The Real Stepford Wives - Sophia's Story free porn video

The Real Stepford Wives: Sophia's Story By Emma F Author's Note: This story is based on Sarah Barndt's original story "The Real Stepford Wives: Only Women Have Babies" and "The Real Stepford Wives: Sugar Plum Fairy" written by VI several years later. Some of the characters in those stories make cameo appearances here. ********************** I was four years into my career as a Big Four accountant. Two years ago, I had been promoted to senior associate and was hopeful about being promoted again - to manager - in another year. One of my clients was a small pharmaceutical company. They asked if my firm could send someone for a quick visit to discuss some tax implications in person. My team decided I should be the one to go. That is how I wound up in Stepford. The first thing I noticed when I arrived in Stepford was how all the women were dressed. They looked straight out of the 1950's. Stepford's women didn't wear pants; they wore only skirts and dresses. And those skirts and dresses weren't short either; they were knee-length or longer. In hindsight that should have been the first indication that something was terribly amiss in Stepford. When I arrived at Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs the CEO greeted me at the entrance and proceeded to take me on a tour of their facility. Walking through the labs and the factory I immediately noticed something else. All the researchers and executives working there were men. The only women present were secretaries and other clerical staff; and they all appeared to be middle-aged or older. During the tour, Stepford's CEO gave the usual explanations as we passed through the various parts of the facility. He also vaguely explained Stepford's expansion plans, which was the reason I was here. We discussed the tax implications of those plans when we got back to his office. I also promised him a fuller analysis once I got back to New York. He concluded our meeting with an invitation to dinner at the Stepford Men's Club that evening. My presumptions concerning dinner were proven completely wrong when I arrived. I thought it would be one-on-one and we'd mostly discuss business. Instead it was a large group of Stepford's men. Some of them worked at Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs, but most worked elsewhere. Unsurprisingly, there wasn't any discussion of business. The discussion seemingly centered on my personal life. They seemed particularly interested in my sexual experience - I had some, but not an overwhelming amount - and my relationship status - I was currently between girlfriends. At the same time, I used the opportunity to ask some questions about Stepford given my observations earlier in the day. Stepford was indeed a throwback to the 1950's. Traditional gender roles were adhered to by Stepford's citizens. Men were the breadwinners. They were expected to work and provide for their families. Women played a supportive role. Stepford's women were expected to get married and become housewives. Stepford's housewives centered their lives around their husbands, taking care of his every need. He would leave in the morning after a home- cooked breakfast and arrive home to a home-cooked dinner. His wife kept their house and raised their children. She played dutiful hostess when there was company. Lastly, she saw to his every need and desire in the bedroom. Stepford's subservient housewives were most men's greatest fantasy. When I finally arrived back at my hotel I was ready for some much-needed rest and relaxation following a long day of travel and work. I sat down in the recliner and poured myself a nightcap, savoring the taste of the scotch on my tongue. Only then did I notice someone else in the room out of the corner of my eye. The figure lunged at me, covering my nose and mouth with a damp cloth. As I smelled the chloroform my world went black. I awoke staring at the ceiling. It clearly wasn't my hotel room. With its sterile white fluorescent lights, large moveable overhead light and tiles on the wall it looked like an operating room. Looking around I noticed that I was completely naked except for some bandages on my abdomen. It appeared that I had been operated on while asleep. I tried to get move my hands so I could get up, but I soon discovered my arms and legs were strapped down to the operating table. Just then the surgeon walked in still wearing his scrubs. "You're just at the beginning of your transformation," the surgeon told me. When I looked at him completely dumbfounded, he continued, "I see they didn't tell you that part yesterday at the Men's Club." "What part? What's happening to me?" I asked him, still completely clueless. "Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs looks for young men with the right qualifications - the right education and the right sexual experience - and we turn them into women; pregnant women. The shock of losing their manhood, coupled with the complete and immediate immersion in traditional femininity present in Stepford's culture and the knowledge that in nine months' time they'll be mothers, creates the perfectly docile and subservient housewives you've seen throughout our town," he helpfully (or not-so-helpfully - depending upon one's perspective) explained. "How?" I asked. Before he could explain I started to speak again. "Men can't be completely transformed into women; women capable of getting pregnant. That's the stuff of science fiction," I managed to stammer/babble out. "That's where you're wrong. Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs has developed a process to do exactly that," he corrected me, pausing for a second before continuing, "Those bandages on your abdomen are where I surgically inserted a fertilized egg into your body overnight. Given that it's now mid-afternoon that zygote has now attached itself to your seminal vesicle. From there your DNA will be altered and you will develop a woman's body. In fact, the process is well underway." Once he finished speaking, he slowly started walking towards me. When he finally reached me, he brushed his hand along my face. I could feel that my face was now smooth - like a woman's face. Then he pulled on some of the hair on my chest; it came right out. All the physical outward markers of masculinity were disappearing. It was clear that very soon all my physical outward markers would point towards my newly- created femininity. "In your current androgynous state, you can't really tell what you are. But soon, that will change and there will be no doubting that you're a woman," the doctor told me. As if on cue, I felt great pain shoot throughout my body. It was centered in my abdomen and crotch. I writhed in tremendous pain for what seemed like hours, but was really only minutes. Only the restraints tying down my arms and legs kept me from falling off the operating table and onto the floor. When it was over, and I was once again lying still, one of the nurses came over and undid the restraints holding me down to the operating table. She then helped me sit up. Broken from my stupor I immediately noticed two things. One, a feeling of emptiness in my crotch; two, two small weights on my chest. There was no denying the fact that the doctor was being completely truthful. I was a woman; a pregnant woman. "What happens to me now?" I asked the doctor. "You'll be taken to the Ladies' Cultural Society where you'll find out your new name and your intended husband. Over the next six weeks you'll be immersed in your newfound femininity and trained to be a good wife to your husband and a good mother to your children. At the end of those six weeks the transformation will have completed itself and you will marry your fianc?. From there, you will be like the rest of Stepford's women: a housewife and mother," he replied, leaving little doubt to the future that awaited me. The doctor then walked towards the exit, briefly stopping by one of the nurses. "Please take Miss Jackson to the Ladies' Cultural Society for her training. Her husband is expecting a perfectly feminine wife in six weeks," he told her before walking out the door. "Come on sweetie, you'll soon learn that it's not bad at all. We've all been through this and we're all happily married and perfectly content with our lives. Besides, the first one is always the hardest," one of the nurses told me as she helped me to my feet. My mind slightly recoiled, not knowing whether she meant the first of two or three or the first of many. Once I was finally on my feet again, I noticed my center of gravity had changed. My body's layout now reflected a plan designed for carrying and birthing children. Before I had any time to think, one of the nurses came over to me, handed me a pair of panties and helped me slip them on. She then handed me a bra - size 32AA - and went behind me to help me snap it closed once I put it on. I felt my small boobs settle into the cups, their weight now slightly more pronounced thanks to the support the bra provided. It then hit me that I would need one for the rest of my life. I turned to the nurses and thought back to the women I saw yesterday. All of them had very large chests. I wondered how much my small breasts would grow before they finally stopped. After I'd finished putting on my bra and panties one of the nurses handed me a dress and a pair of flats. If Stepford's other women were any indication, I'd never wear a pair of pants again; I'd permanently be in skirts and dresses. It would also mean that I'd soon graduate from the flats they'd just given me to wearing only heels outside the house. Despite my misgivings - and my wanting to scream that I was a man - that was no longer the case. I was a woman. In six weeks, I'd be a wife. In nine months, I'd be a mother. So, I slipped on my dress and my flats for the quick ride over to the Ladies' Cultural Society. Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs may have physically turned me into a woman, but they'd never be able to make me think like a woman. At least, that's what I initially thought. When I arrived at the Ladies' Cultural Society it was already late afternoon. While being escorted to the room I would call home for the next six weeks, I peered into the various classrooms and exercise rooms along the way. Stepford's women came in all different shapes and sizes; from the thin to the nine-months-pregnant. Compared to New York, though, significantly more women - particularly those around my age - were pregnant. There was also one common feature to their shapes - one I noticed yesterday and today - their breasts were all large and I immediately knew for certain that I too would have large breasts. Inside the room there was a queen-sized bed, small dresser, large closet and a makeup table with vanity and mirror. On top of the makeup table there was a jewelry box and a picture of a man I did not recognize. The room emphasized the feminine. It was clearly designed to mark the beginning of the immersion in femininity that would mark the rest of my life. Sitting on the middle of the table, there was an envelope with the words "Please Open" written on them. I gently opened the envelope and took out the letter it contained. It congratulated me on my transformation and welcomed me to Stepford. It informed me of my new name - Sophia - and told me that I would receive my permanent surname upon my marriage in six weeks. Given Stepford's embrace of traditional gender roles it was no surprise that as a married woman I would take my husband's name. The letter confirmed that the picture on the table was my fianc?, but it did not tell me his name or any additional details. It simply said that I would learn additional details tomorrow. The next morning, they took me to the beauty salon on society grounds. It was at the salon that my instruction began. They started by teaching me the basics of styling my hair. I hadn't noticed it yesterday because I was in such a daze, but the same process that transformed my body from male to female also caused my hair to already grow from its usual short length to mid-neck. Once my hair was styled they taught me the basics of applying makeup. Finally, there was one last thing to complete my feminine appearance; they pierced my ears. The earrings were a gift from my fianc?, Ethan Cameron. I yelped as the diamond studs entered my ears, even though it didn't really hurt that much. They were paired with an expensive diamond ring. The ring had one very large diamond in the center, with one smaller, but still large, diamond on each side of the larger diamond, set on a platinum band. Like the small weights on my chest, the small weights on my ears and the ring on left hand, were a reminder of my newly-created femininity and something I would undoubtedly become accustomed to over the course of time. Readied for the day, I began my first day of training for the rest of my life - the life I would spend as a housewife and mother. For my first day of classes they took me to one of the classrooms I saw yesterday evening when they brought me to the Ladies' Cultural Society. The instructor was already waiting at the classroom's room door when I arrived there. She greeted me with the same cheerfulness and enthusiasm that every other woman here has shown. It was still extremely difficult to believe that they were once men; like I was merely forty-eight hours ago. Following the greetings, I was officially handed off to the instructor and she accompanied me inside the classroom. When I entered, I looked around to see what was inside. Last night, I didn't really examine the contents of the classrooms - I just noticed the various women present. This morning, I gave close examination to the contents. This particular classroom seemed to have everything necessary for cooking. It seemed my instruction would start in the kitchen. After spending several hours in the kitchen learning the basics of cooking - particularly focusing on breakfast and dinner - the two meals my husband and children would experience fresh and home-cooked everyday - my instructor took me to the adjoining classroom. That classroom appeared to be a living room. It became readily apparent between the kitchen and the living room that my next lesson involved cleaning the house. It seemed that the first day's focus was on home economics - the basic skills I'd require to keep and manage my husband's house as one of Stepford's dutiful housewives. Just after I was finished cooking and cleaning - and just when I thought I was finally finished for the day - my guide from this morning reappeared and took me to a new classroom. This classroom was modeled after a bathroom, complete with toilet and shower. When she started to run the shower, and then instructed me to undress, it seemed that my final lesson of the day would be in feminine hygiene. I understood some of the basics from my previous girlfriends, but given my new circumstances this lesson was definitely needed. The next morning, instead of going to the center's beauty salon for my hair and makeup, the instructor came to me and walked me through doing my own hair and makeup. Going forward, the salon would be for special occasions, but everyday hair and makeup would be my responsibility. The hair and makeup accomplished, I went back to the kitchen for a repeat of the previous day. This routine filled up the following week as well. After nearly two weeks as a woman, my body had drastically changed. My breasts had increased in size from the small 32AA immediately after my transformation to a more normal 34B, but they were still growing and seeing the women of Stepford I knew there was still plenty more growth to go. My hips now were wider than my shoulders. My height decreased by over six inches and I now measured five feet, five inches tall. My weight dropped sixty pounds and I now weighed 120 lbs. My shoe size decreased from a men's 10.5 to a women's 7. My voice was higher - perfectly within the range expected for a woman. Two weeks before I was a man. Now there was no doubting I was a woman. The Monday that marked two weeks as a woman saw my first introduction to the women of Stepford as a woman. I was provided with workout clothes and taken to one of the exercise classes. As if to further reinforce traditional gender roles - and the expectations for women - even for my exercise clothes I wasn't allowed to wear only pants. Instead I received a loose black exercise skirt to wear around my leggings. While the exercises were about keeping us healthy and fit, it seemed more than anything that the exercises were about making sure we kept our men happy. There were all the women, especially the ones with swollen bellies late in their pregnancies, that were really working their pelvic thrusts and Kegel exercises. Our instructor encouraged this, repeatedly saying, "Harder Ladies! This will keep you nice and tight like a virgin!" My particular favorite was the bust cheer. All the ladies chanted in unison, "We must! We must! We must increase our bust!" With the melons on these women - all D cup or larger - it made my 34B breasts feel like mosquito bites. Silly as this chant was, it encouraged me to want to make my breasts continue to grow and match those of these women. It was clear my mind was slowly changing because these desires came from my growing belief that my husband-to-be deserved a feminine wife that cared about her appearance and cared that he was properly satisfied in bed. The exercise classes became a daily feature, along with the continued classes on how to be a proper Stepford lady. I really enjoyed the exercises to keep me tight and the bust cheer. I looked forward to pleasing my husband-to-be in bed. Most of all, I noticed my growing chest. When these classes started my 34B bra was still big and I felt more like very large A-cup. A week later my boobs were definitely bigger, nicely filling my B-cup and leaving me wondering when I could move up a size to a C-cup. That Wednesday I was introduced to another tradition of Stepford's women, Wednesday Afternoon Tea. It's a Ladies' Club ritual and all of Stepford's women participate. Come lunchtime all the women gather at the Ladies' Cultural Society for the purpose of mingling and gossiping. The curtains are drawn. Food and drink are set out on tables throughout the club. All the women then divest themselves of their clothes, attending Wednesday Afternoon Tea stark naked except for their makeup and high heels. I was no exception, completely naked except for my perfectly made up face and my five-inch heels. Like every other Stepford woman, my body was on full display for Stepford's other women to see. While some women were simply walking about - mingling and gossiping with their friends - others were making out and more with other women. Compared to the other women, with their voluptuous curves, it was easy to identify me as the new girl. They had all been through one or more pregnancies and their bodies showed it. I was still only six weeks into my first pregnancy and to someone from outside Stepford who didn't know better it wouldn't be immediately apparent I was pregnant. All the other women took the time to comfort me and to reassure me about my fate. Kate told me, "how great it will be to be a Stepford wife." Veronica echoed that sentiment, telling me, "how lucky I am to be a Stepford girl." Finally, a pair that was making out motioned that I should join them. When I demurred, the two of them walked over to me. "Hi, sweetie," one of the women said, pulling me into a hug. "What's your name?" she asked once she released me. "Hello. I'm Sophia," I managed to stumble out, nervously chewing my lip. Even after two-and-a-half weeks I hadn't used my new name much, so it still sounded foreign to my ears. "Welcome to Stepford, Sophia," she gently replied. "I'm Helena," she said, "and this is Laura," she said, introducing the woman standing next to her. Laura too pulled me into a hug. Both of them seemed very kind. "You'll see, this isn't the worst fate in the world," Laura reassured me. "You sure?" I asked her, doubt creeping into my voice, even with all the mental and physical changes I'd undergone the past three weeks. "Yes, it's true, we really are happiest this way," Laura told me. "I have a loving husband and six wonderful children. You'll have the same too. Your husband will cherish you and honor you. He'll love you and provide for you. The men here are wonderful," she told me. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to join us?" Helena asked me. "I'm pretty sure," I told her. "But would you mind if I watched?" I asked Helena and Laura. "Watch all you'd like," Helena told me. "But know that it's nothing compared to being mounted by a man," she purred. That night, encouraged and intrigued by Wednesday Afternoon Tea, I played with myself for the first time after my transformation. I used my dainty hands to cup my breasts, taking the nipples between my thumbs and forefingers. I tweaked the nipples before bring the palms of my hand over them and making slow circles. My pussy began to tingle and soon I could feel the wetness down there. I brought my left hand down to my pussy and began to play with my clit, while my right hand continued to play with my boobs. My whole body was on fire. Lost to my ecstasy, I don't know how much time passed. Eventually my whole body shuddered in the culmination of pure pleasure. I had my first orgasm as a woman. The next several weeks completed my training. They were about emphasizing the feminine and finalizing the preparations for my life as a housewife. There was shopping with the girls. There was time spent in the salon. There was time teaching me stuff beyond the basics. Finally, there were the classes on how to please a man. There was using my physical appearance to please my husband's eyes. And then, for my wedding night, there was using all parts of my body to please my husband in bed. Come our wedding night, my husband-to-be wanted a wife that had womanly curves. Throughout my time in Stepford, every meal emphasized eating to keep my slim figure, but also came with a nice helping of dessert to help continue to develop my feminine curves. "Be very careful with the sweets," Helena warned me, "they're giving you them now to make sure you have the curves your husband wants for the wedding night, but once you're married it's going to be very hard to manage that sweet tooth." I nodded in agreement, but then finished my slice of pecan pie. Three weeks later, I had those womanly curves my husband wanted; a true, traditional, woman's hourglass figure - 36D-23-39. My wedding was now less than a week away. I felt myself staring at my engagement ring and picturing the wedding ring that would soon join it on my left hand's third finger. When I first transformed, the thought of sex with a man disgusted me, never mind that my body was now designed to have sex with men. However, the changes brought about my transformation were not merely physical - they were also mental. Now, I was looking forward to my wedding night and sex with my husband. The thought of that alone was sufficient to get me wet. Needless to say, given how those thoughts now dominated my mind, I was almost