One Husband's Humiliation
by Ann
Losing my job devastated me. All my life I'd learned that the man
must support his family. Any man who can't be the breadwinner is not a
man; he's a loser - beneath contempt. Being a stock broker only made this
worse. I was used to pushing around lots of money, of being in total control
over people's lives. Now I'd lost control of my own. I could push anyone
around: a multi-national company, a millionaire client, my wife.
For weeks, I woke up every morning wishing I could just crawl into
a hole and die. I really hated myself. Even though my wife Stephie tried to
help, she only made my feelings worse. Every time I saw Stephie, I saw my
failure reflected in her soft eyes. I wanted to run, to scream. . . to cry. I
hadn't cried since I was a damn kid!
Stephie tried to help, but her efforts only made things worse. The
first week she left me to my shame. The second week she tried to cheer me
up, but she just couldn't understand what I was going through. She'd say:
"That's ok honey, I'll earn enough for both of us." "Just relax dear, I'll
support us." and so on. She just couldn't understand that I wasn't worried
about money, I had plenty of money in the bank. I needed my job to prove
that I was the man. Her words cut into me like a rusty dagger. For weeks
she fired off these encouragements at me in rapid succession. The
humiliation stung so much that my self-respect began to die. I became quiet
and passive.
All my sulking and passivity slowly led me to a state where I began to
do what Stephie said without question. I no longer believed I had the right to
speak my mind or to demand anything of my own. This was a total turn
around from the way our marriage had been. In the past I was clearly in
charge. This felt like Stephie'd made me submissive to her. Imagine that, I
felt powerless against my little wife. (Actually, at 5' 5" she's not much
smaller than my 5' 6 & 1/2". I guess being physically small made my need to
dominate others even stronger.) I felt neutered.
The third week, her comments seemed even more emasculating.
"Don't worry honey, I'll take care of you." "Don't worry yourself about
providing for us, I'll take care of that." "I've got things under control
darling." And at times, whenever I stalled in some task she'd given me, she
would offer to help in the most humiliating manner: "do you need me to help
you with that honey?" "If you need my help with that, just say so darling." I
once decked my boss for trying to condescend to me in this way. But I
couldn't strike Stephie. My inability to stop her only emphasized my
powerlessness.
Stephie's comments always sent a warm, soft feeling of helplessness
down my spine. I could feel myself physically weaken as she spoke. The
more she spoke, the less my will to resist. At first, her words made me
angry and I wanted to lash out. It took everything I had not to tell her to stuff
it. I struggled to convince myself that I needed to just accept what she said
without fighting back or getting angry. I worked hard to train myself to
remain passive. As time passed though, I became accustomed to her words.
Gradually I stopped resisting. I still felt the sting of humiliation, but it no
longer angered me.
In the fifth or sixth week, Stephie's tone changed again. I guess
she'd had enough of my moping. One day after getting home from work,
while still in her smart suit and low heeled shoes, Stephie started on me.
"Listen Paul, I think it's time you stopped moping around the house. You
may not be able to find a job outside the house, but that doesn't mean you
can't work. There are lots of things that need to be done around here and I
don't have the time to do them, with my job and all." I looked at Stephie. I
knew she was right, but I didn't like her tone. I couldn't understand why she
didn't just ask me, why did she need to remind me of her job and my
uselessness?
"What did you have in mind dear?" I asked in the soft tone I'd
adopted lately.
"I prepared a list. These are your new duties."
"My duties?" I felt my face contort in shock. Who was she to tell me
my "duties"?
"Be quiet!" I was stunned. For the first time in my life, Stephie had
just given me an order. In the past I would have told her where she could
cram it, but surprisingly I couldn't now. I don't know exactly why, but
being passive for so many weeks had sapped my will to stand up for myself.
I stood there in stunned silence as she continued. "I'm not going to put up
with this anymore. You can't find a damn job so you're as good as useless."
That stung. I felt my spine tingle and what little resolve I'd found break.
"You're going to start helping out around the house. I earn the money, I'm
the breadwinner. You aren't. That means I call the tune and you dance." I
could feel a horrified, confused look creep across my face. Stephie watched
my face as she reached down and removed her shoes, one at a time. "Face it
Paula, as long as I'm the 'man' of the house, you're going to be the woman."
"What . . ."
"Shut up, don't ever interrupt me again. Now take this list and start
working. I expect you to complete the items on this list everyday. Do you
understand me!" Stephie handed me her shoes. They were still damp and
warm. "You can begin by polishing these. Then get the rest from the
bedroom and polish those too. Then start with the rest of the list." Stephie
turned her back to me and headed for the bedroom.
I scanned the list, it was long. "But dear, how will I find time to
interview if I have to spend all my time dusting, cooking, and shopping?"
"That's your problem. Besides, you haven't gotten one interview
since you lost your job. Now get to work and don't say another word to me.
You've made me angry." Stephie closed the bedroom door behind her.
For the next few weeks, I did all the housework. I cooked, cleaned
and did laundry. I ironed. I shopped for food and cut the grass. I did my
best, but that never seemed to be good enough for Stephie. The first week I
could do nothing right. No matter how hard I cleaned, Stephie came home
and found more dirt or identified something I'd missed at the store. Stephie
always inspected my work the moment she got home, even before she
removed her work clothes. The humiliation I'd felt before was nothing
compared to what I felt watching Stephie walk around the house in her chic
business suits and her pumps inspecting my work with me following her
around, standing at attention in each room as she inspected. I felt like some
sort of maid.
As I'd predicted, this work took up so much of my time that I literally
didn't have any time to interview - not that many people wanted to interview
me. I figured though, that I would free up some time soon because I was
getting more efficient at doing my duties. Unfortunately, as I improved,
Stephie added more. For example, "doing laundry" soon meant more than
just separating colors from whites and ramming them into the washer. Now I
found myself hand-washing her underwear and nylons. I also learned to
repair rips and replace buttons.
My part of the laundry, by the way, was becoming smaller and
smaller as I began to wear out my clothes. Unfortunately, I wasn't getting
any. We didn't have much money because we'd agreed not to invade our
savings - I had the key, but the money was in her safe deposit box. Since
Stephie's paycheck didn't go too far, Stephie refused to buy me new
clothing; she spent our entire clothing budget on her work clothes. This
caused me a lot of grief. Working with all the household chemicals was
taking a toll on my clothes. One by one my shirts and pants were becoming
stained and ruined. Soon I was reduced to wearing old tee shirts and shorts.
I needed to learn to sew just to keep what I had. I asked her for money and
when she refused I begged her to get some money from the box. I even gave
her the key and told her she could control that money too, if she'd just buy
me some new pants and shirts. Stephie took the key and then just laughed at
my predicament.
