The Real Stepford Wives Lizzie s Story
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The Real Stepford Wives: Only Women Have Babies
by Sarah Barndt
I was once a normal, heterosexual male. That is, I was until I happened
upon the town of Stepford. I was spending a few weeks there, installing some
equipment at Stepford Pharmeceutical Labs, for the company I worked for. I had
recently broken up with my fiancee and was glad to be back on the road as a
working engineer. I enjoyed it, but Stepford was odd. All of the men wanted to
ask me about my sex life when I visited 'the club.' All of the women were
beautiful and intelligent, yet they were very old-fashioned in the way they
behaved. They were totally subservient and attentive to their men. They alone
cooked, cleaned, took care of the kids, etc. They also looked and dressed like
models, and apparently, were sensational lovers. All of the men belonged to the
MEN'S CLUB, and all of the women belonged to the LADY'S CULTURAL
SOCIETY, a building on the far side of the MEN'S CLUB grounds. What was
odd? It was too perfect. My curiosity was piqued. I decided to investigate the
building of the MEN'S CLUB. THAT was first my mistake.
I slipped in after hours, using my pass key. Since the machines I was
installing were automated, I had access to the central computer network. I found
lots of information. All of it was astounding, but chilled me to the bone. It
turned out that all of the women in Stepford had once been men! The real men of
Stepford captured young men with the right physical characteristics and sexual
experience, then transformed them somehow into females. As former males,
they had an intimate knowledge of what pleased a man and how to satisfy his
fantasies and desires. The sudden shock of losing of their penises caused them
to become submissive and docile. You ended up with every man's fantasy; a
lady in the parlor, a chef in the kitchen, and a whore in the bedroom. I fell back
in my chair, too stunned to move at this shocking revelation, when a cloth
covered my mouth and nose. Chlorophorm! I struggled only briefly before
losing consciousness. When I awoke, I was strapped to a lab table - naked. I felt
OK, though there was a bandage on my abdomen. I turned at the sound of the
door opening. A doctor and two nurses came in. My voice was cracking as I told
them they couldn't turn me into a woman. The doctor only smiled and said that
he already had.
I thought he was bluffing, but as he explained the process I knew he
wasn't lying. The bandage was from where they had implanted a female zygote
into my abdominal cavity. It would attach to my seminal vescicle, the part of a
male analogous to a uterus. There it would alter my RNA to that of the woman
who provided the egg. Over a short period of time, it would turn my male sex
organs into a uterus, ovaries and Fallopian tubes, while my new RNA would
alter every cell in my body until I had become - a female, a PREGNANT female.
I didn't feel right and realized it was already too late for me to escape this fate. I
asked how long I had left. He said I was already past the first stage. To
illustrate, he tugged on my chest hair. It came out easily. They wheeled a mirror
over. I could see now that I was slimmer and less muscular than before, with
almost no body hair and I had never seen my dick so pink, or limp, before.
Suddenly I screamed. My guts were in agony! It felt as if an invisible hand was
squeezing me from the inside. As I shrieked I could hear my voice getting
higher. I writhed and moaned for several minutes. Mercifully it passed as
quickly as it came. I looked in the mirror and began to cry. My dick was gone,
replaced by a - a cunt. I had even grown tits! On my once flat chest were two
small cones of flesh. I was still sobbing as they put my feet in stirrups and gave
me my first vaginal exam. I wanted to die as I felt my clitoris respond to his
probe by making my nipples hard. My new vagina made me feel vulnerable, and
I could see I now had a feminine triangle sprouting between softer, fleshier
thighs. While the doctor was probing my new plumbing the nurse tried to
comfort me. "Relax, sweety," she whispered. "You'll get used to it. We all did."
I thanked her in my new alto voice. They helped me up. I felt so - different. It
wasn't just my dick being gone, either. In spite of the fact that I had lost over 50
pounds, I felt plumper, and somewhat bottom-heavy. Yet, I was thinner, less
muscular, and shorter than ever. I must have lost 6 inches in height, and my feet
were almost tiny. I clenched my arms. My strength was gone. I now had the
scrawny biceps and shoulders of a woman. The face was mine, but different. A
woman's face; softer, rounder with added fullness in the cheeks and lips. My
hair was longer. I was pretty. Just as I was regaining some composure the
doctor said, "Take MISS Evans to the Ladies Club and get her a room. Give her
the usual training. Her wedding is in a month." As I heard those words, I began
to vomit. They cleaned me up, then gave me a robe, pink, to wear as we walked
to the clubhouse. I sobbed uncontrollably. They reminded me that I was not only
female now, but pregnant. "When you're knocked-up, there's nothing like
having a man take care of you," they said knowingly. "You may not think so
now, but in a few months, when you're big as a house, you'll appreciate the
attention. Besides, the first one is always the hardest." First? As in 'first of
several', or - or m-many. Oh, dear. I was getting queazy again. They assured
me that I would actually be happy about all this someday - while I was gagging.
