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This story, with minor changes, appears in the ASSTR site "Tented Skirt" Yvette and Yvonne By Eva Dell In front of the full-length mirror, Yvonne Reed lifted the hem of her skirt and examined the marks on the back of her legs. "How many?" asked Yvonne's husband Kyle from where he sat on the edge of the bed. "Count 'em," said Yvonne grimly. "I lost count after eight." Kyle counted sixteen - seventeen if you counted one angry red welt that appeared to cross both of the woman's thighs at almost the same angle as two separate strokes. When he told his wife, Yvonne groaned and let her skirt and slip fall. "I can't believe that," she said bitterly. "She's never given me that many before for a few typos." "That's awful! Who the hell was the letter to?" Yvonne hesitated. "Um... I guess it was fairly important. Memo to the CEO." There was a brief silence before Kyle broke it. "The marks. They hurt?" asked the man, unnecessarily. "Of course they do!" Yvonne's eyes blazed briefly. Then her look softened. It wasn't Kyle's fault her boss punished her each time she made some mistake. "Yeah, they hurt, honey. I just wish I could sit down," she said quietly. "They sting too much when I do." "How's your butt?" asked the man, "still hurt from the spanking yesterday?" "A little." Yvonne shook her head at the memory. It hadn't been a normal over-the-knee spanking for some small error. Yvonne had lost - or at least misfiled - a contract and Mrs. Harding, the boss, had taken a leather tawse to her bottom as her secretary bent over a chair. Kyle suggested his wife lie on the bed and try to keep the weight off her rear and legs. Better than standing in those five inch heels. Yvonne nodded and climbed on the bed gingerly, making a few gasps as she tried to get comfortable on her back. Knees up to relieve any pressure on her legs, her skirt fell back, showing her stocking tops and garters. The man gulped as he studied his wife's well shaped legs and her position. He stared at her black garters and stocking tops (and the faint marks on the front of her thighs from a whipping Yvonne was given last week for handling a phone call badly) and then at her five inch black high heels with the small gold locks. The locks Mrs. Harding retained the key for. Kyle couldn't help himself: he felt aroused. He knew he shouldn't be but the punishment his wife endured at Cameron Harding's hands, the clothes the young woman had to wear to the office - especially the short skirts and stockings - and the way high heels were locked on Yvonne's slender ankles as a further punishment for some infraction, sent his desires into overdrive. "Honey..." he began, freeing his cock. Uh, I have to..." "It's okay, Kyle," said Yvonne, lying with her eyes closed. "Go ahead and jerk off. I'll open my legs a little more so you can see the chastity belt through my panties. I know that turns you on." The gold-colored chastity belt - the device that Mrs. Harding insisted her secretary wore to stop Kyle and Yvonne having sex and her secretary getting pregnant - gleamed through the black lace panties. It did turn the man on: he wished it didn't but with everything else he was too aroused to care. He stroked his cock slowly as he surveyed his wife, from her heaving breasts under the crisp white blouse, down to her bunched skirt and raised open legs. He could see her taut black garters and the cold hard strip of metal under her panties. The sight of her whip marked thighs through the sheer stockings (he was glad Mrs. Harding made her secretary remove the stockings before whipping her legs - it would have been a shame to put runs in them as they were so expensive) and of course the gold locks on the ankle straps of the polished black high heels propelled him towards a climax. "Honey," he gasped, his hand going faster, "you could suck me off." "Kyle. We've been through this," sighed Yvonne, opening her eyes to watch her husband masturbating by her side. "I have to get permission for that. Mrs. Harding has to give me permission in writing for me to have oral sex." "But honey... you lick her!" Kyle was exasperated, but breathing heavily. He was about to cum. "That's different. She's the boss." Yvonne was just as frustrated as her husband but knew she had to obey orders. "If it helps, honey, squirt on my hand." The woman spread her hand under the man's twitching cock. "I promise I'll lick it off afterwards." "It's not the same," gasped the man, but he came anyway, groaning as he jetted his cum on to his wife's waiting hand. Kyle lay back exhausted as he watched his pretty wife lift her cum soaked hand to her red lips and carefully lick it off, telling her husband how good it tasted. --- "You have to get another job," said Kyle over breakfast the next morning. He looked up at his wife standing by the breakfast bar, unwilling to risk sitting with her legs hurting still. "Sure. One that pays as much as this and gives me six weeks paid holidays a year," Yvonne said, sarcasm all too evident in her voice. "Lots of jobs like that out there for secretaries like me." "It isn't the only job," Kyle tried to argue as he usually did. As usual, he didn't get anywhere. "Honey... we've been through this a hundred times." The woman sighed, wincing as she shifted her weight. Kyle wasn't sure if it was the whipping she had received on her legs or the high heels locked on her that she was unable to remove which was causing the pain. "You and I both know there's no option. Not on this kind of money." "I don't care about the money," snapped the man. "You come first." Yvonne snorted. "Really? How we going to pay off all those gambling debts you ran up? All that money you spent on that off-road vehicle that fell apart?" "That can be repaired sometime," he glowered. "But the money's gone, and we still have all those debts." Yvonne shook her head. The best she could hope for was only having to do this another two years. Either that or Mrs. Cameron would change her ways and demands. But as she only seemed to increase her demands that didn't seem possible. "The bitch'll kill you one day," said the man. "Kyle! She isn't a bitch and no, she won't. But she will no doubt want me to suffer," said Yvonne. "Then we have to come up with a creative solution," said Kyle. "You need a break." "I have a vacation in five weeks time: I get one of my weeks off. If I can last until then I usually heal pretty good." The