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Becoming A Housewife -------------------- Author Note: This story was inspired by fellow Fictionmania author JaneDough7 who started (but never completed) a wonderful series called "The Housewife" back in 2003. Ever since I read her stories, I've been entranced by the idea of a young man becoming a housewife - a regular, ordinary housewife with regular, ordinary duties. I started my version in 2009, but then got stuck in exactly the same place that JaneDough7 got stuck, and so the story languished for years. It's only recently that my muse saw fit to visit me with a solution, and here it is. This story is dedicated to all those, like JaneDough7, who try their hand at writing stories and have the courage to post them for all of us to enjoy. You never know what, or who, you will inspire. --RH Music Chapter 1: "You did what?" Mrs. Jacobs asked. "I changed Missy's diaper?" I asked, suddenly worried. "Oh jeez, I hope that was okay!" "Of course it's okay, Paul! I'm just surprised that a boy would know how to change a diaper, that's all. Where did you learn that?" "Oh... uh... I have to babysit my cousin sometimes. She's just a year old." "Well, I am impressed. You'll make someone a good wife someday." "Oh... well..." I mumbled, looking away, "thanks." "Are you're blushing?" Mrs. Jacobs teased. "Why? Do you *want* to become a housewife?" "No!" I said, too quickly and too loudly. "I mean... Ha, Ha! Of course not! Who would *want* to be a housewife? I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that, of course - you know, caring for a household, managing the family finances, taking care of the children, providing sustenance, taking care of one's husband, entertaining family and friends..." I trailed off when I realized how ridiculous I sounded. "Oh my god," Mrs. Jacobs said, her eyes wide, "you *do* want to be a housewife. Well I'll be damned. You can be my housewife any day." "Uh, thanks. But really, I don't want to be a housewife." "Are you sure?" Mrs. Jacobs thought for a second. "Positive?" "Yes," I replied. "Positive." "What if you were *forced* to become a housewife?" It was as if an arrow had been shot straight through my heart. "F...forced?" I stammered, stumbling backwards. "Yes, forced. I once had a boyfriend who wanted me to 'force' him to dress up in women's clothing. Isn't that weird? Of course I'm not into that sort of thing so I broke it off. And here it seems like you really do want to become a housewife, but you say you don't. I'm thinking maybe you want to be 'forced' to become a housewife. I could sure use one. Heck, this whole *family* could use one. And if I have to, I could 'force' you to be our housewife, if that's what you want." "Uh..." I struggled for words, "but how...?" "My god, you really do want it!" Mrs. Jacobs said, shocked. "How? I don't know... you'd have to be trapped somehow. Trapped in a way that you couldn't escape. Trapped so that the only thing you could do, the only thing that you could *ever* do, is to willingly become the most perfect, obedient, respectful and caring housewife possible for the Jacobs' family." I think I stopped breathing at that point. "And what would that mean?" Mrs. Jacobs mused. "Well, you'd have to dress the part, of course. You would have to be a house *wife* and certainly *not* a house husband or servant boy or anything like that. You would have to *dress* like a housewife and *look* like a housewife *at all times*, 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, without exception, without vacation, without time off. That's what it would mean to be forced. You'd be trapped, unable to escape no matter what. After all, being a housewife is a permanent, fulltime job with no overtime pay. Is that what you want?" "I...." For some reason I had lost my voice. "And I would have to force you to become the *perfect* housewife, of course. This family deserves nothing less, after all. You would have to fulfill each and every one of a housewife's duties, the cooking, the cleaning, all of the child care, taking care of the husband's every need..." That thought caused Mrs. Jacobs's eyes to get very big. "Oh my god... it's... it's--" she paused for a long time. "It's perfect," she whispered to herself, lost in thought. "What's perfect?" I asked. "Never mind. I just realized something, that's all." Mrs. Jacobs had clearly made up her mind about something. Suddenly, she was all business. "How old are you?" she asked. "Seventeen." "Excellent. Okay. You are going to come back tomorrow and I am going to turn you into a housewife. My housewife." "I... I don't know..." "Go home and think about it, but that's two spankings with a hairbrush for hesitating." "Spankings?" I gasped. Mrs. Jacobs smiled. "Yes, spankings. I want my housewife to be nice and obedient. Didn't I just say that?" I gulped. "I can't, I'm not..." "Of course, I understand. That's two more spankings. But of course you know that I'll have to tell your parents, right?" "My parents??!" "Right. If you don't return tomorrow, I'll have to tell them about this conversation, about how you admitted you want to wear women's clothing and about how your deepest desire is to become a housewife. I'll just be a concerned neighbor worried about your welfare. I wonder what your parents will say?" "You wouldn't..." I said, aghast. "Of course I would," she said, confident, "I promise, and I *always* keep my promises. But it won't matter, will it? Because we both know that this is what you really want. Deep down inside you want to be forced to become a housewife. Now go home, and I'll see you tomorrow at 9 AM sharp." - - - - - I tossed and turned all night. What was I going to do? If I didn't show up in the morning, she was going to tell my parents. I was sure of it. And my step-dad, the ex-marine, ex-football super-jock, would send me off to military school for sure. That is what happened to Dave, my older step-brother, after he got that girl pregnant and wrapped Mom's car around a telephone pole all in one evening, and boy did he ever come back a jerk with his crew cut and his "yes sir's" and "no ma'am's". Asshole. And what's worse, now he's treated like royalty. "I guess we know who the *real men* are in this family," my step-dad is always saying, with a snort. "Now Ralph, Paul is just more sensitive, that's all," my Mom would say, coming to my defense. "Pussy," my brother Dave would add, under a cough. I kind-of like Mom. She's the only one who looks out for me. But she's got two jobs, so I hardly ever see her. It was usually just Dave and me in the house, and then my step-dad would get home from his construction job and maybe we'd have chili or something. So I spent a lot of time in my room, or biking around the neighborhood doing odd jobs. That's how Mrs. Jacobs found me. A friend of a friend had recommended me. She called me and the next day I found myself helping her clean out the garage. And then she started spouting off that nonsense about how deep down inside I wanted to become a housewife. What am I going to do? I fretted. Maybe I can try and convince her that I'm really not like that? I stared at the ceiling and listened to my step-brother snoring in the next room and my step-dad snoring down the hall. I'll just go to her tomorrow morning, I thought. I'll just go to her and explain that she got it all wrong. That I do *not*, no way, under any circumstance, want to become a housewife. But what if she ignores me? What if she pulls me inside and starts dressing me up or something? Somehow my penis had gotten trapped in my underwear. I reached down and adjusted it. What the fuck? Okay, fine. I _had_ thought about wearing women's clothing before. That's why I hesitated when Mrs. Jacobs confronted me. In fact, I had a pair of pink nylon and lace panties hidden at the bottom of a dresser drawer that