"It's not my fault you're careless. Soon you're going to run out of
clothes. Then what will you wear? Are you planning on going naked around
the house? I won't allow that." Stephie looked down at me, she stood taller
than I in her three inch heels. She'd begun to wear those lately, I think just to
emphasize her superiority over me. I don't think she'd ever worn three inch
heels in the entire time I knew her until now. It made me feel very small and
weak having to look up to her. I could tell she liked that because she often
wore her heels around the house now, even after the nightly inspections. I
can't imagine many women would lounge around the house in three inch high
heels unless they had a reason.
"We're going to have to buy new clothes." I'd thought about
bringing this topic up ever day for a few weeks now, but I didn't have the
nerve. Besides running out of work clothes, I wanted to go out with some
friends, but I no longer owned the clothes to do that. I hoped to bring the
conversation around to a point where I could mention that.
Stephie wasn't going to let me. "No. We can't afford it."
"But what will I do?"
"Well I'll tell you Paula," she'd started calling me "Paula" lately when
ever we fought; she said my whining reminded her of a woman. "You're not
going to like this at all. Since you don't see anyone working at home, you're
going to start wearing my hand-me-downs." My jaw dropped to my knees.
"I guess I can bare the thought of you in drag around the house, but don't go
visiting any neighbors - I don't want them knowing the humiliations I endure
being married to you."
"I what?! I can't. . ."
"Shut up Paula." I froze obediently. A month ago I would have told
her to go stuff herself, but for whatever reason I couldn't say a thing. I
guess I just realized that she really had me over a barrel. For months now I
couldn't find a job. I no longer earned a dollar and each day I didn't, it
became harder and harder for me to find a job. Stephie controlled all of our
finances, so I couldn't get a single dollar without her permission. I guess she
also had a point: why bother replacing my clothes when I didn't need them?
No one ever saw me except her. Besides, I didn't have to wear her most
feminine clothes. I figured I'd just wear her jeans, maybe her shorts, and a
few tee shirts. Nothing too bad about that.
I guess those were the reasons I meekly accepted her will. Maybe I
wanted to punish myself for my failings as a man. I don't know. Whatever
the reasons though, I remained mute. Stephie acted as if the matter were
settled. She continued her walk around the house checking my work. I
meekly followed her from room to room as she examined my work. Her
every look nearly shamed me to tears. I knew she'd find a lot wrong today.
Whenever we argued, she always found lots wrong with my work. She was
going to keep me working all through the evening correcting all my
"mistakes."
Don't get me wrong by the way. I know I said "fought" and
"argued" but we really didn't fight these days. It was more a matter of her
getting angry and me doing what she ordered. In a sick/funny sort of way,
this is exactly the opposite of how it used to be. Whenever we argued in the
past, I merely raised my voice and Stephie did as she was told. Of course,
unlike her, I was only acting in both of our best interests. Stephie seems to
be acting more or less without thinking about my feelings.
The next day I wore Stephie's clothes for the first time. Stephie
"allowed" me to wear a pair of very tight pastel orange shorts. They looked
like hot pants on me! I felt really gay. Underneath I wore panties. Things
got worse.
"I won't have you ruining my clothes the way you ruined your own.
From now on, when you work around the house, you will wear an apron.
There are two in the hall closet." I didn't even try to fight her. What did it
matter after all? I wore panties, hot pants and I painted my nails. It seemed
kind of pointless to resist the apron. Besides, if I ruined the shorts, a skirt
was definitely next!
The next morning I saw the apron for the first time. I don't think
Stephie could have found a more feminine apron if she'd asked a designer to
help her. This thing had lace and frills and a flowery pattern and everything.
I laughed nervously to myself when I tied on the apron. With my bare legs
sticking out below the apron, the effect was the same as me wearing a frilly
white dress.
A few days after our "argument" about my diminishing clothing
stock, Stephanie came home with a proposition. Actually, it was more of a
statement than a proposition, but she presented it to me as an option. "I've
found a way to save a lot of money. Right now I'm spending almost $100 a
week going to the beauty salon to have my hair and nails done. If you learn
how to do my hair and nails, then I don't need to go there anymore and we
can save that money. If there's any left after our bills, I'll buy you some new
clothes. How does that sound honey?"
I was happy about the idea of ditching the sissy pants, but man,
would the guys at the bar laugh at me if they ever found out I did my wife's
hair and nails! "I don't know, that doesn't sound like something a man
would learn."
"Not something a man would do?! Would a man make his wife
support him?!" That hurt.
I ran from the room crying. That's right, crying! With all the stress
on me, and the constant feeling of guilt wearing down my will, I'd become
much more emotionally sensitive these days. Whenever Stephanie criticized
my cooking or cleaning, it really hurt my feelings. I can't really explain it,
but it hurt that I tried my best and she didn't care.
Of course, Stephanie helped me feel submissive. All day every day I
performed humiliating tasks for her benefit. I always cleaned her underwear
and nylons. I always hung up her clothes. Once a week I cleaned and
polished her shoe collection. And so on. These duties always reminded me
who was the boss. And as if that were not enough, when Stephanie came
home, she continued her inspections; making me stand at attention in my
sissy shorts and outgrown tee shirts while she inspected my work, towering
over me in her high heels and business suits. She'd also told me not to call
her "Stephie" anymore; from now on I was to call her "Stephanie." She
began to call me Paula much more regularly.
As I lay crying on the bed, Stephanie came in. "There's no use
crying about it Paula, the matter is settled. Honestly, you've become such a
sissy! Now wipe your eyes, get my make up kit and meet me in the kitchen."
I did as she told me.
The rest of the night, Stephanie showed me how to do her nails. She
began the training by working on my nails. As my nails became fire engine
red one by one, she taught me about colors and cuticles and base coats and
other things I never knew, or wanted to know, about. Soon my fingers dried
and she moved on to my toes. When those too became bright red, she made
me put what I'd learned into practice on her fingers. I learned quickly, but
not quickly enough. I made two mistakes and would pay for each.
"I see you need a lot more practice. You're lucky that I have time
tonight to let you correct these mistakes. On work nights, I won't have that
time. From now on, I want you to practice on your own nails twice a day."
Stephanie laid out the thirty-three different nail colors in her kit. "You will
start in the morning by removing the color from the prior night. Then you
will replace that color with a new color. When they've dried, I want you to
use the Polaroid to take a picture of your work - fingers and toes. Then, in
the afternoon, you will replace that color with a new color as well. Take a
Polaroid of that one as well. You must go through each color once before
repeating a color. When I come home, I will inspect your nails and collect
the Polaroids. Then, after dinner, you can fix my nails for the next day."
