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Makeover Roleplay By Deborah Lewis-Smith Synopsis: A recently divorced man decided to try a makeover service advertising 'role-play'. He gets a little more than he expected and has to rethink his own sexuality. ------------------------------------------------------------ I sat in the car, my knees shaking as I turned the key, killing the engine. I'd arrived twenty minutes early, and now sat in my quiet car, trying to get my heart to slow it's rapid beat. My legs felt odd and almost cold. I'd sat in the bath the night before and, for the first time in my life, had shaved my legs, meticulously. The feeling of legs without hair, especially as I had slipped under the covers, was odd yet nice in a strange way. Now, sat in the car, my legs moved nervously and the trousers slid against them in a delicious way. I'd shaved my entire body, which wasn't overly hairy anyway, but as I sat in my car I felt shivers. A bit of history - I recently got divorced after being married for over ten years. I had loved my wife dearly, but something was missing from our relationship. I'd always been attracted to femininity but my wife had never wanted to dress up, instead taking out her unhappiness with the sexism of society by making almost no effort in her appearance. We'd grown apart and, in the absence of children, had decided to go our separate ways. I'd been loyal during the marriage, never strayed, always been understanding, but I'd had an itch. I was obsessed with women's clothing, and the fact my wife didn't want to wear the styles that interested me had caused me to spend a lot of time online. I'd poured over clothing websites, especially vintage clothing, and couldn't work out why I was interested. Then, after she left and the divorce became final, I had been flicking through some websites when I had accidentally clicked on a link to a cross-dressing site, and my heart had almost stopped in my chest. The site was full of pictures of men wearing beautiful clothing, and it clicked. I'd never even considered wearing women's clothing before, the idea was alien but oddly appealing. I wasn't a man's man as such, never liked football, but I wasn't homosexual, and I'd never felt any urge to dress as the other sex, but now, after the split, I felt the urge for femininity and companionship, and it was manifesting as an all-or- nothing kind of approach. I'd spent a long time searching the various websites, reading articles, and started to see a potential match in my behaviours. My obsession with women clothes, the fact I always looked at women but focused more on their make-up, their shoes, their styles. Being a bloke I'd never been a fashion follower of any kind, but the more I read up on transvestism and the thoughts of others the more I convinced myself that it was, at least, something I'd like to try. And then I'd found the website, a link off of a site specifically for cross dressers who wanted to role-play. The site advertised a dressing service with a choice of role-plays, and looking through the list one had immediately jumped out - a half-day session of role-playing as a wife. I don't know why it had instantly appealed to me. I had had no urge to be submissive, I'd never considered the role or thought about the difference between a woman and a man. Perhaps that was why my marriage had failed, and internally I justified even thinking about it from the perspective of 'wouldn't it be nice to know what it had been like for her?'. The blurb was intriguing. The session promised a full make-over professionally done, then lessons on deportment and being a wife, followed by some role-playing sessions in some specially designed sets, all with a memory-stick full of photos for keepsakes. I loved the idea and the more I thought about it the warmer I felt. So I had logged onto the site, entered all my details, and booked a session two weeks in advance. I'd also logged on to another site I'd found that specialised in fifties wear and ordered a house dress, floral, with a button-up front and white collar. I'd had to guess at my size, but when it had come, and I had got over the guilt of signing for it at the door even though the package was indiscernible as clothing, I'd taken the dress out of the packaging with trembling hands and held it against my body, a mixture of cold and warmth rushing through me as I looked in the mirror and saw myself holding my *my* dress against myself. It was a beautiful and odd sensation, and I'd chosen well. The size was perfect, I'm not a tall man, and the style was ultra-femm, flaring skirt, button up front, floral. There was no way you'd mistake this than anything other than a dress for a fifties housewife, and that in itself gave me a thrill. So now I sat in the car, ten minutes early, a numbness in my hands from the adrenaline. In the boot was a hold-all, in the hold-all the dress and some cheap pearl jewellery I'd picked up, a three-strand necklace/choker and some clip-on matching earrings. It was the last chance to turn back, but I steeled myself. I'd been unable to stop thinking about, and, without sounding