The Demise Of Frank free porn video

We live today in a throw-a way society where once an item has reached the end of it useful life we dispose of it. Visit any landfill site and you be confronted with the detritus of this society. Piles of items that were once treasured possessions now sit abandoned and waiting final disposal. There are of course those who, perhaps because of their more frugal attitude or an aversion to waste, seek a new life for those things no longer fit for purpose. That sweater you knitted all those years ago can be unravelled and knitted into a new garment or crocheted into a "grannie square". That old crock pot that's seen better days becomes a planter for you kitchen herbs. Look around and you will find many items that, with a few modifications and a lick of paint can remain useful for years to come. So! what do you do with a husband who has reached the end of his useful life? There is no reason why you can't re-purpose him. Okay it's not going to be as easy as it is with an inanimate object that doesn't have the ability to protest it's remaking but it's certainly possible. After 20 years of marriage my husband Frank had ceased to be useful. Love and sex had vanished from our relationship many years ago. For the most part we lived our own existences. You could describe it as a symbiotic relationship, my role to tend to our home and his needs. He was the provider bringing home the money that paid our bills. Thanks to his well-paid job at a power station nearby we enjoyed comfortable lifestyle. We nearly owned a large former farmhouse on the outskirts of a rustic village, holidayed overseas several times a year and possessed a healthy bank balance. Then he lost his job. The company had a "zero alcohol" policy in the control room but Frank just had to have that drink over lunch. Twice he was detected over the limit and issued with several warnings. After a third offence he was dismissed. To say I was unimpressed would be an understatement. Indeed I was furious with him, a few more years and it would not have mattered. My first thoughts were to dispose of him, after all a husband who brings nothing to a marriage is no longer fit for purpose. On consideration I realised that Frank could be re-purposed, re-shaped, and moulded into something with a new role in life. "I really don't want to do this," said Frank in that nasally whinging voice that he always used when complaining. Right now he was standing before me wearing only a woman's floral cotton robe. The robe was unbuttoned and his naked and now hairless body was visible. I'd contemplated having him suffer the pain of a body waxing but that need someone else to inflict it. Having to stand there and slowly remove all your own body hair meant he had to take responsibility himself. "What you want to do is irrelevant to me," I told him. "You already agreed to my conditions; do you want to change your mind now?" Dangling from one of my fingers was a pair of Peach Rayon Jersey Bloomers. His eyes were fixed firmly on these, the look of horror on his face could not have been worse if I'd been holding an angry Cobra. "But why do I have to wear dresses? I mean it's not right for men to wear women's clothes." His eyes remained locked on the bloomers as they swayed back and forth. "That's simply Frank; I no longer considered you a real man, in fact not even a man at all." I held the garment out towards him and he backed away. "For God's sake Frank accept your fate and get on with it before I change my mind." Today Frank had started his journey towards his new place in life. When he revealed that he'd been fired I realised that he would never find a new job. The implication for me was that I'd have to return to work to ensure we could finish paying for our house and retirement. However if I was working there was no way that I'd be responsible for the household tasks. The solution was obvious Frank would have to take on the role of housekeeper. However that was not enough punishment for his blatant stupidity. An idea was forming in my mind, something that would fit well with my recycling plan. I'd remember what had happened with my younger brother when I was aged about 12. Only a year younger than me, Willy had developed into a nasty toad. One day he overstepped the mark. Mother had told him that he was not going anywhere until his room was cleaned. No sooner had she left his room when he disappeared out the window. That evening he returned home, covered in mud, some of which he trailed into the hallway and a large tear in his shirt. As if that wasn't enough he'd walked into the kitchen demanding something to eat. Mother hit the roof and taking him by the ear, she marched him up to the bathroom. There, while the bath filled, she stripped him naked. He was told to thoroughly scrub himself down and shampoo his hair. While he doing this; she came to my room and chose a selection of things from my drawers and one of my older party dresses. She also picked up a pair of Mary Janes that were now too small for me to wear. She left the collection in Willy's room and returned to the bathroom. After he was dried she marched him back to his room. There despite his vehement protests she