I chuckled sardonicly. Isn't that what they always say after something terrible
has happened. But I had to be logical. My dick was gone - forever. I had to face
that. I was a woman, at least physically, and in 9 months I was going to be
somebody's mother. All of that was unchangable. The best thing I could do for
my own sake was to not fight it anymore. I decided to give in; to shave my legs
and put on a dress. I didn't have to like it, but I was determined to survive this.
They could make me look like a woman, but they could never make me think
like a woman. Or so I thought.
At the club, I was taken to the beauty salon. There, I was given a perm,
manicure, pedicure, facial and make-up instruction. They had me shave my own
legs and underarms - and bikini line. I watched all this detached from myself, as
if I were an observer as, little by little, I was turned into an attractive young
woman, Laura, my new name. Lastly, they gave me some diamond earrings,
pierced, a gift from Mark Jennings, my fiancee. I yelped as the studs entered my
lobes, though it really didn't hurt. Next, it was time to dress me.
The room looked like a 'Victoria's Secret' catalogue. They selected a
white lace bikini panty for me. It felt so odd as it slid up my now smooth legs
and over my - empty - crotch. The tape went around my sunken chest before I
knew what was happening. 32AA. My hands were trembling as I slid the bra up
my arms. I was putting this on because I needed one. And would need one for
the rest of my life. sss I sucked in a breath as my girlish boobs settled into the
cups and the clasp was fastened. uuu It felt like a harness. I didn't like it at all. I
heard the nurses gossipping. "Remember when we were that size?" one said,
enviously. "Yes, I do. Let her enjoy it while she can. By the time she's through
nursing her first kid, she'll be as big as the rest of us." I looked at them
carefully. Oh, my! I hadn't really noticed before, I was so worried about my
mutation, but they were quite full-figured! I looked down at my chest. I could
feel the slight sensation of weight that was still so unfamiliar. I tried to imagine
what they would look like in a few months when I was - like them, a buxom
housewife. I couldn't.
I spent the next weeks learning how to be a lady. Classes were run by
various women of the town. As I looked at these thoroughly feminine creatures,
all of them mothers, some several times, I couldn't believe that they had once
been men - like me. Or rather, like I used to be. Each night as I put on my lacy,
babydoll nighty I saw that I had become more like them. I hardly knew myself
anymore, I was becoming so emotional. I could laugh or cry at the drop of a hat.
I wore high heels all the time. My ankles hurt. I spent hours with books on my
head, learning how to walk gracefully. They taught me how to cook, knit and
sew. I studied fashion magazines like they were text books. The 'hygeine' class
was disgusting, but I did find it useful. I had an exercise class every day where
we would do the 'bust cheer'; 'we must! we must! we must increase our bust!'
You know the one. It must work. My bumps were like misquito bites compared
to the melons on these women. In my snug leotard the full extent of my
transformation was apparent; slim waist, rounded butt and totally smooth crotch,
but I was getting morning sickness. Some of the women in the class were
pregnant, too, but I was the only 'newgirl'. I watched their swollen bellies with
fascination as we did our pelvic thrusts. "Do it, ladies," the instructer said. "It
will keep you tight as a virgin." The other women laughed at that. I felt ill, as all
the implications of that statement sunk in. The hardest part for me was seeing
nude women. I didn't, or couldn't, get aroused and I was finding it easier and
easier to undress in front them. Before I knew it, I just didn't care anymore.
Now, I started to compare their figures to mine. Which, by the way, was
improving daily.
My new hormones were causing me to 'fill out'. My breasts grew fuller
and rounder, as did my hips and buttocks. My legs added flesh and were
becoming quite shapely. My skin felt like a baby's behind. I ran my slender
hands over my widening hips, then down my still flat stomach. The fine growth
on my pussy had thickened. In two weeks, I was up to a 34A bra. My breasts
steadily increasing weight was making me more aware of them. I could now feel
them whenever I moved. It was a bit disquieting. In spite of my small size, I
was feeling busty, though the most interesting change was the way my nipples
were growing. The little pink nipples of two weeks ago were now doubled in
size and scarlett red. I placed the palms of my hands on them and made slow
circles. oooo That felt nice. I could feel my pussy tingling. I put one hand
between my legs. oooo OOOO UUUUUU. I had my first orgasm - as a woman.
