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Football Widow No Longer Belladonna Taylor gave her a husband a glare. The opening kickoff for the season opener was only a few hours away. She shook her head at his apparent vegetative stare while he gazed vacantly at the pre-game show. She knew that he would be out the door and at the bar by the time the game started. The games were all he seemed to care about once the regular season commenced. While Taylor had initially chaffed about being abandoned every Sunday, she had grown used to it over the years. It gave her time to watch the television shows that her husband hated. Still, she felt that Ron was getting to old to be going out for every one of his team's games, as well as watching every other game he got on their cable plan. The cable plan was one of the few bills that Ron actually paid in the house. She worked fulltime at the company she founded. Her office staff was small in number, but she made the money that carried the home. Ron worked a freelance job from the home. He did outside contract and consulting work that gave him inconsistent pay. Taylor had been supportive when Ron started to work from home. She figured it might give him the opportunity to take on more of their household responsibilities. That, however, never materialized. Taylor knew that Ron was lying about being to busy to do it. He simply did not want to be bothered with doing the tasks. She was well aware that he had a lot of dead time that he was spending watching television to prepare for drafting and setting up his fantasy rosters for his baseball and football teams, depending upon which season was about start or was ongoing. That, however, was not the full extent of his home activities. She was aware of his impulses. She had found his secret stash of feminine clothing in the attic years earlier. The clothing and shoes were clearly his size. Still, she decided not to confront him about it at the time. As long as she did not see it, she felt that she could put it out of her mind. Mental pictures formed whenever her thoughts drifted to the subject though. Given that, she tried to put the thoughts out of mind and focus on Ron as her male husband. That she was certain that he was working from home in a dress and skirt sometimes made that task a difficult one to accomplish. It had been a few weeks since she decided to confront the issue. Rather than do it head on, she took the opportunity presented by one of Ron's rare business meetings out of the home to install a few hidden cameras around the house. She had no doubt that if he lifted a finger around the home he would find them, but there had been no evidence that Ron had ever even let the thought of doing so cross his mind. Finding the will to turn on the first day of footage was difficult for her. She was concerned about what she would think about Ron once she saw him in a dress. She was certain that she would be sickened by the sight. Once she turned on the videos and fast-forwarded through them, she finally caught sight of Ron en femme. Her jaw went slack as she saw him typing away at his computer with his gray opaque tights covered legs crossed at the knee. He seemed docile with his head and body slightly tilted to left side. She went through the video and gazed at him as he stood up and moved into a room in full view of the camera. She zoomed in and saw the full extent of the padding on his figure that made his black fit and flare dress appear as if it was filled out by the curves of a real woman. The gray, satin, pointy toe pumps with four-inch stiletto heels on his feet were higher than the ones she normally wore to work. "Holy shit," she muttered to herself. She was flabbergasted by how feminine his movements were. They bordered on over the top, but he showed just enough restraint to make them less than comically feminine. She could not believe the image that he struck in his feminine guise. While she had been expected to see this grotesque figure, even in high definition video, Ron looked passable as a female despite the absence of makeup on his face. She was certain that he was not wearing it because that would be impossible to hide from her. There was no way he could remove it all and remain undetected. She sensed that he knew it too. "Smart," she said to herself, beginning to fully understand how well planned and practiced Ron's covert dalliances with femininity were. "Maybe he was caught before," Taylor wondered aloud. She figured that it had to be the case. It was the only reason she could find for why he knew what he could and could not do. The initial shock soon left her. As the weeks passed and she saw him working and lounging about the home in the various outfits he owned, Taylor grew bemused by his attempts to sit and rest in a feminine manner. That his cross-dressing was a daily occurrence on weekdays was not a shock to her given what she expected. Still, she was upset that he would refuse to admit the existence of something that could be that much of a part of his life. As she looked at her husband with his legs spread far apart, she felt that she was ready to see him with legs crossed in person. She wanted him to show her the side of him that he had been hiding. She had been dropping hints that she knew for weeks. Ron reacted with some alarm, but he downplayed it as best he could. He pretended that he had no idea about what she was talking about whenever she got too ham handed in her references. Still, getting him to admit it would be one thing, but Taylor wanted something more. She wanted something for having to put up with his years of lying. If he wanted to be a girl and stay at home, she figured that he could be her housewife. Nevertheless, she knew that she was not going to get him to agree to be that. She had to go somewhere beyond that. She had to give him a reason to dress en femme that would also allow him to save face. She needed to put herself on the line. She could never be a housewife, but she could be a maid for a day a week. He could be that just as well, and Sunday would be the perfect day for it. Once the opening day of the season came, Taylor decided to spring her plan into action. She had watched as her husband took his normal place on the couch to watch the pre-game shows before he was to head out to the bar to watch the first games of the week. Taylor walked into the living room and said in a matter of fact tone, "I think your team is going to lose today." "Do you?" Ron inquired before he asked with a smirk, "And what'd you base that on?" "Women's intuition. I think you're going to be very upset when you come home this evening." "When do I get upset about a loss...lately?" Ron replied with crossed arms. "I guess it's been a while," Taylor admitted. Ron nodded, having seen his team struggle through too many losing seasons over the recent years to expect anything other than a loss on a Sunday. A win was usually a happy aberration to Ron, except when it happened late enough in the season to clearly move the team's picks back in the following year's draft. "Still, I stand by what I said." "Really?" Ron asked, knowing that his wife had no knowledge of football beyond the fact that advertisements ran during the Super Bowl's commercial breaks. "Yes, I'd even make a bet on it." "What do you have that I would want?" Ron countered, almost immediately feeling as if he should not have said those words to his wife and breadwinner. Taylor was slightly taken aback by them. She leaned on her right leg and retorted, "I would offer sex to you, but after that comment, that'll be off the table for a while." "Don't' be that way." "That was kind of rude." "I didn't mean it that way!" "Then, how did you mean it?" "I was just pointing out that we share everything," Ron lied, trying to sound convincing as he did so. "Sure!" "Well, everything that's mine is