Good. I intend to prove it. For once, I am going to be the chauvinist

that

you tried so desparately to be. You want to wear dresses?...No

problem...My

clothes turn you on so much?....No problem...But, since I bring home th

bacon, I call the shots. You got that, Lady?"

"What are you saying, Anne?"

"What I am saying is, I am in the husband's role, and you are in the

wife's

role. Consequently, if you want to remain married to me, then you have got

to

be the wife that I was, while I take the role of the husband that you

were.

You will look like a pretty doll when I get home from the office. You'll

have

my supper on the table. You'll wear what I tell you to wear. If I ever

catch

you wearing pants without permission, I'll beat the shit out of you, and,

if

I can't, I'll hire someone to do it for me. You got that?"

"You want me to live your life, Anne?"

"No...I want you to live the life that you made me live. If you cannot

live

as my wife, get out now."

"I...I...I will do what you say, Anne."

She came over and stood in front of me, with a maliscious smile on her

lips. Very quickly, she drew back her right hand, formed a fist and drove

it

into my solar plexus. I bent over in pain, and fell on the floor,

conscious

that my dress was up to expose my panties. I was so weak.

"You are to be submissive and docile, and pretty at all times. If you

do

not like what I say or do, that's just too bad for you. You will be a good

housewife. You will learn to make your own clothes and save me a bundle,

like

I did for you. Understood?"

"Yes, Anne..." I sobbed out painfully.

"If I am the husband, you can't very well call me Anne, now, can you?

Call

me Andy. I will call you...ummm...KarenAnne. That will suit you. A bit of

something new, and a bit of something borrowed, like my clothes, my life

and

my name, only you can't be me, so you you will be something close to it, a

KarenAnne, not an Anne. How does that sound, KA?"

"It's pretty, Andy."

S/he took my hand and helped me up. He led me to the bedroom, where I

was

directed to lay on my back. He lay on top of me, and began kissing my neck

and face, touching me all over. I could not help it. He was turning me on

sooo much. I reached for the breasts.

He slapped me hard, across the face. "A lady does not do that. She

waits

for her lover to do everything. Now, you just enjoy being made love to,

and

let me do the making of the love, alright? If you can't keep your hands to

yourself, I'll tie them to the bedposts, to make sure you act as a docile

girl. A docile wife waits for her husband to make love to her, not the

other

way around."

"Yes...Dear."

She smiled at my response and kissed the reddening cheeks.

Andy kissed me, feeling me all over,and aking me if I wanted him to

fuck

me, and make a baby inside of me. I lay, quietly with my hands over my

head.

When I heard the words, I began to cry. She laughed at me for crying like

a

SISSY, as she pushed my skirt up, and slowly worked my panties down to my

knees. I realized that she was serious. If I stayed married, I would not

be

allowed to be a man at all. I cried mnre. Though I was so turned on that I

wanted to rape her, I manged somehow to restrain myself. She slowly

lowered

herself onto me, commenting that she wished that she'd known about me long

before this. She loved having a pretty, docile wife. I lay under her,

acutely

aware that I was the woman and that I was being made love to.

"Oh...God...this is so much better than just laying there, waiting for

him

to give you something and hoping that what he gives you is enough,

but...ahhhh...you, my Pretty wife, you would rather just lay there, and be

the loved one. Don't lie to me, I know how turned on you are."

"Yes....I love it...I hate being this way, but, I love it..."

"Sure you do, you are so damned effeminate. You are one of those people

that they make jokes about, you know that?"

"Yes...ahhh...I know I am."

"Are you going to get mad and hit me with your purse if I get you

pregnant,

KarenAnne?"

I could no longer control myself. The friction caused by her movements

made

me lose it. Anne/dy had the most glorious orgasm that s/he had ever

experienced. It was obvvious that she relished the role of the man. She

loved

it, as much as I loved being her wife. The orgasm that ripped through my

body

was the most dynamic that I had ever experienced. It took me nearly twenty

minutes to get my strength back. I felt that being made love to was

obviously

superior than making love.

"Okay, Karen, you got your jollies. Now, pull up your panties, and get

me

my supper."

I rolled over, kissed her lips, then did as she told me to.

Andy went and took a shower as I made us a light lunch of tossed salad

and

tuna fish sandwiches.After eating, he watched me as I washed the dishes,

then, he told me that I was going to stink like a cunt if I did not go and

take a shower.

On emerging from the bathroom, I saw that Anne had had laid our our

night

clothes, on the bed. My cotton ones were on my side of the bed. Anne's

pink

pegnour was laid out on her side of the bed. I went over and picked up the

bottoms of my pajamas, and was just about to step into them, when I felt a

sharp and very painful sting on my bum cheeks, the first of seven. I was

near

crying when she stopped hitting me. I turned to look at her. She was

standing

there, with a yardstick in her hand.