coarse, I'd used the thought of a complete make-over and a role-play session as stimulus for self-gratification for the last week, each session more and more powerful. I took the key from the ignition and stepped out of the car, looking both ways to see if anyone was walking towards me. The address was a standard looking detached house in the suburbs, nothing to advertise what went on there, but I still felt like a thousand eyes were looking at me as I moved to the back of the car, not hurrying, and took out the hold-all. I walked up the drive as quickly as I could without looking like I was hurrying, and with a shaking hand rang the doorbell. The door opened and a young woman with a pleasant smile stood beyond it. "Mr. Lewis?" she said. "Hello," I stammered. "Come in, please, make yourself comfortable." I stepped over the threshold, relaxing slightly when she closed the door behind me and touched my arm gently, guiding me into the living room. "Would you like a coffee or a tea?" she said. "Coffee please, milk, one sugar." "I'll get it right away. My name is Sharon, we talked via email. Did you find us ok?" "Yeah, no problem. Was terrified in the car though." I found myself blabbering slightly and she laughed gently. "Don't be silly sweetie, everyone is terrified the first time. Once we get you changed it will feel utterly natural and I guarantee you'll have a lovely time." Her smile was warm and she touched my shoulder as she walked out towards the kitchen. "Make yourself comfortable," she shouted from the other room. "Did you find an outfit?" "Yes, I bought one specifically," I said, my heart returning to an almost normal rate. She returned into the living room with a big mug of coffee. "Ok then, you booked a role-play session for a housewife. Do you have any thoughts on a look?" I had to think quite carefully. I hadn't considered what look I wanted to go for, I'd focused more on the clothes. "Hmm, not sure. What do you mean?" I asked. "Well, do you want to be a modest, demure housewife, a slutty MILF, a cougar, a drag queen? That sort of thing." "Ahh, demure please. I want to look sweet if that is possible." She smiled again. "Absolutely no problem. You've got a lovely face, if you don't mind me saying so, and I'll make you up so you look so attractive you won't recognise the man you were." I blushed slightly. "I've never done this before, never even dressed." "Really? Well you're in for a surprise then sweetie, because you have almost the perfect frame and features to make a convincing woman." "Really?" I asked, feeling a little chuffed and ashamed at the same time. "Of course. My job is to make you look the way you want to be, and to make you relaxed so you have some fun pretending. Do you have a femme name?" Again, something I hadn't even thought of. "Sarah," I said instantly. It had been my wife's name and felt appropriate, given I was trying to see how she had felt. "That's nice and it suits you. Right, bring your coffee and your hold- all, we'll move to the studio and get your transformation under way." We got up and I followed her out of the room, heading up the stairs. "What shoe size are you, Sarah?" she asked. I felt a thrill run down my spine. I'd never been called by a woman's name but it felt odd and lovely in equal measures. "I'm a man's 8." "Nice, I have plenty of shoes for you to try on. Given your height we can get away with some seriously kinky heels if you'd like," she said with a wink. "Whatever you think would suit me," I responded. We entered the studio and my breath caught in my chest. There were racks and racks of clothing of all types, along with a multitude of shoes, accessories, and a whole wall full of different wigs. Her make-up station was in the centre, with a couple of full length mirrors in front of it. I put my coffee down on a table and dropped my hold-all. "Ok, strip for me please Sarah, and don't worry, I've seen it all before." I took off my shirt and T-shirt, and then my shoes, socks and trousers. I stood in the room, wearing only my boxers, and she pointed at them. "Them too please Sarah, let's get rid of all that man apparel. Nice job on the shave, did you use a hair remover?" "No," I said, gingerly removing my underwear and dropping them to the pile, placing my hands over my genitals. "Well you've done very well, I don't see any place where we need to take any more off." She stood in front of me, gently touching my face and lifting my head. "Lovely bone structure, you're very lucky. You could pass easily for a real woman." I blushed again, having some issues with the joy and shame I felt from that statement. "Right, let's get some undergarments on you and then we'll start the transformation, Sarah. Do you need to pee before we start?" "Yes please," I said. She pointed to a door on the far side of the studio, and I went in and relieved myself, looking at the naked man in the mirror while I did. I couldn't believe what I was doing. I'd rarely been naked in front of a woman, and now I was going to let this one dress me and make me up as a woman myself. That gave me such a thrill that my manhood started to rise, and I quickly tried to