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WIFE'S NEW BOYFRIEND by Throne The first year of my marriage to Beryl was unexciting. I mean, it was great to be wed to the woman of my dreams. Taller than me. Overly full curves like you wouldn't believe. And she dressed to show off that zaftig figure. But our sex life was rather dull, with intercourse once a week, routinely on Friday night. She also had a habit of running my life, which included assigning me chores, regulating what I watched on TV, and dictating foods I couldn't eat. That last situation was odd, considering that she ate whatever she pleased. I didn't point that out however, because I figured that every slice of pizza and bowl of ice cream helped to maintain her magnificent contours. I was content. Everything changed when she discovered my little 'hobby'. I had been enraptured with dressing in women's lingerie since my teens. If I slipped into a pair of panties, preferably satiny and pink, I was in sissy heaven. Stockings made me want to swish around, pursing my lips and fluttering my eyelids. Before I got married I experimented with cosmetics and became rather good at making up my face. I'm short and slender, with soft facial features, so I could make myself fairly passable, though I was too shy to want anyone to see my efforts. The thought of someone looking at me when I was dolled up filled me with nervous anxiety. Anyway, to cut to the chase, Beryl spotted lots of small clues and eventually discovered my secret stash of feminine finery. She confronted me and I confessed everything. Under pressure from my assertive spouse, I even showed her my favorite blogs and pointed out stories I especially liked on a free site called Fiction Maniacs. I was afraid that she would be disgusted with me and file for divorce. Instead, though she expressed disapproval for my secret side, she didn't want us to separate. She had a confession of her own to make. It turned out that my wife had noticed my obviously submissive personality early on. Despite my short stature and unmanly physique, in fact to some degree because of them, she had eagerly accepted my shy invitation to our first date. Beryl later agreed to my proposal of marriage for the same reason. I was the kind of guy she wanted. One who wasn't very manly and was easily manipulated. That explained why she was so eager to micromanage my life. Doing that gave her pleasure. One thing about my dressing made her very happy. She saw it as a way to deepen her control over me. So she began having me wear panties and stockings around the house. Sometimes there were aprons. Other times it might be a bra with the cups stuffed, though the socks that were used at first were soon replaced by breast forms. I had to put on cosmetics but she preferred me not to overdo them. And she wouldn't let me buy a wig. She liked me to look like a sissy, but not a real woman. It became my job to do the portion of the housework that she had still been handling herself. If there were a few dirty dishes in the sink, something that she might have taken care of out of habit, they now became my responsibility. She loved to sit around, perhaps with a glass of wine, and watch me dust and straighten and polish. My meek girlish side submitted naturally to everything. Before long, based on some of what she had read on those web sites, she decided that any failures on my part would warrant punishment. Beryl increasingly understood the mindset of a male like me, and started finding faults with my work, but also accusing me of mistakes that hadn't occurred. I was too intimidated to make more than feeble protests when she was dishonest, while she delighted in holding her ground and insisting that she was right, even though we both knew she was wrong. For her, that was one of the most stimulating aspects of everything she was doing, because she relished depriving me of my ability to defend myself. Her most common punishment for me was spanking. I can't adequately describe the humiliation of being stretched over my wife's broad lap with my bottom bared. She would lecture me briefly on my errors, real or fabricated, to prolong the anticipation of what was to come. Sometimes she would run her fingers over my backside. Then she would raise her hand, hold it high for a few suspenseful seconds, and then bring it down hard. The swats always hurt and made me wriggle, squeal, and sniffle. At least she kept the punishments commensurate with my misdeeds . I didn't have to worry that she would lose control and overdo it. Afterwards, I often had to stand in the corner with my backside still exposed, red cheeks on display, to encourage me to 'think about how you forced me to punish you'. She relished making me take the blame for my discipline, justly or not. Next came a pretty little maid's uniform. It was brief and, every time my chores required me to bend forward, it exposed my panty-clad posterior. Whenever I wore it, I had to speak as if I was hired help, along with executing a deep curtsey when I addressed my wife. The outfit also made her more aware of my body hair, even though there wasn't much of it. Soon Beryl declared that, because I wanted to look like a girl, I should be smooth all over like one. She had me research home hair removal devices on the computer and select one that claimed not only to eliminate the unwanted hair, but to prevent it from returning for at least a month. I made the purchase and used it. The feeling of being femininely hairless all over was intoxicating. The added housework and associated punishments made me feel like I was in one of those online stories I liked so much. The maid's uniform was heavenly. Overall, I was living my dream. Our sex life changed as well. She saw, from stories I identified as favorites, that I was attracted to being teased and denied, as well as being used as a sex slave. Beryl had no difficulties adapting to a new dynamic in the bedroom. First, she told me bluntly that I had never been any good at sex. My penis was much too small. I had no technique. And if I had possessed any finesse, it wouldn't have mattered much, because I was always done much too soon. So from then on, she declared, I would serve her with my mouth, whenever she pleased. In return, she would tease me visually and manually, but rarely if ever offer me fulfillment. Even though all that had been part of my longstanding fantasy, it was still a shock to have it become reality. Very soon I was in a state of constant frustration. I wanted release but, as the days passed, my needs slowly transformed into just wanting to be near her, to please her, and to be reminded of my changed and restricted sex life. Sometimes she would dress provocatively around the house, perhaps wearing a filmy baby doll nightie. Or she might choose a snug sleeveless top and yoga pants, with nothing under either. Beryl had me rub her feet, massage her legs, or just scratch her back. With my elevated neediness, every contact was highly charged. I would get urgent erections, which amused her. She liked to hold my stiff dick in her hand and denigrate it. She might say, "Look at how tiny it is, Joe. This silly little thing barely makes it past the four inch mark. And it's so slim. Even the head's not thick. It tapers down. What woman would want this poor excuse for a cock inside her? I'll tell you. No woman