woman sounded less than convincing but it was all she had. "Five weeks! That's too long!" "It's the deal I have. Seven weeks working, one week off." "Then I'll do your job!" Blurted out Kyle. Yvonne raised her eyebrows and stared at her husband. "I can type. Answer the phone. I can file things - maybe almost as well as you can," he said. "Guess I could even learn to take dictation." Yvonne finally laughed. "Honey... you don't know the half of what I do." Then she sobered up. "Even if it was possible, Mrs. Harding likes women to abuse. Okay?" Kyle flushed a little. "If I was female, then she'd put up with me, right?" His wife smiled. "I think you're very sweet, Kyle, offering to help out but you aren't a woman." "But I could be." Kyle wasn't sure where this outburst was coming from but he pressed on. "If I looked the part then Mrs. high-and-mighty Harding wouldn't care, would she?" "Looking the part requires a lot of work. You don't just pull on a skirt and a wig." "But you could help me." Yvonne shook her head. "What about the other stuff. When I have to lick her. You could do that for her?" "I've done it to you a few times," the man said. "And believe me honey, you need way more practice. But even if we made you look convincing, she has to buy it." Kyle stared at his wife. "But you think I could, don't you?" "No!" "I know you. I can tell. I know when you think something can be done." The man stood up to confront his wife, staring right into her eyes. Yvonne blushed and ran her hand through her hair. "I think... I think you could, yes," she said. "See!" "But thinking and doing aren't even close. What if she treated you like she treats me? Could you really - even if we made you look good, taught you my job, got her to accept you as a substitute - take a whip across your legs? Have your butt paddled while you stretch up to touch something high above you? Walk round wearing high heels all the time like this?" She lifted her foot to show the lock on her ankle straps. "Oh yes, and attend to her when she needs the toilet?" Kyle stared blankly at his wife. "Toilet?" he echoed. "Sure. I'm sorry but I never told you that bit before." Yvonne turned away, clearly upset. "I have go with her to the bathroom. I kneel while she pees and I wipe her afterwards." "That's... You can't..." "It's my job, it's what she pays me for." Yvonne's face was set hard, looking back at her astonished husband over her shoulder. "I get bonuses for certain things. That's one of them. How else do you think I make the kind of money I do?" Kyle gulped in shock, but he nodded anyway. --- "That's crazy, but a delightful idea," purred Mrs. Harding when the kneeling Yvonne told her what had been said that morning in her kitchen. The secretary wriggled a little in embarrassment. She had hoped she could avoid telling the woman but as she liked to have details of everything Yvonne had done in her time away from work, it was hard not to. It was always better, Yvonne understood all too well, to be honest with her boss. Cameron Harding, a successful, attractive business 34 year-old woman settled back in her large leather chair and smiled. Although she was nine years older than her secretary she looked the same age as Yvonne. The manager put her fingers together in a pyramid as she always did when contemplating new concepts. "Does he look good dressed in women's clothes?" "Well... Yes," admitted Yvonne. "Providing he wears a corset to draw his waist in." "Good," purred the manager. "He sounds ideal." "It wouldn't work, Mrs. Harding," said Yvonne anxiously. "He gets a little carried away and doesn't know what he's saying and -" "Not at all." The woman cut through her secretary's explanation. "I think it's an idea we should consider. I certainly think it is an idea you should consider fully: you've been making far too many mistakes lately and frankly, Yvonne, I don't know how much more you can take. Another lost file or botched memo to the CEO and who knows what I'll do to that pretty little sore ass of yours?" "I try not to make mistakes," protested the kneeling woman, wincing at the thought of being whipped again. "Perhaps, but we can only judge what you do and what you achieve." "But Mrs. Harding... Kyle isn't a secretary. He doesn't know what to do!" "But you do," smiled the woman behind the desk as she regarded her employee. "Tell me, does it hurt, kneeling there?" "Why... yes, of course." The ridged carpet always hurt Yvonne's knees when she took this position. "And if I left you there for another hour?" Yvonne looked unhappy. That, she knew, would be nearly intolerable. "It would hurt a lot," she said, quietly. "Of course. So you'd like relief." "Yes, if it pleases you. But I don't understand. What does my kneeling have to do with Kyle?" "Just think, Yvonne. If you had someone to take your place for the more demanding parts of your job..." the woman let her words tail off, allowing the idea to sink into the secretary's mind. Yvonne understood almost at once. "You mean, I would still do the work and Kyle would be punished?" "Not Kyle. Such a clumsy name for someone in a tight fitting skirt and heels. Let's say, Yvette." "Who?" Mrs. Harding sighed. "I don't want a man round here. Not as such. But if your husband wanted to work here with you, dressed as a woman - if he becomes Yvette - then why not?" Yvonne's eyes widened as the impact of it all finally struck home. Weakly, she protested: "But I make the mistakes, when they happen. Kyle wouldn't - I mean, this Yvette, can't be responsible." "Why not? He loves you, so you tell me. He wants to help you, he's told you many times. He's said himself that he thinks he can become a convincing female." A pause. "So let's find out how good." "But you only like punishing women," Yvonne blushed. She wasn't supposed to call it punishing. It was Corrective Development. Her contract said she could be awarded up to three Corrective Developments a day. It just didn't say what they were or how long they would be. "Perhaps it would be a different kind of punishment for you. Your mistakes means he gets spanked on your behalf." "Mrs. Harding -" began Yvonne but there was no point in arguing. She simply nodded, feeling both sick with fear and elated by an excitement she couldn't explain. She asked, quietly: "When does Yvette begin here?" "That's up to you, Yvonne. It depends how long you feel you can endure what I do to you. I would suggest the sooner our Yvette begins in