dressed him a pair of frilly white panties, one of my old white training bras and a white lace trimmed petticoat with multiple layers lace edged tulle over a taffeta underskirt. The pink satin and spotted voile dress was placed over his head and coaxed down his body. Broad satin ribbons of a deeper pink were tied at his waist and formed into a large bow that hung down from the back of his waist. When he protested at being put into girl's clothing, she told him that if he continued to complain she would add another week to his punishment. He was given the Mary Janes and a pair of white socks with pink lace frills which he reluctantly put on. When she was satisfied that Willy was properly dressed she sat him down on a stool and curled his damp hair with her curling iron. Willy had resisted having his hair cut for some months now and it had grown quite long. He now regretted that decision as she transformed his head into mass or shining curls. Finally a large floppy pink bow was pinned to his mass of curls. She lead him down to the kitchen where he was fastened into a pretty pinafore and set to work first peeling the vegetables for diner, the setting the table for our evening meal. He was still helping around the kitchen when our father arrived home from work. When he came into the kitchen and saw Willy he blew up demanding to know what was going on. Mother told him that Willy had gone too far today and was now being punished. Father started to tell her that he didn't approve of this, but before he'd finished, she'd told him to "Hold your tongue Fred lest you end up in skirts too". He never raised the issue again appearing not to notice his feminised son's presence. My mother decided that for the duration Willy would be called Millie, the logic being that it would be easy enough to remember and it would reinforce his petticoat state. If Willy thought that he would gain respite from his new clothes when he went to bed he was sadly disappointed as he was changed into a Baby Doll style nightie. What I most remember is how over the next seven day, the nasty brat of a brother metamorphosed into a sweet, polite and helpful person. Each day dressed in a pretty frock he would help with all the housework. His room became the pride of the house as he relentlessly tidied it. After his week in skirts he was allowed to return to his boy's clothing. We wondered if his behaviour would return to that of old, happily that did not happen. At one end of his closet one his dresses remained on a hanger and one drawer of his dresser held a collection of pretty underwear and one of his nighties. The message I think was fairly clear. I realised then that this was how I would take control of Frank, strip him of his manhood and ensure his constant obedience. There was no doubt in my mind that he would hate being feminised and would forever be reminded of his failure. When we had bought the house we had discovered the loft was full of boxes of belongings left by the previous resident. For whatever reason, over the years discarded clothing had been packed away in cardboard boxes. At the time I'd looked through some of the boxes, there was nothing there that I'd wear but I decided that it would be useful for Frank. One afternoon I went up there and started to delve into collection. I started two piles, in one I placed the things that I felt were feminine enough and would fit Frank, the other for storing. I took the first pile down to one of the spare bedrooms where I hung the dresses and skirts along with blouses and tops. The underwear I stored in various drawers. That night I confronted Frank telling him that I wanted him to move out of my home. I went on the accuse him of betraying me and of selfish behaviour. There was no reason that could, in my mind, justify him remaining with me. He was shocked and protested that I could not remove him from his house. I countered that by pointing out that years ago, for financial reasons and in fact, Tax avoidance reasons; the house had been transferred into my name. I was also the registered own of our car and would be entitled to retain possession of that. He was to move out of my bedroom immediately and I wanted him to vacate the house within 7 days. When the reality of his position became evident, he started to plead for me to reconsider, asking if there was anything that he could do to avoid this occurring. At first I rejected his plea saying that my mind had already been made up. Then I offered him a glimmer of hope by saying there was only one possibility of him remaining but tempered it with my opinion that he would not be interested in that option. He insisted he would be prepared to try anything. I eased him gently into my plan telling him that with my imminent return to the workforce I'd need someone to do all the housekeeping. He seized that chance telling me he could learn to how to cook and clean or any of the other necessary tasks. I responded that I was sure that he could but what I wanted was a maid. He mulled this over for a few moments before saying that he would be prepared to accept that role. I asked him if he understood that as my maid he would have his own room and would be required to accept that he