I had stolen from a cousin last summer. Sometimes I masturbate with them. But that didn't make me want to become a housewife, did it? Of course, it didn't. Fuck! What am I going to do?? Chapter 2: "Mrs. Jacobs," I said as soon as the door opened, "I was hoping that I could convince you--" "Paul!" Mrs. Jacobs said, pleasantly. "Please come in. You're right on time I see. That's good." "Please, Mrs. Jacobs," I said as she pulled me inside. "Please don't call my parents. I really don't want to do this." "Hush, of course you do, but I'm afraid that's two more spankings for questioning me." "No! Please listen to me! I... I just can't. Really. I mean... how can I possibly become your housewife? It's ridiculous. I'd be terrible at it. And I just can't leave my family, can I? The whole idea, I mean, it's crazy! What would your husband think?? I... I... just can't. Please understand, and please don't call my parents. Please!!" Mrs. Jacobs sighed. "Paul, if you walk out that door, I will call your parents. I don't want to, but I will have to. I promised I would and I always keep my promises. But please, before you decide to leave, let me take some time to explain things to you, okay?" I hesitated. Should I? "Okay." "Paul, when you step inside this house, you become a housewife. Now, a household can only have *one* housewife and I've decided that when you are present, you will be *the* housewife for this household." "But... I mean... I can't take your place in your own home." "But you see I don't want to be a housewife. I have never wanted to be a housewife. I got married because.... Well because I thought it would be my ticket to freedom, you know, a way to escape that podunk town where I was born. Unfortunately it hasn't worked out that way." "I'm sorry." "Not your fault! But now I have you, and *you* will be the housewife. You will take care of everyone, and this will leave me free to complete my law degree." "Your law degree?" "Yes, I am studying law. So you see, this is reason #2. Reason #1 was that you are being 'forced', because if you don't agree I will tell your parents. Reason #2 is this: you will be helping me to achieve a level of freedom that I would not otherwise have been able to accomplish on my own." "Okay, I can understand that." "Exactly, and I have a third reason." "There's more?" Instead of answering, Mrs. Jacobs took hold of my hand and led me upstairs. "*You* are the housewife," she continued, standing before a door on the second floor "and as long as you are in this house, you will be the *only* housewife in this house. Do you understand what that means?" "No..." I murmured. My stomach was turning flip flops. This was not how I expected this to go. "It means that this is *your* room." Mrs. Jacobs opened the door and led me into the master bedroom. "Oh!" I caught my breath. It was beautiful! The furniture was made of luxurious dark wood; it had plush wall-to-wall carpeting and a fireplace. "Come here," Mrs. Jacobs said, leading me to the bed. It was an enormous king-sized bed with a beautiful handmade quilt and acres of fluffy pillows. "This is the *housewife's* bed. This is where *the housewife* will nap when she is tired. Do you think you might like to take a nap in this bed?" "Oh..." I sighed, captivated. "Now come here," she led me over to a dressing table and had me sit down. "See this? This is where the housewife does her makeup. See all this makeup? This is *the housewife's* makeup. Do you see? And what did I say that you were whenever you step into this house?" "The housewife," I whispered. "That's right," Mrs. Jacobs said. "Now here, open up this lipstick," she handed me a tube of lipstick. "That's *your* lipstick to wear. That's *your* color. You can sit down at this dressing table and put on that lipstick whenever you want. In fact, I will likely insist upon it." "Insist?" "Yes, insist. After all, you must look good. That's part of being a *proper* housewife, in this household at least. Now come here," Mrs. Jacobs led me by the hand to the bathroom. "Do you know what this room is?" she asked. "The master bath," I answered in hushed tones. "That's right. The master bath. *Your* master bath. This is where I expect you to wash yourself each and every morning." Mrs. Jacobs opened the shower door. "This is the shaver which you will use to shave your legs and your underarms. There is nothing less appealing than a housewife with leg or armpit stubble!" "Oh, I completely agree," I said, nodding. "Now over here at the vanity, notice you have an entire counter to yourself? That's the housewife's vanity, isn't that nice? Here is the cleanser which you will use to keep your skin clean, healthy, and young looking, because a housewife wants to maintain her looks for as long as possible, and that takes daily maintenance." "Daily?" "Yes, daily. I insist. It's best if it becomes a habit, and I'm here to make sure that it is the housewife's daily ritual, *your* daily ritual. Do you understand?" I began to feel a bit woozy. "For how long?" I asked. "Why, forever, sweetie. You will be washing, cleansing, and looking pretty every day, without exception, forever." "Forever?" my heart leapt up into my throat. "Forever. That's my good little wife. Now, I want to show you a couple more things." Mrs. Jacobs pulled me out of the master bath and went across the bedroom to the closet. She opened it and pulled me inside. It was huge! I stood in this sumptuous fabric cave, transfixed, surrounded by dresses and boxes, all neatly organized. "This is the *housewife's* closet," Mrs. Jacobs said, simply. "And what are you when you're in this house?" "The housewife," I said, in a trance. "These are the formal gowns. Mister Jacobs is a high-level surgeon for a university hospital. There are a lot of charity functions to attend. These are the skirts and tops. You won't be allowed to wear pants, of course." "Won't be allowed?" "Of course not. This is an old-fashioned household, *very* old- fashioned," Mrs. Jacobs rolled her eyes. "Of course, I'm not really an old-fashioned kind of girl, which has always been something of a problem, but now I have you! And do you know why that's such a good thing?" "Because... because I'll be the old-fashioned wife that's needed?" Mrs. Jacobs' smile was a mile wide. "That's exactly right. And that means looking your best, careful makeup at all times and wearing dresses, even around the house. Mrs. Jacobs - that's my Mother-In-Law when she was alive, god rest her soul - had a saying: 'If you dress like a slouch, you will FEEL and ACT like a slouch! It takes so little effort to throw on a simple dress. You will feel pulled together and at the very least, PRESENTABLE to the world and yourself.'" "She must have been quite a woman." "She was," Mrs. Jacobs smiled. "And she bought me all of these dresses to wear! But I hate wearing dresses and so we butted heads all the time. But *now* I have *you*!" "And... I'll be the one wearing the dresses..." "Exactly right. And now, finally, the Jacobs household will be feminine, presentable and old-fashioned, just the way a Jacobs household is supposed to be. Now, come with me. I have one more thing to show you." Mrs. Jacobs led me out of the closet and to the dresser drawers. "Open up the first drawer," she said with a smile. I did so. "Oh!" I blushed, "this is your panty drawer!" "Correction, this is the *housewife's* panty drawer. As long as you are the housewife, these are your panties. But Paul, you can't wear any of them." "What?" I asked, distressed. "Why not?" "Because," she said simply. "You're still dressed in all of your male clothes." I looked down at my jeans and sneakers. Did she want me to undress? Here? In front of her? Mrs. Jacobs pulled out a pair of simple white nylon panties with delicate lace trim around the waist and leg. "How about these panties?" she asked. "Would you like to