yours." "Yah, those khakis and collared shirts are just what I want," Taylor rejoined. "Like your skirts are up my alley?" Ron retorted with what they both were aware was a lie. Ron knew that his fear of stretching out Taylor's clothing was the only thing that kept him from putting any of it on. Taylor sensed that as well. Taylor shook her head before she said, "So, what can I give the man with everything?" Ron shrugged before Taylor inquired, "Well, how about a maid?" "You're going to pay for a maid? How does that help me?" Ron asked with a laugh. "Oh, you know I don't make that kind of money!" Taylor retorted. "Then, what are you trying to say?" Ron inquired with a furrowed brow. "I'll be your maid every Sunday if they win." "And if we lose?" "We...for Christ's sake nobody on the team knows, or even CARES, about who you are. Can you stop talking about the team as if you're part of them?" "They're my team." "You're just a customer. It's a business. I don't say that Maybelline is my makeup company. I just buy their stuff." "It's not the same thing," Ron protested. "It basically is," Taylor retorted with a shrug. "No. It's not even close!" "Okay, well, if YOU don't win, then YOU'LL be my maid," Taylor replied to Ron's shock. "What?" "You heard me!" "Are you crazy?" "What you don't think that YOU'LL win?" Ron was shocked by the terms of the bet. He wondered what his wife's ulterior motive was as he processed her words. He shook his head before he said, "I'd take that bet, because I know we'll win." Taylor smiled at Ron's obvious lie. She knew that he was just as certain that his team would lose as she was. "So, you'd risk spending your Sunday's in a dress?" Taylor asked. "I'm not risking anything. My team can beat this team," Ron insisted. "Oh, I like a man with confidence. So it's a bet?" "Oh, it's on!" "Shake on it?" "How about we kiss on it?" Ron countered. "You've always been such a tough negotiator," Taylor retorted with a shake of her head before she planted a kiss on his lips while Ron got to his feet. "I better get going," Ron said while he checked the clock. 'You know we could be having sex right now, but you're running out to watch a bunch of sweaty guys put their hands all over each other, right?' Taylor thought while she shook her head as her husband collected his keys, wallet and phone. "Good luck," Taylor said as she kissed her husband goodbye. "You'll need it," Ron countered with a smile before his wife shot him back a peeved glance while he headed out the door. Ron felt light on his feet as he reached his car and drove to the bar. He could not wait for the game to come to an end so that he could face the consequences of the loss he was sure was going to come. He wondered if his wife would really hold him to the bet though. Part of him was certain that the term "maid" to his wife meant butler. Still the remote prospect of freely wearing dress around her had driven him to accept the terms as his wife had presented them. Ron walked into the bar and greeted the regulars that filled the place every Sunday. He knew many of them by name and most of the people in the bar by face. He settled in at a stool and got a beer as he waited for the kickoff. Ron watched the game and grew disappointed by the performance of his team. The team was fairing far better than he or any of the commentators predicted was possible. With wringing hands, Ron put his head down at half time and thought, 'Shit, they might pull this off! Opening day, bullshit. How could that fucking team come out not ready to play?' Ron forced a smile to his face while he pretended to be glad about his team's uncharacteristically good showing. He tried to act as if it was the start of any other season when a good start would raise his hopes before the team collapsed later in the season, in accordance with their tradition. He smiled and chatted with the other regulars at the bar before the second half was about to start. As the teams retook the field, Ron hoped that his team would stop over achieving for a change. While Ron was praying for his team to collapse, Taylor was doing the same thing. She could not believe what she was seeing. Everything she had read told her that the game was an easy victory for the home team. Still, she knew that she was poorly versed in the game of football beyond the odds she read in the paper. She fretted that the easy victory would change into a situation where she would have to put on a maid's uniform each Sunday. As the second half opened, both husband and wife watched with slack jaws as the kick returner for Ron's team ran back the kickoff for his first career touch down. "You've got to be kidding me," Taylor exclaimed in despair while she slumped on the couch. "Where was this guy last year?" Ron demanded to know as the kick returner showed far more skill and promise than he had the year before. Once the cheers of the bar crowd died down, Ron fretted while he struggled to find someway that he could turn the win into a reason for him to put on the maid's dress. He thought about pitching it one Sunday as an act of solidarity with his wife. He figured that it might be a believable enough reason. Ron sipped on his beer as the next kickoff ended with a good return. 'Okay, showing some life. About fucking time,' Ron thought. "Got to stop 'em here. You can't let this team back into the game," a drunkard next to Ron noted while he turned to Ron. "Damn right," Ron replied with faux enthusiasm. 'Please dear, God. Take it to the house. We suck for Christ's sake,' Ron thought as he saw the ball traveling to an open receiver down field. Ron struggled not to cheer as the player ran into his team's end zone and spiked the ball. "Shit," the drunkard exclaimed. "You knew they weren't going to shut this team out," another noted. "One could dream," Ron lied. Ron hopes rose as his team's next drive ended with a turnover close their end zone. While the rest of the bar groaned about the team's seeming inevitable collapse, Ron struggled not to beam as the quarterback ran the ball into the end zone. "Oh, for fuck's sake," the drunk next to Ron exclaimed while Ron took the cue to throw up his hands in mock disgust. As Ron watched the ball kicked off to his team, he started to feel conflicted about the sudden turn in his team's fortunes. While it always dismayed him, for the first time, he was cheering for it. He wanted them to fail. It felt like a betrayal to him, but he knew what he wanted more than their success. It was the first time in his life that he was forced to admit to himself about the extent of his desire to cross-dress ran. The game continued on with additional drives resulting in the game's score growing closer to even. As Ron watched the final play of the fourth quarter, he nearly jumped off his seat as the 40-yard kick went through the uprights to tie the score. Taylor felt a sense of relief that the game was going to overtime. She grew increasingly certain that her team would pull it out, as each of the commentators predicated before the start of the game. Ron and Taylor watched overtime with baited breath. They both knew what was riding on the outcome as each team went down the field to come up empty handed. As the game ended, Ron gave the tie score a blank look. He shook his head while he thought, 'What the hell do we do with a tie?' Simultaneously, Taylor shouted in disbelief, "WHAT KIND OF GAME ENDS IN A TIE? HOW CAN YOU CALL THIS A SPORT?" It was not long after that Ron settled his bar tab and started home to face his wife. He wondered what she would say about the bet. A tie was something that the bet did not contemplate. It was the least likely situation. Ron hoped that he could convince his wife that they both lost the bet. They both bet that their team would win. A tie was not a win. It seemed plausible enough to Ron, but he needed to trick her into making the