your place, the better." "But if Kyle says no, then what?" "He is your husband. Persuade as you see fit." The woman behind the desk paused. "You may like to promise him some unusual sex. Has he ever fucked you in the ass?" Yvonne blushed, unsure what to say. "Only when we first dated. Since we were married we haven't really -" "Then you have the hook." "It isn't that easy!" "I'm sure it is, if you try. Just spread your ass cheeks." Mrs. Harding's eyes sparkled. "Tell me, Yvonne, you are still wearing the chastity device, aren't you?" "Yes. Of course." Yvonne flushed slightly. "You have the key. In your desk - I promise I haven't touched it." "I know you haven't. I was just thinking: if you need a further incentive to feminize your dear husband, how about being free of that chastity device?" Yvonne blushed. "That would be wonderful, Mrs. Harding - though if Kyle is to become Yvette he shouldn't be having sex with me." "Of course he shouldn't. I was thinking more of that handsome young man on the ninth floor. Joe isn't it? Joe Lugacci? I am sure he'd like to get to know you, shall we say, more intimately." Yvonne's face turned a deeper hue of red. She knew the young man was keen on her. He was cute and rumor had it he had a good sized cock. Yes, she admitted to herself, that would be a good trade off for her husband. "Mrs. Harding, perhaps -" She started but got no further as Mrs. Harding raised an eyebrow. It was the boss's way of saying: there isn't any more to discuss on this matter. Yvonne gulped and nodded. "Good. That's agreed," purred the boss. "Oh, as you forgot that you have Corrective Developments rather than punishments you will now remain on your knees for the next half hour," said the woman as she picked up a report she had to study before a meeting later that day. "And just so you remember to be quiet, please put one hand over your mouth." Yvonne did as she was told, wondering how Kyle - no, Yvette - would cope with this. She wondered too how she would cope with the pain in her knees as it was hurting already. --- Kyle swallowed hard. He stood in front of the mirror and stared at himself. Looking back was a surprisingly female shape, a woman in a black business suit with a skirt above stockinged knees, a prominent bust under a pale pink blouse and long blonde hair. He blinked at the well made-up face looking back at him: the eye shadow, the lipstick. Even the earrings as they peeked under his blonde hair. Only the jacket hid Kyle's dramatically narrowed waist, caused by a severely restricting waspie around his waist. He wobbled slightly on his four inch high heels as he tried to turn to see himself from the side as Yvonne suggested. "You wear these heels all day?" he said, incredulously as he regained his balance, staring down at the gleaming shoes. "Of course," grinned Yvonne. "Except I sometimes have them locked on my feet." Despite all her misgivings she had enjoyed dressing her husband up like this. She never thought she would but Mrs. Harding was right: he did look good although the tightly tied waist-cincher and the well padded bra had made a huge difference. But it was the black high heels that had the greatest impact. For the first time in his life the man had to stand properly balanced. He couldn't slump now, and the way he had to stand made him all too aware of the weight in bra cups and the fact his waist was so constricted. With his waist narrowed and chest so confined (by the tight bra) his breathing was lighter than he would normally manage. Yvonne listened to the effort of him breathing, standing arms by his side, looking at himself and not daring to move unless he was told he could. It also did her the world of good to know he finally understood something of what she went through each day. "Shoulders back and chest out, honey," she advised, knowing it wasn't strictly necessary but pleased she could order him as she had been ordered by her boss. "Be proud of what you've got." Kyle blushed. "These... these boobs aren't mine," he said as he did as he was told. "Get used to them, honey. When you are a woman there's no getting away from what you have on your chest." "But people will think -" he began but stopped, his face going redder. "You mean men will think you're easy," Yvonne smirked. She knew men always thought a female with big boobs was somehow easy prey. Even the most average looking woman would draw the whistles and calls if she showed a well shaped bust. Kyle understood all too well. Not for the first time he wondered just what he had let himself in for. He looked at his hand at his side, in the mirror and could see the red nail polish. He might have expected that but not the red polish applied to his toenails before he put on stockings and slipped his feet into those dangerously high-heeled shoes. How could women walk in these? Why did women paint their toenails when they wouldn't be seen? Why did he have to wear stockings when so many women wore pantyhose? Kyle gulped again. Suddenly he was aware that his wife was speaking to him, using the name Yvette. He knew with a sinking feeling he would have to get used to that. "Yvette," repeated Yvonne. "Look at me and listen to me, carefully." Kyle turned to face his wife where she sat, watching him. She looked as good as she always did, dressed in a suit almost identical to his. The only difference was she had a naturally narrow waist and good sized tits. She was brunette where he was blonde. And her high heels had a small hasp on each ankle strap where the lock would secure them on them when Mrs. Harding so decided. "You've had a weekend of practice and done remarkably well. Tomorrow we go to work for Mrs. Harding," continued the man's wife. "The success of all this depends on what you do, how you behave as well as how you look. I have talked at length to Mrs. Harding about this and she assures me she will make some small allowances for you. Note well the word small. If we fail - if you fail - my Corrective Developments will be increased to four a day. As I know my boss will ultimately not tolerate less than perfection I do not want to have to endure any more than I have to. Do you understand?" Kyle nodded, making his earrings jangle faintly. "Yvonne," he said. "What about my... you know, my penis?" Yvonne gave a sigh and shook her head. "As usual a man only either thinks with his dick or about it. We packed it away in the girdle as well as we could. But be warned, if it