control myself. "You ok Sarah?" "Yup," I said, and in a moment of honesty added, "Just trying to deal with some unexpected pleasure, if you know what I mean." Her laughter was like music and I knew then I liked her. I washed my hands and returned to the studio. Sharon had got out a selection of odd looking garments. "Let's get you shaped before I turn you into a hot little housewife," she said with a smile, and handed me an odd looking pair of pants. The pants were tight and padded at the back, and drawing them up over my shaven legs felt lovely. I tucked my penis and scrotum back as far as they would go, and pulled the pants up. There was a split, obviously intentional, at the back which allowed my bottom crack to feel the air, but the padding for each butt-cheek sat nicely against the skin. The result was surprisingly flattening, the garment holding my genitals back adjusting the front so I appeared to have no bulge. Added to the fact that my bottom was now shaped considerably more like a girls, and I felt the stirring again. "This could be an interesting issue," I said, and explained to Sharon, who laughed. "You'd be surprised, or not as the case may be, at the number of clients who have that issue sweetie," she said, and handed me a bra. The bra contained breast-forms, reasonably large, and as I slipped my arms in settled them onto my chest she clipped the garment shut at the back. They felt comfortable, yet different as the weight of my new bosom lay across the top of my chest. "Looking good, Sarah," she said with a wink, and I felt myself blushing again. She now took a garment I recognised as a waist clincher and had me stand, wrapping it around me and pulling tight. It wasn't unpleasantly tight, but tight enough for me to feel it, and as I looked in the mirror I saw me but with a subtly altered shape, large hips and bottom due to the pants, my waist tucking in considerably and then my chest hanging pertly, a proper hour-glass figure. "How does it feel, sweetie?" she said, taking a step back. "Lovely," I whispered, twisting my hips left and then right and admiring the womanly shape. "We're just getting started, put these hold-ups on now." She handed me a pair of white stay-up stockings, and I looked at her with a slight look of confusion. "You've shaved really well, these will stay up. Have you never worn stockings before?" she said. "I've never worn anything feminine before," I said with a smile. "OK, here's what you do." She knelt in front of me, rolling one of the stockings into a small sock and then, letting me lean on her shoulder, I raised a foot and she put the stocking onto it. The feeling was unbelievable. As the stocking was unrolled up my bare leg it felt delicious, like I was being wrapped in satin. I switched legs and she rolled the second one up, making sure both were tightly stretched and fastened by the sticky strip to my inner thighs. "Wow," I said, unable to hide the smile. "There you go, Sarah, you now have legs to die for," she said, and I agreed with her. Looking in the mirror, ignoring everything from the neck up of course, I saw a sexy woman's body. That realisation hit me like a warm wave, and again I felt myself smiling. "Try these," she said, placing a pair of black pumps on the floor. They were patent leather by the look, very shiny, with a three inch heel, and I caught myself breathing deeply again. I slipped one foot in, a wonderful feeling as the stocking clad toes disappeared into the front of the shoe and the heel slipped nicely in, then the other. My legs felt unreal, the muscles in the back of the shins tightening as the feet were placed at a different angle. "Try walking back and forth, see how they feel," she said, and I daintily stepped three or four feet back and forth, laughing out loud at the feel. In the mirror I could see lovely female legs, the shoes the kind that always caught my eye. "Right, let's do the best bit," said Sharon, directing me to the big chair in the centre of the room. I moved gently, enjoying the feeling of my legs as the heels forced my gait into that of a girl. I sat down in the chair, the waist clincher and bra combining to force me into an upright position. "Comfy?" Sharon asked. "Yes," I said with a smile. She was incredibly professional in her approach, and for the next fifteen minutes I had my eyes closed, open, closed, open as she applied foundation, concealer, blusher, then eyeshadow, eyeliner, and finally had me keep my eyes closed as she glued false lashes on. All the while I felt myself relaxing in the chair, enjoying the feel of a woman working on my face, the scent of the make-up, the building excitement at seeing the eventual outcome. Of course, I'd look like a man in make-up, but the sheer feel and fun of having the stuff applied was giving me thrills I had been unaware of my entire life. "Keep the eyes closed please Sarah, let the lashes dry while I work on your lips. I was thinking red, unless you think that's too tarty for your housewife persona?" "No, whatever you think," I said, and noticed that I'd let my voice rise up the registers a little, not enough to sound like a man pretending