put these on?" I blushed, but didn't answer. "You have a decision to make," she said softly. "and now is the time to make that decision. Either walk out that door, go home and live with the consequences... and the regrets...." "Or...?" "Or undress. Undress completely and let me turn you into a housewife. Our housewife." I hesitated. "And Paul?" "Yes?" "Remember, this is forever." "Forever?" I asked, my voice quavering. "Forever," Mrs. Jacobs said, solemnly. I stood there for a full minute, my mind completely frozen, unable to decide. Mrs. Jacobs held up the panties for me to see. "Wouldn't you just love to step into these?" she asked gently. "Feel this lace and nylon stroking your most intimate parts?" I stood, rooted to the spot, unable to move, my mind swirling. After a minute or so, I slowly reached up and undid the top button of my shirt. I felt like I was at the top of a playground slide, just starting to slip down, unable to stop myself; it was as if the gravity of the entire world was pulling me down towards Mrs. Jacobs and a life as a housewife. I unbuttoned the rest of my shirt and pulled it off. "Now the pants, honey," she said, with encouragement. "No need to be shy. I've seen it all, believe me." I took off my shoes, socks, and pants. Standing there in the master bedroom, with only my white cotton briefs on, I shivered, my heart beating loudly. "Look at that," Mrs. Jacobs said, her eyes wide. "You--you're--you're hard!" I looked down and oh my god, it _was_ hard. I blushed even deeper, feeling more exposed than I have ever felt in my life, but somehow the exposure, the humiliation, made it even worse! It was as if my willpower was being siphoned away, leaving me weak and dependent. "Take off your briefs, Paul, and then you can put on these nice, white, housewife-ly panties." I slipped my fingers in the waistband, and then, turning my face away, slipped my underwear down my legs and tossed them aside. "Now here, step into these." Mrs. Jacobs held open the panties for me. For some reason, I couldn't look her in the eyes, but I could see the panties clearly enough. I stepped into them and Mrs. Jacobs slowly, carefully, slipped them up my legs until they were snug. The cut of the waist was so high my penis was fully covered, though clearly outlined by the tight nylon fabric. "He's going to love you," Mrs. Jacobs murmured softly. "What?" I asked. "Who?" "Nothing," Mrs. Jacobs said, briskly. "Now here, choose a bra while I fetch a housedress for you to wear." The next drawer down revealed a plethora of bras, slips, and other foundation wear. My hands sifted through the silky, lacy undergarments until I found something I thought might be suitable. "Excellent choice," Mrs. Jacobs said. "It's basic, practical, but with a hint of lace. A perfect choice for a blushing young housewife. Here, let me help you put it on." Mrs. Jacobs slipped the bra straps up my arms, adjusted it, and then hooked it up in back. "Nice and snug, do you see?" she asked. The embrace of the bra around my chest was delicious and comforting. "Too many women don't close it tight enough," she outlined the chest strap with her fingers. "Ohhhhhh..." I moaned, closing my eyes. Mrs. Jacobs gently flicked her fingers over my nylon-encased nipples, her arms encircling my body from behind. "You like that?" she asked, whispering in my ear. "Excellent. I just had to find out." "Find out... what?" I asked breathlessly, my eyes shut tight as my whole body tingled with pleasure. "Never mind. Now quick, before things get out of hand, we have to get you fully dressed." Mrs. Jacobs quickly opened the bottom drawer of the dresser and pulled out a box. Inside were two breast forms. "Size C," she said, as she slipped them into my bra. "They look--" she reached into my chest and adjusted them, "--amazing! Now, the dress..." Before I could react to my new breasts, Mrs. Jacobs had put my arms into the dress. She slipped it over my head and into place and smoothed it out. "Now over here," she pulled me over to the dressing table where she brushed my shaggy hair with a few strokes, added a couple of hair clips, and applied makeup. "Beautiful skin," she muttered to herself as she dabbed on the foundation and then added blush. "And look at these pouty lips! A touch of lipstick, just perfect for giving... and we're done!" Mrs. Jacobs jumped up and pulled me over to the mirror. Standing behind me, she turned me to face the mirror. I turned my face away. "Look at yourself," she said. I couldn't. "Look at yourself," she commanded, this time more firmly. With a finger under my chin, she turned my face to the mirror. I wish I could say something about how beautiful I looked or that a 'vision of loveliness' greeted me or something like that, but no, it was just me in a dress with some makeup. But at the same time, I did not look as bad as I thought I might. With the breast forms, my body definitely had a womanly figure. And the makeup and hairstyle made a huge difference. "See?" she said. "It's you. It has been you all along. And now here you are, the housewife for this household, and dressed appropriately. Your deepest desires have been realized. You are now a housewife. Trapped forever. Say it with me: 'I am a housewife.'" But all I could do was stare at my vision and watch as it changed before my eyes. Somehow, the pieces were starting to come together. "Say it," Mrs. Jacobs commanded. "Say, 'I am a housewife.'" "I am a housewife," I mumbled. "Good girl," she said, reaching under my dress and giving my hard member a soft caress through the nylon panties. "Oh!" I gasped. "Now, say it again," she encouraged. "I am a housewife," I said, more clearly this time. "Excellent." Mrs. Jacobs gave my penis another stroke. "Now say: I am *the* housewife." "I am *the* housewife." She stroked me again, causing my toes to curl. "Now, repeat after me. I am responsible for this family," Mrs. Jacobs directed. "I am responsible for this family." Mrs. Jacobs gently grasped my wrists and placed my hands on my new breasts. I felt their firmness for the very first time and the feeling made me swoon in her arms. "I will strive every moment of every day to be the best possible housewife that I can be," she prompted, reaching back under my skirts to give my penis another grope. "I will strive every moment of every day to be the best possible housewife that I can be," I repeated, gasping at her ministrations. "My needs are subordinate to those of the family." "My needs are subordinate to those of the family," I dutifully repeated. Stroke. "I will be humble, eager and obedient," she prompted "I will be humble, eager and obedient," I replied. Mrs. Jacobs continued to fondle me, emphasizing each point. I held my breasts, feeling my new, feminine, housewife-ly figure. It was certainly a figure that would be attractive... to... to who? My husband? "I will follow orders quickly with a generous and accommodating disposition." The front of my dress bulged as Mrs. Jacob's hand began to stroke me faster. "I will follow orders quickly with a generous and accommodating disposition." Follow orders... "I will be the housewife for this family... forever." I hesitated. "Say it," she ordered, stroking my penis more firmly now. "Say it and submit. Give yourself over to your future, the one you desire, the one you were *destined* to become. Step into your new life as the housewife, say it!" "I will be..." "Forever" she whispered into my ears. "I will be the housewife..." "Trapped. Forever. Can't escape. Responsible... forever. Subordinate... forever," she continued to whisper. "I will be the housewife for this family..." "Working hard... forever. Taking care of others... forever. No pay... forever. No life of your own... forever. Obedient to your husband... forever!" Working hard? No pay? No life of my own???? "Say it!" "Forever!" I gasped, as cum shot