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I guided them down the back staircase into the media room with its plush movie theater seats and a wall sized digital screen. My pride and joy, "And that," I said with a grand sweeping gesture and deep bow worthy of a carnival ringmaster, "is the tour of my humble abode." "Yes 'humble'," Maria Sanchez said elbowing her husband playfully in the ribs, "we should be able to afford so 'humble'. And here we thought living right off the golf course was nice." Her husband Ben defensively chimed in, "Honey, it is nice; we have the lake, the mountains in the distance. It's just not nine-bedroom, five car garage nice. I mean seriously Doug, what do you do with nine bedrooms anyhow?" "Well this party has three couples from out of town, for example. So, there's that. Plus, I love Michelle, but every couple has their spats now and again. Sleeping in your choice of bedroom beats sleeping on a couch any day. Although you have seen my couches? Not the worst fate in the world." I smiled hoping I was not coming off as smug. "Now you're just bragging. Such a horrible look on you," Maria teased. Ben's eyes sparkled with mischief, stirring the pot was in his favorite pastime. "You mean a spat like when your CEO ... what's his name? David something or other," "Gordon. David Gordon." "Like when David Gordon cozies up to your wife alone in the corner of the kitchen for, say, the last half hour? Like a spat from something like that?" Ben tended to ramp up drama to amuse himself, but I could tell he was on the level here. "Wait," I said processing the information. David Gordon? What was he doing here? Fraternization with employees, senior executive level or not, is decidedly not his style. I, and my neighbors, may have houses half a city block wide, but for the CEO of Stridentech Enterprises, the LA suburb of Hermoso Jardin was still slumming it. "Gordon is here? Now?" Ben laughed. "Guy's trying to wear your wife Michelle like a jacket and you just now notice he's here? Buddy. She's a snack. And if you leave the doors to candy shop unlocked ..." Eyes narrowed in irritation, Maria elbowed him again, but this time it lacked the playfulness of before. I walked into the kitchen to find that he was finding my wife's company inviting. Standing there with his tall fit muscular frame, David Gordon's chiseled features were uncomfortably close to her face. Not that he could be blamed, Michelle was undeniably attractive. Her long dark red hair flowed like a river accenting a delicate pale skin and green eyes that sparkled like lamp lights. She spent many hours in fitness classes make her body tone and taut to perfectly showcase her ample breasts, impossibly long legs and fit round bottom. She was proud of her body and it was evidenced in her entire wardrobe. For her everything worn up top was low, and everything worn below rose high. "David," I said happy to interrupt whatever this was, "what brings you all the way to middle of nowhere to attend one of our parties at our place?" I emphasized the word 'our'. I felt the (hopefully irrational) need to subtly remind him he was speaking to my wife in our home. Upon seeing me his face changed expression for the briefest of moments, becoming inscrutable, before instantly flashing back to what he must consider charming. "Michelle. Lovely to meet you. I hate to tear myself away from such exquisiteness, but Doug and I must really speak." My wife giggled at this cheesiness even as I groaned to myself. Exquisiteness, really? She found that appealing? The good looking always did have a sway that defies reason. Turning to me any pretense of charm vanished. "Can we go talk somewhere Doug? Somewhere very private." Leaving the kitchen, I glanced over my shoulder, Michelle half smiled as she watched me leave. At least, I hoped it was me she was watching. I walked him to my upstairs office, where I closed to door after me. Behind perhaps only my movie theater, this was my favorite room. I had taken great pains to scour antique markets up and down the West Coast to give it just the right early twentieth century western feel. Every detail was correct. The center piece was my roll top desk and my bar, both some one hundred years old. David Gordon walked to my bar and poured himself a scotch on the rocks and seated himself as if he lived here. Not pausing for false pleasantries, he went straight in. "You make me a lot of money Doug Harrison. A lot of goddamn money. And in turn, I, a very generous man, give you a big enough chunk of that money so you can buy things like ... oh, I don't know ... that expensive bar where I just got my drink." He sat straight as an arrow looking me in the eye. There was no good humor or civility here. "So imagine," he said coldly spreading out each word, "Imagine how I felt when I found out you were stealing from me." "David I would nev -" "STOP!" he roared with a feral ferocity that made my blood run cold. For a moment I thought he was going to leap to his feet. "If you insult me with a lie at this moment, I will lose what patience I have." He swirled his drink, the ice cubes clinked audibly against the glass. Sipping the brown liquid, his calm, but unsympathetic tone returned. "So, I ask myself. What makes a man steal