does show the deal's off. Mrs. Harding does not want to see any evidence you are a man. None at all! Understood?" Kyle nodded glumly and his wife continued: "If I think you can't keep it hidden properly we will have to think about tying it back." The man gave a horrified look at the idea. "But that will hurt!" "You are there to be hurt," sighed Yvonne. "You or me. And you, remember, volunteered to save me the pain. Now, as you will have to walk convincingly I suggest you start walking round the house for a couple of hours in those heels." The woman stood, picking up an old stocking. "And to make sure you don't think it is a good idea to slip them off when I'm not looking I am going to tie your hands behind you. It will also remind you to keep your posture straight and your chest out." The man turned and crossed his hands behind him as his wife bound the nylon round his wrists tightly, making him gasp as she cinched his bonds. "While I shall be watching you to make sure you remember to sway your hips as you walk, I'm also going to turn all the chairs and stools over so if I am not watching you can't sit down to relieve your feet." She stood back, looking satisfied at her work before adding: "Oh yes, and if you whine or plead or beg I will gag you. Mrs. Harding does not like to hear complaints and neither do I!" Kyle opened his mouth to object but, taking a deep breath, merely grunted acceptance. He had no doubt she meant every word. --- Yvette stepped out of the elevator behind Yvonne and together they made their way, heels clicking on the polished tiles of the hallway floor, towards the office of Cameron Harding. "Remember," said Yvonne to her husband as she reached out for the handle, "Don't forget what you've practiced, what I've told you - including keeping your knees together when you sit or kneel - and above all do not argue with Mrs. Harding no matter what happens. If you thought I gagged you too tightly last night you should experience what she can do when she's angry." The man in the neat black suit and white blouse nodded. He was still blushing from some of the comments he had received from men on the street and on the way up in the elevator and his butt still stung from where a smartly dressed businesswoman had painfully pinched his ass. But as his wife had said, you had to watch out for the women as they pinched harder. He hesitated to follow his wife and hung back a little. "Yvonne... wait!" The woman turned and glared at the crossdressed man, thinking this was exactly the worst time to have doubts. It wasn't, she was relieved to hear, doubts about this. "Yvonne, there's just one thing I need to know. When I curtsy as she enters the room was it right knee down, or left?" "Right leg forward, left knee down. Just as we practiced." Yvonne gave her husband a reassuring smile. "You'll be fine. You won't be punished for curtsying wrongly, only for not doing it at all." "And I freshen my makeup at break, right?" "Yes. And stop worrying! You look good - better than I hoped. Just be careful, that's all. Not slow, not hesitant. Just careful." Yvonne winked at Yvette and opened the door to the office. --- Yvette Reed remembered to curtsy when Mrs. Harding swept into the room, and stayed in a curtsy position while the manager walked round him inspecting how he looked. He stood when he was told and remembered to put his hands behind his back while being examined. Shoulders back, padded bust forward. Mrs. Harding walked round the man several times and then told Yvonne to lift Yvette's skirt and slip so she could see his legs and garters. "Higher," said the woman. "I want to see her panties." As Yvonne raised the hem of Yvette's skirt up over his hips, the man blushed. It was partly because his wife was exposing him and partly because the woman had called him a her. He knew it was a good sign but equally felt unnerved by hearing it said so casually, as if that was what he was already. He wondered if the manager could see the small bulge of his cock inside his girdle and panties but if she did, Mrs. Harding didn't comment. Yvette was told to turn and show the back of his legs, and his heart pounded. There was really only one reason Mrs. Harding wanted to see the back of his thighs and his rounded ass: it was where she would use the paddle or the riding crop (or whatever she most liked at the moment) to beat him. He flinched very slightly as he felt a hand on the back of his legs, just above the welt of his stocking tops. It wasn't his wife's hand as she was still holding the hem of his skirt to make sure it did not fall. It was Mrs. Harding examining the target area. She also toyed, briefly, with the garter straps and ran her fingers lightly over his panty-covered bottom. "Good," said the woman, moving away. "She will do for now. We will of course have to see how she bears up to the Corrective Developments but there again, Yvonne, that depends how well you perform." Yvette felt his skirt being lowered and brushed into place but he didn't dare turn round. Yvonne had told him to be wary of doing anything without Mrs. Harding's permission and he simply stood, facing the large windows on that side of the office, wondering idly if anyone in the offices opposite had seen what was happening in this room. Behind him, he was aware of his wife being questioned about what she had done the previous night. "Tell me," said Mrs. Harding from her desk, "did you have sex last night with your husband?" "No, Mrs. Harding," said Yvonne. In the reflection in the glass, Yvette could make out his wife standing, hands behind her back, by the side of Mrs. Harding's desk. He was a little astonished they should be talking about him as if he wasn't there. Then he remembered he was Yvette, not Kyle. To all intents and purposes Kyle didn't exist at the moment. "Hmm, how strange," said the manager slowly. "I remember giving you permission for oral sex. Did I not dictate a memo to you, allowing you to use your mouth?" "Yes, Mrs. Harding." Yvette felt a jolt. Yvonne knew she could suck him and hadn't? The man in him wanted to turn round and demand to know why - if Yvonne had got permission - why she hadn't performed. The woman in him - the Yvette - merely blushed and stood quite still. He, or she, was ashamed. "Yvonne, please go and bring me the memo I dictated Friday night, before you left." "At once, Mrs. Harding." Yvonne hurried past her husband without a glance and returned moments later