The next day I did as she asked. It felt strange when I first saw my
fingers bright red, but it felt even stranger as I made each of my finger tips
silver. When everything had dried, I took the Polaroids and then started on
my chores. I had to work extra hard to finish in time to repaint my nails
before Stephanie got home.
Stephanie was good for her word, she collected the Polaroids and
inspected my fingers and toes with a magnifying glass. After that, she
inspected the house and then we ate dinner. In the evening she made me redo
her nails. We repeated these events every day. Soon they became normal.
At first I hated the idea of painting my nails. I felt humiliated and
embarrassed. But after awhile, it just seemed like one more duty. It even
became relaxing because I could just sit and watch TV or read my sports
magazines as I worked. Soon it even seemed natural to have "Rose",
"Honey" or "Mauve" finger tips as I flipped through the Super Bowl preview
pages. (I swore I'd never tell anyone, but I actually began to like painting my
nails!) Of course, I always removed the polish from my fingers before I
went shopping.
One night I mistakenly told Stephanie that I didn't mind painting my
nails because it gave me my only chance to relax during the day. In and of
itself, this was no mistake. The mistake came when I told her that I used that
time to watch Sport Center or the national news. The next day, as I sat down
with my nail kit, I flipped on the TV to discover that Stephanie had locked out
all the channels but the fashion channel and the Women's channel. When she
came home that night, I wanted to complain bitterly, but I didn't have the
time. I guess she knew my complaint was coming so she kept me too busy
to bring it up. She literally didn't allow me a free minute to complain!
From the moment she got home, she rode me like a dog. Nothing I'd
done during the day was right. In fact, so much was wrong that she made
me skip dinner so that I would have enough time to finish all the rest of my
duties. She also took that moment to tell me that I'd been gaining weight and
that I was going on a diet. "Working through dinner tonight will be good for
you."
"Should I still serve you dinner?"
"No. I'll order a pizza." And she did. Out of spite, Stephanie let the
pizza boy in while she got change out of her purse. This gave him the full
view of me as I worked. I wore my sissy shorts, a dress like apron, and
long red nails. The flab on my chest even bounced a bit when I walked. Out
of the corner of my eye, I saw him staring at me. Then he began to laugh.
On his way out, he said, "Good night ladies." When he left, I stormed over
to Stephanie.
"I don't apprecia. . ."
"How dare you! Be quiet!" My resolved vanished. My strength
melted. My will collapsed. I went from angry husband to quavering jello-
like submissive. I cringed, waiting for the verdict on my outburst.
Stephanie's justice was always swift and vicious. "I will not take that from
you Paula! Get back to work. And don't you ever, and I mean ever, speak
unless you are spoken too again. If you do, I'll make you greet the pizza boy
in a dress and give him a big kiss. Do you understand me sissy?!"
"Yes ma'am." I scurried back to the living room to finish my
dusting, relieved that the punishment was so light. It was difficult to tell
where I'd left off with the dusting since I'd done a perfect job in the morning,
but I wasn't going to take any chances. I started over. As I worked, I still
shook with fear and choked back tears.
Soon I was near the end of my list, with only the kitchen floor left. It
looked like I would still have some free time. I knew Stephanie was not in a
good mood, but I had regained my resolve. I was determined to bring up the
TV situation! Just then, she called me into the family-room. She sat on the
couch watching TV, which she muted as I entered. Apparently my TV
blackout wasn't to be lifted for even a few seconds. "When you're done with
that filthy kitchen floor, you will polish each of my shoes."
"Yes ma'am." Boy did I stand up to her!
As she watched the nightly business report and world news, I ran
myself ragged trying to re-mop the kitchen floor and polish her shoes.
Usually I don't polish her shoes until the weekend, but she had a big meeting
the following day and wanted it done tonight. She said she needed all of
them done because she wasn't sure which ones she wanted to wear the
following day. I didn't buy the explanation. I don't think she meant me to.
After the shoes, I fixed her nails. I tried to speak, but I saw myself
kissing the pizza boy. I waited for her to mention the TV, but she didn't.
Without a word said by me that night, she sent me to bed. I never got the
chance to bring up the TV problem.
Of course, I didn't bring up the lock out the following day either. Or
the following day or the one after that. Since Stephanie never mentioned it, I
never got the chance to talk about it. I just didn't dare bring it up on my own!
Slowly my life changed. Because Stephanie took the newspaper to
work with her every day and she switched off the TV whenever I entered the
room in the evenings, I was now cut off from the real world. I never even
knew how the Super Bowl ended. I felt more alone than ever.
The next day she told me to gather up all my sports magazines and
place them in a large box. Because I could see what was coming, I only
placed half my magazines in the box. I placed the other half into a dusty old
box in the upstairs closet. While Stephanie spoke on the phone I snuck the
box back to the closet and set it on the top shelf in the back. The box was
heavy enough that Stephanie couldn't retrieve it without my help and dusty
enough that she wouldn't want to. The remainder of the magazines went into
the other box, into the trunk of her car, and off to who-knows-where.
From then on, when I did my nails I read my old sports magazines
and watched the fashion channel. I guess I should admit though that after a
while the same magazines got kind of boring and I eventually started reading
Stephanie's fashion magazines (the only new magazines she allowed into the
house). Soon my sports magazines were all but forgotten up in the closet.
The following weekend, Stephanie came home with a bunch of hair
care bottles and a new hair drier. For the past four months, Stephanie had
refused to give me any money to get a haircut. At this point, my brown hair
hung down to my shoulders. I don't know if she planned it this way or
whether it was all a coincidence, but now Stephanie could use my long hair to
teach me how to take care of hers. Like my nail training, she told me that I
needed to take care of mine the same way I took care of hers.
I hadn't revolted much during the past few weeks, but this time I did.
"I hate having long hair. It always gets in my face." This wasn't my main
point, but it was better than silence. You wouldn't believe the effort it took to
force even that out of my mouth.
"Alright, Paula. There are several ways to keep the hair out of your
eyes. You can either get a perm or you can start wearing a soft pink ribbon
and tying your hair in a ponytail." She'd outsmarted my objection. It was
hopeless to resist her.
Facing this Hobson's choice - I took the ponytail. What I didn't
realize when I made my choice, was that she meant a girl's ponytail. So there
I stood, with a ponytail high up on my head, tied together with a pink nylon
ribbon. My nails were silver that day, and I wore nothing the hot pants and a
too-tight tee shirt. I'd been gaining fat in my chest lately and very few of my
tee shirts fit. I was kind of embarrassing to see my formerly well toned chest
bounce with all that flab.
Between the ponytail and everything else, I'd learned my lesson.
When she demanded that I dye my hair some sort of very feminine blond, I
just shut my mouth and slipped into the chair.
The following week, I ruined the last pair of shorts completely by
accident. I swear that I closed the bleach tightly like I always do, but when I
reached for it, the cap popped off and ruined the pink shorts I wore. I
wondered how Stephanie would react. I dreaded that night.