when he lives somewhere like this and a garage full of expensive cars? What is it that makes a man a thief when he has a very lovely wife who speaks more to how much money his wallet holds, than anything his little thin girly body could offer her as a man?" The CEO waved his hands in a dismissive manner toward me. It was getting intensely personal. Of course it was. I had broken a trust. But I wasn't in handcuffs. So I stood there taking it and listened to see where this road was leading. "So, I did a little digging. Turns out that little complex web of shell companies you set up to drain corporate funds weren't going to buy you a Bugatti or yet another house with more rooms. No, you have a gambling debt the size of some countries' GNP. I have to say, I was deeply impressed how incredibly stupid and unlucky you are." He paused for effect. "More stupid I would say since you owe it to some very nasty people. Very nasty people who are quite biblical about all this debt business, an eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth; a hand for a debt." He leaned back making himself comfortable as I stood before him in my own office like a child called in to see the principal. He said nothing. The silence was distressing just as he intended it to be. When was this shoe going to drop? After an agonizing length of time, he finally spoke. "I tell the cops; you go to jail. If I stop the shell company's payments to your bad, bad men, they cut off your fingers and toes or perhaps even a more important digit ...." He let the thought hang in the air. "If I stop payments, then tell the cops much later, you arrive in prison with no fingers or toes, or worse." "What do you want David?" "As I've said, you make me a lot of money. Not many can work the magic you do. We were never friends. But I respected you. And I thought you respected me. But you've humiliated me. So, I, in turn, will humiliate you, but keep you out of jail where you can still make me wealthy," he smiled for the first time since the kitchen. "So, I thought to myself," he continued, "what is it that you little men take pride in? Yes, your multiple homes and your fancy offices for certain. But those are just things. What can I take that would really hurt you as much as you tried to hurt me? Then it dawned on me. Your pride as a man. So my friend, this humiliation will start by my dating your wife. Publicly. She's quite the beauty ... and oh my that body ... and I have so many boring social things to attend, but things I think she will enjoy. At least from what I gathered from our little intimate chat downstairs." If a shark could smile, it would look like David right now. My skin burned with fury. For a moment I considered grabbing my Mozart bust and smashing him in the head with it. But I held both my anger and my tongue. "I won't go for it. She won't go for it." "You, as I've explained in some detail, have no choice. And of course she won't go for it. She's married. To you. And unlike you, she probably has morals. That is why you're going to convince her. I don't care if you tell her the truth, a lie, whatever. Just think of the consequences if you do not. She's a woman with very expensive tastes now. And I am, in all humility, an uncountably rich and handsome man. She was an elementary school teacher when you married, so she says. And now she has three houses and servants. I would take all of that. And women like her do not easily go back to having nothing. I could simply put you in jail and likely have her anyway. Sending letters to you in prison with us together would be fun. But I still need you on the job, filthy thief or not." He stood up putting the empty drink down on the glass table next to the couch. No coaster of course. "I'll be going. And some advice? If you're going to have a fifty-thousand dollar antique bar? Stock it with better scotch. You look a fool." ++++++++ "You could at least have taken a second and pretended to think about it!" I barked. I had no right to, but the fact she said "yes" without a pause brought my anger boiling out. I expected soul searching and hesitancy. We would pull out tissues and I would make tearful apologies for falling to my gambling demons again. She would make promises of how even when she was out with David Gordon, her mind and heart with always be with me. But that was not the reality. She was furious because she saw it exactly for what it was, a massive betrayal. I was an embezzler verging on jail. I risked losing everything we owned. I still gambled despite saying I quit years ago. I owed money to dangerous people, putting her in harm's way. And the black tentacles of all my decisions had reached into our lives and pulled her under the waves. Michelle leapt to her feet. "Think about it? Fuck you! You're whoring me out to cover a gambling debt that you stole from your company to cover? You told me those days were over." She prodded him in the chest with her long red nail. "You lied right to my face for YEARS Doug. YEARS! And you want me to act all 'boo hoo' for you? No, I'm going out with David all goddamn right. A handsome charming man like that? You better hope going out is all I do." If David was punishing me with her, she was determined to punish me with him. She stormed out of