would want it. I certainly don't. Thank goodness you've become so proficient with your tongue. And the more you eat my pussy, the more eager you become to keep doing it. Be careful, dear, or soon you'll be entirely obsessed with that and just having me mention it will make you salivate, as if you were one of Pavlov's dogs and I was ringing your dinner bell." Was that last idea true? It seemed like it might be. When I thought about sex it was always focused on me having my face between her thighs. My sex drive was being redirected. Could that become permanent? Was I crossing a line between my fantasies and something more extreme? I still went to work during the day. My job as a minor official in a major company paid rather well. I follow orders precisely and don't disturb the status quo. At the same time, I'm very good at dealing with clients and making sure they're happy. I suppose all of that is another aspect of my submissive personality in action. Beryl didn't even make me wear panties or anything unmanly under my clothes. In her mind my home life and time at work were separate and distinct. She even allowed me occasional periods at home when I could remain in masculine mode. That gave me a feeling that I was running at least part of my own life, even if doing so was at her whim. We settled into a domestic equilibrium. She got to regulate me as often and as much as she wished. I was able to live my fantasies but still retain a sense of self and, to a limited extent, independence. She was content and, despite some misgivings about what was happening to my sexual personality, I was happy. It was as if I was inhabiting one of those tales on Fiction Maniacs, one that I might have written myself if I had the skills. Everything might have stayed like that. It could have gone on year after year. But someone from Beryl's past reappeared. His name was Mack and, as much as my presence allowed her to fulfill her need to be with a weakling, he satisfied another desire she had, one of which I hadn't been aware. Mack had been her lover before we met and was sexually aggressive. Crude. Direct. Physically capable and ideally equipped for lovemaking. He had checked Face Page on his computer and found that she was a member. He sent her a request to get in touch privately on-line. She accepted and he sent a note, reintroducing himself and saying he'd like to get together and talk about their shared past. To anyone reading their messages back and forth, it could all appear innocent. That was how they seemed to me when she let me see them. But once he had her phone number, it elevated to another level. I know. I was there when she got the first call. "Hey, Mack," my wife said. "How have you been, you handsome bastard? Yeah? Still drinking beer and betting on sports? Ha, ha! And still making girls happy with that monster cock of yours? Oh, I remember. Sometimes at night my jaw still aches and my pussy throbs, just from dreaming about big it is, how well you used it, and how long you lasted. Me? Married. But he's a drip. More like a house pet than a husband. And a total flop in the sack. There's plenty more wrong with him but it would be easier to tell you about it if we could get together. You said in one of your posts that you live real near me now. How about if we hook up? Just me, you, and your perfect cock." Mack accepted and they arranged to meet at a sports bar on the edge of town. It was a slightly disreputable place, with the occasional fistfight and people sometimes smoking grass in the parking lot. I felt especially impotent to do anything about their date because of the way I was dressed while I listened to them make it. Beryl had given me something new to put on, which was much less familiar than the panties and stockings I was accustomed to, or my maid's outfit. I was wearing a colorful, cropped bandeau top with three rows of close-set ruffles on it, the latter feature suggesting what I might look like with small breasts. There was a matching skirt, except that it extended only as far as three narrow rows of ruffled material reached, not even low enough to cover more than the top half of my smooth buns or any portion of my hairless genitals. Along with that I had on elastic-top stockings that were patterned with loud tropical images of palm fronds, parrots, and exotic drinks. I even had on complementary yellow eye shadow and matching lipstick. How could I even think of standing up to my domineering bride when I looked like that? My wife got dressed special for the occasion. She had on a clinging sleeveless top that accentuated her big bust, and slacks that looked like a coat of paint, they fit so closely over her wide jutting bottom and generous thighs. She completed the outfit with a new pair of black boots that rose almost to her knees. I had to kneel before her and check the laces all the way up the front, to make sure they weren't loose. We both knew that they were tight enough, but she enjoyed making me perform that task and I couldn't conceal that it turned me on. Beryl had noticed my predilection for exotic footwear months before, and these were the latest in a series of expensive purchases she had made to feed my addiction, along with otherwise squandering money so that she had an excuse for not letting me spend any on myself. I looked up at her as I retied the laces at the tops of her boots. When I was done she raised one leg enough that the toe of the boot was in my crotch. I moaned in spite of myself and closed my eyes, overcome momentarily with arousal. "Poor wimpy husband," she mocked. "Has to stay home and clean house while his hot wife goes out with a real man. Sucks to be you. Don't you agree?" Hanging my head, I admitted, "Yes, dear." "Do you want me to have a good time?" The words stuck in my throat but I managed to say, "I do, Beryl." She laughed. "I'm sure. Not that you have any choice." I was unhappy about their get-together but had enough sense not to object. Still, Beryl wanted to use the occasion to subject me to some added torment. She told me, "I might be late, Joe. Mack was always a real nighthawk, and a lot of fun. I never minded when he groped me in public. Or if we sat at a table and he reached under it, and between my legs, to give me a diddle. Or made me take out his supersize cock and stroke it behind the tablecloth, with a roomful of people around us, while nobody could see what I was doing." Hearing all that made me feel queasy. She wanted to know what I was thinking. I confessed, "It's kind of exciting in a fantasy way, but the idea of it really happening is... well... outside my comfort zone." "Boo hoo. It's good that you're well trained enough not to try lying. But now that you've admitted that, I know where I want to go from here. You've had it pretty easy up until now. Kind of getting your secret dreams fulfilled. Not being pushed to any extremes. I mean, the worst of it for you is being scared that I'll get you completely addicted to worshipping my body. Instead of keeping everything at its current level, I'm going to see just how far out of your comfort zone I can take you. And knowing Mack as well as I do, I'm sure he'll be happy to help with that." My lower lip was quivering and I was wringing my hands. Even though I knew it made me appear even more like a victim, and added to my unmanly image, I couldn't stop