constantly wet. The final Wednesday Afternoon Tea before my wedding they turned it into a bridal shower for me. All the women were telling me how wonderful it would be to be fucked by a man; how it was so much better. How great it would be to a Stepford wife; how great it would be to have a man take care of me. All the while, we were all naked -- eating, drinking, making the typical pre-honeymoon jokes and talking about sex. Well, I was listening for the last part, since they were all talking about sex with their husbands. It made me a bit wet to think about the fact that the next time I was at Wednesday Afternoon Tea I'd be able to join in on the conversation. The wedding was a simple affair on Men's Club grounds. The ceremony was in the gardens and the reception was in the City Room. These were the only places in the Men's Club that women were allowed. I was already looking forward to my wedding night, and the ceremony and reception only heightened that excitement. To me the wedding couldn't end soon enough and the honeymoon couldn't start fast enough. We left for our honeymoon immediately after the reception. By the time we arrived at our hotel in the mountains I couldn't wait for my husband to take me out of my wedding dress, throw me down on the bed and fuck my brains out. I was a woman on her wedding night. Whatever parts of my brain were screaming that I was really a man were being drowned out by my body, which was screaming for my husband. "Let me help you with that, Mrs. Cameron," Ethan said as he walked behind me to help me out of my wedding dress. I melted as he addressed me as 'Mrs. Cameron' for the first time. "Like what you see, Mr. Cameron?" I demurely asked my husband, playfulness creeping into my voice. "Very much so," he replied, looking me over twice from head to toe and making sure to pay attention to the D-cup breasts adorning my chest. He finally broke his reverie that he had staring at my boobs, brushing aside my hair and bringing his lips to my neck. All I could do is moan in complete pressure. My fears were completely washed away by my husband's gaze and actions. I needn't have worried. I had the womanly curves he desired for our wedding night. My husband soon moved his mouth down to my breasts, his hands cupping them while he sucked on my nipples. My legs began to feel like jelly and the dampness in my panties exponentially increased. Thankfully, Ethan was there to catch me and I felt his hands behind me as he gently eased me onto the bed. Once I was on the bed he reached down for my panties and slid them off. Instinctively, I spread my legs and lifted them in the air, my wet and willing cunt wanting nothing more than my husband's cock inside. "Are you ready, Sophia?" Ethan asked as he mounted me. "Ethan, make love to me," I moaned in reply. "As you wish, my beautiful wife," he said, gently easing his way into my soaking wet pussy. My hymen tore with that first thrust. I winced with the slightest amount of pain from the tearing and then yelped with the realization I was no longer a virgin. The slight pain was soon gone. I moaned loudly in complete pleasure from the wonderful sensations my husband's cock was causing inside me. I was moaning and writhing, my legs spread wide and up in the air, completely lost to my pleasure, just like a good wife should be for her husband. Forget wanting it, I needed this so badly! As he fucked me I could feel the final barriers coming down. With each thrust a little more of the walls came crumbling down. Each one fucked away a little more of my maleness; a little more of my independence. His cock was taming me, turning me into a completely docile female. Drifting in and out of reality all I could do was breathe out, "Ahhhh! Oh my god! Ethan! Uhhh! I love this! Uhhh! I love you! Ahhhh! Make me yours! I want to be your wife!" We erupted together. I sighed in complete pleasure from my orgasm and from the feel of him emptying his load into me. Right after he came Ethan reached over to the nightstand next to his side of the bed. I heard the rattling of a pill and then looked towards my husband. I saw him pop one in his mouth. His member immediately sprung back to life. Seeing my husband's fully erect cock got my juices flowing again. I could feel the wetness rushing to my pussy as I stared at his massive cock. "Okay Mrs. Cameron, after using your cunt so well, let's see if you know how to use those beautiful lips of yours just as well to keep your husband happy," he commanded, bringing his hands to the back of my head and neck and pushing them towards his crotch. I willingly obeyed. He was so masterful and dominant -- just like I needed my husband to be. My thoughts had been so focused on intercourse with my husband I hadn't thought about giving him a blow job. Obediently, I closed the gap between my mouth and his dick. I took his member in my dainty hands and started to lick his balls. I pushed any misgivings out of my mind and focused on Ethan's moans to give me encouragement. I gave a tentative kiss to the tip of his member and then slowly took the thick shaft into my mouth. I moaned in pleasure, pushing any thoughts out of my head and simply letting my body enjoy the feeling of my husband's dick in my mouth. His moans signaled his pleasure, and as they grew his hands helped push him further into me. Before I knew it I had taken his whole member into my mouth. I used the little freedom his hands gave me to move my mouth back and forth along his thick shaft. Soon I felt his cock start to twitch as his moans grew louder. His hands pushed harder on my head, forcing me to take him further in and holding me in place. Ethan screamed my name out as his cum gushed into my mouth. "Swallow it all sweetheart, swallow it all," my husband told me, holding my head in place and not giving me any opportunity to consider the age old feminine dilemma of whether to spit or to swallow. My life changed completely during the honeymoon. Ethan fucked me all over our honeymoon suite and, thanks to my transformed body's amazing flexibility, in countless positions. His tenderness, and his dominance, increased my desire. Over the course of one week I fell completely in love with my husband. As much as I didn't want our honeymoon to end, I also couldn't wait for the honeymoon to end so we could truly start our lives together as husband and wife. Once we returned home from our honeymoon we settled into our new life together. I would wake up early every morning so I could shower and get myself ready for the day. I'd always wear a dress and high heels no matter what I was doing for the day -- even if it was nothing more than housework. By the time my husband made his way downstairs I'd always be fully dressed; my hair and makeup also done. I'd cook him a hearty breakfast to give him a good start to the day. I'd then see him off to work while I prepared to fulfill my domestic responsibilities. Ethan never failed to kiss me as he made his way out the door and I never failed to melt from his kiss. Like most of Stepford's men Ethan was quite wealthy. Despite only being in his late-twenties, Ethan was already a senior researcher at Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs. They were already saying that he was destined to be the chief science officer at the Labs in the future or possibly even the CEO. While Ethan returned to work after the honeymoon, I settled into my life as a housewife. After four years in the work hard, play hard, cutthroat corporate environment, I welcomed the simplicity that came with my life as a housewife. I truly enjoyed the cooking and cleaning and everything else that came with keeping my husband's house. Nothing pleased me more than Ethan kissing me hello after he came home from a hard day at the office. I always paid attention to my appearance and made sure there was a delicious home-cooked meal on the table when he arrived home. Ethan deserved a feminine wife who lived up to her responsibilities in the house. Of course my days weren't filled solely with housework. I attended Wednesday Afternoon Tea every week. At the first Wednesday Afternoon Tea after I returned from my honeymoon I sought out Helena and Laura just so I could introduce myself as Mrs. Ethan Cameron. I also wanted to tell them how right they both were. Nothing I ever felt before during sex compared to the feeling of being mounted by my husband. And it certainly was true that I was happiest this way. There was a certain contentedness in this life that I knew I would have never experienced had I remained a man. At that same first Wednesday Afternoon Tea as a married woman I met Elizabeth, who was transformed three years before me. She already had two children and was pregnant with her third. Lizzie and I immediately bonded both over our pregnancies and over the fact that, like many of the newer Stepford women, we did not participate in the sex at Wednesday Afternoon Tea. We were content to gossip like hens while wearing only our makeup and high heels. Besides, even if we weren't participating, seeing all that sex around us made us both very hot for our husbands. Within a few weeks I couldn't conceive of myself as having ever been anything other than a woman and a housewife. I regularly visited the hairdressers as my hair began to grow out. The locks that were halfway down my neck at my wedding now reached two inches below my shoulder. I loved my long hair. It was pretty and there was so much I could do with it now. Most of all, though, I loved the feeling of my husband running his hands through my hair. It always caused me to moan as I instantly melted and the wetness rushed to my pussy. Besides Wednesday Afternoon Tea, the Ladies' Cultural Society also sponsored numerous volunteering opportunities throughout Stepford. I regularly volunteered because I believed in the importance of giving back to the community. Whenever I volunteered I always made sure that I was well-dressed. I also made clear that my volunteering was secondary to my responsibilities as a housewife. It was non-negotiable that I always needed to be home in time to make sure dinner was ready when Ethan came home from work. I worked extremely hard to be a credit to my husband and nothing made me prouder than to be called Mrs. Cameron. Ethan always made clear how much he loved me and how happy I made him. He made sure I knew I was a good wife and that he considered himself the luckiest man on earth because he was married to me. Ethan never came home from work empty-handed. He always arrived home bearing a gift. Most often these were flowers or chocolates, but sometimes they were more expensive items. One night he brought me home a string of black pearls and a pair of matching earrings. I wept happily as he placed string of pearls around my neck and fastened them closed. They quickly became my favorite accessories and I would wear the necklace and earrings almost every day. Stepford was a great town to be pregnant in. There were special lines for pregnant women in every store and special parking spots were reserved for us on every street downtown, which was just as well because nearly every young woman in Stepford was either pregnant or trying. Making babies is what we women do best and thanks to the talented researchers at Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs we could easily and safely get pregnant well into our forties. It was great for those of with husbands that wanted large families. Ethan wanted anywhere from six to eight children and I was looking forward to giving that to him. My pregnancy progressed over the next few months. With every visit to the