the room, before turning around and spitting out, "Oh, and clean your things out of our bedroom. I want you in the blue bedroom as far away from me as possible. +++++++++ It was a couple of weeks after our party, but the night I dreaded finally came. David Gordon arrived on my doorstep to pick up my wife in one of his limos. She forbade me from being anywhere near her for the last fortnight, so as she left I sat upstairs alone like a child in time out. I peered out of the window but could only glimpse her quickly stepping into the vehicle. Time crawled by. It was unbearable. More unbearable than I had imagined, and my imagination had been quite the source of dark mockery these days. It had been hours and all I could think about was my wife, the woman who I proposed to, out with David on their "first date" somewhere in public. I tried to shut it out with movies and booze in the media room, but the sight of his good-looking blonde locked visage inches from my wife's face that night at the party would tear into my thoughts like a jagged knife. The longer she was out, the more the frustration grew inside of me building to exploding point. The door finally opened. She strolled in wearing her tightest black mini, sky high pumps and ... oh god ... stockings. Her black push up bra took her already large breasts and shoved them out of her satin top which hugged her like a second skin. She had barely spoken to me in two weeks. But tonight, she walked right to me, sitting next to me on the couch wallowing in my boozy pity. Placing her mouth inches from my nose she breathed on me. I could smell smoke on her breath. "So, cigarettes now is it?" I asked bitterly. "Oh," she laughed at me with such disdain, "I didn't have a single puff. David smokes. And you know what else?" She grabbed my hand and shoved it between her legs. She was wet. I pulled my hands back and recoiled. "No, he didn't touch me, there at least. She traced her finger between her mounds. He's quite a man, you know. So strong and virile. Interesting and much richer than you. Just being around him did this. I'm still your wife. For now. I only thanked him generously with my lips as any woman would do after such an expensive, hot, date. Maybe my tongue got a bit excited and I came away smelling like him." I couldn't tell if she genuinely enjoyed his company, although her sopping panties would seem to say so, or if her newfound fury toward me was driving this. +++++ This went on for weeks. I drank much more so when she came home, I was passed out upstairs, not being forced to see her smeared lipstick; that she had more buttons undone than when she left or whatever part of David Gordon was on her breath that night. Her dress was more provocative and revealing each time successive time she went out; lower cut blouses, shorter skirts, higher heels, but I was thankfully never awake to see it. At work I plugged away head down making David his money back. At first it was a curiosity why in the occasional tabloid shots there was my wife arm and arm with our CEO. "Old friends," I told them. But when he went on stage to accept the Chance Aid award and she was standing right next to him with the loving fixed gaze of a politician's wife, the dam burst. It was on magazine covers, in the pages of national newspapers, there was a giant framed photo in our office foyer. I was as publicly a cuckolded man as that had ever existed. The curious looks at work stopped as did the questions. Even the ones of pity and antipathy dissipated. I was left alone in avoidance and awkward silence. To me, it became a relief, no stares meant I wasn't forced to think about it anymore than I had chosen not to. I was numb, therefore, becoming immune. ++++++ Saturday morning there was a knock on my door. Odd. No one gets onto our grounds with no gate code. I opened the door and was immediately knocked onto my back with great force. Two men pointed guns at me, while another held a machete. They had aged poorly in the time since I had seen them last, but I recognized them from a run in five years ago that cost me a broken wrist. It was Dieter Holmes' boys, the man I owed untold amounts to. He was still using the same muscle. I struggled as they pressed my hand to the floor trying to steady it. The machete wielder spoke, his Brooklyn accent jarringly out of place in this swath of Southern California. "Hold still or I may hit something I didn't mean to. Can't pay if your dead." I couldn't be sure if this was for show to scare me or if they intended to remove my fingers. With Dieter you just couldn't know. Examples were often made. I was blubbering, "This is a mistake. I am paying. I've not missed one." "Not what the boss says." "Boys," It was my wife Michelle. She seemed excessively cool considering there were two gunmen and a sword wielder standing in our home threatening me. But there was a reason. Five very large envelopes fell at their feet. "Here is your money. Let your guy ... Dieter was it ...? let Dieter know there was a glitch in the automatic pay system. There is even interest here for the late payment. Accept our deepest apologies." The machete wielder counted the money, satisfied he bent all the way down, so his lips were next to my ear. "Next time if you are late, I take