to do a Monty Python sketch, but enough to make my voice sound more feminine. "I see you're getting into it," said Sharon. I felt the cold, wet feel of a small brush on my lips as she asked me to open them wide, then the slightly dusty feel of something else. "Just adding a bit of sealant so we don't have to keep topping up the lippy, Sarah." She busied herself around my lips for a while longer, and I felt the touch of a brush on my cheeks. "Right, hair time. I'm thinking a copper-red long bob. That's demure in a repressed housewife kind of way, sound good?" "I'll go with whatever you think, I'm putting myself in your hands," I said, and she laughed in response. I heard her feet as she moved across the room, and the sound of metal being scraped as she took the wig off of it's stand. "Right, sweetie, I need you to put your fingers here and hold the front of the wig while I pull it over your head." She guided my hand to the top of my forehead and I felt the weight of the wig against my hairline. With a sharp pull she dragged it over my scalp and the lining caught on my head. I'd be thinning on top so there was no need for a wig cap, and the wig felt lovely, hair tickling the side of my face as she brushed it. "Right, gently open your eyes," she said. I tried to open my eyes but the glue from the false lashes had momentarily bound my lids shut. With a little pressure my eyes opened and I saw the mirror in front of me. My breath caught and my heart skipped a beat. That couldn't be me in the mirror, no way. Looking back at me was a very pretty young woman, sensible hairstyle framing her features, beautiful eyes lined with black, long luscious eyelashes, ruby red lips with just a hint of gloss. She looked so delicate, almost elf-like. Gone was any semblance of a man. The girl in the mirror turned left, then right, her cheeks highlighted with blusher, her nose button like. "Oh my God," I whispered. "Hello Sarah," said Sharon gently. I bit my lip and the pretty woman in the mirror did the same. I smiled slightly and she almost broke my heart with her winsome features. "Right, let's get some nails on you and then you can get dressed. And then you can learn the basics of being a housewife, Sarah," said Sharon. She gestured for me to give her my right hand, which I did, and she placed french-tip nails on each of my fingers, holding them tightly in place while the super-glue dried. Then my left hand. I lifted both hands up in front of my face and the effect was amazing, They were a woman's hands, delicate, the nails forcing the movement of the fingers to take on a feminine aspect. I giggled out loud, the feeling of the nails and the sight of my hands, combined with the woman's reflection in the mirror, a little overwhelming. "So Sarah, what clothes have you got?" "I've got a fifties day dress and some pearl jewellery," I responded. "Perfect, nice touch. Go on then girl, get dressed. Do it in front of the mirror for the best effect." I tottered off of the chair and across the room to my hold-all, fumbling with the zip until I managed to grip it with the nails on my thumb and index finger, drawing it daintily open. "Need some help with the jewellery, sweetie?" asked Sharon, watching me. "Yes please," I said, and she took the necklace and earrings from me as I lifted the dress out of the bag. "Lovely," she said, admiring the dress as I unfolded it. She clipped an earring onto each of my ears and attached the pearl necklace around my neck. I sneaked another look in the mirror, seeing the woman standing there in her underwear, her femininity enhanced by the old fashioned jewellery and again I couldn't believe that was me stood there. "Now, the icing on the cake. Put your dress on, Sarah." The words gave me thrill in and of themselves, and I unbuttoned the dress, holding it on the floor as I stepped gently into the skirt, making sure not to catch my heels on the fabric. I lifted it up, feeling the smoothness of the material against my stocking clad legs, pulling the waist band up over the curves of my hips and bottom and letting it settle into my reduced waist. I put my arms into each short sleeve, pulling the back of the dress up until it touch the back of my neck and slowly button up the front, feeling the dress becoming more snug at each button until the last, just above my breasts. I straightened the collar and looked at the woman in the mirror. The effect was stunning. In the mirror was a young, beautiful woman wearing an old-fashioned dress from a previous generation, the style reflecting her position in the natural order. The skirt hung down to just around her knees, the dress fit in a very flattering way across her hips, the collar accentuated her pearl necklace. And the look of happiness in her face was indescribable. I run my hands down my dress, feeling the soft fabric, unlike any male garment. I loved the feeling of being trapped in the outfit, the way it pulled it and flared out in appropriate ways. I could feel my member stirring, but the style of dress meant that a bulge, however small, was hidden. "How do you feel?" said Sharon, quietly. "Beautiful," I said. "What's your