"God, you are a stupid bitch. Can't you tell the difference between

men's

clothes and women's clothes yet? I would have thought that you'd have no

trouble doing that, at least. Now, go and put your own clothes on. DON'T

YOU

EVER WEAR MY CLOTHES AGAIN, DO YOU HEAR ME? That is, unless you like

getting

your pretty cheeks reddened."

She roared when she saw the crestfallen look on my face, as I walked

over

to my new side of the bed, and picked up the sheer lace panties.

"Gad, Karen, you are so pretty. I don't know why I never noticed it

before."

"Anne, how long is this little game of yours going to go on?" I asked

as I

tied the little ribbon at my neck.

"My little game? My game? Whose idea was it to run around the house in

the

clothes of a housewife? It was your idea, Honey. This little game will

continue for as long as you want to stay married. You will not wear pants

again, untill I tell you you can. And, I expect you to be a little mnre

grateful for the chance to be my wife. You, Dear, are now, the lady of the

house. You might just as well give yourself over to enjoying it, till I am

tired of being a chauvinist pig. But, don't hold your breath. I know that

you

love it. I saw your reaction when I made love to you. You are a hot bitch.

The shoe, or, should I say, the high heel, is now on the other foot, your

foot.

Don't tell me you do not want to be dominated. Yesterday, I took the

day

off work, and went to the university. I spent the day with the professor

of

psychology. Dr. Workman spent the day explaining everything he knew about

your kind of makebelieveman. You transvestites crave having a woman love

you enough to turn you into her wife. Well, your dreams have come true,

Karen.

I love you and that is why I married you. But I was getting pretty sick

and

tired of putting up with your machoman crap. Now I know that you acted

that

way because you did not know how to be a man. Now, you can put up with it,

the way you expected your wife to put up with it. From what I understand,

a

person like you will be happier than you ever dreamed you could be,

because,

the only choice that you have in this matter is to stay married or not to

stay married. You want to stay married, then you will do so as my wife.

You

have no other alternatives. Do I make myself perfectly clear, KarenAnne?"

"Yes Anne...uh...dy."

"Good girl. Now, go and get me a beer."

An hour later, I got another rude awakening. Wearing such dainty

materials,

gave me a nearly constant painful erection. Andy took some pity on me,

after

teasing me about my obvious excitement about wearing such lovely clothing,

by

enforced transvestim. She took my hand and led me to the bedroom. When I

lay

on my back, I reached for her crotch.

She slapped me very hard, disgusted that I had not yet learned my

lessons

in docility. She then took a pair of pantyhose, and tied my hands to the

headboard. He then went to the dresser and took out a double ended dildoe,

that I had never seen before. I watched, fearfully fascinated as she

slowly

inserted one end inside of herself, then, hooked the leather harness to

her

pelvis. She grinned malisciously, as she crawled onto the bed, her legs

wide

apart, with on knee on each side of my bound shoulders, and told me that

she

wanted for me to suck her cock. I tried to turn my head, but, she

scronfully

insisted that all girls loved sucking cock, and I was no exception. She

grabbed my head, and forced it into my mouth, nearly gagging me, she

shoved

it so far down my throat.

"I can feel every move of your pretty sucking lips and your tongue, so,

Baby, make me cum with your pretty cocksucking mouth."

Her right hand went behind her, and I could feel her fingers gently

caressing the crotch of my silk panties. I ached, I was so sore. Every

fibre

of my being was acutely aware, that I was in the feminine role, and, I was

nearly blissful. I submitted to the role enforced on me, and began to suck

her cock, and moaning as she manipulated the front of my panties. I knew I

would give anything if she made me stay this way for all of my life. I

loved

the feelings of my clothes. That psychologist surely must have a good

understanding of transvestites, I thought. My most secret and yet

unrealized

fantasies were being forced on me with the rudeness of reality. I moved my

head back and forth, and, she orgasmed, nearly asphyxiating me, as she

drove

her cock down my throat.

"Oooohhh, I love fucking your pretty mouth...Aaaahhhhh..."

Her words inflamed my sense of femaleness. As she orgasmed, she

grasped,

painfully, at my penis, nearly ripping it from me, as she twisted it

around,

grinding the girl material of my panties into it. I exploded, and actually

passed out with the intensity of her lovemaking.

When I recuperated, I had another surprise. She had tied my ankles

together, pulled my legs up, so the my knees were nearly touching my chin.

They were held in place by a belt securing them to the headboard. I was

absolutely helpless.

"What are you doing, Anne?"

"Andy. And, for that matter, it doesn't matter to you. You are the lady

of

the house, so, you just accept whatever I decide to do with you or even to

you. Not only that, you should be thankful."