the hand, money or not." They left without closing the front door behind them. I lie on the floor trembling. "What the fuck was that? I set up those payments myself. There is no possibility of a glitch. And you with the money ...? Unless you and David ..." Michelle walked over and put her stiletto sandal on my chest. "There will be changes," she had not been the same woman after discovering I almost threw away our way of life and her future on gambling and embezzlement. I was still uncertain if she enjoyed the lavish night life David was showing her, the state she came home at night leaned toward she seemed to. Or I was receiving her ire for her having to be ... rented ... that what it was really ... rented to David to work off my punishment and debt. "I'll tell you what the fuck this is," she dug her heel into my chest just a bit. Looking at her perfectly pedicured feet arched in those heels; those long legs, legs I haven't touched forever ... it was pleasurable pain. Blood rushed to my penis. I was, to my massive shame, hard as steel. She could see it. "Oh, you are a pitiful man. If this indignity makes you hard, you just wait," she continued her previous thought, "David and I can see your humiliation in the eyes of others as they see how you have given your wife to a better man while you wait cucked at home for her return." She took her foot off me and bent her knees so she was closer to my body on the floor. "but you are anesthetizing yourself daily with booze and who knows what else. We can no longer see the pain in your eyes. And your eyes are the very point. And that is going to change. If you don't like what is coming, we can always have Dieter and his machete boys come see you again. You look like you really enjoyed this visit." "Now love of my life," she said sarcastically as she stood back up, "do you know what a sissy is?" ++++++ My wife laughed bitterly. She did quite a bit of that these days. "When you're shaven clean like that, if I squint my eyes, your skinny little fem body almost looks like a girl. Almost is not good enough. Let's fix that." I stood before her naked and ashamed. My entire body was shaved clean by my own hands at her demand. She threw me a pair of silk panties. "Put these on," she demanded, "And tuck away that cock of yours. Little sissies like you don't have cocks anymore." Fearful of the ultimate consequences, I did as I was told. In the time since she hatched the plan to increase my humiliation, she had become both coarser and more unforgiving. My name never left her lips, I was always Sissy, or Little Sissy or some form of degrading feminine identification. "I have a surprise for you little femboy," the sound of her voice made it sound like no surprise I would enjoy. She walked over and pressed the white button on the intercom next to the bathroom door. Eileen, our long-time housekeeper, answered. "Eileen, this is Michelle. I need a little help with clothing. Could you come up here please?" Eileen entered the room later and froze. The scene before her was nothing she wanted to be involved with, I could tell. Her eyes took me in with horror as I was clean shaven with a pair of black silk panties on. I burned red hot with shame. "Eileen, in the bag at the foot of the bed are some close for our little panty-boy here. You will help him get dressed." I don't know if it was the steel in my wife's voice or the cold eyes, deadly serious and dangerous, that made Eileen not even begin to object to whatever perverted sex game she found herself in the middle of. The fifty-year-old, slightly graying woman walked over to the bag and started laying out the items on the bed; pantyhose, a black sheer dress, lightly padded bra, heels, corset and makeup. Rounding off the items was a long dark red wig, not much different in style than my spouse's own hair. That can't be good. Eileen looked again at my wife, then me. I could see her making mental calculations on how important this job was to her. "Eileen, please, just do as she says." I pleaded with her; my voice quavered with embarrassment as I asked my long-time housekeeper to heap this indignity on me "willingly". My significant other's tone was piercing. "No. Not like that. Say it like you mean it. Use the right words and your little girl voice." "Eileen," I stumbled and stuttered. My face was so warm with blood borne of debasement I thought I was going to begin sweating. Pitching my voice upward, speaking softly and femininely I repeated my request, "Please Eileen, make me a pretty little sissy." "So much better little girl." My partner left the room. Eileen spoke straight away. "What is going on around here? First, I see that handsome man picking up your wife in a different sports car every few days. Staying out late together. And the way she dresses for him ... And now you throw me into this craziness. For the amount of time I've been with you, I deserve an answer." "Don't ask. Just get me dressed please." She was right, Eileen had been on my staff for a long time; her employment predated my marriage even. There were things about me, this house, that were impossible to keep hidden. One was your wife openly dating in front of you. The other was your addictions. She took a guess. "I'll bet my bottom dollar this had