myself. Beryl drank in my mental anguish greedily, as if it was ambrosia. Her eyes glistened and she licked her full lips. Even though I'm not supposed to try to make her change her mind about anything, I whispered, "P... please, don't go." She laughed softly. "Don't get your hopes up, little Joe. I plan to take you far from where you feel safe. Far and then further and further. I'm going to have SO much fun. I'm getting wet already, just thinking about it. Once Mack sees how much it turns me on -- and he loves me to be that way -- he'll do everything he can to keep it happening. Aren't you glad him and I got back in touch with each other?" She thought for a moment and then announced, "Hey, maybe I'll even have him follow me back here in his car. Might invite him to stay the night. You can think about those possibilities for the next few hours while I'm on my date. And make sure this place is even cleaner than usual by the time I get back. Or else." "Yes, Ma'am." "Now get down on your hands and knees, so you can kiss my boots to show me how much you care about me. Get your lips on the toes and let's have a few nice long smooches on each one." I did what she said, pressing my lips to the cool leather and keeping them there, alternating sides several times. All the while my heart raced as waves of conflicting emotions coursed through me. I finished by laying my cheek against the upper of one boot and gripping her ankle with both hands, desperate for a few extra seconds of contact with, if not her body, at least what she was wearing on her feet. I inhaled the distinctive scent of leather. My fealty earned me another hearty and heartless laugh. I released her and sat up on my haunches and hugged myself. If only I were stronger. Or not wearing those shameful items. The woman I had married strolled to the front door and I stayed where I was, unable to look away from her glorious rolling backside, the plump cheeks shown off by those tight slacks as she moved. The thought of someone else touching her there -- and elsewhere -- triggered pangs of jealousy that left me heaving dry sobs. As you can imagine, I spent the evening in a state of turmoil. At least my many chores kept me physically occupied. But they did nothing to distract my thoughts, which dwelt on Beryl being with another man, one she desired so much more than me, someone who she had been to bed with before and was eager to go there with again. I was constantly aware of my odd appearance. I nervously checked my lipstick several times, in case the boot adulation had mussed it. But my reflection, though mortifying for me to see, remained unflawed. I got tired and stressed out, which made me vulnerable to flights of nightmarish dread. It started to feel like I was hallucinating. No matter how much time I spent scouring the bathroom, I kept imagining that I would miss something and earn punishment. Then, when I was at my lowest ebb, my most defenseless, I heard a car pull up out front. Two cars. I rushed to the window and eased the curtain aside a few inches to peer out. Beryl was getting out of her auto and, behind her, someone was exiting another vehicle, a hulking truck that rode high on oversized tires. He was tall and broad- shouldered, with just a hint of paunch, and swaggered up to her with easy confidence. His long arms went around her and she melted against him, turning up her face so he could kiss her. Their lips met and stayed locked as he ran his hands down her back and grabbed her bulging buttocks. When they finally separated I let the curtain fall back into place and backed away, hands clasped in front of me, while I took short rapid breaths. The door opened and Beryl swept inside, followed closely by the imposing figure of Mack. He slapped her on the backside and she laughed wildly, spun around, and pressed up against him again, which triggered a replay of the scene I'd viewed through the window. This time when the kiss and embrace ended, she looked around and saw me standing there, mousey and girlish looking. Mack followed her gaze to find out what she was sneering at. He got an eyeful of me and snorted derisively. "Jeez Louise," he spat out. "You told me you were married to some kind of sissy wimp, but his is... messed up." "Yes," she told her less-than-articulate companion. "He's a real piece of work. Loves to play at being a girl. Look at what he picked out to put himself into. Can you believe I have to put up with that?" "It's... really a mess." "I know. Thanks for understanding, Mack." She cuddled up against him and gripped his thick bicep, that was left uncovered by the black T- shirt he had one. Her other hand went to the crotch of his worn denim jeans and rubbed it appreciatively. "And like you can see, he doesn't have much in the cock department." "&#@%ing right," he said, shaking his head. "It's like, almost not there." "Unlike yours," she said, her fingers questing for and finding his fly. She unzipped him and then opened his belt, followed by unhooking his pants. Her hand rummaged in the opening of his shorts and produced an alarmingly long and thick appendage. "Now THIS is what I call the real thing," she enthused. "More than a handful." "Yeah. And real good in your pussy, too." "You know it." She was brazenly stroking him, making his penis expand to even more alarming dimensions. I stared at it, mentally comparing what he had with my own inferior endowment. My narrow shoulders slumped as I was given one more proof of the hopelessness of my situation. Mack curled his lip and said, "The faggot's staring at my Johnson." "I'm sorry, baby," she told him. "He is such a size queen." "A what?" "He loves big cocks," she clarified. "I can't tell you how many times I've caught him on the computer, going to these terrible sites, gawking at well hung guys who are making sissies like him do disgusting stuff for them." "Yuck." He examined me with new interest. "Still, like they say, if you stick it in a fag's mouth... or wherever... it doesn't make you gay. It just makes him gay." That unwelcome observation was the most complicated thought he had yet expressed. My wife, with his rigid tool still in her hand, all nine enviable inches of it, gave me a private grin while he was still distracted by my bizarre image. She told him, "That's true. Guys in prison do whatever they want to pansies all the time. Or in the military. Happens a lot. The straight guys stay straight and the freaks keep being freaks. Like my husband Joe." "Joe?" he said thoughtfully. "You still call him that? I mean, shouldn't he have like... some girl name?" "Ohhh," she responded with interest. "You're so smart, Mack. I didn't even think of that. I'm lucky you're here." She gave his monster cock a few strokes and added, "For so many reasons. But you're absolutely correct. I should start calling my loser husband... Josephine? Or JoJo? Or just Josie." "Yeah," Mack said with a nod. "That last one." He rubbed her big boob, as if he was belatedly noticing that she was expertly handling his shaft and that maybe he should do something to reciprocate. "Call the wuss Josie." He chuckled. "But you're getting me all steamed up, baby. How about if we go to bed?" "Sure, lover. Would you mind if I made Joe... I mean Josie... watch us do it? She needs to see how a real man handles a woman, and why he is NEVER going to be allowed to put his poor