As Stephanie walked into the house, she set down her brief case in
the hallway and handed me her overcoat. I hung it up. "What happened to
your shorts?"
"I spilled bleach. . ."
"How careless. I guess we're out of shorts now aren't we?" I
nodded as she rubbed her hand over my shorts, causing my penis to grow.
"Why didn't you change into something nicer before I got home. Do you
think I want to see you in bleach stained shorts?"
"No ma'am, but I didn't know what to wear." I was going to be as
submissive as I could bare to be. I would not risk making her angry.
"I'll take care of that." Stephanie paused, thinking. "I think I'll
inspect the house first. But you're not going to wear those shorts. Take
them off." I stripped to my panties. My penis stood at attention underneath
the satin panties. The fabric did not stretch much, so my penis pulled the
panties away from my body, leaving a gap at the top of the panties through
which Stephanie could see my penis. "That looks painful." Stephanie
giggled as she rubbed one of her nails along the length of my shaft. This was
the first time in a long time that she'd touched my penis with her hand
directly. Usually, she fondled me through the panties. Oddly, I hoped I did
not ejaculate because that's very hard to clean out of satin!
Needless to say, the inspection was emasculating. Then the fun
began.
I stood virtually naked before Stephanie. She stood in front of her
closet, holding up a very small sexy babydoll nightie. By "her closet" I also
mean her bedroom. She'd kicked me out of the master bedroom weeks ago.
I now lived in a small guest bedroom upstairs - the smallest in the house.
"You can wear my nighties, I don't have a problem with that," make no
mistake, this was not my choice, "but there will be conditions. I will not
allow you to go around with hairy legs hanging out from under my them.
From now on you will shave your legs."
I didn't even try to protest. I hated this idea, but I just couldn't bring
myself to confront Stephanie. Looking up into her eyes made me feel weak
and small and broke my will before I could say my piece. It wouldn't have
done any good anyway.
Stephanie grabbed my hand and led me to the bathroom. Once there,
she made me run a bath and then stripped me naked. "You can use my razor
tonight, but tomorrow I want you to buy your own at the store. Buy the pink
disposable kind, they work best." Stephanie started shaving me, but soon
left me to finish on my own. When I finished and rinsed myself off,
Stephanie returned with a towel and some powder. I reached for my
slippers. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I need my slippers."
"Not with my nightie! My nighties all have matching slippers. From
now on, you wear those." She tossed a pair of satin high heeled mules on
the floor. These things had three inch heels! My slippers disappeared during
the night.
Minutes later I found myself in the living room in a red baby doll
nightgown, a pair of real silk stockings, and a pair of red satin three inch high
heeled mules with a book on my head. After I'd gotten out of the tub, I'd
slipped into the mules and nearly broken my ankle on the first step. When I
finally got myself standing upright, I wobbled like jello in an earthquake.
Then my second step ended with my face on the floor. This convinced
Stephanie to take me to the living room and teach me to walk in high heels.
I'll spare you the details of her instructions because until you've been there (I
almost said "in my shoes") you can't appreciate the difficulty I had. Granted
I'm not a big man, but I am a man and I'd never worn high heels before.
For the next hour, Stephanie made me practice with the book on my
head and my hands down at my sides - pointing out horizontally to the
ground. A full hour of balancing, slap slap slap click click click. A full hour
of yelling and teasing. Finally, Stephanie decided it was time for bed. My
time for bed. She planned to stay up and watch more television, but I needed
to go to bed. For some time now, she'd been sending me to bed at 9:30
unless she made me repeat my day's work. I actually found it difficult to stay
awake past 10:00 these days.
I felt so self-conscious walking to my bedroom. Every single click
echoed off the hardwood floors. Every slap of the shoe against my foot
mocked me. As I slipped into my bed, Stephanie turned off my light.
"Tomorrow you will continue your heel practice. Then you will wear the
slippers while you do your chores all day long." She turned to leave but
thought to add one more warning. "I will test you when I get home, so don't
even think of blowing this off. I expect you make serious progress."
I sat on my bed pulling the stockings down my legs. I'd done my
nails and all the dusting. I wore the slippers all morning. My feet and calves
hurt a lot. I'd gotten one shoe caught in the carpet and nearly broke my leg
falling down. That taught me that I needed to be more delicate with my steps.
The days of taking large steps while vacuuming and dusting were over.
When I finished dusting, I removed the polish from my nails and headed to
the bedroom to find something I could wear to the store. I certainly was not
going to wear the mules or the babydoll! I didn't know what else to do
though. Ok, no laughing, but eventually I found a pair of denim shorts with
a large pink star on the butt. To this I added my barely serviceable wing tips.
In addition I carried the change purse Stephanie had given me. My nails were
clear, but long. My hair was platinum blond. I probably should have just
bitten the bullet and worn a dress, but I had to draw the line somewhere.
That evening Stephanie made me hop, skip, jump, pivot, dance, stand
on one leg, and anything else she could think of. I passed, barely. "I'll give
you a passing grade, but you need a lot of work. From now on, you will
wear heels all the time. The higher the better." Then, for spite, she made me
dust her (formerly my) office while she watched. I lost the office when I lost
my job. Now she had the key and I was only allowed in under supervision.
"You have very sexy legs. Those slippers are very sexy on you."
My sore muscles reminded me that I hadn't worked out in months
now. At first I didn't feel like it, but now I just couldn't imagine myself
walking into a locker room full of big, strong horny men. I don't know what
they'd do once they saw my shaved legs, platinum blond hair, and satin
panties, but I didn't want to find out. Stephanie seemed to be keeping trim
though. She never told me anything definite, but I think she worked out
before she came home each night.
After I finished dusting the office where I'd once spent so many late
nights, Stephanie told me to go wash out our stockings and then go to bed. It
was only 7:45, but I didn't protest.
Without access to news or other people, I slowly lost track of time. I
never knew how much my sense of the world depended on other people until
I lost my access to them. One day I sat looking at my feminine legs as I
balanced a delicate high heeled shoe on my toes. I honestly did not know if
I'd been wearing heels for a couple of weeks or a couple of months! I tried
to figure out the dates, but I couldn't. My inability to time events only got
worse as the days progressed. So please forgive me if I can't be more
precise about timing.
Sometime after I first started wearing her slippers around the house,
Stephanie came home with horrible horrible news. For whatever reason,
she'd invited my best friend Richard over to our house for dinner that night.
She gave me less than an hours notice!
Richard and I were drinking buddies from way back. In college we
both ran track together. "Stephanie! How could you, why didn't you. . ."