something to do with your gambling." "Then you would be a far better at placing a bet than me." Her expression changed a bit. Was that sympathy? She had been around the first time I got mixed up with overdue payments to loan sharks, thugs and worse. I was juggling money around just to, quite literally, stay alive. She may not like the position this put her in, but she may have also understood it was much more than just some sex game. She looked me over, this time with a calm assessing eye ... "Your hands and feet, they're still too ... hold on." She returned with a small box of items she brought from her quarters. Going straight to work she applied fake French tip toenails and fingernails. They were transformative, now my feet and hands, never large to begin with, were indistinguishable from a woman's. Like the hairless body that stood before her, I was once again ashamed at how easily I could be made feminine. She rolled the pantyhose carefully for me so I could slip into them. "Be careful, your nails will make them run. Do it like this." She demonstrated how to put them on. I glided the nylons up each leg, wiggled into the upper section so they clung to my body. With my shaved legs, it was a strangely, undeniably nice sensation; smooth and hugging. The womanliness of my feet encased in hose were magnified. I blushed. Could Eileen tell I was admiring my own legs? The padded bra gave my flat smooth chest a hint of breasts; like the panty hose the delicate fabric was oddly pleasing. The corset on the other hand was a torture device. No woman, and no man especially, was made to be squeezed and pulled into an hourglass shape in defiance of their body. But it was effective. I had a tapered lady-like waist where none existed before. Taking out her makeup tools Eileen went to work on my face, applying foundation, powder, eyeshadow, liner and lipstick. From the box she brought herself, she glued on a pair of long luscious false eyelashes. The sensation of the makeup on my skin and the feel of the lashes touching my face as I blinked was a bit odd, but I adjusted. The sheer black dress fit perfectly, my narrowing waist with its tiny budding like breasts up top, gave my body the look of a teen girl in a very inappropriate prom dress. She combed out the long red wig, placing it on my head, before combing it out again, making small adjustments. "These heels," Eileen held up a pair of five-inch stiletto pumps, "are pretty high up. I will show how to walk in them. But for now, take very small steps. I mean very small." I slipped my nylon sheathed feet into the heels and stood. It was a bit wobbly at first, but I was steadier than I had expected. At some point in the process, be it the implied danger lurking behind everything; or that I was now a giant paper doll for Eileen, but she went from hesitance to a workman like pride in her creation. "Now look at yourself." Mortification overtook me. My makeup was immaculate. My brown eyes beneath the feathery lashes were emphasized and appealing. My lips looked plump and inviting with the ruby red lipstick covering them; the dark red hair matched the lipstick and framed my features perfectly. That face, atop that sheer dress showing off my little breasts, all perched atop high heels and black sheer hose and there was no denying it: I was a pretty little girl. And to make it worse, seeing myself like this caused my tucked penis to tingle. This was truly horrible. My wife seeing me like this, seeing how easily my effeminate shape morphed into a complete sissy, a girl, I could already feel the stings of agony as her barbed tongue made fun of me. "Th - thank you Eileen. Truly. I don't know what is going to happen next, but I know you don't want to be around for it." +++++++ The routine of Eileen dressing me went on for three more days. I breathed a slight relief believing that this was the endgame. The final humiliation. Michelle made fun of my sissy appearance with acid tone and attitude, get bored taunting me, then would disappear into David's car at night. This morning after Eileen dressed me, I came downstairs in towering heels taking small careful steps like some 10th century Chinese girl with bound feet. Shock burned through the entirety of my body as I found David Gordon lounging on my couch in my robe. Being considerably taller than me it barely counted as coverage and much of his muscular body showed. My wife was curled up against him with one leg over his lap, herself wearing nothing but a silk robe. He pulled her in tighter upon seeing me, so her large mounds pressed against him. He made a show of lifting her chin and kissing her deeply, his tongue roaming freely inside her mouth. She slid her hand onto his chest through the opening of his ... my ... robe and played with his blonde chest hair. "Oh. Didn't you know," he sneered, "I stayed here last night. The pillows on your side of the bed are atrociously thin, but they are good for propping up hips," he slapped Michelle lightly on the butt. "Oh, and I borrowed some clothes. But from the looks of you Miss Darling Lips, doesn't seem like you're using them much." This many days in I knew exactly how a sissy was supposed to answer. "No. No sir. I don't use them much." "Look at you in your cute blue mini dress