was a employee of mine, albeit unpaid. Again he said that he could accept that and was still willing to take the position. I let him think I was considering whether I would accept his offer by hesitating for a few minutes. Finally I told him that he could remain as long as it was in the role of maid. A broad grin broke out on his face, I think that he believed that if he remained over time he would be able to resume of relationship. The look of horror when I then told him I'd need to have measure for his new uniforms was priceless. He asked why he would need new uniforms and what was wrong with the clothing he normally wore. I explained that any maid who worked in my home would have to be prepared to wear the appropriate clothing for a domestic servant. Was this female clothing he asked with a worried look. Indeed it was I told him, did he still want to become my maid, I asked. I was not going to beat around the bush here, accept my offer or leave, I told him. In the end with a look of resignation on his face he reluctantly accepted his fate. For me the new found sense of power had been exhilarating and sexually stimulating. Now he was poised to make the move into his life in petticoats, the last traces of resistance were deserting him. "Last change for your Frank, take your panties and put them on." His hand reached out and grasped them. "What are you holding Frank?" I asked him. "Panties," he whispered. "Whose panties Frank?" He was looking distinctly uncomfortable now. "Mine." He was now staring at them, my guess; he was hoping they would simply disappear. "Put it together Frank." I was so enjoying this. "My panties," he said quietly, a blush had spread across his face. "What do you do with your panties Frank?" I watched as he squirmed with embarrassment. "I......I wear them," I swear a tear was forming in his eyes. "So what are you waiting for Frank?" He gingerly lifted one leg and stepped into the bloomers, the conflict within him was evident, never the less he placed his second leg into them and grasping the waistband he slowly pulled them up until they were settled around his waist. In his mind he had ceded his manhood and I was determined that he would never get it back. Now that he was wearing the bloomers his resistance crumbled. "You can take off your robe now Fannie." Time to acquaint him with his new name. As he removed the robe he asks, "Fannie?" "I'm not having a maid called Frank," I told him. "In future your name will be Fannie Maykum." I was rather pleased that I'd come up with that, especially since it hinted at future possibilities. "I see." He sighed offering no resistance or objections I held out the bra that best matched his bloomers. "What's this Fannie?" "My brassiere." "Would you like me to help you put on your brassiere?" I asked. He nodded in the affirmative, then as he realised the game we were playing, answered, "Could you please help me into my brassiere." I held it up for him and he slid his arms through the shoulder straps and then turned around. The bra was a long line model and had no less than 9 hook and eye fastens, which I slowly closed gradually imprisoning him in its tight grip. Now while panties can be and often are pretty and feminine garments they are similar to what men wear. A bra on the other hand is for the exclusive use of those of us blessed with what many women see as an important asset, their breasts. Nothing can prepare a male for his first bra, it's probably the most humiliating of all feminine garments to be placed in. I inserted two silk bags each containing a kilo of rice into the vacant cups of his bra. The weight causes it to sag so I adjust the shoulder straps until they take up that weight. Frank looks very uncomfortable as the extra burden tends to unbalance him. I know that he hates his bra but one day in future, I am sure he will grow to love it. For now his punishment is to wear one, in future it will be to deprive him of it comforting support. I show him the slip; made of a soft pink fabric most of the bodice is pink French lace with two thin adjustable satin shoulder straps. At the hem there's a four inch band of the same lace. "What's this Fannie?"" "My petticoat," he answers, and then adds, "Will you help me put on my petticoat?" I smile as I know now his spirit is broken, as my Mother knew long ago, get your man into lingerie and he is yours to mould and shape as you see fit. "I'd be pleased to do that for you Fannie." I hold the slip up over his head he feeds his arms through the shoulder openings. When I release it there is quiet hiss as it slides down his body. For the first time he feels the sensation of a skirt as the hem of his slip brushes against his naked legs. "Do you like your petticoat Fannie?" He has already realised the limitation a skirt places on movement. "Oh yes I like my petticoat." His words tell one thing but his action another. I know his real feelings but they are of no concern to me. The stockings are next, since he is not wearing a girdle today I chose a pair with elastic tops. I hand him the pair and ask would he'd like to put his stockings on. "Yes I'd like to put my stockings on." He sits on a stool and rolls each stocking into a doughnut