"Don't you give me that tone Paula!" Stephanie raised her fist to me
and I flinched. "After all I've done for you, don't you dare raise your voice
to me! Now hurry up and finish cooking dinner." Stephanie headed out of
the room, but stopped at the door. "And don't forget to change." I could feel
her smirk run down my spine, breaking my will.
"Oh my God!" I thought. What would I change into? I had nothing
at all masculine left to wear. I couldn't wear a nightie and high heeled
slippers in front of Richard. I'd be ruined.
As I cooked I thought about my clothing option. I could wear the star
pants shorts. I typically wore those and my wing tips when I went shopping
these days. Although I wore these items to go shopping, I felt humiliated the
entire time. On me, the shorts were more like hot pants. The big clunky
shoes at the end of my soft, curvy shaved legs, the long platinum blond hair
(Stephanie had made me put a slight lifting curl into the hair so it puffed out at
the bottom), and the long fingernails all combined to make me look like more
female than male. Most of the other customers called me "ma'am." The guys
at the cash register knew me as "Stephanie" because Stephanie made me use
her credit cards - she'd cancelled all my cards. I never corrected the anyone
because I didn't want to explain why I looked more like Stephanie than I did
like Paul. Plus, as Stephanie I could always get one of the boys to carry the
groceries to the cab for me. Oh that's right, I forgot to mention the cab.
Stephanie tore up my driver's license to save money on insurance. Now she
gave me exact cab fair for my little trips to the store. In a bit of twisted
obsession, Stephanie made me keep the cabby waiting while I shopped. This
made me hurry (or I wouldn't have enough cab fare) - I really had to run!
This had the added nuisance of keeping me from stopping to read any
magazines.
Oh God, what was I going to do?
Once dinner was prepared, I hurried to my bedroom to change my
clothes. I hung up my apron and kicked off the mules. I felt determined to
get as masculine as possible in the few minutes left to me. Stephanie came in
to watch me change as she often did - I hadn't seen her naked since she
kicked me out of her bedroom. I stripped naked and then replaced my panties
with new ones. Stephanie decided to tease me. "Very sexy. Richard will
like those."
"He won't know about these."
"Well I certainly won't tell him. I don't want the world knowing
what kind of sissy I married." I hated when she said that. This was all her
idea after all!
I reached for the star-butt shorts and slipped them on. "Are you sure
you want to wear those?"
"I don't have anything else."
"Well ok, but. . ."
"But what?"
"Well, honey. They do show off your nicely shaved legs. And they
will certainly make your shoes stick out more."
I reached for my wing tips. "What's wrong with my shoes."
"Well, since you asked, you won't be wearing those worn out old
shoes anymore. I will not have that. In fact, those are going in the garbage
tomorrow morning. On the other hand, there's nothing wrong with these,"
she tossed some shoes onto the bed. Stephanie picked up my shoes and
placed them in a bag she was holding. Then she went to my closet and
grabbed the last of my tee-shirts and other clothes.
The loss of my shoes really hit me. I felt confused. What was she
doing? Granted my wingtips had numerous holes, but I didn't have any
other shoes! "If I don't wear these, what can I wear?" I said more to myself.
Stephanie pointed to the bed. I wished I didn't see what I saw. The
one pair were black high heeled pumps. These things were delicate and
feminine. They had a glossy black finish and a four inch high heel. There
was no way I could wear them. The other pair were pink wedge heeled
sandals with lots of delicate little straps. The heels couldn't have been more
than an inch and a half, but they were very feminine.
"I'll give you twenty seconds to decide which pair for tonight and
then I'll decide for you." I looked at the shoes. The sandals were probably
easier to explain, except for the pink color. I could always tell Rick that my
shoes were ruined and I had to borrow hers for the night. I guess he'd buy
that with a pair of low heeled sandals.
I made my choice. "Ok, I'll wear the sandals."
"Good choice. That way I'll be taller than you all night. Now would
you like to continue wearing those shorts or would you rather wear some of
my slacks?"
"Definitely the slacks. Anything that hangs down over these shoes."
"Ok, put the shoes on and let's go to my bedroom."
"Alright dear, let me just remove my nail polish."
"Uh, no. You can take the polish off your fingers, but not your
toes."
"What?!" I mean heck, why not just make me wear a dress too?
"Are you deaf or are you asking for punishment?"
"I'm sorry Stephanie."
"That's better. Oh, and if you remove the polish from your fingers,
you'll have to replace it tonight before you go to bed." I could live with that.
I sat on the bed in Stephanie's bedroom, looking at the silver nail
polish on the ends of each of my toes as they stuck out from the pink sandals.
Although these shoes had relatively low heels, they felt very awkward. Each
step I found myself expecting my heel to hit before it did. It's hard to
describe, but I found myself walking nearly tip-toe to compensate.
I figured I could explain the shoes to Rick by telling him that I'd
ruined mine that day and I wore these as a stop gap measure. I didn't know
how to explain the nail polish. I wasn't too sure how to explain my
fingernails either. I'd removed the polish, but they still stuck out 3/4 of an
inch past the tips of my fingers and they were oval shaped. As I stripped
them of color, I never even suggested cutting them because I didn't want to
give Stephanie any reason to get nasty. I didn't have the time to make it up to
her before Rick showed up.
"Here, these should do nicely." Stephanie handed me a pair of pink
slacks. My eyes began to object, but Stephanie cut me off. "These will
match your shoes. You need to match dear." Stephanie then tossed me a
very delicate white silk blouse.
I didn't object. Instead, I meekly stepped into the slacks. This was a
new experience for me. The zipper ran up the back. Fortunately, I'd become
so accustomed to my long nails that this presented no challenge to me. The
second thing I noticed was that the pants were very tight around the hips.
"These don't fit."
"Oh yes they do. They're supposed to fit very tightly around your
hips and then flair out by your feet. That way they show off your panties."
They did. Man, I hadn't worn bell bottoms since the 1970s! Fortunately, the
pants hung down over the sandals. When I walked, my toes snuck out from
underneath, but when I stood still no one could see what I wore. The panty
lines were a problem too. As I admired my feminine rear in the mirror,
Stephanie came up behind me and stuck something on my chest. My chest
tickled as she rubbed her hands over my nipples. I felt them grow. That was
weird. "Boy, you are getting fat. From now on, you wear a bra until you
lose some weight."
I knew she was right. I had a lot of fat on my arms, my chest, my
hips, my thighs. I didn't eat much, so I couldn't understand this. In fact,
my ribs even showed a bit. I don't know how it happened, but I looked very
pudgy. I watched as Stephanie pulled my flesh into the bra. It really looked
like I had small, female breasts. "How did I get so fat?"
"You eat like a horse. I'm going to have to cut your intake. And if
you want motivation, you're wearing a bra until you lose some of this flab. I
can't believe how gross your body has become." Still, she couldn't take her
hands off my erect nipples.