pitch. Once Ron walked into his home, Taylor approached him and said, "Well, that was something." "Yah." "A tie game huh, so who won?" "Well, nobody won," Ron answered. "So, who lost?" Ron shrugged as he said, "No one." "What kind of sport allows a tie?" Taylor demanded to know. "It sucks," Ron admitted. "So, didn't we bet about who won?" "Yup," Ron replied. "So, if neither won, didn't we both lose?" Taylor inquired. Ron struggled not to smile, as his wife seemed to be reading his mind. Taylor gave Ron a smile before she said, "So, we're going to be each others maid's each Sunday?" "I guess so." Taylor smiled at her husband's failure to even pretend that the situation was anything other than the situation she had painted. She knew that he wanted it too bad to even risk the chance that he would end up not wearing a dress the next Sunday. "Maybe we can rotate Sundays," Taylor said. "What do you mean?" Ron inquired. "Well, we can't both be maids, can we? A maid needs a mistress; otherwise, she isn't really a maid, is she? We just be two maids, which is one too many for this house," Taylor explained. "I guess," Ron answered, missing his wife's insinuation. Taylor struggled not to grin at her husband while she said, "How about you be the maid next week and I'll be the mistress." "And, then, we'll swap?" Ron asked. "Of course," Taylor lied, knowing that one she got her husband in a dress he would never give it up. "Deal," Ron replied. 'So transparent,' Taylor thought as a grin came to her face as she said, "You are a man of your word, babe." ----------------------------------------------------------------------- As the next Sunday morning came, Ron's eyes opened. He rolled over in bed and noticed that his wife was already up and out of the bed. He stretched in place as he wondered if his wife was going to hold him to the bet. He hoped that she would, but a part of him doubted that she meant "maid" in its literal sense even if she did, despite everything she had said the Sunday before. Taylor had not even mentioned the bet since he came home on Sunday. He figured that she would have done a celebratory dance when he agreed to be her Maid every other Sunday that would have put the most showboating of players on the field to shame. Instead, she was silent. He wanted to inquire about what she had planned for him, but he did not want to make it seem as if he was giving her any ideas. She had been dropping too many odd hints about his cross-dressing that let him think she might have an idea about what he was up to when he was alone. He did not want to confirm it by giving away his eagerness for her to mean what she said in a literal sense. Ron pushed himself out of bed and started to walk around it. He came to a stop as he saw the maid's dress hanging in plain sight off the back of their bedroom door. Ron approached it with hesitant steps. He had never seen the uniform before. From the size alone, Ron could tell that it was too big for Taylor. It looked like it would be a good fit for him, leaving no doubt about for whom it was purchased. Ron's manhood swelled as he reached for the uniform. As he did so, he caught sight of a note tucked into one of the pockets of the dress. Clutching the note, Ron took a step back from the dress and unfolded the paper. Ron's eyes widened as he read his wife's handwritten instructions. His eyes darted to where Taylor told him his undergarments could be located. Ron hurried towards his dresser and pulled open his underwear drawer to find the promised pairs of panties, tights, breast forms and bra that were waiting for him. "Holy shit," Ron exclaimed as he picked up the D-cup sized forms. "What is she trying to make me look like?" Ron inquired, never having owned more than a set of c-cup sized forms in his life. Ron's right hand pulled out of his dresser drawer and returned to co- clutching the note with his left as he read the detailed instructions about how he was to dress. Every detail about his required appearance was dictated in detail on the paper. Ron's mind raced while he grinned, realizing that his wife had meant exactly what she said. He was going to be her maid every other Sunday for the rest of season. Ron stifled a squeal as he put down the note and began to follow the first direction. After removing his boxers, Ron reached for the pair of lacy blue panties that his wife had put in his drawer for him. He pulled them up his legs and felt his manhood swell as he brought them up his legs. "This is awesome," Ron muttered to himself as he took hold of his black, opaque tights and began to roll them down as his wife instructed. It was not an instruction he needed. He had been doing just what she had written for him to do for longer than he had known her. Ron put his toes to the seams of the tights and began working each side up his hairy legs. He hated the hair that kept him from sporting bare legs or wearing pantyhose. He needed opaque tights to cover up the traces of the masculinity his marriage prevented him from eliminating. The only way he could hide his leg hair otherwise was to put on two pairs of pantyhose at a time. It was something he often did when he wanted a change of pace, but he knew that it was not functional nor an option under the circumstances that morning. As Ron reached his thighs, he stood up and swayed his hips from side to side while he worked the control top up to his waist. He smoothed out the waistband before he reached for the matching baby blue bra. "She probably choose blue for boy," Ron said to himself with a laugh as he worked his arms through the straps before he hooked the front closures of the bra that hung far off his chest. Ron's hands then reached for the large forms. He pushed them down into the cups of his bra and felt his bra straps digging into his shoulders and side as he did so. Ron felt relieved when he was able to pull his hands away from the bra that was now snugly pressing the forms into his chest. As he let his hands down to his sides, Ron walked towards the dress to put it on. He stepped into the black dress that was decorated with white cuffs on the short sleeves and a white Peter Pan collar. After putting his arms through the short sleeves, he buttoned up the front of the dress and felt for the pockets in front of it. His hands crept into them as he walked back towards the note. Ron nodded as he followed the note's directions concerning what was waiting for him in his closet. Ron pulled up the doors and stared at the blonde wig that his wife had purchased for him. "She's definitely going for the bimbo maid look," Ron thought, slightly disappointed by the idea. He wanted to be more realistic maid and the longhaired wig seemed in stark contrast with the utilitarian uniform. Ron reached for the wig and situated it on his head. He approached the vanity mirror over his wife's dresser before he straightened the wig out on his head. His hands reached for the long tresses before he took hold of the ponytail holder that his wife had left out for him. He pulled the wig hair back and put it in a low ponytail before he returned to the closet. Ron's eyes then searched for the shoes that he had been promised were amongst his own. His eyes widened as he saw a pair of one inch, block heeled women's shoes that were clearly out of place in his closet. "She went all out," Ron thought as he slipped his feet into the shoes. He was surprised by how well they fit before his eyes caught sight of the apron that had been mixed among his things as well. Ron reached for the apron and pulled it on over his head. He tied the strands around his back before he approached the mirror for a final self- inspection before he would have to face his wife. As Ron looked himself over, Ron wondered why his wife had him dress as she had. He knew that she certainly had other options. A costume maid's dress would have likely been