before drawing each one onto his legs. I am surprised at first but then realise that he has watched me perform this same practice for many years. I take his dress from the closet it's a Floral print on yellow silk crepe de chine. It has a high rounded neckline and full length sleeves with finish in 3 inch cuffs that fasten with three round yellow buttons. The dress falls below the knee and has a long zipper in one side. This dress would definitely suit the older woman and is perfect for Frank. He looks defeated as I reveal his dress to him. Without prompting he asks me, "Would you help me into my pretty dress." It goes on easily and I close the zipper before fastening the self- fabric belt at the waist. The dress suits him well and is a good fit apart from being slightly loose around the hips. My plans for the future included breast and hip enhancements the only question I need to resolve is by how much. I have a pair of white shoes with 2 inch heels and he steps into them. He looks very unsteady in these shoes but he will soon master the art of walking in heels. For him flat shoes are going to be but a distant memory. It's time to tackle his hair. I seat him on the stool and tie a cape around him. His hair has greyed in the last few years and recently he's allowed it to grow longer than usual. It's still damp as I run my comb through it. I comb it into sections and then start pinning small rollers into it. He winces at times as I occasionally jab him. That's of little concern to me he will learn the costs of beauty often takes you down the path of pain. In the end I squeeze some forty rollers onto his head. I cover his head with a yellow silk scarf tied in the manner of the forties, it's knotted at the top front of the head. "There all done," I tell him. "Would you like to see yourself in the mirror?" I ask. He stands up and moves slowly across the room struggling to cope with his new shoes. I find his discomfort amusing and know I will gain much pleasure from subjecting him to similar experiences. It's time to add one more touch. I have him sit back on the stool and I take my compact and powder his face, it's only a light dusting to take away the shine. I add rouge circles to his cheeks and along the bridge of his nose. His eyebrows are gone I insisted that he shave them off. I have scope to experiment with all different shapes, today I experiment with thin quizzical ones. They transform his face completely. I outline his eyes with a black eye liner and apply a coating of blue eye shadow to his lids. I had him the bright red lipstick and compact and tell him to apply his lipstick. His first attempt is a disaster and I wipe if off and tell him to do it again. I tell him to stand in front of me and I cast my eyes over him, a slightly androgynous person tending towards the masculine looks back at me. I add a final touch, chiffon and lace tea apron, favoured by matrons at afternoon teas. "I think I just heard the mail arrive, best go and check it Fannie." "Dressed like this?" he asked in horror. "Of course, dressed like that." "I can't," he pleads. "Now." I point towards the door. He wobbles across the hallway and stands for a moment at the front door. Finally he sighs and opens the door. The makes his way down the steps and walks the twenty paces to the mail box. There is a small lock on the box and he realises he has forgotten the key. He takes a quick look around as a car drives past but the driver's attention is on the road. His heels click on the paving as he makes his way back into the house. The key hangs beside the door he removes it and returns to the mail box. There is a gentle winds blowing and I watch as it blows his dress around, he tries to unlock the box with one hand a hold onto his skirts with the other and succeeds in doing neither. In the end he is forced to use both hands to undo the lock and suffer having his dress lifted up briefly. Relocking the box he bring several letters back with him, as he carries them he see that they all only addressed to his wife, the erasure of Frank is more advanced than he realised. "Fannie, I think that it's appropriate you show due respect when speaking with me." "How can I do that?" he asked "Maids traditionally show their respect by curtsying when approaching their employer or when carrying out an instruction. From now on I expect that from you." "But I have no idea how to curtsey," he replied. "That's why you'll find a book on etiquette for domestic maids in your new room. I want you to read it and behave in accordance with that book." "Okay." "No not Okay, Yes Madam or Mam." "Yes Madam." He made a clumsy attempt to bob. I sent him off with instructions to gather up all of his male clothing, pack it in plastic bags and pack in the back of the car. "Everything?" "Everything." For the next hour he was up and down the stairs as bag after bag was carried down and taken to the car. Finally he returned and informed me that everything had been move to the car. Over the next two weeks he was immersed in learning the domestic skills that he would need if he was to be a useful maid. He was also subjected to a whole new range of experiences. When it came to doing the laundry I allowed him to