I felt her fingers pulling at the pantywaist at my back, and she

lowered

them. She put her head down between my legs, and licked the cum of my

cock,

and, sucked me till I was hard again. Then, she lay on top of me, and

kissed

me, forcing her tongue into my mouth. I tasted the cum being forced into

my

mouth.

"Swallow it, Baby, you'll love it."

She wanted me to admit that I liked the taste of a man's cum. When I

did,

she went back down to my rear end. She began kissing my anus, and poked at

me

with her tongue, driving me nearly insane with the intensity of the

sensations. I had never dreamed that that was such an erogenous spot

before.

"I love eating your pussy, KarenAnne. It is so sweet. Make sure you

keep

it entirely free of hair for me, okay. Your pussy is just so sweet, that,

I

think I am going to fill it up for you."

She lay directly onto the back of my legs, forcing my knees into my

chest.

The pain was horrible, but, did not compare to the searing agony that

penetrated my anus, as she shoved her cock into me. I could not cry out,

as,

she drove her tongue into my mouth at the same time.

Something very strange began to happen after the initial shock of her

penetration. I felt her moviing, rocking slowly, back and forth, moving it

inside of me. I was being fucked, as I had fucked her so often. The pain

slowly became a lovely sensation that fullfilled me in a way I had not

ever

immagined was posssible. He noticed that I was no longer resisting being

fucked like a woman. She worked herself to a kneeling position. In and

out,

in and out...sodmizing me...womanizing me. I loved it. My head rolled

sideways and I somehow became aware that as she was entering my body, she

was

also entering my very psyche.

I began to push up to meet her thrusts. He was orgasming as he fucked

me.

He screamed as he hit the peak. He did not even touch me, but, I spurted

again, in a wild sensation. I came all over my my face. The pain I felt

seemed strangely to be some kind of just payment for being allowed to be a

woman. I was complete for the first time in my life.

"You are one very foxy fuck, Lady."

"Why, thankyou, kind Sir. I am glad that I pleased you."

The next two months were sheer agony. Every day, he left me long lists

of

things to have accomplished by the time that he got home at night. After

supper dishes were washed, I'd endure the pain of the electrolysis kit he

bought to use on my face, chest and legs, for nearly two hours a night.

I took to using her ID, her car, and, in fact, when the new driver's

license came out, I had my picture on it. It was in the name of Anne, but,

at

home, I was Karen. Anne was my middle name.

After about five months, I had accepted my total effemination. I was

happier than I had ever dreamed was possible for me. I was a happily

married

woman. I thought in womanly terms of references, due mainly to rather

harsh

punishments for not doing so.

She then had me meet with Dr. Workman for psychological assessment. I

felt

so vulnerable, sitting there, in front of his desk, dressed as a girl. I

wondered if it was my lacey hem that his eye kept going to my knee to see.

He

spent nearly three hours asking in depth questions about our new life

styles.

I realized that we were having nearly three times the sex we had had

before.

Dr. Workman told Andy that he was pretty well convinced that I really

was

happier as a woman, but, there was one final test that he would like to

try,

if he had my husband's permission. He wanted to take me on a date, alone

with him, to see how I reacted in public circumstances. I did not even

have

anything to say about this. I was treated as a chatel. Andy said yes, and,

since Dr. Workman was such a good friend, that he should feel free to take

his liberties with me. Andy said that I would do anything I was told to. I

blushed as Dr. Workman glanced over at me, and I wondered if he were

thinking

about getting a blow job.

He looked straight at me. "KarenAnne, I think that this transition that

you have made is a truly remarkable and fascinating case study. I would

like

to report on you in medical journals. Of course, your identity would be

kept

secret. I really would like to do a paper on your marriage."

I noticed that his beard moved in an attractive fashion as he talked.

The date started with a very long drive, where I answered his questions

about my feelings of docility and acceptance of my feminine nature by

Andy,

into his tape recorder.

I admitted that I found a strange satisfaction in having someone else

make

all of my decisions for me. He explained that somehow, early in my

childhood,

I must have experienced great rejection of myself as a boy, and that that

was

why I wanted to have someone make love to me , the way a girl is sought

out

and made love to, as opposed to being the aggressor and possibly being

rejected. I had been taught that girls are more sought after than boys,

like

the old fairy tales and rhymes about sugar and spice and all that stuff,

he

explained, and, I wanted to be like that, rather than to repeatedly

experience the rejection that had happened to me, that was still buried

somewhere deep in my subconscious mind.

He asked if I were a homosexual.

I said no.

He then wanted to know why, if I was not a homosexual, that I submitted

to

being fucked and to sucking Andy's cock.

I had no answer.

He parked his car, put his arm around me, and pulled me to him. I did

not

resist. I wanted to feel his beard on my cheeks.

He was so strong. I realized at that moment that I had been still

looking

at him as one male to another, but, now, that I was in his arms, as a

girl, I

was amazed at how small I really was, and,l I loved the feeling. This is

what

girls experienced every day of their lives. I was now, no exeception to

the

rule.