excuse for a cock into me." "I... don't know," he considered uncertainly. "I'd really like for Josie to see how I give one of my super special blow jobs. Remember those?" He swore happily. "You still do those? They made me, like, really... crazy." "Well, if I can make Josie witness it, I'll give you one that will make you double-crazy." Mack, demonstrating again his limited command of language, sputtered some disjointed syllables that ended with, "Okay." Beryl hooked her arm through his and said, "The bedroom's right down the hall." As she moved away she glanced back over her shoulder and barked, "Let's go, Josie. Move it. Maybe you'll learn something, though I doubt it." I trailed along wordlessly, biting my lips and wishing I had at least a pretty bed jacket or shorty robe to throw on. And that she allowed me to apply less garish cosmetics. Or that she had simply gone somewhere else with her caveman lover and permitted me to suffer alone. But as I followed them into the bedroom and observed them spiritedly undressing each other, I had to admit to a certain nascent excitation at the sight. Even so, any positive erotic sensations were overridden by the appalling reality of my stunning spouse being pawed by that Neanderthal. Or Cro-Magnon. I couldn't recall which was more primitive. Soon they were naked and atop the sheets. He laid back and she ogled his upright engorged cudgel hungrily. My bride knelt between his splayed legs, which were hairy and muscular, and leaned forward to bring her mouth to his rampant organ. She capped the bulging head with her mouth and sucked greedily. Then, to my stunned horror, she effortlessly lowered her face and took in inch after wide inch, until the entire hugeness vanished. She stayed like that and I saw her tongue stretch out to flick his heavy testicles. Then she began running her mouth up and down his considerable length, eyes closed in ecstasy. It was too much for me. My mind teemed with perverse fragments of thoughts that refused to come together and reveal themselves fully. I lost my self control. One hand went to my penis, which I was surprised to discover was fully hard. The other hand went up under the elastic of my top so I could finger my throbbing nipples, back and forth from one to the other, all the time wishing there was some way for me to do both at once. What was happening to me? Beryl continued to delight Mack with her oral arts. At last, however, her own lust must have grown too demanding. She straddled him on her knees, positioning her vulva over his cock, which still glistened with her saliva. As she sank down, taking his sizable offering into her vagina just as she had into her throat, my bride threw back her head and sighed. "Holy crap," she announced, her voice thick with passion, "I have really missed that." "Don't rush it, honey," he encouraged. "You know I can last a long time." "Not like some people," she quipped, throwing me a nasty look. "Some people who are never going to feel the inside of my pussy again. Except with his tongue." I cringed under her stinging words. She saw how I was touching myself and made a disgusted sound. Mack looked over and let loose a noise like he was spitting at me. It was degrading but I couldn't stop tugging or tweaking. After my wife had posted up and down on his deeply penetrating cock for five minutes, he easily got her turned over onto her back. Mack plowed her with a steady unhurried rhythm that made her squirm and moan under him, but didn't take her all the way to fulfillment. She hissed, "You big bastard. Stop teasing me. Make me come, damn it." He laughed softly. "You got to ask nice for it, sweets." "All right. PLEASE make me come." "Nicer." She swore at him without anger and then begged, "Please, Mack, make me finish. You're driving me nuts, keeping me on the edge this way. PLEASE put me over the top. Please with sugar on top." He chortled at her pleading, and how she was suddenly matching his thrusts with jerks of her hips to intensify the contact between their bodies. Without any apparent strain, he increased the tempo of his powerfully pumping hips. Beryl's responses intensified. She was seized by a frenzy of need. He maintained his control of himself and her as well. Mack allowed her to reached the brink over and over, making her whimper and moan, before he at last did something I couldn't detect, perhaps varying the angle of insertion slightly, that launched her into an uncontrolled climax, well beyond anything I had ever been able to produce, even with all of my licking and sucking techniques. A minute later she had descended from the heights of that stratospheric orgasm and was muttering soothing endearments to him and his astounding abilities. Mack, simultaneously, kept sliding himself in and out of her, maintaining his pace and then gradually building her up toward another finale. She got caught up in his successful efforts and was eventually back on the edge of that precipice of pleasure. He pushed her over the cliff a second time, putting her once more into an exhilarating plunge into animal cries and deep gasps. Even then he didn't let himself finish. Not until he had her at the pinnacle once more and launched her into a final flight of supersonic- speed sexual gratification, did he allow himself to spurt, which intensified her screaming dash over the finish line. His own eruption went on and on before he at last slowed, both of them easing down gently from the heights, until they lay side by side, her exhausted and him drained and smugly self-satisfied. I could only stand there in my humiliating outfit, blinking back tears of defeat and inadequacy, as they snuggled and she kissed his chest. Mack said, "You really liked that we were sticking it to Josie while I was sticking it to you. Right?" "Yeah," she confessed. "It honestly made everything better." "And you'd really like it if I did some mean stuff to her?" "Well... yeah." "And that would make you get hot, like, for next time." "For sure." She perked up. "What were you thinking of doing to the gimp, you superman?" "I'll show you." He snapped his fingers at me. "Yo, Josie. Get your candy ass over here. I made a giant puddle in Beryl's pussy. Use your mouth to clean her up." My wife froze. I couldn't move. Had he honestly just said that? Beryl's look of amazement changed to one of sadistic glee. She said to me, "Yeah, Josie. Do what the real man said. Get over here and slurp up all that thick salty spunk he left inside me. DO IT!" I was stunned by the new harsh authority in her tone. Under Mack's glaring gaze, I got wordlessly onto the foot of the bed and moved forward slowly, as if the delay might allow them time to change their minds. But instead of having second thoughts, my wife spread her legs further, making an unappetizing display of her overfilled notch. How much had he emptied into her? There was already some oozing out and running down the crack of her desirable ass. I gagged slightly as I brought my face down and protruded my tongue. I could smell his semen. It made my throat constrict. Even so, afraid of the big man doing something physical to punish me for hesitating, I moved my face closer and got my first taste. Shivers of disgust ran through me. Beryl snickered. I scooped up a glob of the white stuff and forced myself to swallow it. Mack cackled. At that, realizing that