I'll never forget my first 'Wednesday Afternoon Tea.' It is a ritual at the
Ladies Club. Each Wednesday, from 1pm to 4pm, the doors are locked and the
curtains are drawn. Tables of food and drink are arranged throughout the
building. All of the ladies of Stepford gather to mingle and gossip - stark naked
except for make-up and high heels. I wandered around the rooms myself, naked
as well, surprised, and definitely aroused, by all the sex that was going on. My
slim figure made me easy to identify as the 'newgirl', as the other women's
figures ranged from voluptuous to matronly. Pregnant women were also
involved and they gathered around me, telling me how 'great it will be',
'fullfilling' or my favorite, 'It's true. We really are happiest this way.' This was
from a 32 year old mother of 4, who used to play quarterback for Purdue, (her
husband loved football and wanted a wife who could share his enthusiasm) and
now appearred to be in her 4th month. She was so round and - RIPE - it was
getting me hot. She, Kate, noticed and took me aside. I had never kissed a
pregnant woman before, and certainly not AS a woman. Our bare breasts
rubbing together was new and exciting. I could feel myself getting wet as I
rubbed her big belly and fondled her bloated tits. "oops. I'm leaking," she said
as a drop of milk dribbled from her breast. " darn. I'm starting sooner with each
kid." she said to herself. I took her swollen teat into my mouth. "Careful, Laura.
I love what you're doing, but you're pregnant, too. This could start YOUR milk
if you take too much." I paused momentarily, but continued to suckle. It tasted
sooo good.
By the end of the month I had a woman's figure; 36B-24-38. In a few
days I would become Mrs. Mark Jennings. I found myself staring at my
engagement ring for hours. I was really a woman and soon I would be a wife.
The idea of spreading my legs for a man still made my skin crawl, but everyone
said it was wonderful. Besides, I wasn't equipped to fuck anymore. All I could
do was lay back and be fucked. They were giving me a bridal shower during
'afternoon tea'. Kate was their, of course, as we had become close this past
month. I adored sucking her fat, leaking tits, even though it seemed to be putting
a few pounds on me. When I was shopping the other day, I found I had gone up
a dress size, from a 6 to an 8. Besides the sex, we really got along well, so I
asked her to be matron-of-honor. In fact, my future husband had bought the
house next to her's. We were going to be neighbors! It was somewhat
Felliniesque, 30 or so naked women, drinking too much wine, and making all of
the usual pre-honeymoon jokes. I had thought only men did that. I was learning
a lot.
The wedding was a simple affair on the club grounds. I had met Mark
weeks before, when I was still a man. I hadn't noticed how good looking he
was - then. Now, I was seeing him as my life-mate, the father of my child
(children?) and the man who was going to de-flower me. I was frightened and
excited about what was to come. That night, for the first time, I felt the weight of
a man upon me. I was so scared! I parted my legs, so he could mount me. His
hard, thick cock was pressed against my wet, willing cunt. He moved his hips
forward. SSSSSSSS My hymen tore! I was no longer a virgin. UUU He was
FILLING me. Deeper and deeper it slid in. AAAAA He was splitting me like a
melon! I was swooning; drifting in and out of reality as my brain was flooded by
new - by new - ooooo Wonderful sensations! I could feel his cock taming. Each
thrust fucking the last of my maleness, my independance, away. I was turning
into a helpless, docile female and loving every minute of it. "OOO I love it. uuuu
I love you. SSSS I want to be your wife," I breathed out as he was pumping
into me. I wrapped my legs around him, kissed his neck and told how good he
felt. He liked that. I knew he would. We erupted together. OOO The girls were
right. It was so much BETTER now. That night, I must have caught a bad case
of hot pants because after a few days of this - well - I couldn't stop spreading
my legs!
My life changed so much. I would arise early so I could shower and
pamper myself. I'd always wear a dress and high heels (and my personal touch,
June Cleaver pearls) no matter what I was planning that day. I'ld cook my man a
hearty breakfast then do the houswork. I actually enjoyed cooking and cleaning!
The simplicity of this life was a welcome change for me after the 'cut throat'
corporate life. I would shop or go out to lunch with Kate, or one of the other
women. We would gossip like hens at the hair dressers. As the months passed I
progressed through a series of hair styles as my locks grew longer and longer.