gynecologist, I could tell how much both the physical and mental changes were taking hold. The stirrups in his office no longer bothered me; I was completely used to putting my legs in them so that my gynecologist could examine me and make sure my pregnancy was going smoothly. However, the scale, and the extra weight that it recorded thanks to my expanded belly, bothered me. Even though my weight gain was perfectly healthy and normal, I couldn't help but think how difficult it would be to lose that weight once I gave birth. One afternoon I was lounging at my pool with Lizzie. My nightgown had felt a bit tight in the morning and then my dress felt tight against both my chest and my belly. I knew maternity clothes were an inevitability, but I didn't feel like I was quite ready for them yet. Refusing to concede, I slipped into one of my two-piece swimsuits for the afternoon. While they felt tight when I was sunning myself, they felt much looser and more comfortable once I got into the water. Needless to say, I was enjoying the water much more than usual that afternoon. "How do you like your new tits?" Lizzie asked me once I finally emerged from the water. I was completely clueless until I looked down and saw that my boobs had spilled out of the cups. It was clear that my 36D breasts had grown some more. "I did! I did! I did increase my bust!" I replied, referencing the 'bust cheer' we chanted at every exercise class at the Ladies' Club. We both giggled. When I finally made my way inside I carefully examined my boobs and my belly. Not only had my boobs grown -- a full cup size to 36DD -- but there was also now a noticeable bulge visible by my belly. I looked pregnant! Excited, and realizing I was wrong this morning, I immediately changed into my maternity clothes. My new bulge may have been hidden beneath by 36DD breasts, but my husband would instantly recognize I was wearing maternity clothes the moment he got home this evening. Just the thought of what was likely to happen after dinner tonight was enough to get me soaking wet. Ethan walked in that night as I was readying the table. Before I had the chance to start serving the first course of dinner my husband pulled me close and captured my lips with a deep kiss. When he pulled away I could feel his eyes roam up and down my body; the appreciation for my new dress evident on his face. "I love the new dress, sweetheart," Ethan told me. "Well it's your fault I'm wearing it," I playfully replied. "A maternity dress?" my husband asked, playing along even though he knew full well I was wearing one the moment he saw me. "Yes, I grew too big for my old clothes thanks to you," I retorted, reaching for his crotch and grabbing his dick through his pants with my dainty hand for emphasis. Ethan pulled my hand away and walked behind me. "I think something needs to be done about this," my husband said as he brushed my hair to one side and leaned in towards my neck. "It does," I moaned out as his lips and tongue made contact with my neck. "I agree," my husband said, his hands starting caress my ripe curves. I could feel the flood in my panties as I quickly became lost to my pleasure. "Uhhh! Ethan! Take me! Uhhh! Please! Ahhh! Take me!" I moaned out as I felt one of my husband's hands playing with my boobs through my dress and his other hand reach under the hem of my dress to pay with my clit through my panties. "Not now," my husband told me. "After dinner," he told me a second later. "Please Ethan," I begged. I desperately needed my husband. "No, dinner first," he firmly said. "Patience is a virtue and good things come to those who wait," my husband told me. He was so masterful and dominant. It only made me even hotter under my dress; it only made me need my husband even more. "As you wish, my husband," I told him. I gave him a quick kiss and then made my way over to the oven so I could serve the first course of dinner. As much as I needed my husband to fuck me, I was a good wife. That meant I obeyed him and I respected his wishes. If he wanted sex to wait until after dinner, then sex would wait until after dinner. Dinner felt like it took forever that night, even though in reality it didn't take any longer than usual. The anticipation of what was to come only succeeded in making me even more aroused. By the time dinner ended my panties were thoroughly soaked. The food did absolutely nothing to satisfy my craving. Only my husband's cock would be able to satisfy me and completely satiate my craving. Once I cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, I waited with bated breath to see what my husband's next move would be. He was the man and I was a good wife. It was my job to obey and it was his job to take the lead. I became hopeful once he started to walk over to me the moment the dishwasher was closed and I had started the cleaning cycle. "Shall we, Sophia?" my husband asked, taking my hand once he reached me. "Lead the way, Ethan," I lustily told him. My husband didn't need any further encouragement. He led me up the stairs and to our bedroom. We stared at each other for a moment once we got to the bedroom. Finally, after that brief second, my husband reached under the hem of my dress and pulled down my panties. He traced the length of my wet slit. "Nice and wet, just like a good wife should be for her husband," he said in a voice letting me know that he's going to dominate me and put me in my place as his wife. "Ethan! Fuck me! Please!" I begged my husband. "First I need to take off your dress," Ethan replied. He reached for the back of my dress, slowly unzipped it and pulled it off my arms. With nothing to hold it in place it fell down and pooled at my feet. It was clear that my husband was determined to draw this out and torture me. "Ethan! Uhhh! Ethan!" I moaned once my dress was off, leaving me in only my bra and my heels. "Next I need to take off your bra," he said, reaching behind my back and unclasping it. I could feel the weight of breasts as there was no longer anything to hold them up. My husband reached for the straps, pulled my bra off and threw it to the floor. "Oh God! Ethan!" I moaned when his hands came back up to give a quick squeeze to my tits. "I think it's time we relocated this bed, don't you agree?" my husband asked me in a completely domineering voice. "Yes! Oh God Yes!" I moaned as he gently eased onto the bed. "You desperately need this fucking, don't you Sophia?" my husband authoritatively asked me once I was on my back. "Yes!!!!!" I cried out desperately need his cock inside me. "You need me to remind you that you're my wife, don't you Sophia?" he asked me rhetorically. "Yes Ethan! Oh God! Yes! Uhhh! Ethan!" I moaned as my husband got into bed and finally mounted me. "You need me to put you in your place, don't you Sophia?" Ethan asked, completely dominating me. "Oh God Yes! Ethan! Uhhhh! Ethan!" I screamed out once my husband finally entered me. I was a woman completely lost to my pleasure with my husband inside me. I moaned and shrieked with each thrust of my personal pleasure stick in my went cunt. "Just how you should be Sophia," my husband grunted as he thrust inside me. "How Ethan?" I manage to moan out. "Panting and moaning just like a good wife should be doing with her husband inside her fucking her brains out," my husband replied. My husband increased the frequency of his thrusts and soon I was on the precipice. My back arched up and my cunt instinctively tightened itself around my husband's cock as we erupted together. Completely spent, my husband pulled me into his arms and the two of us quickly fell asleep. My pregnancy continued to progress and I began to truly fill out my maternity clothes. Life was truly great. Lizzie lived down the block from me and we had lunch together almost every afternoon. She was two months ahead of me in her pregnancy, so looking at her I could know what to expect. By the time she entered her ninth month she was absolutely huge and I thought she would give birth any minute. Lizzie reassured me that wasn't the case. She still had at least another month to go; none of the women ever delivered early in Stepford. It was great having Lizzie as my best friend. Not only did the two of us get along wonderfully, but we were also around the same age and came from similar environments. Before I came to Stepford I worked for one of the big accounting firms; before she came to Stepford, Lizzie worked for one of the big law firms. She taught me what it was like to be a young Stepford girl. It helped me complete my transformation from a Type A workaholic to a dutiful housewife that centered her life around her husband. Laura and Helena were invaluable resources for what long-term life was like in Stepford. Like both Lizzie and me, they both came from cutthroat environments -- Laura from the technology industry; Helena from the arts -- and they were also close in age and transformed only a few years apart. Listening to them, I could see my next twenty years. They were both still very much in love with their husbands and their husbands with them. They thoroughly enjoyed their lives as housewives, keeping their homes and raising their children. They couldn't imagine anything else for their themselves and could barely remember what it was like to be anything other than a Stepford wife. Laura and Helena also emphasized the importance of children. Intellectually, I understood the child I was carrying would be the first of several, but I still hadn't completely processed that fact. Both of their husbands had wanted large families and both Laura and Helena had obliged. Laura had borne six children for her husband Mark; Helena had borne seven children for her husband Douglas. Lizzie's husband, Nathan, wanted a large family too; two children and her current third pregnancy within a little more than three years attested to that fact. Ethan also wanted a large family and I could easily see bearing six or seven children for him, no matter how scary that thought currently seemed. One of the most amazing things came during my fifth month. I began to feel twitches in my belly. Despite this being my first pregnancy, I quickly realized that it was the baby kicking. I cried for joy. And even though I knew that others wouldn't be able to feel the baby kicking quite yet, I still put Ethan's hands to my belly. When he could finally feel our child kick a month later I once again cried with joy. It was a reminder that I would soon be what every woman should aspire to be -- a wife (which I already was) and a mother (which I would finally be in several months' time). As I entered my third trimester I thought about how much I changed these last six months. Six months ago I reluctantly put on a dress, only doing so because I recognized the reality that I was now a pregnant woman. I acknowledged they could turn me into a woman -- that much was already evident -- but I never thought they could make me think like a woman. How wrong I was. I now had a happiness and contentedness I could have never imagined before; and I knew that it was because I was a woman; because I was a housewife. Looking down towards my extended belly it brought all sorts of warm thoughts. I thought about how lucky I was to have Ethan as my husband. I thought about how lucky I was to be a housewife and the simplicity that came with that life. All I needed to do was keep my husband happy. Most of all, though, I thought about my pregnancy and the child I was currently carrying; how I couldn't wait to meet that child. That child was the symbol of the love Ethan and I shared; of the life we were making together. Ethan was truly amazing