there was no reprieve coming, I began lapping up the entire plentiful output and eating it. Consuming another man's spend. From my willing wife's well used vagina. It was madness and I felt what was left of my manhood being taken away from me. I kept at it until I could find no more to collect. That was when Beryl told me, in dulcet tones, as if she was inviting me to do something enjoyable, "Joe-see, I think you missed some. Why don't you get your tongue between my butt cheeks and lick up all the goodness that drizzled down in there? Come on. Unless you want to tell me 'no'." I wasn't about to tell her anything remotely like 'no', not after how much she already controlled me, how ridiculous she had me looking, and how threatened I felt by Mack. I swallowed my pride and then swallowed more cum. I had to burrow into the deep valley of her rear end, into the sweaty depths, down to where her tight pucker waited, and rather than risk her displeasure, I licked that clean, too. She purred happily as I worked and I heard her wetly kiss some part of him. Maybe his ear or neck. At last my thankless task was done and I inched back toward the bottom of the bed, desperate to hear them dismiss me, so I could go and rinse my mouth, get out of what I was wearing, and try to organize my thoughts. But it was not to be. As I continued my slow motion retreat, I was stopped all at once by what Mack said next. "You know," he decided out loud, "I don't feel like going to the bathroom to get washed up. So I wanted to get all the mess cleaned off me, too. The same way." My bride tittered at the idea. Mack fell into a stony silence that intimidated me as much as anything he could have said. I moved to his side of the bed, getting between his long muscular legs and working my way toward a thick patch of pubic hair, in the middle of which waited his flaccid but still substantial cock. Even while soft he was larger than I was when hard. I closed my eyes for a few seconds to try to calm myself, but it didn't work. Then he thumped me in the ribs with his heel and told me to get busy. I lowered my head and once again led with my tongue. Beryl was up on one elbow, watching intently. Having her see this new disgrace made it unbearable. I got the end of my tongue under the knob of his member and took one lick. He inhaled through his nose. Unable to think of any alternative, I took the end of his cock into my yellow-lipstick-colored mouth and sucked it. He blew out his breath through pursed lips. My wife quietly said something that was both sacrilegious and scatological . With his meat still between my lips, I began suctioning him repeatedly. Thinking of what I would like, if it was me on the receiving end, I swirled my tongue around him and then used it on the underside of his tool. It was so disgusting to have to consume their mixed fluids, the residue from their recent bout of sex. Beryl told me, "Get more of his tool in your mouth. Take the whole thing. Do it." Struggling, I was able to accommodate a few more inches, but then my gag reflex stopped me. Simultaneously, Mack was getting hard again. More revolted than ever, I still kept working, moving my head forward and back, as my wife had done for him earlier. In some weird way it was as if I was competing with her. Now he was fully engorged. He was so thick that my lips were being stretched. I backed up until only the fat head was in my mouth. Beryl leaned in to wrap her fingers around his rod. She pumped slowly, with me still sucking the knob. It was utterly demeaning. My bride brought her face close to my ear. She told me, "You're doing great, cocksucker. This could be the start of something big for you. I'm going to keep working my hand until he blows his load. And you had better not lose even a single drop. Hold his cream in your sissy mouth, Josie. I'm going to check to see how much he gushes all over your tongue. Yum yum." At the same time she was manipulating him and I was mouthing him, she shifted position so that now she was in whispering distance to his ear. I could turn my eyes up to see her speaking and, with an effort, could hear her words over the saliva-filled noises I was making. "Mack," she said seductively. "You were so intense when you slammed me. And now you feel so wonderful in my hand." She licked his ear. "I want to make you come. I want you to empty your balls again. I will be a total slut for you, lover. I will lick your scrotum and then hold your balls in my mouth. My warm wet mouth. Anything you want. Just fire a load now. For me. Please, baby." He grunted. My heart froze. His knees rose fractionally. She moved again and nuzzled his neck. I think she bit him then, while accelerating her hand movements. It was what he needed, along with all that verbal encouragement, and his cock spat thick gobs of hot sperm into my mouth. It was sickening but I remembered Beryl's orders and fought not to swallow, though some found its way down my throat. Once he settled down she checked me. I dutifully parted my lips and displayed the puddle of thick white fluid on my tongue. She could most likely see that there was more accumulated underneath. It was like I would never get rid of the taste and sensation. My wife pushed up on the bottom of my jaw. She stroked the front of my neck. I swallowed. "Now go fetch us a couple of cold beers, Josie," she said nonchalantly, as if nothing unnatural had just happened. I slid off the bed and scurried away, knowing that my bare bottom was visible. So unsure of myself was I that I didn't even risk rinsing my mouth. She might check it again. I had spunk on my breath so thickly that I could smell it myself. After I handed over the bottles, I moved away and sank to my knees without being told to. Resting my elbows on the foot of the bed, I awaited any further orders that might be given. Mack screwed the top off his beer and flung the cap at my head, hitting me on the brow. He removed the top from Beryl's drink and she threw it, bouncing it off my shoulder. They clinked their bottles together in a wordless toast, perhaps to celebrate the beginning of my total ruin as a man. Who could say what they were thinking at that moment. But I got a better sense of their intentions in the weeks that followed. Mack became a frequent visitor to our home, often staying overnight. He liked to see me in sissy outfits, and praised Beryl when she put me into especially shameful ones. For instance, early on she dressed me in nothing but duct tape. Unfortunately for me, it was the fancy type they sell for decorating and crafts. There was one roll that was pink with red hearts, another that was white with red puckered lips, and a final one that was pale fuchsia with eyes, which were decorated with Cleopatra-type heavy kohl. She made me sit on a chair and the first thing she did was to bind my lower legs together. Then she had me stand and move around, letting me see that all I could do was take tiny shuffling steps. Next she had me double up my arms, with my fists jammed into my armpits, and applied many windings of tape from elbows to wrists, trapping them in that uncomfortable position. After that she taped down my genitals so tightly that it appeared that I had as little there as a female. More tape went around my chest, as if I had boobs and was trying to flatten them. She paused at that point until further