name?" "Sarah." "What are you?" "I'm a housewife." Sharon smiled. "Right, come on then, let's show you around your house." In the kitchen my heels made a lovely clicking sound on the tile floor, my skirt brushing against the counter. "In this room you will cook meals for your husband and your children. You have two children Sarah, Jonathon who is four and Julie who is one. Luckily you've got your figure back." I blushed but was enjoying the feel of the story. She led me down some stairs behind the kitchen into the utility room. "This is where you wash your families clothes, and iron them. Your husband requires ironed shirts for work, don't forget." We walked back up to the kitchen and through into a large dining room. "This is where you will serve the food you cook to your loving husband and your son. Also this is where you can feed your baby." We walked back up stairs and into a large bedroom. "This is the master bedroom. This is where you satisfy your husband." That took me aback a little. I was enjoying the role-play and training, but I wasn't gay and had never had any feelings for men in any form of fashion and even now, dressed as a housewife and playing the role, it held no interest to me. But, for the sake of the role-play, I smiled and nodded. Sharon checked her watch. "Right, it's almost time to start the role-play. You look lovely. I'll get the camera and we can go from there." She left the room and I sat on the bed, my dress lying across the bed and my legs in a way that made me smile. "Hello, I'm Sarah, welcome to my house," I said in a quiet and breathless voice. The doorbell rang down stairs and I jumped. Sharon entered the room. "Don't worry Sarah, it's an expected visitor." My heart was beating fast. I had assumed I'd be here by myself with Sharon. I wasn't ready to be seen by anyone else, especially dressed the way I was. I heard mumbled talking downstairs, not loud enough to make out words, and then footsteps on the stairs. I jumped off the bed and looked for somewhere to hide, but there was only one door in, and it opened. In stepped a man, about six inches taller than me, dressed in a suit, followed by Sharon. "Sarah, this is Simon. Simon, this is Sarah, your wife." I went cold to my core. "Lovely to see you, darling," said Simon, looking me up and down. I suddenly felt very vulnerable, but there was no where to hide. "Right, I've got my camera so we'll start with some couple role-play shots, husband coming home, wife meeting at the door. Simon, do you have the rings?" "Oh yes, almost forgot," he said. He stepped over to me and I was aware of his height, his build, and the fact that he was wearing a business suit and I was wearing a fifties housewife dress. He took my left hand gently, and took a ring box from his pocket with his other hand. He deftly opened it and took out two rings, a plain band and a thin, delicate ring with a single diamond on it. I was stunned and, partly down to what I was wearing and how I looked, I let him lift my hand and gently put the diamond ring on my wedding finger, followed by the plain band. My hand looked utterly feminine now, his hand larger and hairy, mine hairless, french-tip nails and now two rings that identified me as belonging to a man. More importantly, this man. The camera flashed as Sharon caught the moment. I found my voice. "I'm sorry, Sharon, I don't understand." "Role-play Sarah, this is what it is about. You are now Sarah Wilson, married to Simon for five years, two children." My legs felt wobbly, and somehow sensing it Simon put his hands on my hips. Now, as a man your interactions with other men are very limited. Occasional back slaps, hand shakes and the like. That was all the experience I had. Now a man was holding my hips with his hands and I looked up, partly in shock, just in time to see him lean in. Before I knew what was happening he had kissed me. I was kissing a man. "Beautiful!" said Sharon, taking a picture. His lips rested on mine for an instant and I gasped involuntarily. An instant later his tongue was in my mouth. Again, the camera flashed, and I got a glimpse in the mirror of the husband holding his wife, who was dressed very femininely, him kissing her passionately, Somehow my brain couldn't make the connection that that was me, until I felt his tongue moving around in my mouth. I felt humiliated, but somehow also felt that this was deserved. I'd completely misunderstood what it had been like for my wife to be a wife, the feeling of loss of control, of powerlessness. And now I was in that situation, albeit dressed in a way that I had wanted my wife to dress. Somehow that made it worse. Even in my current state I was more of a wife to this man than my wife had ever been to me, and the conclusion about my own masculinity from that statement alone was enough to make me sob slightly. "You OK, Sarah?" said Sharon, pausing between shots. Sarah. That was the name I'd chosen and as far as this man was concerned, that was me. Simon pulled back, his tongue leaving my mouth, his taste still present. He looked concerned. In the depths of my mind a decision was made. I couldn't be angry, couldn't