Rick looked in good health. He'd obviously been working out a lot.
From the conversation, I gathered that he'd been working out with Stephanie.
I guess she looked a little more fit too. Man, I hadn't worked out in forever.
I wonder what all this repetitive light lifting was doing to my muscles? I
knew what it had done to my waist line.
In case you hadn't noticed, I skipped the part where Stephanie made
me greet Rick at the door. It's too humiliating to retell. Suffice it to say that
he noticed right away and that he laughed and made fun of me. Further
suffice it to say that despite myself, I had a raging hard on the entire time -
not for him, but for the humiliation I felt as Stephanie watched him terrorize
me. Stephanie pointed out my hard on and they had more fun at my expense.
At one point she threatened to pull my pants down and make me masturbate
for the two of them "as the evenings entertainment."
As I swished my way around the kitchen, with the sound of my heels
clicking my humiliation on the hardwood floor, Stephanie and Rick sat down
at the table. Actually, I should say Stephanie and Richard. Stephanie
ordered me to call Rick "Richard." She also made me serve the two of them
so that they could engage in conversation. I didn't join them in their
conversation. Stephanie didn't seem to mind. Her and Rick spoke about
many things. Unfortunately, I couldn't keep up with what they were talking
about. I didn't know what the Fed did last week or how the market was
performing or even who won the recent election. Honestly, I didn't even
know we had an election. I guess I remember Stephanie coming home with
some voting material, but she didn't let me see it. She just dismissed me
with, "this no longer concerns you."
Their conversation continued during dinner. I just looked down into
my plate. In fact, I don't think I'd looked Richard in the face for more than
two seconds the entire night. I could only guess what he was thinking and
what he would tell my other friends. I hadn't seen any of them since
Stephanie did what she did to me and now they'd know why.
Something that really confused me during dinner was when Stephanie
slipped her foot out of her shoe and began rubbing it over my foot. I didn't
know what to make of this. Was she turned on by my humiliation? Was this
her way of saying she wanted me above Richard? I didn't know, but I
wished for the best. Maybe she was about to snap out of whatever had
gotten into her and I'd be set free. As usual, I thought wrong.
Around 8:50, Stephanie was rubbing her finger around the rim of her
glass, looking into Richard's eyes. "Say, let's go to the living room and get
more comfortable." I thought she meant me, but she looked at Richard as she
spoke.
He responded first. "Ok Stephie. Do you want me to help you clean
up here?"
"Oh heavens no, Paula will get that. Won't you dear?" I meekly
nodded my head. She wasn't satisfied so I responded verbally. "Come on
Rick, Paula's very good with the kitchen." With that, Richard and Stephanie
rose and walked to the living room. On the way there, Stephanie grabbed his
hand!
I felt angry! I felt humiliated and angry! I couldn't believe my wife
would have the nerve to hit on my best friend right in front of me! I wanted
to storm into the living room and tell her off. I saw myself kicking Richard
out of my damn house. . . but then the image crystallized and I saw that the
foot I'd placed on his rear was encased in the pink sandal. I saw my
reflection in my glass-like silver toe nails. I looked like a beautiful woman. I
seemed to shrink smaller and smaller. Suddenly, Richard turned around and
picked me up like a child. He carried me back to the living room and handed
me to Stephanie, who spanked me repeatedly. I cried and I begged, I
screamed, but I couldn't break free from her firm grasp. Finally she stood
me up and I could see that she towered over me. She slapped me and
knocked me to the ground. Again, again again.
I snapped out of my nightmare just as I dried the last dish. I decided
to hurry to the living room. I knew I couldn't kick Richard out of my house,
but I could certainly keep the two of them from being alone.
As I stepped into the living room, the sight of my wife sitting on my
friend's lap greeted me like falling bricks. I wanted to cry or scream, but
didn't get the chance. "Oh good, you're done. Go get your nail kit and come
repair my nails. You need to paint yours as well, it's nearly your bed time."
I hesitated. "Tonight?"
"Of course. I told you that if you removed the polish, you'd have to
replace it. Why is tonight any different than any other night."
"I thought because of Richard. . ."
"Well I certainly doubt he'll want his nails painted. I think you're the
only boy who likes that. Now hurry up." I knew better than to argue. I
scurried off to get my nail kit and return within the time she usually allowed.
As I left the room I heard her explain my "bedtime" to Richard. Upon my
return to the living room, I noticed that Stephanie hadn't moved an inch. She
looked at me and shook her head. "I will not have you ruining my pants. Go
change into something more appropriate for doing nails." A look of sheer
terror crossed my face. "Hurry up. You're embarrassing me."
What could I do? I don't know. Maybe I could have stood up to her,
maybe not. Before all this happened, I would have said, "hell no bitch" and
told her where to stick it. But now I was helpless against her. Every time I
stood up to her, she made me regret it. Why should this be any different?
I felt so nervous stepping back into the living room in my light blue
babydoll and three inch high heeled mules. There was no explaining this to
Richard. Of course, with everything else that had happened, I don't think
one more humiliation was going to change his mind.
Of course, Richard whistled and made some snide comments. The
whole time Stephanie just watched in amazed silence as I took this abuse and
smiled as I'd been ordered. As I neared, she took the photo bag from my kit
and showed them to Richard. "Look at the good work Paula does on her
own fingers and toes. All of these are of Paula." They both giggled.
Stephanie took a couple of the photos and shoved them into his shirt pocket.
"Why don't you keep these as a momento." Then they fell back to kissing.
As business-like as I could, I walked over to the couch and set up my
tools. Soon I was busy stripping Stephanie's finger nails and toe nails and
adding new colors. The whole while Stephanie sat in Richard's lap kissing
him. I hated them both. Strangely though, I felt aroused the entire time. As
I look back, I think this was the first time I genuinely felt aroused by my
humiliation. That or maybe when I let Richard in to begin the evening.
Sadly, arousal has become my first reaction. I'm not too sure why, but I
think maybe I finally decided that if this was going to happen to me, I was
going to find something private to enjoy about it. Whatever the reason, from
that moment on, her humiliations began to arouse me as much as they
horrified me.
When I finished Stephanie's nails, she inspected them. Then she
asked Richard to inspect them. He said they looked good to him. "Well,
they are good but not great. I think tomorrow Paula should have to practice
three times instead of twice. Why don't you pick out the colors for her
tomorrow Rick?!" Stephanie laughed and giggled. Richard took his time,
but eventually found three colors for me to wear the next day. "Those will
look lovely on you dear. Now, hurry up and do your fingers, it's nearly
9:00 pm." Obediently, I worked on my nails as quickly as I could, without
making mistakes of course. When I'd finished, Stephanie and Richard
inspected my nails. I felt sick to my stomach when Richard held my hand to
carry out the inspection. I passed. "Good, now pack up your kit. It's 9:00
pm, bed time."