holding a sheet of paper. "Read it back to me," said the manager. Yvonne cleared her throat. "Memo to Mrs. Y Reed from Mrs. C Harding. The manager gives permission for her secretary to indulge in one act of oral sex with her husband on Sunday evening only between the hours of eight and ten, allowing one ejaculation into her mouth which she will swallow." Yvette felt his face burn and, ominously, his trapped cock to harden under the girdle. "May I ask why you did not follow my instructions?" Mrs. Harding asked her secretary after a few moments silence. "I thought... I mean..." Yvonne was clearly stumbling. "I didn't know it was an order. I thought it was permission if I wanted to." "Then tell me why you didn't want to do it." Mrs. Harding's voice was velvet smooth but there was a darker, sharper edge. A menace that seemed to chill the air. Yvette gulped. He understood the power of this woman now: what she said, how seductively she said it, the way she put just the right emphasis on certain words, helped explain why his wife was so much in the woman's clutches. "H-he was... he was dressed as a woman," stammered Yvonne. "And?" "I didn't want to lift his skirt and do that. It would make him think," she hesitated, knowing he was listening but plowed on, "He would think I was sexually aroused by him as a woman." Mrs. Harding laughed. "Is he a woman?" "No... I mean, not yet. He is trying to be." Kyle as Yvette felt himself shake, either with anger or excitement he couldn't be certain. "Tell me, Yvonne, what would it take for him to be a woman?" "He, um - he needs to practice more. Kyle needs to get used to dressing himself in the right clothes - especially choosing the right lingerie - walking, talking, behaving as a female all the time. Sitting when he pees, stuff like that." Mrs. Harding laughed again. She was enjoying this, knowing the man in question was standing a few feet away, hands behind back and head bowed. "Well, let us say that he will be trying. Very hard," she added with a smirk. "Now - as you have failed to follow my instructions it is time for your first Corrective Development of the day." It wasn't of course Yvonne who was punished. Not now Yvette was there. The secretary stood back and watched Yvette take the six lashes with the belt - the belt she had removed from her own skirt - across the back of her husband's stockinged legs while he himself held up his skirt. As it was his first of the day Mrs. Harding kindly allowed Yvette to only lift his skirt and leave his white lace-edged slip down. It was thin and barely offered any protection but it was the thought that counted. Yvette cried at the fourth stroke, howled at the fifth and sobbed when Mrs. Harding had finished. He stood, sniffing back the tears, as the manager went back to her desk and his wife hastily put her belt back on her skirt. Yvette didn't dare break position from where he stood, feeling his legs burn, the sheer humiliation of it all and faintly, improbably, the excitement of the cruelty of the boss. His cock was harder than he dared admit and he was glad he had his back to the rest of the office so they couldn't see it. Despite the pain he longed to free his cock from the underwear and stroke himself to a slow, delightful cum. But as he didn't dare move all he could feel was the frustration mount. "Now, Yvonne, let's get on with some real work, shall we?" said Mrs. Harding brightly as she settled at her desk. "Let me review the letters you wrote on Friday and see if we can find any errors." --- "Five!" Complained Yvette under his breath as he left the office at the end of the day, following his wife. "Five times she hurt me. I thought you only had three punishments," he grumbled as they waited for the elevator. "I have three as that is in my contract. You haven't got a contract," Yvonne reminded him. "And they're not punishments!" "Okay! Okay - Corrective Developments, then." Yvette felt annoyed - and hurt - that he had to endure four more beatings after the first one so early in the day. He'd hardly moved from the spot he occupied and listening to Mrs. Harding criticize his wife's work, he knew all too well what was coming his way. Her mistakes, his pain. "But why so many? Were you really that careless today?" he asked, wincing at the pain that still racked his lower body. "No. I thought I did well." "There was that spelling mistake in Ohio... there's no such place as Oiho!" "Mmm," agreed Yvonne. "But you only got three lashes for that." "Yes, but on my legs where she'd whipped me before!" "Oh honey," sighed Yvonne. "You knew it wouldn't be easy." "But you didn't have so many." "Perhaps. But my contract limits Mrs. Harding to three so she usually stores up my Correctives. It's not that way with you: she can do it at once." Yvette let the conversation go as the elevator door slid back. There were several well dressed women who exchanged glances as Yvonne and Yvette stepped in. They'd hardly gone two floors when the first of several hard pinches on his sore butt made Yvette gasp out loud. Only a glare from his wife stopped him complaining about it. Out of sight of Yvette, standing behind his wife, Joe Lugacci from the ninth floor had his hand of Yvonne's well-shaped ass, which the woman wiggled to show she liked it there. --- "I can get out of this stuff now," said Yvette as he and Yvonne entered their home. "Get back to being Kyle and have a beer." "I'm afraid that won't be possible," said Yvonne as she slipped off her high heels, glad that Mrs. Harding had done as she had promised and unlocked them. She sat and flexed her toes and arched her foot - it felt like heaven after having her feet in them for what seemed an eternity. She was so glad Mrs. Harding had dictated that memo granting permission for Yvonne to take her shoes off when she got home. "I agreed it all with our boss." "Excuse me... you said what?" "Our boss. That's what Mrs. Harding is." "Not that," snapped the man. "The agreement part!" "I agreed that there wasn't much need for you to be anything but Yvette. You should be flattered: you were good enough today for Mrs. Harding to believe you are well on the way to being a female." "I don't understand." "Oh really, honey, it's simple. If you are going to be a female all the time - and I have to say I am pretty impressed too - then you don't need men's clothes, right?" Kyle colored up. "But we didn't agree on that. I am only taking your place while you recover." He