during my third trimester. He pampered me even more than he usually did. While I insisted that I continue to do all the housework -- all the cooking and all the cleaning -- he did what he could to make it easier and he demanded that I take it more slowly, both for my own good and for our child's good. He reassured me that I was still a good wife and that I would make an amazing mother. He increased the frequency of his gifts and made sure he never came home empty- handed. Now that I was as big as a house, I truly appreciated his kind attentions, just like the ladies predicted I would. Despite my husband's reassurances -- and his loving attentions -- I constantly worried about whether Ethan still found me attractive with all my added weight. He was always firm, gentle and patient, telling me that I had nothing to worry about. He would find me attractive no matter how much weight I put on because it was perfectly normal given my condition. All that mattered to him was that my doctor considered that weight gain healthy. Eventually, though, my husband had enough of my constant worrying and decided that additional measures were necessary to emphasize how attractive he found me and that he would continue to find me attractive as my weight continued to increase. "Follow me, sweetheart," Ethan told me following my latest complaint about my growing size and my weight. My husband led me into the kitchen, reached for a glass from the cabinet and opened the refrigerator. "I think it's time I treated you with some aversion therapy," Ethan said, taking out a container containing a strawberry banana smoothie and pouring a big glass for me. "Whenever you ask me about your weight -- or complain about it -- or about how big you're getting --or complain about that --, you're going to have one of these. You're eating for two right now and I hope this makes you realize that I'm going to love you no matter how big you get. Right now I think you're extremely hot and it gets me horny seeing you so large because you're carrying our baby. I don't expect to hear anything more from you about your weight or your size unless you secretly want to get bigger and fatter. Now open your mouth wide sweetheart, just like you would for my cock." I licked my lips in anticipation and opened so Ethan could feed me the smoothie. I moaned in pleasure as I felt the cold liquid enter my mouth and could feel the taste of the strawberry banana flavor on my tongue. I gulped the smoothie down as Ethan continued to pour it into my mouth, eager to please my husband. My husband knew exactly how to keep me in my place. I didn't have to worry about my size or my weight anymore. Ethan knew exactly how to keep me happy. He'd sort out any problem that worried or concerned me. The only thing I had to worry about was keeping my husband happy. That's exactly how it should be. As Helena frequently told me when she thought I was overthinking, "Too much thinking brings us wrinkles!" Once I finished the smoothie, Ethan laid me down on the kitchen floor and hitched up my dress. He didn't waste any time, unzipping his pants and pulling them down. He lifted my legs straight up in the air and immediately took off my panties and hose. Before he had them completely off I was already soaking wet. Ethan was going to remind me that I was his wife with the good, hard fuck I so desperately needed. Ethan brought his hands up my chest so he could play with my boobs through the top of my dress and my bra. I couldn't take even the slightest teasing. I just needed my husband to plunge into me already. "Ethan! Uhhh! Ethan!" I screamed out at the top of my lungs once my husband finally mounted me and I could feel his cock plunge inside me. "You're eating for two, Sophia," my husband reminded me between his thrusts. "Maybe you should talk to your doctor at the next appointment to make sure that you're healthy and gaining enough weight," he suggested. I grunted my agreement. It was very selfish of me to care more about my figure than my health and the health of our baby. Between my moans, I promised my husband I'd do everything the doctor deemed necessary to protect my health and our baby's health. Ethan picked up the pace of his thrusts. My cunt gripped tightly to its personal pleasure stick. The two of us orgasmed together. At my next doctor's visit, I asked my obstetrician about my worries and concerns. He reassured me that my weight gain was perfectly normal and well within the parameters expected given my hypothetical pre-pregnancy size and frame. He explained that this was a common concern and worry of first-time mothers in Stepford. The doctor told me that both my baby and I were perfectly healthy and that I should keep on doing what I've been doing throughout my pregnancy. He said that I should feel free to call him with any questions and that I should listen to my husband instead of trying to think too much about things. When I got home that afternoon I made sure to make myself look extra pretty for my husband. I spent twice as long on my hair and makeup as I normally would. I wore a dress that I would normally wear when we went out for dinner and I put on sexy lingerie under my dress instead of my everyday bra and panties. I finished my outfit off with four-inch heels and my favorite black pearl necklace and black pearl earrings. I refused to let my being seven months pregnant interfere with looking pretty and feminine for my husband. "You're absolutely beautiful, Sophia," my husband told me when he got home; staring at me in complete awe for a few seconds before he finally reached down with his face and captured my lips in a searing kiss. "I try, Ethan," I demurely replied, once we finally broke for air. "I spoke to your doctor this afternoon. He told me everything that happened. I hope that you're now no longer concerned about your size and weight," he said. "I'm not," I answered, a small, happy smile creeping onto my face. "Good," Ethan told me. "I got you a present," he said, reaching into his coat and pulling out a long, thin box. "Go ahead and open it," he said as he handed me the box. I gently undid the bow and opened the box. I opened the jewelry case and happy tears came to my eyes as I gazed upon its contents. "They match your necklace and earrings," my husband said, as he reached inside the jewelry case to pull out the black pearl bracelet. Ethan gently wrapped the bracelet around my right wrist and closed it. I gazed at my wrist for a few seconds, savoring the sight of the black pearls that now adorned my wrist. "Thank you, Ethan," I lovingly told my husband, my eyes and cheeks still moist from my happy tears. I was into the eighth month of my pregnancy when Lizzie called me one morning. She was in labor and on her way to the hospital. Lizzie was a week overdue, but that didn't worry her because women never deliver early in Stepford. I was so excited for her. After more than seven months in Stepford she was my best friend. I was very much looking forward to meeting my honorary niece or nephew. Finally, after twelve hours of grueling labor, Lizzie gave birth to a baby girl they named Hannah. The next morning, I went to visit Lizzie and Hannah in the hospital. When I saw Hannah at Lizzie's breast, I looked down to my very pregnant belly and my mind instantly jumped two months into the future. All I could think about was the positions being reversed. Lizzie standing excitedly over the hospital bed; me in the hospital bed with my newborn baby at my breast. I loved being pregnant with Ethan's baby, but more than anything I just wanted to hold our baby in my arms. The thought of giving birth scared me. My body was going to push something the size of a watermelon out of something no bigger than the size of an orange. It didn't help that my original expectations about the birthing process were completely shattered. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, my thought process conjured the traditional image of birth in the United States; laying in a hospital bed, an epidural in place to keep the pain at bay. However, that would not be the case for me. In Stepford, all first births are natural. There would be no drugs. I would feel everything. Lizzie helped allay my fears. "We've all been through it and survived," my best friend reassured me. "They make labor without any drugs seem scary and horrible and painful, but all you need are proper techniques to help manage that pain. All those Lamaze classes and breathing exercises and all the other physical techniques and strategies they're teaching you are going to help you a lot and make labor completely bearable," Lizzie explained. "Besides, once you go through it you'll understand exactly why it's for the best that the first time we give birth we do so completely naturally and without any drugs," she told me. The look on her face as she clearly thought back to her own first birthing experience made clear just how much she cherished the experience. During my eighth month I grew more and more nervous. Weekly visits to my obstetrician -- where he reassured me that everything was progressing perfectly normally -- helped eased my nerves about the pregnancy. Ethan's reassurances about how wonderful a mother I would be helped eased my nerves about motherhood. As my first pregnancy neared its conclusion, I needed my husband more than ever. It was only the special care and attention that he gave me that made this bearable. The best sex was during my ninth month. Ethan and I fucked like bunnies during the last month of my pregnancy. I was constantly hot for my husband. It felt like every second of every day I was wet. The only thing that could satiate my cravings was my husband's cock. I needed it as often as possible. It was like my body was making up for lost time in advance because I knew it would be weeks or possibly months before we could have sex again after I gave birth. Thankfully, Ethan was more than happy oblige and I received my husband's cock regularly. One night I awoke because of my throbbing boobs. This was a semi- regular occurrence and I always did my best to not wake my husband because he had work in the morning. When I reached the bathroom I noticed two little wet stains right by nipples. I wasn't lactating, but I was leaking some milk, which was perfectly normal. I pulled down the bodice of my nightie and began to massage my boobs to help ease the pain. At first it hurt a little bit as a little more milk began to leak out. However, soon it began to feel really nice. In fact, I found myself lightly moaning in pleasure as I was starting to get wet. My efforts to avoid waking my husband failed. I soon saw his reflection in the mirror as I continued to massage my boobs. I pulled off the rest of my nightie and turned around so that I could face him. "It looks like your breasts have changed," Ethan said appreciatively as he slowly closed the gap between us. "I definitely think some closer inspection is necessary," he said as he hefted my boobs, causing them and much of my upper body to jiggle. I could only moan as the wetness between my legs became a torrential flood. "Come to bed, Sophia. I think I can take care of this," my husband said as he gently let down my boobs. I followed him willingly. My hands braced my back as I waddled back to bed. I moved a pillow so that I would be able to place my belly on it. My large breasts gently swayed as I eased myself onto my hands and knees. I moaned loudly as his hard cock slipped into me. I wanted it -- no, I needed it -- so badly. I felt his hands roaming all over me as he fucked my brains out, my boobs slapping together with each