from my penis, soiling my nice white panties. I collapsed into Mrs. Jacobs' arms, my head on her shoulder, sobbing. "Well, I think that seals the deal, don't you?" She said, kissing me on the cheek. Chapter 3: Just then, Missy started to cry. "Duty calls," Mrs. Jacobs said with a wry smile. I quickly changed into fresh panties and put on a pair of flats. Then we both went to see to the baby. "I want you to think of me as your Mother-In-Law," Mrs. Jacobs said as I changed Melissa. "Excuse me?" I asked. As I powdered the baby's bottom, Missy giggled and waved her stubbly little arms, reaching for me. "Your Mother-In-Law. Imagine that you are a blushing young bride. Your husband, realizing your inexperience, calls his mother and says: 'Mom, I need your help. My new bride is useless! She doesn't know the first thing about taking care of our household. Could you please come and stay with us for a while to *train her*?'" "Train me?" I asked, a lump in my throat. "Yes! Train you. I will be the stern Mother-In-Law, here to train you to be the proper, old-fashioned, traditional wife that your husband and family require." "And first thing," she said, briskly, "is we are switching to cloth diapers," Mrs. Jacobs went to the closet and pulled out a box. "These were a wedding shower gift from my mother-in-law. Can you believe that? What presumption! Anyway, it's time they got used." "But..." I sputtered, "Melissa has always used disposables. Why do I have to switch now?" "Because I said so," Mrs. Jacobs said simply. "You have now earned four more spankings." "Four more...!" "... which makes ten. I won't spank you here, because you're with the baby. But as soon as we get downstairs, young lady, it's time to take your medicine. You need to learn obedience, and I'm not just saying that for my convenience. I'm saying it because it is what is best for you. You _must_ learn to be shy, humble, and *obedient*. You must learn to be willing and accepting of what others want from you." I looked at Mrs. Jacobs, amazed at how stern she had become. What had I got myself into?? "Now, let's try this again," Mrs. Jacobs said, speaking slowly. "I say: 'I think you should use cloth diapers,' and you say...?" She looked at me with an arched eyebrow. I looked down at the floor. "Yes," I said, quietly. "Yes...?" Mrs. Jacobs prompted. "Yes... uh... Mrs. Jacobs? If you feel that I should use cloth diapers, then I will." I went to the box and pulled one out. They were the modern kind, thank goodness, with Velcro tabs. Looking around some more, I found a bright pink diaper cover lined with plastic. "Very good. Now I want you to ask me to teach you how to be a proper, old-fashioned housewife." "Mrs. Jacobs," I was unsure exactly how to phrase it. "Uh... would you please teach me how to be a proper, old-fashioned housewife?" "Is that what you really want?" Mrs. Jacobs asked. "Yes, Mrs. Jacobs," I said, wincing as my voice squeaked, "that's what I really want." "More than anything else in the whole world?" I took a deep breath. "Yes, Mrs. Jacobs. More than anything else in the whole world." "Do you really want to be the most proper, old-fashioned housewife possible?" Hearing this, my penis started to harden again. What was wrong with me?? "Yes, Mrs. Jacobs. Please make me the most proper, old-fashioned housewife possible. Please." "Are you sure that's what you really want? More than anything else in the world? For me to make you into a _proper_, _old-fashioned_ housewife? The kind that defers to her husband in everything? The kind who gladly and willingly accepts whatever pearls of wisdom in home care and child raising that her _Mother-In-Law_ can bestow?" "Yes." "Yes, what?" "Yes, Mrs. Jacobs," I said, feeling trapped and defeated. "Please make me into the most proper, old-fashioned, obedient housewife possible. That's what I want more than anything else in the world, and I would be most grateful for any help or instruction you can provide to help me become just the housewife that this family needs the most." "Well, dear, if that's what you really want, more than anything else in the world?" "Yes, Mrs. Jacobs. That's what I really want. More than anything else in the world," I sighed. "Very good dear. I can tell that you will become just the most responsible housewife as long as you are instructed with a firm hand. Now one more thing, I want you to sincerely apologize to me in your own words for this recent transgression. Apologies are good for the soul, I always believe." I thought back. Cloth diapers. "I apologize, Mrs. Jacobs, for asking questions about why we should use cloth diapers. I... uh... realize that you know best. Thank you for taking your time to correct me." Mrs. Jacobs smiled. "You are very welcome, my dear. Now, let's go downstairs and feed Missy." Chapter 4: After breakfast and some playtime with Missy, I put her in the playpen and Mrs. Jacobs led me to her office for a bare bottomed spanking. Ten hard spanks which left me breathless. After the spanking, Mrs. Jacobs had me agree that more spankings would be a necessary component of my on-going training - to be delivered quickly and swiftly so that I might learn my lessons as fast as possible. And then it was time to do laundry. "No, dear," she corrected. "Mr. Jacobs' dress shirts go into the 'gentle' pile, not the 'light' pile." "I'm sorry, Mrs. Jacobs," I said, as humbly as possible. I quickly moved the shirts to the correct pile. "W... wou... would you p-please spank me so that I will be sure to remember correctly in the future?" I stammered as I slowly pulled up my dress, exposing my bottom, covered only by a pair of thin nylon panties. "Why, of course, dear, if that's what you really wish," Mrs. Jacobs said, delivering two hard spanks with her hairbrush. Man, that hurt! I smoothed out my dress and continued sorting. "And we need a name for you," Mrs. Jacobs continued. "Of course, I can call you 'dear' and 'my darling daughter-in-law' all day long, but you really need a female name." "What would you recommend?" I asked. After the spankings, I was beginning to understand my place with Mrs. Jacobs. I was not allowed to express my own opinion. I had to defer to her judgment in all things. "Well, I want something that relates to your situation. So that every time someone says your name, you'll be reminded about how you are a boy forever trapped as a housewife. I'll have to think on it for a while." - - - - - Later that day, as I was vacuuming, she returned to the subject. "Now, about your name..." she started to say, but then stopped. "You don't think you're done, do you?" she asked. "Uh..." I looked around the living room. I thought I had vacuumed everywhere. "I'm sorry Mrs. Jacobs," I blurted out, "if I have disappointed you somehow..." "Under the furniture," she said, tersely. "You will have to move the furniture and vacuum underneath. That's the only way to get every inch of the floor spotless." UNDER the furniture?? I looked up at Mrs. Jacobs, and saw her looking back at me, with one eyebrow raised. "I don't want you to be afraid of me," she said, tenderly this time. "I just want for you to adopt the right attitude, that's all. The right attitude for the type of housewife that you must become." "I understand, Mrs. Jacobs." "Well then?" "Please..." I slowly pulled up the hem of my housedress, exposing my white nylon panties, "please... Mrs. Jacobs..." "Yes?" It was clear that I was going to get no mercy. "Please Mrs. Jacobs, please p-punish your wayward daughter-in-law for not realizing that she had to vacuum underneath the furniture." "Well since you asked so nicely. But did I notice a slight hesitation? Do you think I should give you six spankings instead of the usual two?" Six spankings?? But there was nothing to be done. "Yes, Mrs. Jacobs. You are quite right. Please... please give me six spankings so that I may fully learn my lesson." Tears squeezed out from my scrunched up eyes this time as Mrs. Jacobs gave me the six hard spankings I had asked for. "Now, where was I?" she continued, as I moved each chair to vacuum underneath. "Oh, right. Your name. Well, I have come up with some possible names, but none of them are quite right, I don't think." "What names do you have so far?" "Well, there's 'Randi'," she giggled, "because that's what you are, a randy little girl. But seriously, I have all of the usual ones, such as 'Charity', 'Faith', 'Chastity', except that's the last thing we want you to be... chaste, that is, you just wait! And 'Dolly', 'Eve', 'Karen', since you're the caregiver. I thought 'Karen' might make sense. 