looked bewildered. "I thought it was only at your office." "What's the point of getting into male clothes when you have something you are quite comfortable in? You could do with a little more practice around the home. You know that." "Huh, well... maybe for an hour." "Two hours, at least. But there will be more when we go out to dinner." The man's mouth fell open. "You mean... go to a restaurant. Like this?" "Not quite. I was thinking of a simple black dress. Not a suit." "No way! I am a man," said Kyle, defiantly. "A man? Really? I suggest, Yvette, you take a look at yourself," said Yvonne, stressing the man's female name. "You look like a woman to me in those clothes." The man turned and headed for the bedroom, pulling his blonde wig off in a gesture of defiance. "Guess we'll see how I look when I get into my own clothes." "You won't find them," said Yvonne quietly. "Mrs. Harding arranged for them to be collected this afternoon. Given to some homeless charity." Kyle stared disbelievingly at his wife and then rushed to see for himself. Yvonne, he soon discovered, was right. His closet was empty apart from some new women's clothes hanging neatly on the rail: skirts and blouses and even a couple of dresses. There was nothing of his in the drawers he used apart from several new sets of women's underwear, still in their packaging. He came back silently to where his wife was sat. Yvonne thought he might come running (as fast as he could in those heels) into the room and start shouting but he didn't. He was subdued. He looked deep in thought, wrestling some difficult problem, as he stood in front of her. She waited but he didn't say anything. After a couple of minutes he pulled his wig back on and straightened it. "I need a mirror in here," he said in a resigned way. "And I have to freshen my make up." --- It was three days later, while Mrs. Harding was out at lunch and Yvonne was at her desk that Yvette asked his wife about the sex promise. "Yvonne..." he began from where he stood by her desk, hands behind back and knees together. He was smarting from the spanking he had received an hour ago because his wife had not put a call through properly, but at least he had stopped sobbing. "Mrs. Reed!" said the secretary brusquely. "You know here at the office I am called Mrs. Reed." Yvette looked unhappy but nodded. "Mrs. Reed, you made a promise." "Really?" Yvonne Reed didn't look up from her work. Yvette dropped his voice in case anyone was listening but there was no one else around. "You said I could, you know, screw you up the ass if I was good at this." "Sure. And so?" "It's just that it's been a long time since you said that. I was wondering if - while Mrs. Harding's out - you and I could just go and..." Yvonne looked up sharply. "What? You think we could have perverted sex in this office?" Yvette was taken aback at his wife's tone and blushed bright red. "Uh, well... you and her... Mrs. Harding, earlier... you had sex." Yvonne shook her head. "That wasn't sex! I merely licked her pussy. It's part of my job, remember? I don't get pleasure from it." She paused before adding: "In any event I don't recall Mrs. Harding giving me a memo to the effect that I should debase myself for your pleasure, do you?" The man in the black skirt and white blouse shook his head, making his earrings jangle a little as he puzzled why his wife had moaned gently as she rimmed her boss. "But you're my wife... and you said you didn't wear the chastity device any more and I was wondering if..." "Not at the office!" thundered Yvonne. Then she calmed. "Listen, Yvette. I don't want to be hard on you but Mrs. Harding wouldn't be happy if you brought your dick out here and put it in one of her staff." "She wouldn't have to know!" "I would have to tell her," said the secretary firmly. "That's part of the rules as you well know. But, obviously I can't stop you doing things at lunch. You have a fifteen minute lunch break coming up. It isn't right what I am going to suggest but if, during those fifteen minutes I was to carry on working and say, bent over the filing drawer and my skirt was up you could always, you know..." "I could screw your ass?" asked Yvette, excitedly "Certainly not," rapped his wife. "Don't be revolting, Yvette! What I was going to suggest was that while I was bent over you could see my ass and I wouldn't know what you were doing behind me. If you were quiet you could get out your dick and whack off at what you saw. You can imagine what it might be like screwing my ass. Of course no one would know, especially if you didn't make a mess." The man nodded, knowing there was no point in arguing. --- Ten minutes later, with Yvette officially "at lunch' Yvonne Reed got up from her desk, hitched up her tight skirt to reveal her shapely legs, stocking tops and black garters and bent over to look for a file. She wiggled here ass a little as she did so. Behind her, Yvette silently lifted his skirt, freed his already hardening cock from under his tight black girdle and slowly, gently, stroked his cock as he stared at the way his wife's lace panties stretched taut over the twin globes of her butt. It was even better now she was free of the chastity belt. He could imagine his cock tearing through the thin lace into the deep, dark valley of her ass, penetrating her tight back hole. Spurred by thoughts of her gasping in pleasure as he drilled himself into her, thrusting hard, he came into the waiting tissues he held ready, biting his red painted lips to stay quiet. When Yvonne stood a few minutes later and straightened her skirt, she was alone. The only sign of Yvette was a small spot of semen on the carpet where he'd been standing. With a smile, the woman thought Mrs. Harding wouldn't mind if she herself gave him a quick spanking for that. --- "I can't wear these all weekend," groaned Yvette as he contemplated the high heels Yvonne had insisted he wear. "They're too high!" "Of course you can wear them," said the woman as she looked her husband up and down. "They're only five inches." "But I've been in them all week!" "Not those. You wear black at work - those are white. They go well with your new dress." The man's face crumpled into a frown. "And why do I have to wear women's clothes at the weekend?" That, he knew, was a stupid question: all his male attire had long gone. Yvonne waited while he re-phrased it. "Okay... why can't I wear slacks like you?" He nodded at his wife in her