thrust. All I could do is moan, completely lost to my pleasure. "You love being knocked up, don't you Sophia?" my husband grunted between thrusts. I managed to pant that all I wanted in life was to be his wife and have his children. "Then I guess it's a good thing I plan on keeping you this way for awhile," he told me. My cunt gripped him like a fist as we orgasmed together and two little wet stains were visible on the sheets under my tits. Ethan sat me down during my ninth month to explain how it came to be that I wound up in Stepford. It had been hinted many months ago -- right after my transformation -- that Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs had specifically requested that my team send me, but my husband outright confirmed that. The Labs, he explained, generated most of their revenue from the transformations. Their specialty was dream wives to order. Ethan knew I was his wife-to-be the moment I arrived in Stepford still a man. He set about designing me as his dream wife within the context of an ongoing debate that generally divided the Labs' researchers along fault lines of older vs. younger. My husband was no exception to the general rule. "The debate centers around women's intelligence," Ethan explained. "We agree on everything else. We don't seek to change anything else. Like our elders, we believe that traditional gender roles are a good thing. We believe that a woman's place is in the home, not in the workforce. We believe that women belong in a supportive role; that they should be dutiful and obedient wives; that women should aspire to be wives and mothers and not anything beyond that. We believe that equality comes not from having identical rights and responsibilities, but from the harmony created when men and women fulfill the separate and distinct roles nature intended for them. Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs developed the transformation process so that we could put those beliefs into practice and work to create what we consider an ideal society," my husband explained. "As I said, us younger researchers share the vision of our elders. We want our wives to be housewives. We want our wives to be subservient. We want our wives to center their lives around their husbands. We want our wives to be traditional from the way they dress to the way they behave to the way that they view their place in the world. We don't seek to change anything about the way of life that our elders created. We only seek to enhance it and to preserve it," he said. "What role does intelligence play in all of that?" I asked my husband. Nine months ago I would have been incensed by the explanation he just delivered, but now it made me smile and I could feel the happy tears come to my eyes. I understood that everything he has done has been because of love. Love for me personally; and love for humanity. And I fully agree with him that we have created an ideal society in Stepford; a society where men are free to be men and women are free to be women. "Intelligence," Ethan started, "Intelligence. It comes down to how best to ensure that a woman accepts and embraces her place after her transformation. It's about how to best effect the mental transformation that is equally necessary as a corollary to the physical transformation she has already undergone. The mental transformation is not really about the feminization of the mind -- that will happen anyway -- it's about changing the perception about what it means to be a woman in the context of broader society. The old guard believes that the best way to accomplish this is to strip women of their intelligence during the transformation process, effectively turning them into complete airheads. They argue that only if women lack the intellectual capacity to contemplate anything other than the possibilities Stepford presents them will they become happy and content and accordingly embrace their role as housewives and mothers. I believe you can see this at play in Stepford, even if you couldn't put a finger to it before." I sat quietly once my husband finished, contemplating my interactions with other women in the eight-and-a-half months since I came to Stepford. Then, in a moment of realization, it hit me. "Laura Jennings and Helena Turnbull," I blurted out. "They're wise in their own way, and they have been invaluable in helping me adapt to life in Stepford, but it's impossible to carry on anything resembling an intelligent conversation with either of them. And Helena, particularly, is fond of telling me that too much thinking is bad, claiming that all it brings us is wrinkles," I explained. "Exactly," my husband replied. "Mark Jennings and Douglas Turnbull are among the leaders of the old guard," Ethan told me. "Mark is the current chief science officer and lead researcher at Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs. His roots in the Labs go back to before he was born. His father headed the team that successfully developed the transformation process. Doug, while neither employed by the Labs nor a medical researcher, is one of the Labs' largest shareholders; his views, therefore, carry significant weight, especially within his own generation" he explained. "So then how does the younger generation view intelligence differently?" I asked Ethan. "We believe that preserving a woman's intelligence makes her mental transformation easier and more successful. Having lived her life on both sides of the gender divide, she can more easily appreciate her limitations and accept her proper place in society precisely because she can bring her intelligence to bear. Because she can imagine other possibilities she knows that being a housewife is the most appropriate role for her. She accordingly centers her life around her husband, not because she can't imagine anything else, but because she doesn't want anything else. This is all a function of her intelligence and it therefore makes the best and most effective mental transformation impossible if she is stripped of her intelligence during the transformation process," my husband explains. "I believe you see can see this in play as well here in Stepford, even if with like the other side of the debate you hadn't put your finger on it before," he remarks. "Lizzie and me," I reply, this time without the need to think anything over. "Both of us come from elite educational backgrounds and elite jobs. We were both considered highly intelligent before our transformations and it certainly feels like that intelligence is still there. Nonetheless, Lizzie and I are both happy and content housewives. As you said, we can imagine other possibilities and we don't want that. We want to be housewives. We understand our inherent and natural limitations as women. We embrace those limitations and understand that is only possible to truly live within those limitations if we are housewives. We center our lives around our husbands because we love them and we cherish the lives they have given us. It's exactly as you said. I can see now that our transformations have been so successful precisely because we retained our intelligence rather than being stripped of it," I tell my husband, the words flowing out of my mouth almost without thinking. "Precisely, Sophia," Ethan tells me. "Nathan Adams and I are considered the leaders of the young guard at the Labs," my husband explains. "As a corollary to our belief that intelligences enhances, rather than hinders, successful mental transformation, Nate and I also believe that ideal companionship is only achieved when husband and wife are intellectually equal. That is why we considered not only the physical qualifications so important when selecting our wives, but also considered the educational qualifications to be equally important in selecting our wives," he explains. "I have one last question about the differences between the old guard and the new guard," I start, but my husband interrupts me. "It's about sex and Wednesday Afternoon Tea?" he asks. "Yes," I confirm. "About how the older women generally engage in sexual relations with other women on Wednesday afternoons, while the younger women generally refrain from sexual relations with other women during those same Wednesday afternoons?" he asks. "Yes," I answer him. "It reflects them," my husband confirms. "Specifically, it reflects how the old guard and the new guard view monogamy. We both believe in exclusively monogamous relationships for men and we both regard exclusive monogamy for men as limiting our sexual relationships to our wives and our wives alone. Where we differ is how we view monogamy for women," Ethan says. "The old guard views women who limit their sexual relationships outside of marriage to other women and don't have sex with men other than their husbands as being monogamous. Because their emotional bond is solely with their husband -- and the sex with other women is limited to purely physical gratification with no emotional gratification sought -- they do not view this as a violation of a woman's vow to be faithful to her husband. Philosophically, they define women's monogamy solely based upon their sexual relationships with men; sexual relationships with women have no bearing on whether or not a woman is defined as being monogamous," my husband explains. "This also allows you to see which younger men adhere to the opinion of the old guard; both because you can observe their wives having sex with other women and because those are the younger women whose intelligence is comparable to the older generation -- to women such as Laura Jennings and Helena Turnbull -- rather than to their peers in the younger generation -- to women such as Elizabeth Adams and Sophia Cameron," he goes on to say, and I can't help but let a small giggle escape my lips when my husband refers to me in the third person. "But that difference is present and apparent from the outset; weeks before we meet our fianc?s and get married," I tell him. "It is," Ethan confirms. "It's a function of the transformation process. When we transform our wives-to-be, we include a genetic predisposition to broader societal notions regarding monogamy. When the old guard transforms their wives-to-be, they do not include any genetic modifications regarding monogamy. Instead they rely on cultural norms to keep women from sleeping with men other than their husbands. They do nothing to alter sexual desires for women that are maintained immediately after transformation and then reinforced through Wednesday Afternoon Tea. Simply put, because they don't believe it interferes in their rights with respect to their wives, they don't care," my husband explains. The explanation surrounding how I came to Stepford, and the philosophical and scientific debates surrounding the transformation process -- and how those debates impacted me directly -- make me feel loved and wanted. I have this life because my husband loved me and wanted me exactly as I am. Because of this, I know the revelation he made of Stepford's secret will only strengthen our marriage. It makes me happier, and prouder, than ever to be Ethan's wife and to be carrying his child. I decided I'd reward Ethan for being such a good man and such a good husband. Ethan was still sitting when I walked over to him, so I bent down to kiss him on the lips. I moved lower and lower, kissing him through his shirt as I slowly eased myself towards the floor. When I finally reached my knees I unbuttoned his pants and opened his fly. I opened his pants and pulled the front of his boxers down just enough for what I wanted to do. I was rewarded with his erect dick staring me right in the