Mark wanted me to let my hair grow out completely. I was looking forward to
becoming a modern Lady Godiva for him. I joined a community service club. I
really worked at being a good wife and a credit to my man. Nothing made me
prouder than to be called MRS. Jennings. We would go to dinner at the club and
dance later. I had some trouble at first because I wouldn't follow his lead, but
quickly adapted. I enjoyed walking down the street in a smart outfit and feeling
men's eyes roving all over me, especially my legs, which were very shapely.
Like the other women of Stepford, I would wear a hat and gloves. Regular visits
to my gynecologist were, of course, necessary. I could tell I was becoming more
of a female because the stirrups no longer bothered me, but the scale did. Each
week I winced as the nurse recorded my expanding figure. I went to 'the club'
daily, for my exercise classes, as well as LaMaze and LeLeche Society meetings.
Naturally, I NEVER missed 'afternoon tea', but I would always meet Mark at
the door, when he came home from the office, in sexy lingerie, and we would
make love all over the house. Mark would bring flowers or candy. Once he
brought me a bracelet. I had never been interested in flowers or other stuff like
that, but now it made me feel so - so special when he brought me presents. I
ALWAYS wept happily. In only a few weeks, his kind attentions, and his cock,
had turned me into a contented housewife. Then, the 'titty fairy' came.
I had been feeling some tightness around my waist lately. In fact, I
occassionaly had to undo a button after eating. I would examine my figure after
my morning shower. My waist was definitely thickening. I found I tired easily,
so I napped more. Then one morning I awoke to find my body changed. My
breasts had grown considerably. I found out later, a whole cup size to 38C. My
nipples had turned brown and small bumps ringed my areolae. I dark line ran
from my pubis to my navel, and when I turned sideways, a noticable bulge was
visible. I hefted my heavier (and slightly sagging) boobs. I ran my slim hands
over my new roundness. I LOOKED pregnant! I had a belly! I immediately got
into maternity clothes, though they hid my new bulges. I was so proud. That
afternoon, Kate and I were sunning by the pool. I had decided to wear a two
piece suit to show off my new belly. She rubbed my roundness then asked, "So
tell me. How do you like having big tits." I looked down. My boobs had spilled
out of the cups! We both giggled.
My pregnancy progressed smoothly and I began to fill out my maternity
dresses. My belly pushed out farther and farther as did my buttocks and hips. I
got a few stretch marks but I didn't care. They were badges of honor to me; a
symbol of my fruitfulness, and impending motherhood, and I loved the way
Mark would rub soothing lotions on my belly.When I first felt the baby kick, I
cried for joy. Kate and I continued our sex play, even though both of our bellies
were getting so big that some positions were now uncomfortable. My suckling
continued as well. It seemed to noursih me, ripening my figure into a true female
form. Mark loved my now large butt and pendulous breasts. He called me 'his
little cow'. I liked that. However, as Kate had warned, nursing effected me. I
awoke on night because my boobs were throbbing. I staggered to the bathroom.
As the light came on I gasped. My 40D breasts had grown some more. They
looked - fat, and bloated. And .... a wet strain was radiating from each engorged
nipple. I pulled down the bodice of my nighty. Oh! I was only in my 6th month,
but I was already lactating! Hands shaking, I removed my nighty and applied the
breast pump. SSSSS It hurt as my milk began to flow, but soon, it felt kind of
nice. In fact, I got wet. Just as I was finishing, I noticed Mark's reflection in the
mirror. "Well," he said appreciatively as his hands hefted my boobs, making
them and most of my upper body jiggle, "You're really my little cow, now.
Come to bed, Elsie. You need to be serviced." I followed willingly. With my
hands bracing my back, I waddled back to bed. He was right. I was a cow; a
plump, contented cow. And he was my bull. My fattened bosom swayed gently
as I got on my hands and knees and placed a pillow under my belly. I sighed
lustily as his hard prick slid into me. OOO I wanted it so bad. His hands roamed
all over my ripe curves as he fucked me, my ass and thighs jiggling as my boobs
slapped together. "You like being knocked up, don't you," he grunted between
thrusts. I panted that all I wanted anymore was to be his wife and have his kids.
"That's good. Because I intend to keep you this way for a while." My cunt
gripped him like a fist as I orgasmed and two wet stains marked the sheets under
my tits.