'Charity' is probably the best so far, but it's still not quite right. I'll have to think on it some more." - - - - - - "I've got it," Mrs. Jacobs said, snapping her fingers. I was busy changing Melissa again. This was the third time. She burbled up at me and I tickled her tummy. I blushed as she grabbed my breast form and squeezed it. "Yes, Mrs. Jacobs?" I asked, gently brushing Missy's hand away. "Your name. I think I have it. Your choices are: 'Constance', 'Modesty', 'Virginia', and 'Mary'. Why do you think I chose those names, my sweet daughter-in-law?" Melissa yawned as I closed the Velcro tabs on her diaper. I put her in her crib and gently stroked her head until she closed her eyes. "Well..." I said, thinking. " 'Constance' would remind me to be... uh... constant in my duties, I guess?" "Very good," Mrs. Jacobs smiled. "And the others?" "'Modesty'... to be modest in my attitude. Um... Mary... I guess to indicate that I am married? As a housewife, of course I would be married," I gulped at this thought. Married? To a husband? "Right. And 'Virginia' because you came to this family as a virgin bride." Mrs. Jacobs grinned wickedly. "All such wonderful names. So many good choices! Let's see, of course your last name will be 'Jacobs', and to all the world you'll be 'Mrs. Edward Jacobs', but you'll need your own name..." I turned on the baby monitor, and Mrs. Jacobs and I went to the master bedroom where we sat together on a small sofa. "Oh!" she said, "I just realized I can give you both a first name and a middle name! Won't that be wonderful?" "Yes Mrs. Jacobs," I agreed, doubtfully. " 'Constance Modesty'... that's too clumsy. 'Mary Modesty'... too many M's. Oh, how about this? 'Constance Virginia'? Do you like it?" "Constance Virginia Jacobs?" I asked. "Yes," she said. "I like it, do you?" "Yes!" I said quickly. "Yes, I like it very much. Thank you so much for taking such time to give me such a wonderful name." Mrs. Jacobs smiled. "Why, it was nothing, my darling Daughter-In-Law. Now, let me hear you say it." "Say it?" "Yes, silly. Tell me what your name is." "Constance Virginia Jacobs." "Right! Now I want you to say it a few times to get the feeling of it." I repeated my new name to myself a few times. "Now, let's test you a little. What is your middle name, Constance?" "It's Virginia, Mrs. Jacobs. My middle name is Virginia." "What's your first name?" "Constance." "And what is your full name?" "Constance Virginia Jacobs." "What's your maiden name?" Maiden name? "I... Oh my gosh, I don't know! What is my maiden name?" "Why, sweetie, don't you remember? It's just Constance Virginia." "No middle name?" "No, honey. No middle name. Your name has always been 'Constance Virginia'. And now it's Constance Virginia Jacobs. Do you understand?" "Yes, Mrs. Jacobs, I understand, thank you." "Now, who are you?" "I am Constance. Constance Virginia Jacobs." "That's right. And what is your *married* name?" "Constance Virginia Jacobs." "No! Your married name is Mrs. *Edward* Jacobs. Now try again. What is your _married_ name?" "My married name is Mrs. Edward Jacobs. Mrs. Edward Jacobs." "That's right. You are not your own person anymore, Constance. You are a 'Mrs.'. You are Mrs. Edward Jacobs, a housewife, and you are proud of it!" "I am Mrs. Edward Jacobs, a housewife." "Again. Who are you?" "Mrs. Edward Jacobs, a housewife." Mrs. Jacobs smiled. "Very good dear. Now what is your original first name?" "Paul?" She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Constance, but I'm afraid that merits a spanking." Standing, I lifted my skirts and bent over. "Yes, Mrs. Jacobs," I said, resigned. Mrs. Jacobs spanked me firmly three times. "Now listen," she said, seriously. "I don't want that name to cross your lips ever again, do you understand? There can be no hesitation. Now, what is your first name?" "Constance," I repeated, rubbing the sting away from my bottom. "That's right. Who are you?" "My name is Constance Virginia." "Very good," Mrs. Jacobs said, pulling me into her lap and working a hand up my skirts where it came to rest over the bulge in my panties. Squeezing gently, she asked me again for my name. "Constance Virginia Jacobs," I said, feeling my penis start to react. Embarrassed, I hid my head in her shoulder. "That's a good daughter-in-law," she whispered in my ear. "You are Constance. Constance Virginia. You are a housewife. To the rest of the world you are Mrs. Edward Jacobs. A Missus." She stroked harder. "Now, who are you?" "I am Constance Virginia Jacobs," I mumbled. "And what is your married name?" "Mrs. Edward Jacobs." My penis had become fully hard. Mrs. Jacobs adjusted her shoulders so my face was pressed into her ample bosoms. "Who are you?" "I am Constance Virginia Jacobs." "Now, repeat it, over and over." "I am Constance Virginia Jacobs. I am Constance Virginia Jacobs. I am Constance Virginia Jacobs..." And as I repeated it, Mrs. Jacobs kept holding and stroking me. "And now you're married name." "Mrs. Edward Jacobs. Mrs. Edward Jacobs... My name is Mrs. Edward Jacobs..." It wasn't long before I soiled my second pair of panties that day. - - - - - - But of course, that wasn't the end of it. Mrs. Jacobs wanted to be absolutely certain I became submerged into my new identity, so she invented all kinds of tricks and exercises to help me fully become "Constance." For example, she would test me by calling out my name or asking me my name at any moment. If I didn't answer immediately, that was a sure spanking. Next, I had to repeat "I am Constance" every time I took a step anywhere for an entire week. Do you know how many steps you take in a day? I was basically saying "I am Constance" all day long. I began to dream it at night. And then the next week it was "I am Mrs. Edward Jacobs" all day long. And Mrs. Jacobs gave me homework: I was required to sign my new name, over and over, and then she would check the results the next day, giving me suggestions on how to make my signature look more feminine. But it wasn't just limited to mental tricks. I also had to close all of my computer accounts, logins, instant message account, and E-mail addresses in my old name, providing proof to her that each and every one was permanently shut down. Now, every time I logged into my laptop, I had to do so as "MrsEJacobs" - for all the world my new username. My new password was "Melissa#1". It wasn't long before I began to forget all of my old passwords. But that was just the beginning. The next step was to start building my life as "Constance" and "Mrs. Jacobs." This meant opening accounts in several forums such as "From Mothers to Mothers" in my new name. Getting new E-mail addresses, and developing on-line friendships. She bought me a cell phone which said "Constance's Cell" whenever it was turned on, and I had to record a new message: "Hi! This is Mrs. Jacobs, please leave a message at the tone, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!" It wasn't long before my old identify was hanging on by a thread. - - - - "Paul?" My mom asked as I was leaving for the Jacobs' in the morning. Not hearing her, I opened the door to leave. "Paul!!" she