use the washing machine for most items, but insisted that any fine fabrics such as lingerie could only be hand washed in mild soap. Unless it was raining everything had to dried on the cloths line in the rear garden. He would have to stand out in the open as he pegged each item to the line. I could have left it that, but instead I insisted that each group of items should be placed together and each should have its own colour of peg. Of course this made it harder for him, that was the idea. Normally I would only have ironed things which really needed to be ironed but in his case I demanded that almost everything be ironed. This meant that it took several hours to complete this task. It amused me to watch him as he daintily ironed delicate panties or bras. Once everything had been ironed, it needed to be placed in drawers in sorted into types and colours. Early in the first week I'd dressed him a white and pink floral patterned dress with a matching jacket, added pink hat, white gloves and a large handbag. We drove to a nearby town where I took him into a shop which specialised in domestic uniforms. An extremely camp shop assistant took him into the change rooms, had him undress to his lingerie before measuring him. He tried on one dress which proved to be a good fit. When we left I'd bought six dresses for him. For morning wear, three pastel uniforms in pink, yellow and blue. A grey uniform which would be suitable for afternoon wear and two black dresses in a polished cotton fabric. I'd also bought him a selection of aprons ranging from small half aprons to full pinafore styles. Finally a range of caps from simple Mob styles to elaborate evening ones replete with ribbon and lace trim. The bill was rather large but I was able to tell Frank that it had been paid for with the money I received when I sold off his golf clubs. That was another priceless moment. Before we returned home I took him to have his ears pierced and a set of studs inserted. While that was being done I chose several pairs of earrings, they were cheap and gaudy, perfect for him. I'd pondered a choice of breast forms, small, medium or large they would be attached on a semi-permanent basis. In the end it made sense to buy them in the same size as the bras he already had. I can tell you I really enjoyed the first day I glued them on to his chest. He never ever complained about wearing bras after he stood for the first time and felt the weight of his DD girls. The first time I'd set his hair in curlers he'd complained non-stop about how uncomfortable he found it. I on the other hand was delighted with resultant mass of tight grey curls. Not wanting to be to unreasonable I allowed him to wash and condition his hair every other day. Naturally after each wash it would need to be reset. Since he washed his hair at night he had to endure the discomfort of sleeping with the curlers in place. Rather than remove those curlers in the morning, he was to keep them in place until he changed into his evening uniform. As much as he hated that I loved it. He also hated that it was he who had to set his hair, in the beginning he would sit in front of the mirror slowly adding each curler. He would come to me and I'd tell not good enough and he'd start all over. In a way this was karma, in his eyes my hair was never properly styled and he'd complain that I needed to smarten up. Each day I would inspect his nails, they had to be perfectly shaped and painted with nail polish. Only deep reds and strong pinks would do for him and he had to change the colour every other day. As my husband he'd always insisted that I needed to wear makeup during the day, even if I was remaining at home. Now I demanded my maid reach certain standards including being fully made up at all times when on duty. Since his hours of duty were from 6am to 11pm that meant all the time. When he was not engaged in other duties I would send him to practice applying makeup and to experiment with different looks. I either approved or rejected each different look and those that involved the maximum amount of time to achieve were the one I approved. He was never a willing cross dresser who would have adored being forced in dresses. Had that been the case I'd probably never done this too him. I emasculated him and turned him from a dominant husband into a submissive servant. God I enjoyed doing this to him, I thrived on his embarrassment enjoyed his constant humiliation. When I convinced my doctor that I needed HRT it was never for me. There was no deceit by me he knew what he was being given and meekly accepted it. I doubled the dosage as well, was it harmful? who knows, did I care if was, No! After a month all trace of my former husband was gone. My house was immaculate, floors gleamed from polishing and every shelf was dust free. I was now being served meals that would not be unusual at top notch restaurants. My lingerie draw was always full and the hamper empty. I barely needed to lift a finger; only short tinkle of the bell by my side would bring my maid to me. I'd been starting to search the papers since I was going to have to find work soon. Frank's payout had been slowly dwindling and a source of income was now a prime