and nice-looking makeup. Nice ass too. If Michelle didn't keep me so satisfied, I'd consider sneaking around to your room. With that wig that matches her hair, I could probably drink just enough to imagine it was her if I took you from behind. I wonder how much real man your little ass could take? Maybe your wife can give you tips on taking me." The two of the exploded in laughter, bathing joyfully in the heat of my shame. The more uncomfortable I became, the more energized they did. My disgrace was making them horny. Michelle moved her hand from his chest and slid it between his legs. "Do you have another go in you lover boy? I mean ... after so many times this morning?" I suspected they had started sleeping together, but it had been obliquely referred to until this morning. Now that I was a full-blown sissy for their amusement, they were putting it right there in my face. "Come here panty-girl. My man needs some encouragement. Give me your hand." She thrust my hand onto his softened cock. "Work it, make him ready for me." My hand went up and down his increasingly growing dick. I fought back tears of shame as he stiffened moaning with pleasure. "Oh, this little bitch is good." I stroked away until he was fully aroused. He stood up and dropped his robe. His manhood throbbed with intention. Looking to me he said, "Lie on the floor on your back little girl. Spread your legs." He demanded. I began to protest. My mind was screaming. Please don't put that massive cock in me. But I said nothing. Sissies say nothing. Michelle put an arm on him. "Oh, one day you'll take that plump little butt with your staff, but not today hon. I have something else in mind." As I lie on the floor, she grabbed couch pillows and lay them on top of me everywhere but my face. She positioned herself in the opposite direction, so my nose was firmly in her ass cheeks and the top of my head between her legs. Understanding what she was doing David all but cackled, lowering himself onto her, plunging his massive dick into her greedily. With each thrust my nose forced itself unwillingly, but ever deeper, into her widening butt hole, his balls slapped against my forehead which was slippery from the sopping juices spilling from her. I clenched my fist; I was so humiliated I wanted to scream out in tears. My wife had turned me into a piece of little sissy fuck furniture, and she was taking another man right on top of me. Despite the psychic anguish I felt, despite having another man's testicles slap me every time his cock entered my very own wife; the sound of my spouse moaning with such unabandon pleasure, her gyrating with joy made my dick stiffen. David shoved into her hard one more time, his thigh muscles pressed against my face vibrating in concert with his climax. Pulling out he gleefully dripped his sperm mixed in with my wife's fluids all over me. They both rolled off. Shoving the pillows off me, I stood up. Michelle saw that I was hard. "Oh, so this sissy life does excite you. The more sissy you are the more you get an occasional reward. Here," She had put on her robe, but now pulled it apart so I could see her massive round breasts. "Go ahead little girl. I'm giving you a gift. Pull yourself." I gratefully pulled my dick from the hose, hooking the elastic band right beneath my balls so it stood tall. Staring at her wonderful curves, curves that I missed so much, curves that were being given to another man, I jerked furiously until I sprayed semen everywhere. David Gordon took my wife in his arms kissing her, before pointing at me. "See. She likes it. We're doing her a favor." Michelle smiled. "Little girl, you're moving to the red bedroom. I want you to be able hear all David and my passionate love making through the walls as you jerk your little sissy dick in pleasure. Also, your new work wardrobe is in there, so don't bother hauling your clothes over." "New work wardrobe?" I asked. This was frightening. David chuckled darkly. "You didn't think you were going to sit around and only be a sissy at home? No chance. Sissy all day, every day. And you still need to get out there and make me some damn money." ++++++++++ Michelle stood in the doorway; a look of ultimate fierce triumph spread across her face. With purse in hand I took my tiny steps in the six-inch black patent leather pumps toward the five-car garage to drive myself into work. Assuming of course, I didn't just drive to another state and try to start over. Tempting as it was, I wouldn't get far. Assuming I even had the nerve to walk into a bank in full sissy girl regalia, any amount of cash worth having required a quick approval call from the bank to my wife. With no cash to my name my wife tracing my credit cards wherever I went would be simple. I was stuck. I was all legs wearing what could be called sexy secretary meets sissy business wear. The sheer lunacy of going in public in something this absurd made it more difficult to get dressed this morning than even normally; and normally it was very difficult. My underwear was nothing more than a thong, there was barely room to tuck my penis. My "business" jacket was a wide v- cut, completely open to my belly button, showing both my smooth shaved and moisturized chest and teen sized breasts created by my slightly