face. "Oh, hello," I said, talking to my husband's cock, "I think it's time I paid you some attention." I kissed the tip of his cock and slowly licked along the length of shaft. When I was satisfied that I had tortured Ethan enough, I slowly started to take him inside my mouth. I eased my mouth along the length of his shaft, taking him fully in. I felt his hands come behind head and neck, holding me in place as I sucked his thick cock; dominating me as I needed to be dominated. It felt so wonderfully submissive servicing my man while on my knees. Twice I brought my husband to the brink before easing off. The third time I finally gave Ethan the relief he needed. My husband exploded into my mouth; I greedily swallowed his cum. I slowly eased my way back off his cock once I was done. "Good to the last drop," I said after I kissed the tip of his cock and took in one last taste of his cum. I'd developed a real taste for Ethan's manhood these past seven months. Throughout my ninth month, everyday things became more difficult. I knew it was normal and completely expected, but it didn't mean I had to like pregnancy slowing me down. Despite Ethan's continual badgering I still did the housework. I enjoyed the cooking and cleaning and refused to give them up. I reassured my husband that I was taking my time and not overexerting myself; that the only things I put on a set schedule were breakfast for him before he left for the office in the morning and dinner on the table when returned home from the office in the evening. After he called my doctor to confirm that it was okay for me to fully continue my domestic responsibilities so long as I took it easy, Ethan promised me his badgering would cease; he would allow me to keep our home and be a good housewife without any further interference. As expected, my due date came and went with me still pregnant. Even though I was past due I still kept up with my domestic responsibilities. As promised, my husband did not bother me about actually doing the housework. He limited his bothering me to making sure that I was taking it easy; taking things slowly and pacing myself. Beyond that, Ethan saw to my every need, pampering me to a level I did not believe imaginable. It really reiterated how lucky I was to have Ethan as my husband. Lunches with Lizzie remained a regular occurrence. In fact, they were nearly daily occurrences. Previously, they generally occurred at her house given that she already had two children and was two months further along than me. However, once I started carrying past my due date, Lizzie almost always visited my house for lunch. Lizzie's nearly daily visits always succeeded in brightening up my day. They showed me what life would be like once my child decided to finally make his or her appearance. Once my due date passed, something happened that made it extremely difficult to sleep. It seemed no matter how hard I tried it was impossible for me to find a comfortable position. Even throughout my ninth month I could make myself comfortable through properly arranging the pillows. Now I lost even that tiny luxury. I would eventually fall asleep from sheer exhaustion, but that sleep was fitful and choppy. It only added to the tiredness that came with being more than nine months pregnant. Five days past my due date, I started to feel twinges in my belly during the evening. They continued throughout the night and into the morning. They came regularly, but infrequently; usually around thirty minutes apart. Their low intensity was not particularly painful; merely discomforting. I pushed aside the discomfort and cooked Ethan his usual hearty breakfast. I didn't dare say anything to my husband because I knew that if he suspected I was in labor he would push everything else aside when that wasn't currently necessary. I saw my husband off to work and prepared for the day ahead. Lizzie surprised me for lunch. Her mother-in-law was watching her children, so we were free to go out to our favorite lunch cafe. I could barely eat. The infrequent low intensity twinges of this morning were now intense contractions; the discomfort now quickly became the painful. While I was definitely in labor, I wasn't sure it was time to go to the hospital. Three weeks ago, my obstetrician explained that women often found it more comfortable to spend earlier at home rather than in the hospital. This belief was encouraged in Stepford. Women were only admitted to the hospital when certain criteria were met. My contractions were still far enough apart that it wasn't time for me to go to the hospital. Even if I wasn't exactly eating much, I could still enjoy the remainder of lunch with my best friend before it was time for me to once again face the real world. "Sophia?" Lizzie asks me, a knowing smile playing across her face. "Yes, Lizzie?" I ask her back. I wince a second later when another contraction hits me. "Should I call Ethan?" she asks. "Not yet, they're still usually seven minutes apart," I tell her. "I've been counting ever since I saw Ethan off to the office this morning," I confess, nervously biting my lip. "Are you sure we shouldn't call him?" my best friend asks, pressing her point. "I think so," I sheepishly reply. My confidence that my husband's intervention isn't yet necessary is slipping away. "Then let's get you home," Lizzie says. "Bathroom first," I tell her, getting up and waddling my way over to the bathroom. I had felt some dampness in my panties during lunch, but attributed it to leaking some pee when I laughed. Leaking pee is one of those embarrassing, but normal, things that comes with pregnancy's third trimester. By the time I got to the bathroom, I could feel the liquid dribbling down my leg and getting my pantyhose damp. I was no longer completely sure that it was pee leaking from my body. Once I locked the door behind me I reached under my dress to pull down my panties and pantyhose. I pulled down the skirt of my dress and sat down on the toilet. The moment I sat down I felt a little trickle come out. It didn't feel like it was coming out of its normal place. When the trickle stopped, I reached into my purse so I could change the pad in my panties. I noticed the smell of my old pad, or rather the lack of smell. It wasn't urine; it was amniotic fluid. My water had broken. Nerves quickly overtook me. "Call Ethan," I told Lizzie once I got back to the table. The most powerful contraction yet hit me as she was pulling out her phone. Once the contraction passed I confessed that my water broke. I was a mixture of excitement, relief and nervousness. Excitement that I would soon finally be a mother; relief that I was no longer wondering when I would finally go into labor; nervousness about everything. Ethan told us to stay exactly where we were; he would take care of everything. Thankfully, the Labs are located in downtown Stepford, so my husband was there within 10 minutes of Lizzie calling him. Ethan was already on the phone with my obstetrician when he came inside the cafe. My husband helped ease me into his car, told me not to worry about anything, and then drove us to the hospital. He was so calm and collected. constantly reassuring me and putting me at ease. It was so wonderful and relieving to have a man take charge of the situation; to have my husband take charge of the situation. When we arrived at the hospital, we immediately went to the labor and delivery unit. The resident hooked me up to all sorts of monitors and examined me. My water broken, and my contractions now only five minutes apart, I was quickly admitted to the hospital. Having preregistered, it was already noted in my file that this was my first delivery. Therefore, it was also noted that I was not eligible for an epidural or any other kind of pain medication. Like it was for all other women in Stepford, my first delivery would be completely natural; no pain medication involved. They walked me over to a labor and delivery room, my husband providing the necessary physical support to keep me on my feet. As we slowly made our way to the room, we had to stop several times due to my contractions. Ethan would help me squat so I was low to the ground and I would lean on him to keep me from falling over as the contraction hit me full force. Once the contraction washed over me, and the pain subsided, my husband would help me back to my feet and we continued on our way. Once we finally arrived in the room, I quickly changed into the hospital gown and prepared for the hours ahead. The pain management techniques they taught us in class at the Ladies' Club were extremely useful. Birthing balls, walking, leaning against my husband, leaning against the bed, squatting, and breathing techniques -- used separately and together in various combinations -- helped significantly with the pain. Ethan was a rock throughout, coaching me through everything. His constant reassurances and gentle touches -- the physical and emotional support -- were amazing. My husband did everything I could have ever asked for and more. After six long hours managing my pain with the various techniques I had learned in class, my obstetrician came in to give me my hourly examination. All the monitors showed everything was going normally. My doctor then stuck his hand into my vagina to determine how far dilated I was. When I came in this afternoon I had been 3 cm dilated and so far I had progressed at a rate of 1 cm per hour -- exactly on target. The past hour, however, I dilated quicker. My obstetrician announced that I was fully dilated -- 10 cm -- and that it would soon be time to push. I felt constant, insistent, squeezing coming from inside. The strong urge to push came along with that feeling. Everything the past nine months since my initial transformation had led up to this moment. For the past several months -- especially since Lizzie had given birth to Hannah -- I had been eagerly awaiting these moments. My husband by my side, I was finally about to become a mother. Two hours later I was exhausted from pushing. The pain was almost unbearable and because this was my first delivery no medication was allowed to alleviate it. With every contraction it felt like there was an invisible hand tightly squeezing my uterus. Yet I welcomed it. I welcomed it because I now understood why first deliveries in Stepford were required to be completely natural. The labor pain was burning away my old memories. I remembered my old life before I came to Stepford, but the pain was burning away my remaining memories of what it was like to be a man. It was refining me. Refining me into a pure woman -- a complete woman; making it so that all I remembered was what it was like to be a woman. Going through natural labor was completing my transformation. Previously I feared natural labor, and was partially resentful that I would have to go through it. Now, however, I was extremely thankful for it. Lizzie was right when she said that once I went through labor I'd understand exactly why we're forced to go through it naturally the first time in Stepford. I pushed for another hour. The end of my long, sweat-soaked hair clung to my back. My large breasts felt even heavier and I could feel them sometimes pushing against the top of my arms. My face was flushed and I grimaced in pain with every contraction and every push. The hospital gown I put on nearly ten hours earlier was spread out all over me and just like my hair was soaking wet from my sweat. I didn't need to look in the mirror to know I looked like a wreck. My husband was absolutely amazing while I pushed. He was my rock. He always knew the right to say and to do whatever the situation. "You're