easier to find than the uniform he was dressed in and it would have been a better complement to the wig and forms she had chosen. Ron smiled at his reflection, enjoying the look of his body from the neck down. His face, however, left something to be desired. He felt that he needed to put on makeup, but his wife had not instructed him to apply any to his face. As far as he knew, she had no idea that he had any practice putting it on at all. That was a rare treat that he reserved for when she was away on a separate vacation or a business trip. After a few deep breaths, Ron decided that it was time to face his wife. He had always wanted to tell her about the side of him that dressed up in women's clothing, however, he had feared that it would lead to another rejection. He kept it a secret, but, now, he was going to be openly dressing as a woman around her at her request. He wondered if she would sense that he was not opposed to it. Given everything that had been said over the past few weeks, he was certain that she knew. Ron drew open his bedroom door and started down the hallway that led to the stairs. He did not see or hear his wife as he made his way through the hallway. His feet reached the steps and he heard the sound of the television as he got midway down them. Ron paused for a second, wondering if he should turn around and tell her that the bet was off. Ron shook his head at the thought. He was too close to letting his wife in on the truth to back down now. Ron took a deep breath to collect himself before he continued down the staircase and turned towards the living room. Sensing a presence, Taylor's eyes darted from the television to her husband. Ron stood in silence, waiting for her judgment. He expected laughter. He expected shock. Maybe even the disgust he had long feared. Instead, she was only silent. She gave him an emotionless look that struck a different type of fear into his heart. He feared that something had been lost between them. He wondered if she no longer saw him as her husband. He wondered if she had lost all caring about him not to react at all. Swallowing hard, Ron watched as Taylor got to her feet. She sauntered towards him as she looked him over and said, "I see you saw the note." Ron nodded. A smirk came to Taylor's face as she said, "You did a good job following directions." Ron was silent before Taylor said, "That was a compliment." "Oh, uh...thank you," Ron replied. Taylor shook her head before she said, "As a maid, you shouldn't expect too many compliments from your mistress. So, you should probably soak that one in, Ronnie." "Ronnie?" "That's my name for you?" "But..." "But what? It's what your mother used to call you. Do you have a different name you want to be called?" Taylor challenged him to answer with the truth. "No," Ron lied with a shake of her head. "That's what I thought," Taylor responded, simultaneously amazed and irritated by Ron's willingness to continue lying about what he was to her, even as he stood before her examining eyes dressed as a large breasted maid. Ron stood awaiting her to say something more. She reached for her stomach as she said, "I'm famished. Go make breakfast." Ron nodded as he walked away from her in silence. He turned and looked back over his shoulder, catching sight of his wife walking with crossed arms back to the couch. Ron felt an odd detachment from her. He had not sensed it the entire week. Everything had been normal. As he started to cook, Ron felt terrified that the dress was a trap. Maybe she expected him to take one look at the note and tell her off. Perhaps she wanted him to rebel, but, instead, he put on a dress and tarted himself up as a blonde bimbo maid like an eager sissy she must have thought he was. Ron started to sweat while he cooked her breakfast. He was panicking. It was all too obvious to him that he had failed his wife's test. He never should have agreed to the bet, and he certainly should Welshed on it when the obvious out arose. Ron's stomach churned as he cooked. The smell was making him hungry even as his uneasiness was suppressing his appetite. The more he whisked the eggs the greater his panic became. He wondered how he could have possibly approached his wife looking like a Hooter's waitress on Halloween. He was a man. He was supposed to be her man, her protector. Now, he was dressed like her female servant and not even a dignified looking one at that. Ron finished cooking and put their plates on the table before he made them two cups of coffee and went to tell his wife that breakfast was ready. Taylor turned to Ron as he made his announcement. "Thank you, Ronnie," Taylor replied in a monotone. Ron nodded as she walked by him without looking at him. Ron quivered from the uncharacteristic lack of emotion from his wife. She rarely hid her emotions from him. He wondered why she was not telling him how she felt. He feared that it was too painful for her to express. Taylor walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table before one of the settings. She turned to Ron and asked, "Why are there two settings here?" Ron gave her a confused look before she said, "The help don't eat with their mistress. Don't you know that?" "Oh, I'm sorry," Ron replied in the face of his wife's condescending tone and words. "Don't do it again," Taylor retorted. Ron nodded while he rushed to remove his plate and cup from the table as he fretted, 'What have I done?' Ron struggled to eat breakfast on his feet while he watched his wife eating and looking at her cell phone as she did so. Whenever she seemed to need something, Ron rushed to serve her. Taylor grinned at his efforts before she said, "You're getting better at this." "Thank you," Ron replied, happy to see some show of emotion from his wife. Taylor nodded while Ron started to step away from her. As he moved away, she swatted him on his rear. Ron jumped a few steps before he turned around and faced his wife. Taylor smiled as she ordered, "Put a little wiggle in those steps, Maid." Ron blushed as he said, "I'll keep that in mind." "Don't keep that in mind. Just do it! That's an order, Missy!" "Okay," Ron replied as his manhood swelled. "And get me some more coffee," Taylor ordered "Sorry," Ron responded with haste while he rushed towards her while his arousal began to wane. "A girl could get used to this kind of service," Taylor remarked as Ron scuttled towards the coffee machine. "Well, it's just for one day a week." "For now," Taylor replied. "What's that supposed to mean?" Ron asked with a racing heart. "Let's see how it goes, Ronnie. Maybe your services will be needed on a more regular basis." Ron saw a playful look in his wife's eyes that took the edge off her statement for him. Ron breathed a sigh of relief and took a few short breaths while he brought back her second cup of coffee. Taylor took the cup and finished her meal after Ron discarded the part of his meal he could not eat due to his residual nervousness. Once Taylor finished, she got up and said, "Clean up in here and come and get me." "Will do." "I would prefer you respond, "Yes, Mistress." "Yes, Mistress." "Better, Maid," Taylor remarked with a smile before she exited the room. Ron watched her leave before went over to the table to collect her silverware, cup and plate and put them with his own in the sink. Ron rinsed each off before he put them in the dishwasher. Ron then walked over to the table and wiped it down before he started for the living room. Ron walked into the living room. He came to a stop and looked at Taylor. He cupped his hands in front of his body while he waited for his wife to address him. Taylor grinned at his docile stance as he waited for her to take the lead. Taylor got to her feet and said, "You know, dear, I hate to break this to you, but you don't have the skin to go makeup free." "I'm sorry." "It's not your fault." "I didn't