shouted. "Oh!" I turned around. "Sorry, Mom." "Is your hearing okay?" she asked. "Of course," I said, tucking the pages where I had signed my name 500 times for Mrs. Jacobs into my jacket pocket. "Well, okay..." she said, none too sure. "Mom," I persisted, "I'm fine. It's just with my new job, you know, I'm just tired and I guess I zone out occasionally." "Oh, of course, sweetie. We're all so proud of you for working so hard. But babysitting? It's just not... well..." "Yes?" "Challenging. Not really that challenging, is it?" "Oh Mom, you have no idea." "I just mean, couldn't you find some, oh I don't know, some intern position or something which would help you towards a full-time career? You can't babysit forever." I gulped when I heard her say 'forever'. "It's good work and they pay me well," I lied. "And well... I guess like it." "Well, okay. But, well... let's keep this a secret from your step-dad, okay? I'm not sure he'd understand." "Oh jeez, Mom. Ralph is the last person I'd tell." Chapter 5: After two weeks, I had become quite adept at cleaning and keeping house. And Mrs. Jacobs' campaign to change my identity was completely successful. I now referred to myself as Constance automatically, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain my 'Paul' persona at home. In fact, I was doing so well that she officially ended my spankings. "No longer necessary," she said, with a satisfied smile, and it was completely true because at some point, I stopped wondering 'why?' It's hard to pin down the exact time and place, but at some point I just started to accept her instructions and did them without worrying about their 'purpose' or 'plan'. Her words became just commands to follow. I would hear what to do and then I would do it. Period. And then I would do it exactly the same the next time, and every time thereafter. And my attitude also changed. I really began to fit in as a housewife in the Jacobs household. For example, if you were to ask me "why are you doing that?" I would have answered, "because that's the way it should be done" or "that's the way it's supposed to be done" - which is quite different than doing it because Mrs. Jacobs told me to. Every day, going home, I couldn't wait to get back. I did my homework in my bedroom, writing my name or corresponding via E-mail as MrsEJacobs, and then slipping into bed where I would masturbate before going to sleep. Then every day, I would ride my bike to the Jacobs house. Once there I would run upstairs to change into my simple bra, panties, housedress and flats. Seeing Missy's smiling face as she reached out for me in the morning made my heart melt every single time. And knowing that I was starting to live up to Mrs. Jacob's high expectations was the best part of all. And not once did I meet Mr. Jacobs. He left early for work and came home late. Our schedules never overlapped. What would happen when I met him for the first time? Did he know what his wife was preparing me for? The thought filled me with dread. - - - - - - "I think it's time we took the next step towards making you the housewife of the Jacobs' household," Mrs. Jacobs said one day. "Of course, Mrs. Jacobs." I said, smiling and pleasant. "Whatever you feel is appropriate." "That's my proper, submissive, and respectful daughter-in-law," Mrs. Jacobs smiled. "Now, come with me." We walked together to Missy's bedroom, where she was just waking up from her nap. "I think that this will be the hardest part for me," Mrs. Jacobs said, picking up her daughter. "But it must be done. You've turned out to be the perfect, proper housewife, just what this family needs. And everything else is worked out, so..." She paused for a second, hesitating. "Yes?" I asked. Mrs. Jacobs gave her daughter a kiss, and then held her out to me. "Take her," she said simply. "Oh, of course," I carefully took Missy into my arms, and playfully beeped her nose. "No, no... you don't understand. I mean..." Mrs. Jacobs took a deep breath, "I mean... Melissa is now your daughter. You are now her mother. She is yours." "What??" I gasped. "No! I mean... I couldn't possibly...." "Constance! You are the *housewife* now. This is your daughter. Melissa is now your responsibility. You will have to raise her, guide her, teach her ethics and morals, and see that she becomes a beautiful, independent, and happy woman in this world." "But she's your daughter! You gave birth to her! How could you--" "Because," Mrs. Jacobs said, cutting me off, "this is not my path. I am not the housewife anymore. I am the Mother-In-Law, remember? Now *you* are the housewife, and now Melissa is *your* responsibility. Forever." "My... responsibility." I said, in a hushed voice. "That's right," Mrs. Jacobs said. "I think you're beginning to understand, aren't you? Melissa is your responsibility. Now say it." "Melissa is my responsibility." "Very good. You are her mother. Say it." "I am her mother." Just saying the words caused me to tear up. "Your daughter's name is Melissa, and you love her more than life itself." "My daughter's name is Melissa, and I love her more than life itself," I repeated. "From now on, she will look to you to be fed. If you don't feed her, then she'll starve. If you don't care for her, then no one else will. When she cries, you will need to comfort her. When she needs to know about the birds and the bees, you will need to teach her." "But... but..." I interrupted, "what about when I have to go home in the evenings and on weekends?" "Well, of course I'll help babysit," Mrs. Jacobs smiled. "And what about later? What will happen when--" "Stop. That is not your concern. All you need to know at this moment is this: You are the housewife of this household, which means that you are the mother. And this is permanent and this is forever. You are her mother now." "I am her mother now..." I said, in a hushed whisper. "Tell her." I looked at Melissa, now just 10 months old, who looked up at me with her bright, innocent eyes and pudgy cheeks. "I... I am your mother." "Now, tell her that you love her and that you will always be there for her." "Melissa," I said, "I love you. I love you and I will always be there for you." "Always?" Mrs. Jacobs looked at me. I looked up at her. "Yes, Mrs. Jacobs, always." Just then, the enormity of my responsibility hit me. My knees gave out and I sank to the floor hugging Melissa tightly and rocking back and forth. Here was this other living, breathing, human being who now depended on me. Me! She was my responsibility, and I would have to see that all her needs were met, 24x7. "Oh my gosh..." I said with awe, as Melissa wriggled in my arms. "Feeling trapped yet?" Mrs. Jacobs asked, with a wry smile. - - - - - - "What is that?" my mom asked, dumping an arm full of clothes on my bed. "Mom! You could have knocked." "What are you reading?" "Uh..." I held up the book for her to read. "The Baby Book: Everything You Need to Know About Your Baby from Birth to Age Two," she read. "What in the world... You are taking this babysitting thing a little too seriously, I think." "I..." I stammered, blushing. "I just want to be prepared." She rolled her eyes. "Sometimes..." she began. "Sometimes, what?" But instead of answering, she just shook her head and left. - - - - It didn't take long for me to succumb to Mrs. Jacobs' campaign to convert me fully to motherhood. First, my mantra changed. Instead of "I am Constance", which was now a given, I had to say "I love my daughter Melissa" with every step I took. "I love my daughter Melissa," I said to myself as I walked to the kitchen to fill a bottle for her. "I love my daughter Melissa" I said to myself as I fetched a blanket to keep her warm. "I love my daughter Melissa" I repeated, over and over, as I carried her around the house. Next, I was required to allow Melissa to fill my life. I carried her baby pictures in my wallet. I started