elegant, dark red slacks and then indicated the pale blue, flared dress he was wearing. "You would look stupid in slacks with those high heels," said Yvonne. "But I could wear flats like you do." Yvonne sighed. "I don't think that would be a good idea, do you?" Yvette took a deep breath but didn't argue. There would be no doubt some memo from Mrs. Harding or simply it was his wife's preference that he should always look the part of an attractive woman in skirt or dress. A loose, wide skirted summer dress like this one. But the reason, he soon discovered, wasn't either. --- "Where are we going today?" The man asked, sounding resigned. "Back to the mall again to take me round all the stores?" "Not quite: today you are going to have your hair styled. Now it's long enough we can get rid of the wig. Oh yes, and your legs will be waxed too. You can hold your dress up while they attend to you - especially all that pubic fuzz round the edge of your panties." "You can't make me do this..." gasped the man. "I can," smiled Yvonne. "Believe me I can. Mrs. Harding has given me full permission. You saw the memo." "But these people will know I'm a man!" "They know that already," the woman shrugged. "But don't worry. The women at the salon promised they wouldn't snicker too much." "But the marks on my legs. They'll see I've been whipped." "So? Lots of women who go there have loving partners who whip them. Why, I remember last month seeing one young woman in there who was tied to a chair while she was manicured because that was what her husband wanted. You should have seen the whip marks on her boobs." "You saw her tits?" "Naturally. She had to undress for her manicure." Yvette stared at his wife. "But they wouldn't make me do that, would they?" "Who knows, honey. They're the experts. They do what they want and there's no point in restraint chairs being empty." "Please Yvonne!" begged the cross-dressed man. "Please what? You didn't mind too much last week when I took you to the tattoo parlor to have your eyebrows done permanently." "Bu... but he didn't know I was man, did he?" Yvette's world was crumbling round him. "Of course he did. Now let's hurry. We don't want to keep the ladies waiting at the salon, do we?" She smiled at the feminized man who was once her male husband. "Just remember when they strap you into the chair to say thank you." --- Yvette looked distressed. It wasn't just the carpet on his aching knees, or the fact that he had received three sound whippings and already it wasn't yet lunch time. It wasn't even the fact that he was wearing shoes like Yvonne used to wear: five inch heels that had been locked on his ankles for three days now. Yvette was still burning from the humiliation of watching his wife being fucked by a man over the desk earlier, when Joe Lugacci called in from the upstairs office for a meeting and finished up fucking Yvonne over her desk; holding her down, hoisting her skirt and spreading her legs before ramming his cock deep into her wet snatch. Yvette had knelt watching, helpless and impotent, as the man pounded his wife and heard her mewing like some animal in heat. And just to round off his humiliation he watched as Yvonne French kissed the man as she told Joe he could stop by any time and make her cum again. "Why did you do that?" asked Yvette fighting back the tears after the man had gone. "I needed a good screw," said Yvonne, casually. "Joe's been eager for sex with me for some time. Didn't seem right to keep him waiting," smirked Yvonne as she checked her makeup and hair in her hand mirror. "But I'm your husband," objected the man. "I could have..." "Taken my place?" Yvonne interrupted with a smirk. "I don't think so, honey." "No. I meant, made love to you." "That wasn't love. That was pure sex. Anyway, it wouldn't have been proper," said Yvonne, returning her mirror to her purse and fastening the top buttons on her blouse, covering up her exposed bra. "We haven't had sex for weeks - not since you became Yvette, remember?" The crossdressed man's face burned. "Just because we don't share the same bedroom now..." he began. "I don't sleep with women," snapped Yvonne. "You know that. Plus, in case you've forgotten, Mrs. Harding hasn't given you permission for sex. There's been no memo, has there?" Yvette shook his head. Then he said: "But you've just been... fucked. Did you have permission?" "I don't need permission from Mrs. Harding or anyone else for sex with other people from other offices. Only with you." Yvonne scowled but suddenly grinned at her husband as an idea occurred to her. "Of course, neither do you!" Yvette felt a sudden chill grab him. "Meaning what?" he managed to say. "You can have sex with men, too!" Yvonne laughed out loud. "You could have Joe seduce you. Well, perhaps not Joe as he likes women too much and has free access to my holes, but there are some handsome young men around. Or even an older one like Mr. Grinley." "Him? How? I'm not gay," croaked the man, alarm in his every fiber at the thought of sixty year old Grinley seducing him. "Of course not. You're an attractive young woman and a lot of guys here would like to put their cocks in you. Mouth or asshole - you could be very popular if you tried." Yvette gulped. This was ridiculous, he told himself. He started to struggle up off his hurting knees but Yvonne stilled him with a glare. "Stay still," the woman barked. "I don't recall telling you that you could get up." The man dropped back to his knees and remembered to put his hands behind his back. He thought: if she wants to play this stupid game, then he'd ask her a stupid question. "And what if a woman here wants sex with me?" "That is unlikely," sneered Yvonne standing up herself and looking down at a mark on her skirt. "Any lesbians here don't want a female with a small cock in her girdle. In fact most of the gay women here don't fall for women who even wear girdles: they prefer their meat younger. There are a couple of very pretty teenage girls in Marketing you'd have to compete with to get the lezzies' attention." The mark on her skirt was clearly bothering Yvonne and she switched the conversation point smoothly. "Now honey, be a good girl and crawl over here and see if you can lick this mark off my skirt, will you? I think Joe leaked some of his cum on it." The man gaped at his wife, how she held the front of her skirt out, inviting him to lick the mark off. Yvette, face bright red with humiliation, wanted