padded bra. The jacket bottom fell two inches below my crotch and there were no pants and no skirt. I was not afforded the pantyhose I would usually have for limited protection but wore thigh high stay up stockings. Every movement that wasn't careful, including reducing my already small stride to even tinier steps, would expose me to the world. Even driving was going to spread my legs too far apart. My long red wig was tied into a high ponytail held in place by a pearl colored band, a style certainly designed to attract maximum attention. In a ludicrous nod to professionalism, I was given jewelry to wear: a long pearl necklace, matching pearl earrings and a surprisingly expensive chain women's watch. The only sickly twisted silver lining on this very dark cloud was that I looked good. And with nothing close to uplifting in my world, I was beginning to take comfort in that. The key this morning was going to be to get in early, hide in my office, and leave late. I had no doubt that David Gordon would parade the occasional person through my office to humiliate me, but this was the best I could do. Torturing the embezzler may be his new favorite hobby, but he still ran a company and was a busy man. I went through the lobby as quickly as my little steps would allow. The sound of my heels clicking on the tile was unbearably loud. I was given an odd look by security but tried not to think about it. Whether he questioned if I was a woman, man, or something on the gender spectrum in between, there was no questioning I looked like I was dressed for a filming of "Secretaries Sucking It" or some other office style porno. I could see him debate whether to approach me but he thought better of it. It was early, but perhaps he thought I was a call girl being sent to a director's office. I did have a card key after all. I made my way across my fourth-floor lobby to my office. Click click click click click. These damn loud heels again. I fumbled quickly for my key and ... it didn't work. Inside my head I was screaming so loudly I was no longer certain if it was only in my head. A voice from behind startled me. I jumped a bit teetering on my heels. It was my executive assistant. Why was she here so early? "That's Mr. Harrison's office. If you tell me what your business is ..." She left it hanging there. I imagine she thought no one dressed like me had business anywhere near this building. Even though I was certain there was no one else yet on the floor, I feared to speak to her in anything but my lilting sissy voice. "Avery. I'm actually Mr. Harrison." I had not referred to myself in any manner other than diminutive female terms for so many days that it was odd to hear. Her eyes dropped to the floor. What must she think of this man who lets his wife attend company parties intimately connected at the CEO's hip? A man who shows up to work in secretary slut wear speaking as womanly as possible? She didn't know what to say so she kind of stuttered out a poor compliment. "You do look pretty. What your wearing is a little ... Mr. Gordon said you would be ..." She gathered herself. "That's not your office anymore. You have the desk right outside of David Gordon's office. Where May, his secretary worked. She ... kind of got promoted into yours ..." Would the shame never end? "What else did Mr. David Gordon say?" "That um ... you were coming out as a sissy and you were fighting to get an 'S' on LBGTQ. Although if you ask me that's a lot of letters already and you look very 'T' to me. I thought you were a girl. But he said everyone should come congratulate you and ask you what it means to be a sissy." I was so horrified I thought I was going to fall off my patent leather pumps. If I wasn't going to flee the company right now, then I better find my desk. Taking the elevator up three floors, I sat behind the desk in the foyer in front of David Gordon's office. My stockinged legs were squeezed together as any movement not carefully thought out would expose my thong panties to the world. The artwork had been rearranged so that the giant framed photo of David accepting the Chance Aid Award, my wife lovingly at his side, would sit in my field of view all day. Nearly the entire office came to the floor to look at me, but no one approached my desk as suggested in the email David blasted to the entire company. They were a largely an intellectually flexible group but had not heard of someone fighting for "sissy rights" before. Despite their instructions to learn, they were not eager to find out. It all seemed to revolve around cross-dressing like an extreme slut and being comfortable in cuckoldom; two things no one was going to touch. Midday my wife came in smiling wickedly at me in my highly visible position in the middle of the floor. Heads peered over monitors and recognizing her, they dropped again as the discomfort in the open floor office grew. I wondered abstractly how any of this could be good for company morale. But we were a grinding corporate treadmill, other than passing nods to team building, the bottom line was always king. She sat on my desk legs crossed. She was in a white form fitting dress that was no more than a thin layer of liquid against her, showing every curve of her body. I quickly had to move my pencil