know I was supposed to put any on. It wasn't on the note..." "How would you even know how to put it on?" Taylor asked with raised eyebrows as she flicked his ponytail with her right hand. "I guess you're right," Ron hurried to answer. "Of course, I am," Taylor responded with a lie in the face of her husband's continued poor deception. Ron watched as Taylor walked past him. After he failed to take her hint, she ordered him to follow her. Ron hurried behind his wife as she approached the bathroom. Once they entered it, he saw his wife's makeup bag was open on the vanity top. Taylor smiled while she started to give Ron a makeover. She told him how she applied each cosmetic while he watched her in the mirror. Ron struggled to act as if she was telling him things that were new to him, but he felt that she expected them to be alien concepts for a man. The only bigger struggle for Ron was trying to hide his arousal from his wife as he watched the colors being added to his feminized reflection and dealt with the sensations of the soft female clothing that he was sporting. The effect of the little makeup on Ron's face was obvious to both of them. Taylor smiled as she said, "Now, you really look the part." "I don't know," Ron said as he pulled at the blonde ponytail. "You think that's throwing the look?" Taylor inquired. "I don't know too many maids with big blonde ponytails." "How many maids do you know?" Taylor countered with crossed arms. "None." "So, they might all look like you for all you know." "God, I hope not," Ron exclaimed. "They'd probably say the same thing about look like you," Taylor rejoined with a laugh. "Oh, I know," Ron admitted. Taylor patted Ron on the back and said, "Maybe next time, we'll go with something else." "Something a little less slutty, perhaps?" "Slutty? You think you're slutty?" Taylor rejoined. "No. It's the wig." "What's wrong with it?" "It makes me look like a bimbo!" "Well, you're the one who got himself dressed up like a maid by losing a little bet, tits for brains!" Ron blushed at Taylor's needling that was starting to arouse him. Taylor grinned at his response before she said, "Well, I've done more than enough fraternizing with the help. You have duties to attend to, little missy." "What do I have to do?" Ron inquired as he member squirmed from his wife's tone and words. "Oh, it's all on the list on the fridge." "I didn't notice that." "You miss a lot," Taylor rejoined. Ron gave her a nervous look before he followed her out of the bathroom. While she went back to the living room, Ron made his way to the kitchen. As he glanced at the fridge, the note was obvious to him. He wondered how he missed it. He figured that he may have overlooked it in his haste to make her breakfast. Ron took the list off the fridge and started to read it. He was surprised by the length of the list of chores and the specification of the exact sequence in which he was supposed to undertake them. Ron nodded his head as he read the detailed instructions that accompanied many of the chores he had been tasked with completing. "Jesus, she's thinks of everything," Ron half complained and half marveled to himself. Once he finished reading the list, Ron put it down. With a shake of his head, he went to the hamper to collect the dirty clothing. As he bent down, he felt the weight of the large breast forms pulling him towards the floor. The feminine change in his center of gravity brought a smile to Ron's face as he filled the basket before he stood up and carried it to the laundry room. Ron entered the washing room and opened the washing machine. He filled the washer before he added the detergent and turned on the machine. Despite his wife's specific instructions, it was hardly his first time using the machine. He had been using it for his secret wardrobe for years. With water flowing into the washing machine, Ron walked over to where Taylor kept her cleaning supplies. With the supplies in hand, Ron headed for the staircase and went up to his bedroom. Ron paused in the doorway and looked around the room. He stepped into the room and started to pick up the various articles of clothing he had dropped on the floor that morning. It was something his wife usually did for him, much to her irritation. He could hardly complain about having to cleanup the mess he made for a change, especially as the pull of his tights, the rise of his dress and the feeling of the weight on his chest made his member surge with every moment he spent leaning over to collect it. Once Ron scooped up the clothing and put them in a basket, he began to dust around the room. He cleaned the wood furniture and proceeded onto making the bed. With the bed made, he went and retrieved the vacuum from the hall closet. Ron ran the vacuum across the rug before he repeated the same routine in both of the guest rooms. Ron then vacuumed the carpeted hallway before he made his way into the bathroom. By the time Ron put away the vacuum, he felt like the little woman of the house. A glance down at his uniform, however, made that fantasy dissipate from his mind as quickly as it had formed. Ron then gazed into the bathroom and thought about the directions that Taylor had left for him. Just as with the bedrooms and hallway, he knew that no deviation from Taylor's careful plan would be tolerated. As Ron entered the bathroom, he put down his cleaning supplies on the vanity. Shortly thereafter, he carried the trashcan out of the room. He carried it to his room and took hold of his wastebasket and carried them down the stairs. After dumping out the trashcans and placing the clothing from the night before with the rest of the wash he was doing that day, Ron went back up the staircase to get back to cleaning the bathroom. Ron situated the trashcan by the door before he slid his hands into his wife's pink rubber gloves. Ron felt the resistance on his fingers as he compressed the glove with them. The stiffness was unusual to him. While he loved the idea of wearing pink, he had never desired to do so by slipping his hands into a pair of rubber gloves. As he adjusted his hands in the gloves, he reached for the bleach. He poured it into the toilet bowl. Ron always hated the smell when Taylor used it, but he had never been this close to it before. Ron held his nose with one hand as he plunged the toilet scrubber down into the water. He let the brush sit in the water as the toilet and scrubber soaked in the bleach. Ron looked back at the list and saw the bulleted point telling him to clean the mirror above the vanity before cleaning the vanity itself. Ron took hold of the glass cleaner and sprayed the mirror. He ran newspaper across the mirrors as he spread and dried the cleaner onto the surface. Once he was finished cleaning the mirror, Ron grabbed his cleaner and began to spray the tiled portions of his walls. With his sponge in hand, Ron scrubbed the tiles, making his way around the room as he kept spraying the wall. The arousing feeling of the dress rising up his legs as he reached up made the task go faster. Ron stepped into the shower only after he finished the walls outside of the tub. He repeated the same motions on the walls of the shower, as well as the two shelves that had been built into the walls. Ron then proceeded to scrubbing the fixtures before he shined them with a paper towel in accordance with Taylor's directions. Stepping out of the shower, Ron moved towards the vanity top to wipe it down. He made quick work of it before he started to clean the faucet, handles and drain. Once he finished with the sink, Ron turned his attention to the toilet. Ron struggled to get down to his knees. He clutched his back as he made his way down to the floor. "Fuck, this is too much for one day," Ron muttered as he rested before the toilet. The tile floor felt cold beneath his nylon-covered knees and made him shiver for a