shout. I'd signed up for this, allowed myself to be dressed, taken the tour. I was wearing a dress and looked more like a domestic goddess than my wife had ever looked. "I'm fine. Would you a cup of tea, darling?" I said to Simon. He smiled. "How's about a couple of glasses of red wine?" said Sharon. "Yes, that sounds great," said Simon, and both Sharon and him looked at me expectantly. It clicked, in a almost funny way. I was the housewife, it was up to me to get the wine. I straightened my dress, which my husband had managed to ruck up, and headed to the kitchen. "Red wine is in the cellar Sarah, glasses in the cupboard," called Sharon as I walked down the stairs, my dress swishing around me and my steps careful, my mind full of thoughts. My heels clicked on the tiles again as I crossed the kitchen, but this time the sound didn't give me the rush it had before. I picked up a bottle and two glasses, and headed back upstairs. In the bedroom Simon had moved to the bed, taking off his shoes and lying down. "Tough day at work today Sarah, would love you to, you know, do your thing." I looked confused at him. Sharon laughed and took another picture. I put the wine down, completely aware and a little embarrassed that in order to do so I had to bend away from Simon and show him my bottom. I stood back up and Simon patted the bed next to him. I walked across as femininely as I could, and sat down gracefully next to him. "Well, go on then darling, do that thing I love." I still had enough thought capacity to carry on the role-play, even though inwardly I was squirming. "I can't remember Simon, what is it I do?" For the second time in less than twenty minutes I went cold with adrenaline as he unzipped his pants. "Put your hand in and get it out, honey" he said. Almost in a daze I reached across with my left hand and pushed it into his trousers. His cock was hot, pulsing, the way mine had done for the last couple of weeks when thinking of wearing the dress I now had on. I pulled his pants down and revealed his manhood. It didn't look like my hand. It was Sarah's hand. Thin, supple, beautiful nails, diamond engagement ring, her wedding ring. It moved up and down, gently, as she masterbated her husbands engorged member. Another flash. In my horror and daze I'd forgotten that Sharon was even there. She walked across to the bed and showed me the back of the camera. Admittedly it was an erotic photograph. Young wife sat on the edge of a bed, her husband lying down, her hand on his cock, his face a picture of bliss and oddly her face with a smile on it. "That's it baby, get Daddy hard," he whispered, and mechanically I moved my hand faster. The sensation of touching another man's cock was odd, I knew what the feeling of masterbating was like but to do it to someone else gave no feedback. "Now do what you do so well, Sarah" said Simon. I must have looked confused. "You remember when we first met? You told me, after a glass of red wine, how the other girls said you were a natural born cocksucker. And then you proved it. Now, do it again." Something about the situation, the clothes, the make-up, the breaking of a taboo of touching another man, the whole thing was too much for my mind. I had wanted to know what it was like to be a wife. My wife had grudgingly perform oral on me whenever we had had sex. It was a wife's duty. I bent over, my hair falling around my face, my dress pulling tight on my shoulders and, almost hypnotically, I lowered my lipstick covered lips towards my left hand. My brain screamed at me to stop, but I had to know what it felt like. The tip of his cock, glistening slightly with pre-cum, pushed against my closed mouth and, in the moment where I went from heterosexual male to homosexual cross dresser, I gently opened my lips and the tip slid in. It had a musky flavour. I'd never tasted my own semen before, it was kind of a taboo, so I had no point of reference. My hand still moved up and down on my husband's shaft as I gently sucked the tip, then I felt his hand on the back of my head, pushing, and letting go with my left hand I let him guide my head down onto his cock. Flash, another picture. The sound of a muffled sucking. The hot feeling in my mouth, the taste of him. "Good girl, Sarah. That's it. She's very good, Sharon," said Simon. "I thought she might be," said Sharon, taking a close-up. The pressure on the back of my head subsided and I lifted my head off of his crotch, his penis popping out of my mouth with a wet sound that I would hear in my dreams for a long time. In the mirror I could the young wife, her husbands cock pulsing a couple of inches away from her face. It was obvious what she had been doing, the cock had a ring of red lipstick around it and a thin sliver of pre- cum attached the tip of the cock to her lower lip. As I watched she licked the pre-cum off with her tongue. It would have been intensely erotic if it hadn't of been me doing it. I felt a bit befuddled now. Sitting up, I felt Simon sit up behind me, his hands on my shoulders, gently massaging me. "You know what we talked about last week, dearest?" he said. "No, sorry sweetie, I don't