inspiration struck her. Beryl put tape around my neck, adding so many layers while I held my chin high, that it acted like a posture collar, forcing me to keep my face tilted upward, so that I couldn't see where I was putting my feet and had to move even more slowly. She had me slowly follow her around the house. My predicament struck her as hilariously funny and she didn't even try to contain her laughter. Beryl made me hold a soapy kitchen sponge in my mouth and bend forward at the waist so I could clean the kitchen counters. She forbade me to straighten up while she took a large wooden spoon and made several test swings through the air. Beryl reached between my face and the freshly wiped workspace to pluck the awful tasting sponge from my mouth. "You've been a naughty girl, Josie. Time to get your pansy ass tanned." "But... what did I do wrong?" "You just gave me backtalk." "That was after you said I was getting punished." "And...?" I immediately saw the futility of arguing. She intended to be totally unfair. All disputing her could accomplish was to earn myself more punishment. She grinned triumphantly and poked the spoon against the side of my face. She wanted to know, "Should I tape your mouth shut?" I didn't want that but I also knew she might use my own words against me if I told her so. Instead, I suggested, "You can tape it if you don't want to hear me holler." Beryl gave me a crooked smile. She decided, "I'd rather listen to you squeal." I felt a small sense of victory until she went on, "And I can always tape your lips later." So there I was, colorfully taped up like some poorly wrapped birthday present, bent over the kitchen counter with my chin on the wet Formica, helpless while my bride prepared to swat my bottom. My muscles tensed involuntarily. She tapped the spoon against my bottom, as if getting her range. At last she brought up her instrument of choice and swung it down hard, making it smack solidly against my soft rump. I yelped and then gulped a breath. She snickered and struck me again, over and over, until I was crying out and wriggling and panting and shifting my feet the tiny bit that the bondage allowed me to. Beryl didn't stop until my tail was blazing and I was struggling not to weep. That was when I heard Mack entering the house. His heavy footfalls grew nearer. Beryl called out, "In the kitchen, lover. I'm trying to smack some sense into this stupid sissy." "What the hell did he do now?" "General laziness and bad attitude. You know. The usual." "Damn. You did a number on his ass. Must hurt like hell. Too bad there's no spots you ain't got to." He paused to allow me a few seconds of relief before he concluded, "So I guess I'll have to go after the backs of his thighs." From the corner of my eye I saw her pass the big wooden spoon to him. They shared a deep kiss and then he got behind me. I tried to relax so my muscles wouldn't tense up again, but the thought of a stronger person striking me on a more sensitive area was unnerving. Mack swung and landed a blow just under one buttock and then peppered both thighs with more swats than I could keep count of. The pain was intense and penetrating. My legs began to tremble. I clamped my jaws to try to contain my cries but it didn't work. My mouth flew open and I let out a shrill cry. Soon I was squirming in my bondage and wailing, able to think of nothing but the end of that punishment. When he at last stopped, my knees buckled and I fell over onto my back. Looking down at me with evil satisfaction, my wife and her lover wore demonic grins. Then Beryl's expression altered to one I was becoming increasingly familiar with. Seeing me suffer had gotten her aroused. She wanted to rush into the bedroom with Mack. He saw it too and gave her ass a squeeze. "All right," he told her. "Let's hit the sheets." To me he said, "And you can come too, loser. In case we feel like being cleaned up." I managed to get off my back by rolling clumsily over. That enabled me to rest my chest on the floor and hunch myself up on my knees. It was awkward but I was able to move by pulling my legs forward and then pushing my torso ahead, like an inchworm. They watched me struggle and thought it was wildly funny. Once we were in the bedroom, Mack pulled me up so he could prop my chin on the foot of the bed, giving me a view of them trying out different sex positions for the next hour. When they were done, Beryl sat at the bottom of the bed with her plump thighs on either side of me, so I could lap her overflowing pussy clean. Then Mack took her place. Another time my wife put me into a cheerleader uniform that she had bought at a thrift store. The skirt was very short and I wasn't permitted any panties under it. So when they had me do a series of animated cheers, my genitals and bottom were repeatedly exposed. The final cheer ended with me bent far over, my skirt thrown up in the back. Beryl said she liked the picture I made so much that I could stay like that until she said to move. I don't know how long they left me there. It felt like forever but was probably just over an hour. The muscles in my lower back and my legs were left stiff and sore. She had me repeat a few cheers, saying it would loosen me up, but instead it made my back worse and I had to go to work with it aching the next day. What else? Sometimes I was allowed only a thong to wear, always in some glaringly bright color. Or it might be a pair of panties with no crotch. Beryl liked to have me nude except for bows on my wrists, a choker of matching ribbon, and an elasticized section of lace, the size and shape of a coffee saucer, with my dick and balls sticking through he middle. But when she announced that she wanted me in a special maid's outfit one Saturday after dinner, I got a bad feeling that something awful was going to happen. My outfit consisted of a tiny white cap, a lace apron that barely covered my essentials, dark stay-up stockings, and black shoes with square toes and two inch block heels. She told me to go and use eye shadow, blush and lipstick. I felt ridiculous in that barely-there costume but, as they had me use an oversized feather duster and otherwise ignored me, I decided that perhaps my earlier fear was unwarranted. That was when the doorbell rang. My wife said, "Coco, go see who's at the door." I froze. How could I answer the door like that? More naked that covered. My face made up. Pink hairless skin shown off. I went to the door, those heels shaping my legs and adding a sway to my hips. Standing mostly out of view, I opened the door a crack. There was a couple standing outside. He could have been Mack's brother and she was as gloriously full-figured as Beryl. The big guy pushed his way in and the woman followed. I stood back, hoping to be ignored. Instead, the man shoved a six pack of beer against my chest and growled at me to put it in the fridge. As I turned away he gave my rear a goose. I jumped, made a high pitched feminine sound, and hurried away, face bright pink. My head was spinning as Beryl appeared in the kitchen. After I had put the beer away she poured two boxes of salty snack food into a pair of bowls. With one in each hand, I had to go to the den and offer around the party food. Beryl followed me with four beers from the case I'd been ordered to pick up on my way home from the office the day before. As she handed