His tongue probed my lips, and I received him, willingly. I was a girl.

He

kissed me for a long long time, then, slowly, he moved his hand down to

the

front of my dress, over my hip and to my knee. His fingers on my nylons

were

strong, hard and calloused. I opened my legs and welcomed his intrusion

into

to my privacy. This is one of the most feminine things that I think a girl

can expereince, to have a man's hand under her dress, feeling her panties.

I

was vulnerable and exposed, and, therein was the excitement. I was living

in

a totally effeminated circumstance. There was nothing I could do, but to

respond naturally, as would a girl, in the same circumstances. I shuddered

as his tongue probed my mouth, and his hard fingers fondled the front of

my

dleicate silk panties. I nearly died form the sheer bliss that flooded my

soul. He was so masterful. I could not resist cumming in his hand, as he

fondled me through my panties.

"Well, my little lovely, do you need any other evidence that you are

about

as feminine as a male can get?"

"No, I guess not. What now, Dr.?"

"Well, for a start, would you like to suck a real cock, one that can

cum

for you?"

I stared at him. He was still holding me tightly. I blushed as I

nodded my

desire to do so.

"That, my dear, is not good enough. You must hear yourself saying so."

My face burned with the shame of my inner desires. "I cannot explain

it,

Dr., but, I do."

"Do what, Dear?"

"I want to...to...suck your cock."

He touched a button on his seat, and it lowered backwards. so that he

was

nearly lying flat. "Put your hand on it, KarenAnne."

I did. I felt the heat and the throbbing right through his suit pants.

I

gent felt out the shape, watching my girlish hand as I did so.

"You can't see my cock, if you don't open my pants."

I reached for the belt and undid it. I was thankful that he was a thin

man,

and not a fat one. Then, I opened the hook and slowly, tugged at his

zipper.

"Are you flattered that you can make me so hard, Karen?"

"Yes...I am. I am ashamed to admit it, but, I am proud of the fact that

I

got you so hard."

"The feminine personna reacts that way. Don't be ashamed. You are

acting

quite normally...for a girl."

I touched the now exposed cock, running my hands gently over it's head,

and

up and down the shaft. It felt so very different from the dildoe. It

reacted

to my touching it.

I lowered my head, slowly taking the thing to my lips. I kissed the

head,

honoring something that I would never have, a man's cock.

"Suck my cock, you pretty little faggot. Make me cum for you, into your

pretty cunt mouth, just like my wife does for me. Remember, I do not want

to

get wanked, I want someone to suck my cum right out of me, because, she

sooo

enjoys making a man cum for her."

When he came, I could not swallow it all. I watched as it spurted from

the

corners of my lips, all over his belly, and my hands. I sucked, coaxing it

to

give me all the cum that was in it. I was satisfied. I had, at last, done

what feminine fairies do. I was a cocksucker now, a pansy cocksucker. I

was

pleased.

He cleaned himself up, drove me home, and, to my surprise, accompanied

me

to the front door. Andy was waiting for us, and poured him a glass of

white

wine.

"Well, Doc, what about her?"

"Andy, I believe that she has a feminine personna. I do not believe

that

she would be able to live in a masculine role. I think that you are doing

her

a favor by making her wear dresses all the time. Regardless of what she

says,

do not let her out of her feminine role. Deep inside, she does not want to

be

let out of this role. If you did let her be a male again, she would fail

miserably, and just make herself worse."

"Yes, that is what I thought. what about the other?"

"Well, you were right there also. All I had to do was kiss her, and she

wanted, really wanted, to suck me off."

I nearly crawled through the floor, I was so embarassed.

"So, if I again assume my own feminine identity, there would be no

problem

having a man live with us? I mean, she would be just as pleased to have

sex

with him as I would be?"

"You got it. She is more woman than man, and will probably only get

more

so."

As he stood to leave, he turned to me.

"KarenAnne, I almost envy you. You are living in a kind of heaven. Most

people will never experience the joy of completely living out their

deepest

and most secret, sometimes hidden fantasies. I wish you well."

With that, he took my hand, turned it over, and raised it to his lips,

as

though I were a great lady, or a "queen".

"I really hope that you appreciate what a great love that Andy here has

for

you, to enforce this life style on you.

I did not know what else to do, so, I curtsied. It was the right thing

to

do.

Well, friends in skirts, this is a fanciful story of how I came to

understand what R & R really is. Andy has since engineered other

circumstances designed to do only two things. One she wants me to be

humiliated because, I am only a pretend woman who does not qualify as a

man.

Her constant enforcement of humiliation also reinforces my feminine

nature,

which, I believe, she likes even more than the man she married. I know

that I

do. Perhaps, you may see some more of these fanciful experiences recorded,

for the sole purpose of keeping bulges in your panties?