scrapbooks and baby diaries where I recorded every little thing that happened to her every day. My screen saver and cell phone background became her picture. But what became the most difficult was Mrs. Jacobs' requirement that I had to be within arm's reach of Melissa whenever we were in the house together. "Just for two weeks, until I'm certain you've learned," she said. "But..." I sputtered, "what if I have to go to the bathroom?" "Then you'll just have to take her with you or not go," she said, with a grin. "It won't be any different than if you were in public." "But," I continued, realizing all the while that I was getting in deeper and deeper, "what will I do when she's taking a nap? Why can't I just take the baby monitor with me?" "Just nap with her. Or maybe do some sewing. Whatever you'd like. And as to the baby monitor, I threw it away." "Oh my god..." I said. "Feeling trapped yet?" Mrs. Jacobs asked again, her eyes piercing into me. - - - - - - And so, for the next two weeks, my life from 9 to 4:30 was tied to Melissa. Since I was required to continue my daily chores, this meant doing them when Melissa was awake, and carrying her with me wherever I went - while vacuuming, doing the laundry, or doing the dishes. She was always right next to me, either in her play pen, a stroller, or in a baby knapsack. Never more than arm's length away. We started taking naps together in the master bedroom, me in the bed, and Melissa in a fancy, Victorian-style bassinet next to the bed. This turned out to be really nice, actually, waking up to the burbles and cute babbling she would make when she was alone. "Ma-ma", she said, pointing to me. "Oh goodness!" I gasped. "What did you say?" "Ma-ma!" she said again, pointing with a silly grin. "Ma-ma ma-ma ma-ma ma-ma ma-ma!" Scooping her up, I ran excitedly to Mrs. Jacobs. "Mrs. Jacobs!" I said, barging into the den where she was studying for the LSATs. "You've got to hear this!" "What's that?" Mrs. Jacobs asked. "Go ahead, Melissa. Go ahead," I said to her, gently. Melissa took her time, looking from Mrs. Jacobs to me and back again, her eyes wide and innocent. "Ma ma!" she said, loudly, pointing to me. "Oh my god!" Mrs. Jacobs said, startled, dropping her papers on the floor. "Oh you darling girl! Please..." she hesitated, "can I hold her?" But as I transferred her to Mrs. Jacobs, Melissa struggled, kicked her legs furiously, and started to scream. "Ssshhh, shhhh, it's okay," Mrs. Jacobs tried to comfort her, "there there..." "Maaaa maaa!!!!" Melissa screamed as she reached towards me with all her might. "I'm sorry," I said, as Mrs. Jacobs handed Melissa back to me. "No, no, don't apologize," she replied as she turned back to her exam preparations, with a sigh. "I... I made my choice." Chapter 6: "Constance? Could I talk to you for a moment before you head out?" Mrs. Jacobs called out. "Of course, Mrs. Jacobs," I said, walking into the Den where she was studying. I had already changed from my housewife clothes to my street clothes. Mrs. Jacobs indicated that I should sit down next to her on the love seat. "I release you," she stated simply. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Jacobs," I shook my head. "I don't understand." Mrs. Jacobs smiled. "Constance... Paul. I am releasing you. I no longer demand that you become the housewife for this family. You do not need to come back." "But..." I stammered, tears suddenly springing to my eyes, "but why? What have I done wrong?! I'm so sorry!! Please... please what's happened? Was it something I did??" "Oh, Constance!!" Mrs. Jacobs said quickly, "it's nothing you've done! You've been amazing! Melissa loves you. She cries when she wakes up and you're not there. The house is spotless. You are the sweetest, most obedient girl I have ever known! You've been everything I could ever have hoped for." "But then, why do I have to go?" I cried, between sobs. "Dear! I never said you had to go!" "But..." I sniffled, confused. "But then, why are you releasing me?" "Because, dear, it's the only fair thing to do. You see, Mr. Jacobs has found a new job in Connecticut, and in two weeks we're moving." It was as if I had been hit in the gut. "So then, what happens to me?" I asked, tremulously. "Well, dear, here is where you have to make a choice. Honestly, I never expected you to be such a good housewife, and I certainly never expected you to take to it like you have, but now it's time to graduate from part-time housewife to full-time housewife, and to cut all ties you have to leave your old life, if you are willing." "I--" "No!" she stopped me. "Don't answer right away. I want you to think about it before you answer." "Okay, but I already know my answer." "You only think you do. If you say 'yes', then you will become the full- time housewife for this family. Do you know what that means?" "Yes, of course I do." "No, you don't, not really. First off, it means that there's no going home to your own bed anymore. You'll live in our house full time. Twenty-four hours a day. Seven days a week. All weekends and holidays included." "Of course. I understand." "You will have to change your name to Constance Virginia Jacobs officially. I will require you to tear up all of your old identification." "Thank you, Mrs. Jacobs. Of course." "You will need to leave your family and cut off all contact with them." "I... oh..." I said in a hushed voice. "That's right. You'll never be able to see your father, brother, aunts or uncles or your mother ever again." "Oh my god...." Suddenly, I felt dizzy. "It's the only way," Mrs. Jacobs continued, putting a hand on my arm to steady me. "I will not let you take anything from your prior life with you. It must be a 100 percent clean break. That means no pictures, no phone numbers, no contact information, no clothing, no memorabilia, no nothing. Do you understand?" "I... I understand, Mrs. Jacobs," I whispered. "And one more thing. So far, we've been emphasizing the 'house' part of being a housewife. You've been taking care of the household, all of the cleaning, child care, etc. and you've been doing a fabulous job." "Thank you." "But when we move to Connecticut, I will start training you to be the 'wife' part of 'housewife'. Do you know what that means?" "You don't mean..." I hesitated. "That's right. You will be a 'wife'. And what is a wife? A wife is married to a 'husband', isn't that right? You will become the wife of Mr. Jacobs. His loving wife. His humble, obedient, conservative, old- fashioned, and adoring wife. You will become the wife he always wanted and well, probably deserves. And I will turn you into that wife." "A wife..." "That's right. A wife who lives to satisfy all of the needs of her husband. Whose sole desire is to satisfy his needs. Who *lives* for every opportunity to fully satisfy his needs. And I don't just mean his need for clean clothes and healthy meals. Not at all! I mean *all* his needs. And believe me, he has lots of them. Do you understand now what you are getting into?" "I... I think so..." "Well I'm sure you don't, but I do think you are beginning to understand. Do you have any questions?" "What... what will happen to Melissa if I say 'no'?" "Interesting question. She's no longer my daughter, she's yours. If you say 'no', then we'll probably hire a nanny who will take care of her." "Really? Some stranger?" "Probably." "But I love her!" "Well, then, that makes your decision all the more difficult, doesn't it?" "Would you still tell my parents... if I said 'no'?" "Of course I would. I would have to. After all, I promised, and I *always* keep my promises." Mrs. Jacobs reached over and gave me a quick hug. "Feeling trapped yet?" she asked, but this time her voice was full of sympathy. - - - - - "Are you okay, Paul?" my mom asked. "Uh... sure Mom," I said, pushing the cereal around in my bowl. "It's just..." "What, dear?" "Oh, I'm