cup to keep them spilling all over the floor. With the hemline of this jacket, I would never be able to pick them up without causing a scandal. Re-crossing her legs Basic Instinct style, she let me know she was wearing nothing underneath her skirt. Too loudly for me, but as loud as she intended it to be, she asked, "Is my boyfriend in? Could you hit your buzzer thing for me young lady?" In a single sentence she demeaned me, sissified me, reduced my position in the eyes of this company from one of the highest ranking to an assistant, and cuckolded me, again, in front of my entire floor. But even with all of that I also felt an undeniable electricity seeing between her legs again. Feeling my lusty energy, she said, "No better yet. Let's go see him together." She walked me into the giant steel and glass office, closing the door behind her. David phoned his actual secretary to cancel calls and to not disturb him. My spouse walked over and kissed him deeply taking one of his hands and placing in on her ass. David looked to me. "That long red hair, just like Michelle's. The thought of two of your wife makes me rock hard sissy. Is it time panty-girl?" I knew what he wanted. He had mentioned it before. But there was never the word "no" in my sissy vocabulary, not when it came to requests. My painted red lips were all but forced into it. "Whatever you want David," was the only acceptable response. Michelle sat on his desk, spread her legs and lifted her skirt. Her luscious wet mound was exposed. I trembled with desire. David positioned an office chair in front of her. Grabbing my ponytail, he guided my head so that it was firmly between her legs with me bent over the chair; my ass exposed except the thin strip of the thong between my cheeks. "Service her you little pantywaist." I eagerly obeyed. I could not believe that I was once again between my wife's legs. My tongue made expert circles around her clit and I inhaled the smell of her ever-wetter hole. "Not bad for a little half man in dresses and bras," but even as she insulted me, it was between small moans. David slid the underwear strap covering my hole to one side. As I licked my wife, he had been covering his massive shaft in lube. I felt his strong hands on my hips as his cock prodded at my hole. "Come on, open up for David," he said as he slowly pushed past my painfully protesting sphincter. "That's it, loosen up for me bitch." I felt my ass relax a bit and David took it as his signal to push all the way in. My walls stretched and ached, but there was a ... pleasure? My cock, now dangling from being released, grew stiff. His thrusting motions were deep, almost gentle. My wife leaned forward, moaning lightly from my tongue, and took David's lips onto her. They kissed passionately above me as each took the pleasure I was providing. This desire, the smells, the sex, my aching stiff penis ... if this is what it meant to be a sissy ... was this really so bad ...? My tongue spun in circles, occasionally plunging into her pussy. The rhythm of me rocking forward and back from the cock sliding ever deeper into my ass was a perfect tempo for the licking of my tongue. Their kisses grew louder and more panting above me. The excitement could be felt in every breath. "Oh, my beautiful redhead." There were two of us redheads here, but he squeezed my hips as he said it. I smiled; he likes this. And I like being part of this. I'm part of them now. Part of my wife now. If I have to be a little girly fuck toy to feel this closeness again ... this wonderful pleasure with her again ... It happened at once: David reared back slamming hard into me. Michelle raised her head to the heavens as she grabbed mine with both hands. His body shuddered and his cock pulsated spraying sperm deep into my hole. Michelle's body shook in time as she climaxed with a growling moan. My freed cock shot more sperm than I knew I even held all over the desk chair. Michelle lie down on the desk, still panting. David fell back to his office couch. I hung over the chair like suit jacket, expended. Michelle sitting, up, noting the load all over David's office chair said, "Oh the little girl well and truly likes a dick up her. So nice to know. Maybe you have use after all." It shouldn't have. It should have brought me the same humiliation and shame such comments usually did. But I felt ... I think it was pride. I did. I did have a use after all. Standing up I straightened myself the best I could, and in my most convincing female voice said, "There's such a mess here. On both of you. Let me go get something to clean this all up. Please?" They laughed and nodded. My wife and her lover looked at each other with undisguised amusement at my enthusiasm. But I did not care. This was the life I was stuck in. And if there were little glimmers of joy in it, no matter how brief, I'll take it. It gave me a sliver of hope in what had been hopelessness. I cleaned them, and the office, up meticulously and sat back at my desk outside. The phone rang. It was not my job to answer it, they hadn't transferred the lines to David secretary's new office. But I picked it up anyway. "David Gordon's office. David has a very important visitor right now. May I ask who is calling?" I could do this. ++++++ The End ++++++