need. As I perused the advertisements one caught my eye "Perfect Lady" underneath it invited me who wished to experience being dressed as women to contact the provided number. This sparked an idea, what if I set up a similar business. There already was an extensive collection of clothing from the hoard in the loft. Over time I could add to this collection. Best of all I already had a maid who do much of the work for me. No doubt he would be thrilled to dressing another male in female attire. What's not to like about this I thought. "Madam Zelda's" dressing service was born and in the following weeks papers an advertisement for appeared. Frank had not been happy when I informed him that in future he would be playing "Ladies Maid" to visiting cross-dressing men. Initially I set things up in blocks of 3 hours, since I felt anything less would not be worth the effort and in any case who wants to spend 45 minutes being dressed and made up only to have to turn around and strip if all back off. I settled on 10am til 1pm, 2pm til 5pm or 7pn til 10pm. As a bonus any booking for consecutive periods would include a free hour between them. Less than 24 hours after the ad appeared in the paper the phone rang. "Ah! Hello is this ummm Madam Zelda's?" "Yes it is, Madam Zelda speaking." "I'm er...interested in you services." "We provide a complete service but any special requests might take a day or two to arrange," I told him. "When could I make an appointment?" he asked. I explained the hours we were available and mentioned a bonus hour for two blocks. "That sounds ideal, umm what would the rate be?" "300 for the first three hours, 250 for another three and 200 for a third three." There was a silence on the other end of the phone. Had I asked too much I wondered. "That will be fine, when can I arrange a visit." A day and time was arranged. Two days later promptly at 10am the doorbell chimed. Frank had been dressed in one of his black uniforms with a starched white pinafore and fancy white lace cap. I sent him to greet our visitor he was not at all happy. I watched as he curtsied and invited our visitor to follow him. He brought "Peter" into the living room and introduced him to me, before moving back and standing with his hands crossed in front of him. I welcomed Peter and he passed me an envelope with his payment. I explained that my Maid Fannie would escort him upstairs and assist with his dressing and makeup. When he was dressed Fannie would show him around the rear garden before bringing him in for Morning Tea with me. The was a camera in the bedroom which allowed me to watch proceedings and to record what happened. I watched as Frank lead Peter into the bedroom, curtsey before helping him undress. He was clearly uncomfortable in the presence of a naked man as he went about dressing Peter. Some time later I saw them descend the stairs, Peter looked quite nice, he was dressed in the fashion of a lady attending a semi-formal event. The dress was a blue linen with a white flower print over it. A plain blue jacket, open at the front. Beige stockings with white medium heels, while his hat was a blue saucer shape with an artificial flower on the top, a veil at the front descended below the eyes. I was impressed with Frank's effort clearly I'd taught him well. Outside in the relative privacy of the rear garden, Frank lead Peter around showing him plants and selecting and picking a bouquet of flowers. When they returned Peter was escorted into the sitting room where I awaited him. Franks fluttered off to prepare Morning Tea for us. "I must say how wonderful you look today Peta, your hat is divine." "Yes I am really pleased with it." He reached up and touched the veil. For the next 15 minutes we made small talk as you expect two mature ladies to do. Frank returned bearing a silver tray with silver teapot, milk jug and sugar container resting on it. He carried out a semi-curtsy as he entered then placed the tray on a table in front of us. Next time he carried in a tray bearing to Royal Albert Country Rose cups and saucers and two plates. He set them down beside us. "You may pour now Fannie," I told him. "Very good Mam," he replied before taking the Tea Pot and pouring out two cups. "Milk, Sugar?" he asked. Once our requirements had been satisfied he departed again for the kitchen. The last tray held a small pile of scones, still steaming, several small bowls of jams and a container of thick white cream. After setting them on the table he retired to side of the room and took up a stance with hands folded over his pinafore and eyes cast downward ready to summoned when next needed. Peter and I chatted on as we nibbled on the delicious scones. Who would have thought my former husband could be capable of producing such a treat. Finally it was time for Peter to change and I told Frank to escort him back to the bedroom and assist him to change. Once he left I checked the envelope, paid in full. One client and the equivalent of two days pay. A short time later they returned and Frank opened the door and ushered Peter out. When he came into the Sitting Room he held out 100 pounds. "He's only paid part of what he owes." I showed him the other 300. "That's your tip