out of a job," I sighed. "What? What happened?" "Oh, the Jacobs' are moving. So they don't need me anymore." "Oh, I'm sorry sweetie. You really liked that job, didn't you?" "Yeah, I guess. Whatever." I paused for a minute. "Mom?" "Yes, dear?" "How does one decide..." "Decide what?" "Oh, I don't know. Decide anything! I mean, why don't we ever see pop- pop or gran-gran anymore?" Mom put down her magazine and sighed. "Oh dear, I was wondering when you'd ask about them. The truth is... well... they didn't approve of me marrying your step-father. They thought I should have been able to do better. And then, well, Ralph made some unfortunate remarks, and then... oh gosh it's hard to repeat this... your pop-pop said that I'd have to make a choice." "A choice?" "Yes, a choice. Either I could marry your step-father or I could remain a part of the family." "Oh Mom!" I said, shocked. "Pop-pop... he really said that?" "Yes, unfortunately, he did. I think he felt he was trying to protect me from making what he thought would be a terrible mistake." "So how did you decide?" "Well, it was a question of love. So that was that." "But don't you love pop-pop and gran-gran too?" "Well of course, dear. And I still love them, and I hope that someday they'll answer one of my letters and we'll all get back together again." "But then, if you love everyone, how can you possibly decide?" "I guess I just looked in my heart and realized where my future lay, and it was with you and with my husband, your step-father. I was worried about you, Paul. I really felt that you needed a father in your life. And, you know, I love your step-dad, and... well... I just thought you and he would have to take precedence over everything else in my life. Sometimes, that's what a wife has to do. The hardest choice in the world is to choose family over family. But sometimes..." She paused. "... sometimes, that's what a wife has to do." Chapter 7: I thought a lot about what Mom had to say as I traveled by bus to Connecticut. It was clear that Mrs. Jacobs was absolutely serious about abandoning Missy to pursue her legal career, and the thought of her--my daughter!-- in the hands of some stranger made me sick to my stomach. After two months, my love for Melissa had reached a depth and intensity that scared me. I loved her with all my soul, and I would have done anything, absolutely anything to take care of her. But it wasn't just Melissa that I was headed towards. Mrs. Jacobs had made it clear that I was on a one-way journey towards fulfilling *all* of my "wifely duties", and not just child care and housecleaning anymore. But everything... Part of me was excited by the prospect, there was no denying it. I didn't find the thought of being held by a man repugnant, at least not when I was dressed as a woman. Quite the opposite! There was something pure, romantic, and exquisitely intimate about the love between a husband and his wife. And further, having been the housewife under the stern tutelage of Mrs. Jacobs--having a firm hand was necessary, of course--it made my life so much easier--and she would provide occasional "encouragements" by stroking me to orgasm, soiling my panties at times... but I would not have said that our relationship was affectionate. Her ministrations were delivered more like a nurse, as if masturbating me was a messy but necessary task. So having someone else in the house other than Missy with whom to be close to... that would be nice, wouldn't it? But I worried, 'What if he doesn't like me?! What if he thinks I'm ugly?' The possibility absolutely terrified me. 'What if he's angry with me or I disappoint him?' So far, our two paths had never crossed. Mrs. Jacobs had been very careful to keep us apart. Of course, I had seen his picture on the mantle, a beautiful studio shot with Mrs. Jacobs and Melissa, the perfect nuclear family. He looked serious, but also distinguished and fatherly, in a conservatively cut suit and tie. But how I could replace Mrs. Jacobs in that photo? She was beautiful and 100% a woman. And here I was, a scrawny young boy, putting on panties, falsies, and a dress to take care of Melissa. How would I ever get from here to there? And could Mr. Edward Jacobs ever possibly see this body of mine as something desirable? - - - - - "Constance! I'm so glad you're here," Mrs. Jacobs said, as she ushered me inside. I stepped inside the foyer and just stared. The place was enormous! A modern Dutch Colonial with three stories, a basement, dormer windows, and a three car garage. Mrs. Jacobs didn't bother with a tour; she just rushed me upstairs. I had run away from home four days and six busses earlier. The note on my desk told my parents I was going to stay with a friend in California, and so my first trip was a bus from the local terminal to Los Angeles, using a ticket I purchased on the internet. Then I cut up my "emergency" credit card and ATM, and used cash to travel to Connecticut, changing clothes at every stop and throwing away the dirty ones so that I couldn't be identified. "Oh, my gosh!" I took one step into the new master bedroom and just stopped short. It looked like an English manor house! All of the furniture was antique, including a large four poster bed, a reading area with a formal-looking settee, matching chairs and end-tables, and a beautiful inlay writing desk. "Yes, I know," Mrs. Jacobs said. "This is all furniture from the former Jacobs' family estate. Much too formal and proper for me, but not for you, of course!" "I'm sorry about the mess," she continued as she carefully led me through a maze of half-unpacked boxes to the bathroom where I was told to strip. "And we don't have much time!" "Not much time for what?" I asked. "To put things into order before Edward comes home, of course. Now get! You need to clean up." Mrs. Johnson gave me some soap and shampoo and ushered me into the shower. "As soon as you're done, I'm sending you to a beauty shop I've found for a haircut, a skin treatment, and some makeup lessons," she said, all business. "But..." I sputtered, "you mean, leave the house?" "Of course! You're the housewife now. You can drive, right?" "Well yes, but..." "Good. You can take Missy with you and get her out of my hair." "Missy!" I cried out, my eyes suddenly welling up. "Yes," Mrs. Jacobs said, "and she's missed you too. Didn't stop crying for days after you left. Now get clean and... hey!" Ignoring Mrs. Jacobs, I hopped out of the shower and dashed out of the room. "MA MA!!!!" Missy screamed the instant I entered her room. I rushed over, picked her up and held her close. Missy grabbed my neck in a hug so tight I couldn't breathe, the two of us crying hysterically. I looked up to see Mrs. Jacobs standing at the doorway. "Alright then," she said with a sad smile. "Take your time." - - - - - After my shower, I dressed in the simple shirt dress that Mrs. Jacobs had picked out for me, along with the usual panties, half-slip, bra, and flats. "I used the move as an opportunity to weed out my... ah... I mean *your* wardrobe. I removed all of the things I knew that Edward wouldn't approve of for his new bride." "Edward?" "Right, Edward! Your husband!" I gasped. "Right..." I said, pulling on the panties, "my husband. But... what is he going to think of me? I mean... you know... with this ugly body of mine?" "Oh, he's going to love you," she said with a wry grimace. "Trust me." My heart took a little leap at the word 'love'. "Love?" "Oh get a grip. You know what I mean. Really, you have nothing to worry about. Now here are the keys and here's a map to the salon. Got it? Now go!" - - - - - - And just like that, I was on the street, carrying Missy in a car seat in one hand and a huge baby bag in the other. I was wearing a light green shirt dress with a tan hooded sweater that Mrs. Jacobs had added at the last minute. Of course, being late August, it