desperately to say "No way," but he took a deep breath and crawled over. Thankfully, he didn't retch as his mouth closed on the stain. He couldn't really taste the semen but the sucking managed to get the worst of the mark out. Yvonne patted his head as a reward and told the man to stay on all fours for a while as later on Mrs. Harding was likely to angry about a few typing errors and it would be easier for her to beat him in that position. --- "That was the perfect day," sighed Yvonne as she led the way into the house, giving Joe a kiss on the cheek. "All we need now is Yvette to have our meal ready and then we can go to bed. After all that sex in your car in the park I am feeling very horny." "Me too," smiled Joe Lugacci as Yvette tripped towards them in her high heels and short black skirt with the white apron, ready to take their coats. Joe kept the crossdressed man waiting as he French kissed the woman, one hand inside her sweater, the other up her skirt. Yvonne gave a gasp as he found her clit. "Let's skip dinner and go straight to bed," whispered Yvonne as they eventually broke the long kiss. The two dropped their coats where they stood and headed off down the hallway, leaving Yvette to pick them up - and wondering what the hell he would do with the meal he'd prepared. Perhaps, reflected the man, it would be better if Joe moved in with Yvonne. No, not if. When. He sighed, brushed the coats down and hung them up neatly and then minced his way to the kitchen. Already he could hear shrieks of pleasure from the master bedroom. Yvette just wished he didn't have this goddamned chastity device on and he might be able to free his own cock and get some pleasure himself. --- "I could hardly refuse. It is more money," said Yvonne as she swiveled in the boss's large chair, regarding her husband kneeling in the center of the manager's office. "A lot more money." "You didn't tell me," said the man, feeling lost. "There was no need for me to tell you. I told Joe of course, over breakfast this morning while you were busy changing the stained sheets on the bed, and he advised me to tell you when the letter from the CEO came down." Yvonne picked up the sheet of paper from the desk. "Here it is. Confirmation that as Mrs. Harding has been promoted and from today I am the new manager of this department." Yvette stared at his wife, not knowing what to say. "Of course, I can now appoint my secretary," continued Yvonne. "And so far it's a choice between you and Miss Langham from Sales. However after much careful thought I decided that you, Yvette, don't have any real secretarial skills - though I must admit your typing has improved enormously over the past six months - and having interviewed Miss Langham I will give her the job." "Maureen Langham?" Yvette's jaw dropped open. "But she's... gay!" "So? She's a good secretary. That's what I need." "But what about me?" bleated the man, tears in his mascara heavy eyes. "Joe says you make a good maid at home so perhaps you should stay there." Yvonne paused, enjoying her husband's distress. "Or maybe I could ask Miss Langham if she needs you round the office. Perhaps she might like to beat you herself when she feels the need. I understand she doesn't approve of men dressing as women much, so perhaps she could take her feelings out on you." The man shook his head, bewildered. "It might be amusing for you," Yvonne smiled. "I believe Miss Langham has managed to seduce that beautiful 18 year old in Accounts - Clarice, I think she's called - and she'll no doubt be calling in to see her new lover. You might get to see them exchange a few kisses or even a coy hand inside a sweater. Would you like to see them have sex?" Yvette felt his cock harden in his girdle, straining against the chastity device he wore all the time now. He gave a small nod. "However, she might not like you watching and may want to blindfold you when Clarice calls in. I'd fully understand that, of course. Even though I liked you watching Joe fuck me or me suck him off I accept not everyone's the same and I'd have to respect her wishes. But there is a third option," added Yvonne. "Which is?" Yvette's heart was pounding, wondering what else lay in store for him. "Simply that you go with Mrs. Harding to the tenth floor. When her secretary makes an error I guess she would be happy to continue whipping you for that. Be warned though Mrs. Dale, who will be Mrs. Harding's secretary, is very bad at typing. You probably won't be able to sit down for days after one of her reports!" 'Wou... would I still be allowed to live with you and Joe?" "As our servant, I guess so." "And the key to my chastity device?" Yvette said, wondering if he would ever be let out of this thing that clamped his cock back between his legs. "That will be kept in your new boss's office, of course. I think however I would advise Mrs. Harding to put it in a safe someplace. After all, she'll be working close to old Grinley and I'd hate him to try to sneak it out to take advantage of your pretty little ass." Yvette nodded, his head swimming with a mixture of fears and excitement he couldn't explain. Yvonne waited, knowing her husband was wrestling with all the issues, the ramifications of giving himself totally to what lay ahead. Eventually, the man said: "With your permission, Mrs. Reed, I'd like to serve you and Joe at home and Mrs. Harding at the office." Yvonne was pleased. "That sounds perfect Yvette. Now that's settled, we have work to do. Mrs. Harding asked me to do some research. So where did I put that letter from the breast implant clinic?" The kneeling man felt dizzy. "It's filed under Corrective Developments," he managed to say. "Shall I get it for you, Mrs. Reed?" "No. Just give them a call and book yourself in and then bring me the riding crop. I appear to have mistyped a few words on this note I did earlier, so I may as well punish you for it at once." "Yes, Mrs. Reed. Thank you," gulped Yvette, feeling his cock harden painfully in its restrictive device under his skirt as he got to his feet. "W-will there be anything else?" "Oh yes, Joe's bringing a couple of guys over to have fun with me tonight. I'd like you to be ready in your new transparent maid's outfit. With black lace underwear." The woman winked. "Joe thinks one of the guys may just be interested in your cute little ass." Yvette gulped and felt his small cock, trapped inside the chastity device, harden just a little. The End