remember," I said, the urge to role-play still strong in my mind. "You said how much easier the second baby was. And that you'd like to try for another. Well, I've decided, let's do it. Let's make another baby," he said gently. He got up off of the bed, moving around me, and leaning down put his hands on my hips and lifted me, easily, into the air. He kissed me firmly on the lips, then turned me and placed me back down on the bed, on all fours. By now I felt like I was in a dream, that all control had gone, and I knelt there on all fours, looking down at my feminized hands, as he rooted about in the draw next to the bed. "You ok Sarah, enjoying the role-play?" asked Sharon, and I nodded without thinking. There was a popping sound, the sound of someone taking the lid off of something, and then a muffled noise. "I hope you are ovulating, dearest," said Simon, brightly, as he moved my legs apart and lifted the skirt of my dress up, folding it over my back. Suddenly it became clear what was going to happen, but it was too late. I felt a cold pressure at the point where the panties were split at the back, and gasped. I had never considered having sexual intercourse with a man. The idea was repellent. But I'd come to my senses about two seconds too late to do anything. Unseen by me Simon had pulled his trousers down and lubed up his erect member with the KY jelly he had got from the side-cabinet. Positioning himself with his arms down next to my side, pinning against my hips and using my dress to hold me in place, he pushed his cock firmly between my padded butt cheeks. For an instance there was resistance and I grunted in shock. Then my sphincter spasmed as I cried out and my husband's penis slid four inches into my rectum. There was a mirror next to the bed and in it the young wife's eyes went wide, her body shuddering as her husband slammed himself into her. Behind her, on the bed, his tall form, still clothed from the waist up, wrapped around her upper body, moved rhythmically up and down and he pushed in and pulled out, repeatedly. The shock fled and was replaced by pain. I'd never put anything up my rectum, and now I was penetrated. A man was in me, literally in me, and I sobbed, hating the slutty bitch I could see in the mirror, her body pulsing in time to her husbands as he rammed her, again and again. I found my voice amongst the gasps of pain. "Please Simon, please don't, please don't." I sounded pathetic, asking nicely for my rapist to not continue. His weight came down on me, and his grunting got louder, each thrust slapping his hips against my buttocks, his arms still holding me rock- solid in position, my dress tight around my shoulders, not allowing me to move forward. And I started to cry, to bawl like a little girl, as he got faster and faster. I tried hard to pull away, the pain and violation too much, but then he stopped, grunted hard, and as a man I knew exactly what he was going to do. I'd done it countless times with my own wife, and desperately I tried to reach around, looking pathetic in the mirror as my arms flailed, the light bouncing off of my wedding and engagement rings, as he climaxed. A man climaxed in me. His weight held me down and I sobbed as he grunted, once, twice, three times, his energies dropping as he shot his seed deep in me, again, again. He relaxed his hold on me and, leaning forward, kissed me on the back of my neck and whispered. "Good girl, that was wonderful." I thought I couldn't feel any more debased, but that comment brought more tears. He was still in me, I could feel him, and slowly, painfully, he pulled back, his flaccid penis plopping out of abused rectum, which pulsed out of my control. Flash, Sharon took a picture, and walked around the bed. She showed me the screen on the camera, a picture of a gaping anus with a lot of cum dribbling out of it. I sobbed quietly, still in the same position. "You can get up now, Sarah," said Sharon. I sniffed. "I don't want to get cum on my dress," I said, appalled at my own words. She smiled slightly, and went to the sidedraw. I heard her rummage around, then the sound of paper being torn. "Relax, Sarah," she said, and I felt a pressure on my abused rectum. She had pushed something up into me, and I felt a delicate touch, like a hair, on the top of my leg. "You've got a tampon in now, Sarah, you can sit up." I lifted myself off of all fours, my dress falling back down into place, and stood gingerly by the bed. My legs were trembling and I felt devastated, used. Simon was wiping his cock with a tissue. He pulled up his pants and walked to me, standing in front of me, towering over me even though he only had six inches on me. He put his hands gently on both sides of my face and kissed me. "You are a beautiful wife, Sarah, and I'm proud to be your husband." As I stood there, a man holding my face and kissing me repeatedly, his rings on my fingers, his seed trapped up inside me, plugged with a tampon, my feet aching in my heels, my earrings tight against my head, dressed in a floral fifties dress and with a demure wife-like haircut, I knew I had no right to think of myself as a man. I was his wife.