moment. Ron started to wipe down the bowl before he cleaned the flush handle. His hands then took hold of the scrubber and the lid of the toilet. Ron scrubbed the toilet clean before he stood up and began to get ready to clean the floor. Ron mopped the floor clean for a few minutes before he put the trash can back in place. With bathroom room finished, Ron went to the laundry room and shifted the wet clothes from the washer into the dryer. He turned on the dryer before he refilled the washer with a load of white clothing. With both machines humming, Ron walked into the kitchen to make lunch to Taylor's exact specifications. Ron followed each written directive before he put it in on the table and sought out his wife. Taylor's eyes rose to meet Ron's as he entered the room. Ron cleared his throat before he told her that her lunch was ready. "That won't do," Taylor replied with a shake of her head and a wag of her right pointer finger. "What's wrong?" Ron asked, confused by her declaration. "Tell me properly." "I prepared your lunch properly and it's ready to be properly put upon the table." "I meant tell me with respect," Taylor clarified with another shake of her head. "Oh, your lunch is ready, mistress," Ron replied, using a British accent as he spoke the words. "Better, now curtsy before you tell me," Taylor commanded. "Really?" Ron asked as his member swelled and a shiver ran up his spine. Taylor motioned for Ron to speed up his submission to her will before she chided, "Maids don't question their mistresses." Ron tilted his head down and held the edges of his skirt. He dropped into a curtsy. As he rose from it, he said, "Mistress, your lunch is served." "Thank you, Ronnie," Taylor said with a smile before she added, "That certainly didn't seem like your first curtsy, dear." "No. It definitely was," Ron lied in self-defense. "I told you not to talk back," Taylor retorted with another wag of her finger while she walked passed him. Ron nodded as he followed Taylor into the kitchen. Taylor sat down at the table in the kitchen. She watched with a satisfied look while Ron served her lunch. As she started to eat, Ron asked, "So, how is everything going?" "So far, so good. I'm very happy about our bet. How about you?" "I'd be happier if you gave me an update on the game," Ron replied. "What game?" "You know..." "Oh, there's no football in this house on Sunday. Not this year." "Come on, Taylor..." "No. You gave that up with the bet." "But..." "I'm just trying to break an addict," Taylor replied as Ron pouted. Ron shook his head before Taylor added, "So, how is the day going for you?" "Oh, you know, I've had better," Ron lied. "Really?" Taylor asked with a hint of incredulity. Ron nodded before Taylor asked, "How is your work coming along?" "I'm making progress with the list, I've..." "I was asking for a good or not good response. Don't bore me with the details of cleaning," Taylor cut her husband's answer off in a stern tone. "Sorry," Ron replied, bringing a smile to his wife's face before she went back to devouring the meal he put down in front of her. Taylor put her fork down after taking the last bite of her food. She gave Ron a fleeting smile while she stood up and walked out of the room without saying a single word. Ron understood the meaning of her actions. He was the maid, and he alone was supposed to clean up without having to be told to do so. Ron got to his feet and cleared the table. He rinsed the dishes, glasses and cutlery and put them in the dishwasher before he wiped down the counters. Once Ron finished cleaning up in the kitchen, he went back to the laundry room to move the white load into the dryer. He put the first load of clothing in the basket to carry upstairs before he filled the washer with a second load of colored clothing. Ron then carried the clean clothing up the stairs. He hung various items up and placed others in Taylor and his dressers. After he put away the clean clothing, Ron headed for the downstairs bathroom. Ron walked into the room and remembered the instructions Taylor left him. He started by scouring the inside of the tub and toilet. Ron knelt before each fixture, as the chance to get off his feet for a few minutes was something he had looked forward to since the moment he had last gotten off his nylon-covered knees. Once he finished cleaning the inside of the tub and toilet, he wiped down the shower walls, the outside of the toilet and the sink basin. He moved on from the toilet and tub by turning to clean the vanity mirror. Ron then felt the cool flooring beneath his nylon again as he went to scrub the floor. Unlike in the morning, the feeling sent a shiver through his body, but it felt good as it helped to cool down his body while he scrubbed the floor. Ron made his way towards the door, never leaving his knees as he did so. As Ron finished the bathroom, he hoped that his wife would find no fault with his work. He figured it was only a matter of time before Taylor inspected it. With the bathroom done, Ron went into the dinning room and began to sweep the wood floors of the dinning room. Ron was surprised by the step of sweeping that Taylor insisted he do in every room before he would be allowed to apply cleaner to the floors. While he swept the floors, he wondered what he was getting up with a broom that would not come up with a mop. It seemed like a redundant exercise to him, but he was not going to question his wife in uniform. He felt that it would be an insolent act. Ron made his way from one end of the room to the other, careful to follow his wife's instruction to not let the bristles bend while he performed the chore. Once he finished, Ron emptied the dustpan and filled the bucket for the mop. The mop was swept across the floor soon after. Ron continued to follow Taylor's detailed directions as he kept the mop sweeps with the grain of the wood to limited areas before it was wrung out. Like everything else that day, Ron found the job tedious and repetitive. "How does she do this every week?" Ron thought before he remembered that she broke the tasks up by undertaking a few different ones each day. Ron refilled the bucket a few times while he moved through the other rooms that he had taken to sweeping first. He continued cleaning the floors until he returned to the laundry room to put the white clothes in the laundry basket. He then moved the second load of colored clothing in the dryer. As he turned the dryer on, his eyes turned to his wife's intimates. As he reached for them, he saw a note packed away with the clothing. Ron pulled out the note and unfolded it. He stared at the varying directions for each different item before he filled the sink. Ron reached for a pair of his wife lace panties and put laundry soap into the warm water that had filled the sink. Ron plunged the panties into the water. He read the note as he went, careful not to the rub the panties before he laid them flat on a counter to dry before he repeated the action with the next pair. Once he finished, Ron tossed the rest of the underwear in the sink and left it to soak. Ron then headed up the stairs with the clean white clothing and put it away in his and his wife's dressers before he went back downstairs to check on his wife. Ron followed the only sounds in the home besides the slap of his shoes on the floor beneath his feet. As he entered the living room, Ron came to a stop as he saw his wife dressed in a white, mini-dress. Ron looked over the way the short dress showed off his wife's legs and the plunging v-neckline that displayed her ample bust. Taylor grinned at Ron's leering eyes while she stretched out on the couch. "Can I help you, Ronnie?" Taylor asked while she forced the smile from her face. "I was wondering if you need anything," Ron replied. "As a matter of fact, I will take a glass of wine." "Red or white?" "Get me a glass of pinot," Taylor