"Bed time?" Richard chuckled.
"Yes. Paula goes to bed at 9:00 pm sharp unless I give her
permission to stay up longer." This explanation was entirely for my benefit
since she'd already explained it to him while I summoned my baby doll and
nail kit. "I don't think we need her up tonight do we?"
"No. . . I think it would be better if SHE went to bed."
"You heard Rick, dear, go to bed. I'll expect to see you in the
morning bright and early."
As I clicked my way down the hallway, feeling like a man who'd
been castrated, I could hear my wife and my best friend making out on my
couch. I don't know how far they carried things that night because my room
was too far away to hear anything. Besides, I wouldn't have heard anything
through my tears.
Oddly, it didn't seem like that big a deal to wear high heeled pumps to
the grocery store. I'd been wearing the heels so long at home now that I felt
odd in anything else. Between my exposure to Richard, the pizza boy, the
post man and a girl from work who came by occasionally with some
documents, and with the guys at the store already calling me Stephanie, it just
seemed logical to wear the pumps. Call me crazy, but the pumps became so
normal for me so quickly that I didn't think twice about wearing them
anywhere!
By the way, after the first night, Richard came over more and more
often. Soon he came over at least three times a week. Each time I'd prepare
dinner for him and Stephanie and then I'd paint her nails as they made out on
the couch. Ho hum I guess. Actually, I guess there's no point in lying.
This made me furious. But since I couldn't express my fury, it made me feel
weak and impotent.
In some ways, Richard was worse than Stephanie because I viewed
him as a rival for my wife. Sadly, he had the inside track. He knew this too
and he did little things to guarantee his position.
One night, as Richard and Stephanie sat on the couch making out, I
accidentally dropped some pink nail polish on his sock - it's an honest
mistake when you have one inch oval nails. He didn't see it that way though.
He hit the roof! He began yelling and screaming - calling me sissy and
pathetic and a whole host of other names. I cried like a little girl! This only
made him angrier.
Before I knew what was happening, he literally picked me up and
placed me over his knee. SMACK!! SMACK!!! His hand came down on
my exposed rear like a hammer! I screamed and squealed! Tears poured
down my face. I tried to pull away, but the clothes I wore made it impossible
for me to get any balance to fight his power. Or, I guess he was just stronger
than me.
Finally, Richard let me go. I ran from the room, losing one of my
slippers in the process. No sooner did I hit the bed in my room than I heard
Stephanie ordering me back downstairs! I don't know why, but I figured
that she was calling me to tell me this whole game was over and I'd be
released back to being a man. I figured she'd thrown Richard out and she
was going to beg me to forgive her. Boy was I wrong.
As I hobbled downstairs holding the other slipper (I swear I walked
funny when I wasn't wearing my heels! I'd become so accustomed to them
that I literally hobbled without them because I couldn't bring my foot down
flat anymore!), Stephanie returned to the living room. There she ordered me
to replace both slippers. Then she ordered me to kneel before Richard and to
beg his forgiveness for running away from him!!!!!! I couldn't believe my
ears! Fortunately, Richard was very gracious about my apology.
I guess it helped that Stephanie promised to make it up to him. I
found out what that meant the next morning when I brought her breakfast in
bed (I did that every Saturday and Sunday). Standing in the bathroom door
was Richard, naked as the day he was born. I don't know that it really
interests anyone, but his dick was huge! It positively dwarfed my dick -
which seemed to be getting smaller underneath all this nylon. At the time I
thought I was crazy, but I truly believed my dick was shrinking. Either way
though, his dick was huge!
I'm not gay or anything, but it really was an impressive dick. When
he walked, it literally swayed back and forth! Wow.
Stephanie saw me staring and ordered me to set down the breakfast
and go about my duties.
On another night, Richard got angry at me for not replacing all the
buttons on his shirts that day. I really tried, but Stephanie had given me too
many other chores. I tried to explain, but he didn't want to hear it. Soon I
stood before him crying. I knew a spanking was coming, but it didn't.
Instead, Richard shook his head and told Stephanie, "you know what the
problem is don't you? The problem is that you let her get too close. You
shouldn't let her call you by your first name."
Stephanie seemed intrigued. I saw a light go on in her eyes. "What
do you mean?"
"I mean that she should have to call you Ma'am or Mistress or at least
Ms. Baxter."
"That's a wonderful idea. I knew something seemed wrong." From
that moment on, Stephanie was Stephie to Richard but Mistress to me.
Richard was Rick to Mistress but Master Howard to me.
The next day, Master Howard brought me a box containing two
complete French Maid's uniforms! One was pink and the other was black. I
won't describe these things because you've all seen my picture by now. I
will say though that it was very disconcerting to see breasts! I'm not sure
how they did it, but I had major cleavage jutting out from the low cut blouse
on the uniform. To increase my suffering, by the way, Master Howard
included four inch heels with these uniforms. He always had to make bad
worse for me. I'd love to see him in heels!
As I bent over to pull the bedsheets out of the washer one day, I felt a
small hand toss up the petticoats under my maid's skirt and firmly rub my
stockinged rear. Both Master Howard and Mistress liked to see me in the
maid's uniform during the day. (Mistress also liked to take pictures of me
performing my chores. She said she placed them on her desk at work.
Apparently, I was a big favorite with the guys and the girls!) At least I could
wear something tasteful to go shopping!
Back to the hand on my rear, I froze, afraid to resist. Slowly, the
hand rubbed up and down my rear. Then it slid between my legs. That's
when I jumped. I shot around expecting to see Master Howard. Instead, I
saw some horny teenager! I didn't know what to make of this.
I was about to smack the kid when I heard Mistress' voice in the
background saying, "say hello to Master Todd, Paula." I obeyed, but my
face turned red with the humiliation. It took Mistress a week before she
explained to me that the horny young boy I was to obey in all things was her
sister's son. Imagine that, my wife ordered me to obey a sixteen year old kid
in all things! I even had to call him Master and sir!
Right from the start, things did not go well with Master Todd. This
kid was horny. He was all hands. And he really liked me. I guess no one
told him who I was before I became Paula!
Four days after Master Todd first arrived, he announced to me that I
was just "a typical dumb girl who knew nothing." This all stemmed from the
various conversations he'd tried to start with me during those four days. I
must admit that I seemed useless in those conversations. First he hit me with
the sports questions. I hadn't heard one word about sports since this whole
thing began, or at least since I stopped reading my old sports magazines.
Well, I put my foot in my mouth so many times that he stopped talking to me
about it. I didn't know that the Super Bowl had been played the weekend
before he arrived or even who played. I didn't know about two teams who'd
moved or about two expansion clubs.