Mark pampered me even more during my last trimester. As the ladies
predicted, I was now as big as a house and I did appreciate his sweet attention. I
often cradled my belly as I waddled around the house. My 42DD nursing bra
gave welcome support to my sore boobs. I had to drain myself 2 or 3 times a
day. Fortunately, I had Mark and Kate to assist. At exercise class, I had to do a
more limited work out. In my leotard it was obvious that the slim bride of 8
months ago had become a pear-shaped, bosomy matron, though I was happy
that my hair was finally long enough to do something interesting with. Kate was
in the class, too. She had delivered almost 3 months ago and nearly had her
figure back already. I hoped I would be as lucky. Our love making was still
nice, though I was too big to do much more than lay back and let her lick my
pussy or suck my tits.
I hadn't slept well in several days, my belly was just too large for me to
find a comfortable position. I was staring at the ceiling when I felt - it. It was
just a slight twinge that seemed to come from inside me. Twenty minutes later, I
felt it again, then 20 minutes after that! It was happening! I was going into labor!
A few hours later I was in the delivery room, my feet in stirrups, my fat breasts
splayed out and pressing against my fleshy upper arm. My hair was soaked in
sweat, my face grimaced in pain. It felt as if an invisible hand was squeezing me
from the inside. AAAAAAA I bore down. I could feel my - baby being pushed
out! It wouldn't be too much longer. The contraction passed and I rested up for
the next one. Mark was there, holding my hand. I loved him so much. In
Stepford, all first deliveries were by natural method, no drugs. I could
understand why now. Labor was a fire that was burning away my old memories
and refining me into a pure WOMAN! One last push UUU UUUUUUUU She
was out! I had a daughter! Tears of joy mixed with the sweat as she was bathed,
swaddled then given to me to hold. I looked adoringly at my husband. "Do you
like her?" I asked plaintively. "Of course," He replied. "I love her nearly as
much as I love her mother." I felt - complete.
The first time Dierdre took my breast I was so happy and excited! I was
nourishing my baby from my own body. Since I was nursing, I had to do all the
feedings, of course. It was tiring, but I had never been happier. In a few weeks,
I was back at my exercise class trying to get my belly down to a more normal
size. Hours on the lifecycle and hundreds of sit ups were starting to get positive
results, but pregnancy changes a woman. I would never be slim and girlish
again, and I didn't mind at all.
Tonight is our first wedding anniversary and the second time I have left
Deirdre alone. Mark has been teasing about how many times I have called Kate
already. I can't help it. I'm a mother. "You look great, honey,"Mark
complimented. "you look like you've lost all the baby weight." I felt so proud. I
had lost all but 6 pounds, and frankly, it felt like all of those last 6 were in my
tits, but I was still nursing. My stomach was firm again, though it had a slight
roundness now that I would keep for the rest of my life, and my waist was a bit
thicker than before. But I was a shapely size 10 and I was getting 'those looks'
from men again. I liked that. We were having a night of dinner and dancing in
the "CITY ROOM" at the men's club. It was the only room in the place where
women were allowed. I saw men, men who looked a lot like I used to look only
one year ago, going past the oaken doors into the 'members only' rooms.
Occassionally I was tired of cooking and cleaning and taking care of the baby,
and I envied them their freedom, but then I would think about how it felt when
Deirdre suckled, and I would forget my envy and look forward to having
another baby. Mark and I were 'trying', as married people say. Tonight as I was
in the ladies room, changing my tampon, (yes, I menstruated now) I became
curious as to what went on behind those doors, and thought about sneeking a
peek. As I looked past my 44DD milk swollen, bosom, at my hands inserting a
tampon, I giggled and thought to myself "No way! I'm not going through that
again!"
epilog:
I had been a woman for almost three years (and 2 and a half pregnancies)
before I understood the dark secret of Stepford. To make me a woman, I had
been implanted with another woman's fertilized egg. It was obvious now that I
looked like the egg donor, but who was she? Or, more to the point, where was
she? Looking in the attic recently, I found an old wedding album. Mark had been
married before! To someone who looked like me!
When I finally discussed this with him, he confessed that his wife had
run off. She was a career-minded woman who couldn't take the Stepford Labs
corporate culture that demanded wives be helpmates to their men. I looked at my
big, pregnant belly. Silly girl. She didn't appreciate how fulfilling her life could
have been. But it occurred to me that a man could just as easily kill his wife and
make a duplicate so no-one would ever know what he did; or you could turn a
man into the double of a starlet or model. The mental changes would happen
either way. Dream wives to order. Any man's dream.
Mark put down his wife's diary that chronicled her change from man to
devoted housewife. "Lucky for us the process turns them into complete airheads
or she would have figured out that is exactly how Stepford Labs makes money."
he chuckled to himself.
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