them out I was acutely aware of the visitors gawking at me with open amusement. The woman smoothed the front of my apron, brushing her fingers against my penis through the thin material. I didn't want to become aroused but that was what happened. My dick held up the lacy covering to add to my already intense shame. After I had let everyone take some snacks and put the bowls on the coffee table in front of the couch, the bell rang again. Beryl waved me away to answer it. As I opened the door a crack, there was another couple waiting. The guy was tall and lanky. The girl short and busty, even though she was slender everywhere else. I stepped back, trying to keep myself hidden. What if someone passing by saw me? The couple came inside. This time I was given two carriers of beer, a dozen bottles. With my hands full, I had to stand there while both new arrivals felt my arms and upper legs, marveling at how soft I was everywhere. "Just like a girl," said the woman. "Which could give a guy ideas," added the man. I led them to the den and they joined the others. Beryl sent me to put the new beer away and fetch two more cans. Then I had to pass the snacks again, which resulted in fondling of my rear end by guests of both sexes. My head was spinning from the humiliation when the bell sounded yet again. I didn't have to be told this time to go see who it was. I got my hand on the doorknob and braced myself. Another couple would get to see me, touch me, and mock me, I decided. But there was only one person on the porch... and it was my secretary from work, Marge, who is a Black BBW. She grinned nastily and entered. Before I had the door all the way closed she was gripping my unimpressive upper arm. "Well look at you, Boss man. But I guess I can't call you that now. What's your name, pretty girl?" It took an effort to find my voice. Keeping it high and airy, I told her, "My name is Josie." Thinking of those stories I had read so many of on Fiction Maniacs, I executed a deep curtsey. Marge laughed and kissed the air a few inches from my lips. "So let's join the party." I pivoted, exposing my nude bottom to her. She laughed and gave it a pat. I walked her toward the den, aware of how my tail end was swishing. She said, "Look at that bootie move. You are one naughty girl, Josie." My wife smiled at my secretary and said, "Welcome to our home, Marge. Or maybe I should say MY home, since Josie doesn't have much to do with it except keeping the place clean. Do you think there'll be any changes between you two at the office, now that you've seen your boss as his true self?" Marge laughed. "For sure. Does he already wear panties under his work clothes?" "No, but that's a good idea. I used to let him play at being all male when he was out of the house. But now that Mack is in my life I feel... empowered. There have been a lot of changes around here and whatever you want to do at work is fine with me." Beryl snapped her fingers in my direction. "Josie! From now on, you will obey Marge the same as you already do with me. And with Mack," she added significantly. Returning her attention to the attractive Black woman, she said, "It's that easy. Just tell the sissy what you want." "Well," my underling, now my superior in reality, told me, "first off, Josie, you WILL wear panties instead of men's underwear every day at the office. Maybe I'll have you bring in one pair of boxers or briefs every day and we can walk them to the trash chute, so I can watch you drop them in on their way to the incinerator. I'll want to do a panty check every morning, to see what color you're wearing. If I forget, it's your job to remind me. And instead of you telling me to get your coffee, I'll be telling you to do that for me. If you're good, I might even let you get some for yourself, too. Understood?" I answered in my best Josie voice, "Yes, Ma'am. Every day, Ma'am." She sneered at me, came close, and took my nipples between her thumbs and forefingers. I gasped as she began to play with the sensitive nubs. My knees felt weak. Marge told me, "See how it works? If you're a good girl, I dole out little rewards. Maybe I'll have you lock your office door and I'll sit at your desk. Then you can squeeze down underneath it and kiss my shoes, rub my feet, or even slip your head under my skirt and sniff my panties. There'll be all kinds of games we can play." "Yes... Ma'am." "Now, just to show me that you're into the spirit of things, and that you're not going to get uppity or give me any sass, lift that itty bitty apron up with one hand and hold it like that. Good. Now put your other hand on your itsy bitsy dick." She told Beryl, "I can see why you needed an honest to goodness man's cock instead of this dinky thing." Then she teased my nipples again until this time I got hard. In front of everyone she made me stand there and stroke myself, and even had me walk around and stop in front of each guest, to maximize their entertainment and my disgrace. All the time she kept saying, "Good girl, Josie. Earn those rewards. And be careful or you'll get some punishments instead." "Yo, Marge," Mack suggested, "if you want Josie to clean your place, I can always drop her off some night. Maybe leave her there for a sleepover. And she's good for other jobs, besides cleaning." "I hear you talking," Marge enthused. "We'll have to plan to do that. Beryl told me about those other talents and I'd be happy to take advantage of them. How about if I give Miss Josie Fruit Pie back to you for now. I know you might need her to step and fetch beers or whatever." "Thanks, Marge" said my wife. "I think right now she should go and get her butt plug from the bedroom. She's never had to stuff it up her pooper by herself. It would be fun for everybody to watch her try that. I hope she can find the lube. If she can't, well, the poor pansy will have to get it in without that advantage." The rest of that evening was more of the same. By the time the visitors were gone, Beryl and Mack were more than ready to relieve the sexual tensions that had built up during the night. I got well used in the bedroom, with that plug still up my fundament. (And yes, I had found the lube, thank goodness.) In the weeks that followed I had to endure Marge's inventive cruelties at the office. She sometimes wore dress sandals, which I knew meant I was in for a special humiliation. All morning I would steal glances at her feet, which were so well displayed. My anticipation mounted the entire time. She would sit in my chair, roll it back from the desk, and have me kneel in front of her. Next she would unbuckle the strap on one sandal and take it off her foot. Then I had to work my panties down to the middle of my thighs and put my legs together. My secretary would put her foot on them and inch it up until I could fit my dick between her first two toes. I had to toy with my nipples to get myself hard and then hold her foot while I pumped my penis in and out of that narrow space. She liked to remind me that it was possible because I'm so small down there. Another amusement she enjoyed took place on the days she arrived wearing boots. My wife had told her about my growing induced-fetish for them. Marge would sit, again in my chair because she knew that added to my mortification, and have me bare my dick and hump her shin, against the slick leather. It was wildly stimulating. I