Fannie." "Oh! and he also kissed my cheeks when leaving, I'll not have that." "Fannie if a client throws you on the bed and takes your virginity you will smile and say: thank you that will be another 50 pounds, Understand?" "Yes Madam as you wish." That week we took 1200 Pounds from four very satisfied clients. At this rate we would easily meet our commitments and more. The following week we took 2400 pounds and a week later 3300. Then I came up with another idea once a week we would hold a formal dinner and invite up to 4 clients. They could come between 5pm and 7pm so as to be dressed by 7pm. We could start with a cocktail hours and follow it with a 3 course dinner at 8pm. I could make 1200 pounds in one evening. We started telling each clients of this new event there was a lot of interest from them so we set the date for our first dinner in two weeks. The night turned out to be a great success Fannie's meal was superb (I could no longer think of him as Frank as I banished the last trace of my former husband) Every one dressed in evening gowns and happily chatted with each other. All vowed to be back for another evening. With the money flowing in I decided that we could convert the loft into an extra bedroom another bathroom and large storage area where clothing could be kept. Once the renovations were complete we were able to offer overnight stays to our clients and if they wished they could leave their own clothing in our storage room. One afternoon I was having Tea with our first client Peta, we'd become good friends and I'd gradually learned more about him. Today he did surprise me by telling me that he was a plastic surgeon and if there was anything I needed done he would be happy to help. I thanked him and filed that information away. Fannie had been on her hormone program for six months now with some good results. His hips had certainly increased in size and overall his figure was more rounded and feminine there was an increase in the size of his nipples but not a lot of breast development. Next time Peter visited I waived his usual payment and told him he could visit anytime as a guest if he carried out a few procedures on Fannie. He asked if Fannie would object and I assured him that there would be no objection. Later that afternoon I summoned Fannie to the Sitting Room. "Fannie could you bring me a bottle of Chardonnay and two glasses." "Yes Mam." He looked around to see if he'd missed someone then went off to fetch the wine." He returned and poured out a glass for me. "Fill the other glass Fannie." He looked puzzled but never the less complied. "Sit down and join me." He sat down carefully sweeping his dress under him as he did so. "That's for you." I pointed to the wine. He picked up the glass and took a sip. "Fannie you've been in dresses now for over six months and you going to be in them for ever as far as I'm concerned." "Yes Mam I understand." He did look sad though at being reminded that this wasn't going to end tomorrow or the day after or the year after. "I don't think that you should have to glue your breasts on every few days." "No Mam it's not something I enjoy having to do." "Well I have good news for you, in future that's a task you won't have to perform." He smiled, did he really think that I was just going to let him stop using the forms. "Next week you will be going into a private hospital for your own implants." The jaw dropped and his lips trembled, a tear formed in his eye then ran down his cheek. I knew that he wanted to tell me that this was not something he wanted. Still I'd brought him to the stage where acceptance was his only option. "As you wish Mam, can I ask will they be as large as my forms?" "Would you like them to be that size?" He looked down at the floor for a moment considering his answer. "Yes Mam that would be nice." Now I moved onto the difficult part, well the difficult part for him anyway. "Fannie you're not going back to a male life, you understand that?" "Yes Mam I do." He looked puzzled wondering no doubt what this was leading to. "So in your new life there's not much point to those bits hanging off your front." There was no doubt about the look of horror that passed across his face this time. "Oh No! you can't do that." "Of course you're right I can't do that, but the surgeon can and will." "Please don't do this," he begged but I could already see acceptance in his eyes. When he returned after the surgery he was quiet and subdued he moved straight back into his normal duties. With the last vestige of his manhood gone he became totally submissive and obedient. I doubted there was anything which he would refuse to do if I so directed. One evening I went to his room as he was leaving the bath, his breasts were full and rounded with a prominent nipples. My eyes dropped below his waist no trace of his male organs were left low down there was a slit where his urethra had been moved. "How is it?" I asked. "Messy at the moment," he replied with wry smile. "Never mind you'll get used to it." "Yes I suppose I will." And that's how I made my contribution to saving the planet by repurposing a no longer useful husband. I highly recommend the practice to any of you ladies in the same position.