ordered. "Yes, Mistress," Ron replied, staying in character. Ron hurried to the wine rack that Taylor had him install in the kitchen a few years earlier. He selected a bottle of pinot he knew she liked and opened it before he poured it into a glass. Ron held the glass close to his body as he scuttled back into the living room to deliver the glass to his wife. Ron bent down as he handed it to his wife. She thanked him in a cursory manner before she brought glass to her lips. She gave him a relaxed smile before she said, "Back to work, Ronnie." "Oh, yes, sorry," Ron replied, forgetting his place. He felt momentarily jealous about not having a drink himself, but those thoughts retreated as he returned to cleaning the living room. As the wine reached Taylor's lips for the second time, Ron began to dust the furniture in the room. Taylor struggled not to smile as Ron walked around her, while she remained unwilling to move. She lounged and watched the television before Ron started to clean the floor. As Ron moved around her, he moved the broom quickly to Taylor's side. Taylor jerked her arm, feigning as if Ron was about to hit her arm with the broom. They both watched as the pinot rose from the glass and spilled upon the floor. "Ronnie, you stupid girl. Clean that up this instant," Taylor barked. "Yes, Mistress," Ron replied without any prodding while his cheeks went flush. Ron hurried out of the room to fetch the items that Taylor demanded he bring while he scurried around. Ron rushed back into the room with the mop, rag and bucket in hand. Ron bent down and started to hand scrub the spot where the wine had landed. His wife glared at him while he worked. As Ron's hands pulled away from the spot he scrubbed, Taylor lurched forward on the couch to inspect his work. She smiled at his work and told him to mop up the excess water before going back to cleaning the rest of the room. Ron complied with the order before he swept and mopped the remainder of the floor. Once he finished, Ron excused himself from her presence. Ron went back into the laundry room and removed Taylor's intimates from the water before he left them to dry. After unstopping the drain, Ron went into the kitchen to make dinner for his wife. Ron scurried about the kitchen as he made the dinner before he put it upon the table. Ron then hurried into the living room to announce that it was ready. Taylor shook her head as Ron rose from his curtsy. Ron gave her a curious look before he inquired, "What's wrong now?" "Those shoes are not appropriate for serving dinner." "What's wrong with them?" Ron asked while he looked down at his shoes. "I expect more formality from my help in the evening," Taylor replied as she got to her feet. Ron gave her an expectant glance that she answered with an order, "Wait for me in the dinning room." "Okay," Ron replied before he walked into the dinning room, while his wife headed for their bedroom. Ron stood beside the table, knowing that he could not sit without her permission. He kept his hands cupped in front of him while he waited for his wife's return. The sight of Taylor walking into the room made Ron's head snap towards her. His wife grinned while she held the pair of black rounded toe pumps from her fingers tips. Ron took the shoes from his wife with a dumbfounded look. He continued to be surprised by the fact she would got to such lengths. "I don't know how to walk in these," Ron lied while he held the shoes away from him. "How would you know that?" "What?" "Have you ever worn a pair before?" "No," Ron replied slowly. "So, you have no way of knowing if you can't walk in them. Shoes are shoes, dear." 'No, they're not,' Ron wanted to protest. "Anyway, you've always been a quick learner," Taylor replied. "Thank you," Ron replied with a confused tone. "Don't mention it," Taylor responded, deliberately ignoring his confusion. Ron nodded as he began to slip off his low-heeled shoes. Taylor smirked as she saw Ron instinctively brace himself against the wall as his right foot entered the first heel. He did the same when his left before he served her the meal he prepared and freshened up her drink. As Taylor swirled the wine in her glass, she announced, "Ronnie, you may sit with me tonight." "I can?" Ron asked. "Yes, get yourself a plate." "Thank you, Mistress," Ron replied with a curtsy as his member swelled. Taylor struggled not to laugh at her husband's eagerness as he entered the kitchen. Taylor shook her head at the sound of the loud clicks of Ron's rushing feet on the kitchen floor. The sounds filled Ron's ears too and made his member grow to its fullest. He loved the sound and feeling of it as he struggled to keep his hand away from his crotch. Ron returned to the dinning room with a setting for himself before he served himself and took a seat across from his wife. Taylor saw the cringe on Ron's face as he fidgeted in his seat as he sat on his erect manhood. Taylor smiled at her husband while she asked, "Aren't I kind mistress?" "Of course," Ron seconded. "I would have to be to eat with the help," Taylor replied with a smirk. Ron nodded, unsure if she had been testing him. Ron waited for another scolding, but Taylor dictated the conversation's topics, tone and pace. To his relief, she kept it friendly, relaxed and on topics that did not require deep thought. Once Taylor finished eating, she told him to clean up. Ron nodded before Taylor added, "And don't you dare take those shoes off until I say so. You've already had enough time off those feet." "Yes, Mistress," Ron replied with a dutiful nod as he got to his feet. Ron then carried the dishes and serving plates from the dinning room and put them in the sink. Ron slipped his hands into a pair of his wife's latex gloves before he took hold of a sponge and started to scour the pots, pans and serving plates he had used. With each item he rinsed, Ron situated it to the side before he reached for the next thing to wash. Ron then retrieved the plates and utensils from dinner. After he cleaned them, he put them in the dishwasher and felt a tinge of pain while he stood up. "Son of a...," Ron muttered at the pain in his lower back. Despite the pain, Ron decided to work through it as he took to cleaning up the rest of the kitchen. He went to the fridge and followed his wife's direction by emptying it. With every step he took on his trips from the counter to the fridge, Ron heard his heels click on the floor. The sound echoed in his mind as his member swelled at the constant reminder that he was freely wearing a pair of heels, hosiery and a dress in his home. He felt every inch a fifty's housewife once more. The illusion in his mind was only punctured whenever he caught sight of the uniform that made clear his role in the home was not as a docile partner, but his wife's obedient servant. Ron struggled to keep from thinking about what his wife was thinking or would think if she realized how much he was enjoying himself. Ron tried, instead, to focus on his tasks while he went about discarding every expired item from the fridge. Once those items rested in the trashcan, Ron collected his cleaning supplies and went back to the fridge to wipe down the shelves and drawers of the refrigerator. Ron felt the added pressure pushing into the heels and balls of his feet as he pressed down into the surfaces with his hands while he cleaned and dried the refrigerator. Ron's face went flush as the familiar pains turned him on. He knew that it was because he associated them with being a girl. He wanted to feel those pains. He had loved the feminine experience of it ever since he was a child parading around the home in his older sister's stilettos. With the fridge dried, Ron put everything back into the fridge before he repeated the process with the freezer. After he finished, Ron wiped down the cabinets. As he reached up, he felt the heels of his feet rising out of his inflexible shoes as the hem of his dress pulled up his legs. Ron struggled not to smile from the feelings that were overtaking him again while he cleaned and dried the faces of the wood cabinets. 