added to my embarrassment by panting and noisily sucking down excess saliva. Finally, with my secretary whispering lewd insults, I would -- completely against my will -- spurt on her boot. That always set her to tittering. When I was done and there was a trail of white slime down the front of one boot, I was expected to lick it all up. That was disgusting, especially with her telling me with mock seriousness how much seeing me do it revolted her. The scene ended with my giving both boots a thorough 'tongue polish' all over, with the soles saved for last. But the greatest insult to my masculinity came one evening at home. I got anxious when Beryl mentioned that she had a new outfit for me, and that she was sure Mack would like me in it. She had been encouraging him to use me more and more. Having his cock in my hands and mouth was a familiar experience for me. Her jerking him off and aiming him at me so that I got a face-full or ended up with it all over my hairless chest was a frequent happening. But I sensed that she had something new planned. What she provided for me to wear was a fishnet body stocking with cut-outs for my nipples, genitals, and the center of my ass. It even had fingerless gloves attached to it. I had to paint my fingernails bright red and apply matching lipstick. My other make- up was similarly bold. She had let my hair grow a bit longer, and now she combed and sprayed it to make it fuller and did a little styling to add to my feminine appearance. When Mack arrived from his job, he took notice of me immediately. Beryl put a drink in his hand. I had seen her mix it and she made sure it was strong. My wife encouraged her lover to feel the combination of the fishnet covering and my smooth skin beneath it. She playfully nibbled his neck and I could see she was getting him excited. But at the same time she kept having him touch me. Then she suggested that the three of us go into the bedroom. Beryl had placed the bottle next to the bed and as soon as his drink got low she freshened it up. Then she had me get on my hands and knees on the carpet. Mack stood behind me and I looked back to see him eyeing my body with interest. Talking softly to him, she straddled my hips, facing away from my head, and sat on my lower back. Beryl said, "Come here, Mack. I'm feeling hungry and you know what I want a taste of." A man of few words, he just chuckled and got in front of her. She unzipped him, took out his cock, and sucked it noisily so I could hear. She commented on how big and beautiful it was. Then she asked him to kneel down so he could kiss her boobs. He complied and, unsettlingly, that put his cock in line with the opening in the seat of my body stocking. I didn't like where this was going. He mouthed my bride's nipples and she murmured her approval to him. Then she said she wanted a hug. A close one. As he moved in, I felt his hard member bump against my vulnerable ass. "You know," my wife purred, "if you're not careful, Mack, your cock might just slip inside Josie. I know you'd love to use my ass, except you're just too big for me. But it's time for Josie to get the full sissy experience. Or should I say, to get the sissy experience of being filled." I felt her handling him down there and setting the tip of his rammer against my tightness. I whimpered but suspected that, if I did anything to distract him from what she was attempting, it would not go well for me. She went on, "And with me sitting right here, touching you, it would be almost like you're doing it to me." She was slowly stroking his cock. "Let me just put some lube on your wonderful cock, baby. Just in case you want to take a ride in the tightest thing you've ever had around your meat. There you go. Nice and slippery. Why don't you just jam the head in. Just to see what it's like. Hmm? Do it for me?" He'd never taken me that way, and might have had some natural reticence. Or maybe he'd been waiting for this all along. She gently coaxed him to sample it. There was pressure against my pucker, a burst of pain, and suddenly his thick knob was in. I moaned but he ignored that. My wife's breathing got faster. She was getting off on my deflowering. With a minimum of further encouragement from her, Mack pushed in another two lubricated inches inches, and then four more. Soon he was buried up to his heavy balls. Then he began to piston in and out, over and over, picking up speed until he was spiritedly butt- jamming me. I groaned and begged her to stop him, but he was beyond turning back. My wife had seduced her lover into anally raping me. Worse, from my point of view, he was enjoying it immensely. She even made a point to say to him, "Just think, Mack. You can do this whenever you want. Josie is a sissy with a full-access ass." Since then he has gotten into the habit of using me any way he pleases, every time the mood strikes him. At least once a week my wife will demurely tell him that she's too tired for more sex. It's her coded way of encouraging him to take advantage of my helplessness and use me from behind. It seems impossible how much my life has changed. I used to be able to dress up how I liked and actually enjoyed my wife's naturally dominant tendencies. Then Mack reentered her life and he opened the floodgates of some innate viciousness I'd never seen her display before. Now I've been reduced to their sexual plaything, the target of their sadistic whims, and an increasingly feminized slave in my own home. Plus, every day at work I have to suffer the wicked playfulness of my Black secretary Marge. It's early Friday evening as I sit here typing this on the computer. I'm wearing a tight satin corset that's red and black. It has garters, which are holding up stockings in the same colors. On my feet are shoes with pointed toes and three inch stiletto heels. I've become adept at walking in them, though I can't control the way they make me wiggle my hips as I move. I have to finish up with my story, so far as it's gone, right now. Why? Because Mack is getting ready to drop me off at Marge's for a long weekend with her. She wants to put me on a new diet designed to make me gain weight. My wife agreed to her plan because, like my secretary, she wants to see my already soft chest acquire the beginnings of 'man boobs'. The girls are eager to use the corset to push up those mounds of fatty plushness and make them resemble real girl boobs. At the same time, the diet is expected to make my backside rounder and plumper. With my waist pinched in by this corset, and several others they plan to buy for me, I will gain a more womanly figure. Mack is especially looking forward to seeing me with a bigger, less masculine bottom, smooth and shown off by a narrowed midsection. I know why he wants to see that and what my new look will inspire him to do even more frequently. I'm not looking forward to it. Goodbye. I wonder what else Marge has planned for me during my sleepover. And how much opportunity I'll get to really sleep. ********* (At the end of my previous story, I invited readers who had never given me reviews to leave comments. Thanks to everyone who responded. And of course, I always appreciate my regular readers posting feedback. Finally, I was delighted that some folks contributed their thoughts on my older fiction. I watch for those messages and read every one. So again -- THANK YOU.)