Then he hit me with the news quiz. From what I could gather from
his derisive comments, our troops were engaged in some large peace keeping
mission overseas and a whole bunch of new countries had come into
existence from other ones - but I'm not too sure where. For a while, he even
had me believing that they had some sort of civil war in Yugoslavia until he
told me he was just kidding. I felt really stupid for believing that one.
Then he quizzed me about movies and TV and the such. I didn't
know what he was talking about. He really seemed to like something called
the "Xphiles," but he couldn't explain it to me. I don't even want to know
what that is.
Finally, he asked me what I did know. I thought and I thought, but
all that came to mind right away was fashion and house work. What else
could I tell him? How Master Howard humiliated me? He just laughed as I
mentioned either.
The night after failing my quiz, I felt the urge to go get my sports
magazines down from the closet. I needed to do something to rescue my
masculinity. After I was sure everyone had fallen asleep, I snuck out to the
closet for my next big surprise. Try as I might, I simply couldn't get the box
to budge. Either someone had added a whole bunch of weight to this box or
it was stuck to the closet shelf. No one was going to move this box! I
wasn't going to be beaten that easily though. I returned to my room to grab
the chair from my vanity. As quietly as I could I dragged the chair out to the
closet (it was too heavy to lift). I pushed the chair against the closet, kicked
off my slippers, and stepped up onto the chair. Just then I felt a hand on my
rear!
"What are you doing Paula?" It was the kid! He didn't remove his
hand from my rear.
"I'm looking for something Master Todd," I whispered.
"Must be some sort of big secret." He got louder. I began to panic.
"Please, don't wake Mistress. She'll be very angry Master Todd."
"Angry with you maybe, but not me. Let's see what's in the box
you've got your delicate little hands on." And with that, the kid placed his
other hand on my other butt cheek and lifted me off the chair. Then he
stepped forward and easily pulled the box down from its shelf. I stood by
looking passive, like a little girl who is caught doing something she shouldn't
be. I knew I couldn't run away. I was amazed he lifted the box so easily.
However, I didn't have much time to wonder how a sixteen year old kid
could be so much stronger than me, a full grown man. As soon as he had the
box to the floor he popped it open. "An old sports magazine? Imagine
that?!" He was getting louder again.
"Please Master Todd, please don't be so loud." I begged, placing my
hands on his chest.
"I don't know, I think that Aunt Steph should know about this."
"Please don't tell her. I'll do anything Master Todd." The tears
began to roll from my eyes. Every day I sank deeper and deeper into Paula.
I couldn't afford to give Mistress any reason to make things worse.
"Good, that's the tone I like." Master Todd placed his hands on my
rear end again, this time under the skirted bottom of my babydoll. I
swallowed hard, determined not to resist whatever he did. "First of all, I
don't want you to become any smarter than you are. I'm going to toss out all
these old magazines tomorrow morning. If I ever catch you reading anything
like them or a newspaper, I'll tell Aunt Steph what I found here tonight. I
like you hopelessly ignorant. Second, tomorrow I'm going to ask Aunt
Steph if we can go on a date. If she agrees, then you agree. If she doesn't,
then I'll think of something else. Understand?"
"Yes Master Todd." What else could I say. Maybe Mistress would
cut this kid off before he got too big for himself. I'm her husband dammit,
she wouldn't let this happen to me!
"Good." Master Todd pulled me tight against him, squeezing my rear
in his hands. "Give me a good night kiss." I froze. I knew I couldn't resist,
but I was not prepared for this. Suddenly, without warning, he jammed his
lips against mine and began sucking on my face. I clenched my teeth shut
and closed my eyes. The humiliation was intense! A God damn sixteen year
old boy?!!! And to make it all even worse, my cock shot up like a flare. I
had to drop my hands to a very submissive pose to cover my crotch. This
encouraged him to continue the embrace. Finally, it ended. "I'll see you
tomorrow." He bent over and picked up my slippers from the floor. He
kissed both shoes on the vamp. Then he handed them to me and said,
"you're very beautiful Paula."
I'm going to skip the bit where Master Todd asked Mistress if he
could take me out on a date. She laughed and laughed and then agreed. The
following Friday night I found myself wearing a tight mini, some very high
heeled sandals, a loose top, a low cut bra, and a lot of makeup. I'd been
wearing make up for months now, so I did my own make up for the date.
I sat in the passenger seat of the car looking longingly at the pedals. I
hadn't been allowed to drive since Mistress tore up my license. That meant I
was entirely homebound except when Mistress gave me cab fair to go to the
store. Now that Master Todd was here, he had begun to drive me around
wherever I needed to go. Usually I got to wear something a little
conservative, as compared to my maid uniform, when I left the house. Not
today.
As Master Todd backed out of the drive way, he slid his hand onto
my leg and began to massage my inner thigh. I didn't know if I was allowed
to resist. I guessed I wasn't. "Where are we going Master Todd?"
"Don't call me that tonight. Call me 'honey.'"
"Yes honey."
"Good. We're going to see the movie 'Grease.'"
"Did they re-make that movie? I remember seeing it when I was
young."
Master Todd laughed. "I love the way you don't keep up with things.
They've re-released it. Did you honestly not know that?"
"No sir, I didn't."
"Well I've never seen it, but I hear it's an excellent date movie." And
so my date began. For the next several hours we walked all over this
downtown section where they'd put a bunch of restaurants and a theater (I
didn't know they'd built this) and then we saw the movie. The entire time,
Master Todd made me hold his hand while his other arm rested over my
shoulder.
Emotionally, this was a very difficult moment in my life. I'd been
locked up at home for so long that I longed to be out among people again. I
don't know for how long I'd been kept this way because I didn't have
anything to mark the time against, but I figured that I hadn't been out of the
house (except to shop) for months. On the other hand, it scared me that
someone might make me as a man. Sure, I wore a mini and heels, but that
doesn't mean I looked like a woman - at least I didn't think so. So even
though no one else seemed to notice I couldn't help but fear my eventual
discovery. Actually, I guess I should mention that I did get a couple of wolf
whistles. Strangely, they gave me comfort.
The most confusing aspect of this night was my being on a date with
a teenage boy! No matter what I did, this kid was going to have his fun.
There was no way out of it for me. So I figured that I might as well try to
make it as bearable as possible. The only way to do that was, for tonight
only, to tell myself that I am a woman named Paula and act accordingly. That
seemed to help me enjoy myself. I guess I even had a good time. Ok, I had
the best time I'd had in a long time and if the price was to let this boy touch
me, I was willing to pay it. When Master Todd leaned over and started
kissing my neck, I didn't even mind. I did stop him though when he tried to
make the next move.