'Remember your wife is here,' Ron kept repeating in his mind to remind himself that he was not free to enjoy the situation without any consequences before he proceeded to wipe down the countertops. Ron then moved on from the countertops to focus on the stove. He pulled off the burners and washed each one by hand before he wiped down the stove and hand cleaned the control knobs and vent hood. After he dried and reassembled the top of the stove, Ron drew the oven door open to remove the grates. He scoured them before leaving them to dry while he turned his attention to cleaning the inside of the oven. He peered inside before he fetched the oven cleaner and got down onto his knees. He felt the skirt of his dress pull up his legs while he reached his arms into the oven to wipe down the walls. As he got closer to the front of the oven, he felt the skirt getting closer to its natural position. He cleaned the back of the oven door and stood up before he went to clean the other faces of the other appliances in the room, as well as the inside of the microwave. While Ron labored around the kitchen, the level of pain in his feet continued to grow. As he reached the point that he would normally take off a pair of heels to give his feet a rest, Ron decided to try to ignore the pain. He did not want his wife to see him disobeying her and giving up on wearing something she spent so many hours in most weekdays. Ron retrieved his broom and started to sweep up the floor. Instead of the pain, Ron tried to focus on the alluring sound of his heels on the floor while he cleaned the place. Putting the broom away, Ron retrieved his mop and bucket and started to wash the floor. As he washed the floor, Ron gazed down at the hazy feminized reflection staring back at him. He became transfixed by it as he cleaned, feeling that he looked unambiguously feminine in the blurred reflection that he knew would not match the reality that a mirror would force him to confront. Ron tried to live for a moment in the reflection instead. He finished cleaning the floor and dumped out the bucket. Ron then put the grates back in the oven before he started towards the list to see the last remaining chore his wife had assigned him for the day. Ron took hold of the list and went to the laundry room to find the outfit that his wife had left out for him to press for her. The emerald colored, floral lace, sheath dress she selected brought a smile to Ron's face. He always loved the halter necked dress with a curved, fishtail hem from the moment she bought it. He wanted one for himself, but he felt that it was not feasible given his situation. He always bore the risk of her finding his secret wardrobe, but he did not want her to think that he was jealous enough of something she wore to buy the same garment. Ron filled the iron and waited for it to be ready while he tidied up the laundry room. Once the iron was ready, Ron laid the dress that he wanted to wear on the ironing board and started to smooth out the various wrinkles. He wished that he could fit into the dress. If he could, he was sure that she never would have known that he wore it once he ironed it. Still, it was nothing but an idle dream to Ron. It was something that he could only dream of, but it was not one that would likely ever be fulfilled. There was no more magic in the world to make the dress fit him than there was that despondent moment in his youth when he faced the fact that his sister's shoes had become too small for his growing feet. Ron put those thoughts out of his mind as he turned off the iron and carried the dress out of the laundry room. He shut the light off before he closed the door behind him. He went back up the stairs, hearing his heels announce his progress with each echoing click as he made his way up them. After making his way into the master bedroom, Ron drew open the closet doors. While Ron put away the dress in his wife's closet, he heard stomping footsteps behind him. Ron turned and saw the peeved look on Taylor's face. "Where have you been?" His wife demanded to know. "I was ironing your clothes for tomorrow. It was on the list," Ron answered in a meek tone. "Was ignoring me on the list too?" Taylor countered with crossed arms. Ron shook his head before Taylor added with a shake of her head, "This is what I get for being a kind Mistress. Well, no more Mrs. Nice Bitch!" Ron stood up straight as she asked, "How could you forget about me?" "I didn't. I was just trying to..." "It's just so like you. Every Sunday, you just up and disappear on me." "I was here all..." "It's not like you wanted to be maid." "I wanted it," Ron countered before catching himself. "Really?" Taylor asked with raised eyebrows as she got him to speak the truth for once. Ron was silent in the face of his revelation. Taylor pushed further, "I think you should apologize to me." "I'm sorry." "Tell me, you'll be a good maid." "I'll be a good maid." "Oh, I don't believe that." "Why not?" Ron inquired with a tremble. "You don't sound sorry. You sound like someone that doesn't care." "No. I care." "Beg me." "Pardon?" "Beg me to be my maid." Ron was taken aback by the request. Taylor smirked as she said, "We both know you love it." "That's not exactly..." "You admitted you liked it." "That wasn't what I meant," Ron tried in vain to defend himself. "Sure it was. I could see it on your face all day." "You're crazy." "I'm crazy. I'm not the one that loves to play dress up." Ron blushed before Taylor ordered him in a calm voice, "Just admit it." Ron shook his head and said, "That's not me." "Oh, I think I'm looking at you just right." "This was part of a bet." "A strange bet for a man to make. What man would risk being his wife's maid? Not butler, but expressly her maid?" Ron blushed again before Taylor said, "Taking up that bet told me everything I need to know." "Taylor, I'm...," Ron began to respond with a tremble as he felt his fears had been realized. "A cross-dresser. I figured as much. I figured it out a while ago," Taylor noted, cutting him off before he could get in another word in his defense. Ron squirmed as he said, "I can explain." "What? That you like to wear panties? That your admiration of my dresses is more like a jealousy of me getting to wear them than you hoping to tear it off me." Ron shook his head before Taylor continued, "You can't deny it." "It's not true," Ron replied in a weak tone. "Even when you had an out, you went along with the deal. One week for you, one week for me. It's not really an even deal, a guy wearing a dress one week and the girl wearing her own the next." Ron went to defend himself before Taylor said, "And what about this?" Ron's eyes widened as Taylor produced one of his tops from the attic. Taylor smiled as she said, "This isn't my size? You certainly didn't buy it for me. Was it for yourself or maybe your mistress?" "I would never cheat on you," Ron retorted. "I know you wouldn't. That's what made it so obvious," Taylor said as she threw a large, cobalt blue, drape front top with a v-neck at him and thought, 'And don't make me show you the videos.' Ron caught the sleeveless blouse. He tossed it on the bed and struggled not to cry as he knew that there was no sense denying it any longer. He was mortified that she knew the truth that she had already seen from the cameras she had removed while he was at the bar the week prior. Ron tried to steel himself as he said, "I'm so sorry, Taylor. I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid..." Taylor nodded while she walked over to him and slipped her arms around his waist. Ron accepted the hug before Taylor said, "You can keep doing it, dear, but I e