absolutely breathtaking, Sophia. Right now, you're even more beautiful than on our wedding day," Ethan told me one time as he looked over me all messy and feeling distinctly not beautiful. "You will do this," he always reassured me during my pushes, holding my leg back with one hand and letting me squeeze hardly on his other hand, while I was in the birthing position. Finally, it was time. "You're almost there, Sophia," my obstetrician told me. "You hear that sweetheart?" Ethan asked me. "You've got this," he reassured me. "Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!!" I screamed out in pain. It was the most intense pain yet. That invisible hand squeezing inside me was squeezing harder than ever before. "The head is out. You're through the most difficult part," my obstetrician said, reassuring me that everything was going well and I was almost at the finish line. "It should be just one more push to get the shoulders out and then you'll be done," he told me. Two more agonizing minutes passed until my next contraction. "Push, Sophia! Push!" my doctor said when he saw my whole body clench in response to the oncoming contraction. I summoned all my remaining strength and pushed. My obstetrician didn't say anything after I finished pushing. I looked up and saw him holding my baby in his arms. "It's a girl!" he excitedly announced. "Congratulations Dr. and Mrs. Cameron. You have a beautiful baby daughter," he said more softly a few moments later. "Ethan, would you like to cut the cord?" he asked him about a minute later. Our daughter was already lying on my belly as my husband prepared to cut her umbilical cord. The delivery room nurses had already clamped the cord in two places. My doctor gave Ethan a scissors to cut the cord and then guided my husband's hand to the small space between the two clamps. Both of our eyes moistened with tears of joy as my husband snipped the cord. We were now a family of three. After Ethan finished cutting the cord, the doctor and nurses exited the delivery room. They were giving my husband and I the golden hour, where it was just the three of us for the next hour as we bonded with our daughter. Once they were gone, Ethan took off my hospital gown so that our daughter could begin her climb up my belly and my chest so she could reach my breasts and food. While I was pregnant we both decided to wait until our child was born to find out the child's sex. We had discussed both boys' names and girls' name and picked out a few of each that we liked, deciding that we would only finalize the name once our child was born. Now it was time to discuss the girls' names one last time and come to a conclusion on what our daughter's name would be. "Ellie?" Ethan suggested. "I'm still not sold on a nickname as a name," I replied. "Isabella?" I asked. "Pretty in theory, but I look at our daughter and it just doesn't seem to fit," my husband replied. "Charlotte?" he asked me. "I know that she'll change her name when she gets married, but there's just something that I don't like about the alliteration," I told my husband. "And, yes, I know it's possible that once she gets married she could wind up having that alliteration because she'll take her husband's name," I add in a second later before my husband can make the exact same point. "How about Amelia?" I ask him. "Amelia..." he says, thinking over the name. "Amelia..." he says once again. "It fits. She looks like an Amelia," he says and then turns towards our daughter who is still making her way up towards my breasts. "Welcome to the world little Amelia Cameron," my husband says, bringing tears to both our eyes. It takes Amelia a good thirty minutes to reach her destination. She finally finds my left breast and latches on. The latch isn't perfect, but I can feel her start to get some of that colostrum out. Even with the slight pain, it's the most exhilarating feeling in the world. I'm feeding my daughter from my own body. Without me realizing, Ethan manages to snap a picture on his phone. I'm absolutely glowing. There's a serenity and happiness that is not only written on my face, but emanating from my whole body. I spend four days in the hospital postpartum -- that's standard in Stepford. My husband takes those days off from work so that we can bond as a family. While he's very conservative by modern standards about his views on the role of women -- something I share in, relishing my role as housewife and mother --, like much of the younger generation of men in Stepford he's much more liberal when it comes to his involvement as a parent. To that end, those four days represent the beginning of the eight weeks of fully-paid paternity leave that he's taking from work. The establishment of paternity leave represented a concession by the older guard, to the younger guard, at Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs. When return home I discover that Ethan has already arranged to have the nursery finished in our absence. While the furniture had already been selected and assembled, we left the nursery unpainted, not wanting to go with a neutral color. I stepped inside Amelia's nursery to light pink walls, pretty princess and animal stickers decorating the room, and the letters of her name elegantly hanging on one of the walls. During his eight weeks of paternity leave Ethan insisted on helping with some of the housework, explaining that he had read the literature and knew that my body needed to recover from the pregnancy and giving birth. Despite my protestations that I was capable of living up to my domestic responsibilities as a housewife, my husband refused to take no for an answer. I reluctantly let him help with cleaning up around the house. I did not let him do the cooking; if he did, both of us would have starved. Throughout those eight weeks I never really slept more than two or three hours at a time. That was because I was exclusively breastfeeding. I wanted to severely limit Amelia's use of a bottle before she was one. It also meant that I would always be the one that would get up for her feedings -- even those in the middle of the night. I was perfectly fine with that because exclusive breastfeeding was good for both mother and child. Just as doing the housework was part of my responsibilities as part of being a good housewife, doing all the feedings was part of my responsibilities as part of being a good mother. After eight weeks our new normal finally began. Ethan returned to work and I could once again fully resume life as a housewife -- the queen of my domestic realm. As much as I loved having my husband around to help out, it was nice to have him back in the office. I missed fulfilling all my domestic responsibilities and was happy that I could finally get back to being the one responsible for all the housework -- all the cooking and all the cleaning. There was another part of it too that made me happy Ethan was back at work. I longed for being able to spend time alone with my daughter. During those eight weeks we had bonded together as a family -- mother, father and daughter. I didn't really get to spend any time alone with Amelia. I longed for what the other housewives of Stepford had, namely time to spend alone with their children. I just wanted to keep my house and raise my daughter; now I had that opportunity. When Amelia was three months old I received a clean bill of health from my gynecologist. He told me that I was fully recovered from my pregnancy and that it was now okay for Ethan and I to start trying again. Since I still hadn't gotten my period because I was still breastfeeding, he wrote out a prescription to start my menstrual cycle. He said that I should discuss it over with my husband and that if I still hadn't had a period when we were ready to start trying I should start taking the pills. Almost immediately after I had come from my gynecologist that day, Ethan and I agreed I should start taking the medication. We both looked forward to having another baby. Within two weeks I received my first period. A month later it was our one-year wedding anniversary. It also happened that I was once again on my cycle. That kind of dampened some of our plans for the evening because I craved having my husband's cock inside me ever since we resumed having sex six weeks after I gave birth and tonight it wouldn't be that feasible having it inside my pussy. When we celebrated our first wedding anniversary it was the first time that we left Amelia alone. We went to dinner and dancing at the Stepford Men's Club's City Room. The City Room was the only place in the men's club building where women were allowed and it was where Ethan and I had our reception a year ago. When I stepped out to go to the bathroom so I could pee and change my tampon, I saw the oaken doors and the men coming in and out of the "members only" room that were behind them. It had been less than fourteen months earlier that I had been in one of those. It caused me to briefly think back to my time as a man in the work hard, play hard corporate world I inhabited for four years and how different it was from my current life here in Stepford as a housewife and mother. I would sometimes get tired of doing all the cooking and cleaning and having the primary responsibility for taking care of Amelia. I would see the men and I envied the apparent freedom they had compared to their wives. Then I would think about Amelia and how it felt to hold her arms and how it felt when she would suckle at my breast. My envy would dissipate and I would realize how lucky I was to have this life. I was just as free as the men. Stepford freed me to be a woman. By the time of our first anniversary, I had lost nearly all the weight from my pregnancy. I lost almost 20 pounds when I was still in the hospital and other 7 pounds since then. That left only 5 pounds to go and I felt like all of those 5 pounds were in my 36F boobs; whether they would go away once I stopped breastfeeding -- and my boobs would go back down to a 36DD -- remained to be seen. My stomach was firm again, but there was a roundness to my belly and hips that would forever evidence my pregnancy. I still had my hourglass figure, but instead of the girlish figure immediately after my transformation, it was now a very womanly hourglass figure. Two weeks after our anniversary we decided it was time to have a do- over. We went to dinner and dancing at the Men's Club. When we got home we were finally able to have the end to the night that we had wanted on our anniversary. Once we were naked Ethan gently lowered me to the bed. After some teasing, I moaned when he finally entered me. We both orgasmed together. With my husband not wearing a condom, I felt him erupt and deposit his seed inside me. I hoped it would meet with my egg and that I would soon be pregnant again. Epilogue I was well into my fourth pregnancy. My breasts were back up to 36F because I was pregnant. The last three times they went back down to 36DD after I stopped breastfeeding. I was fine if it happened a fourth time as well. Even if I didn't have the biggest tits in Stepford, I was more than happy. At 36DD I had a large rack and my husband was always happy to show me just how perfect my breasts were. Right now, though, I needed to sit down; the combination of 36F boobs, extended belly and high heels were taking a toll on my feet and back. Wednesday Afternoon Tea wasn't the same without Lizzie around. She and Nathan had child number five six months ago and right now they were on vacation for two weeks. I could see Helena and Laura disappear into one of the small rooms here at the Ladies' Club; presumably so they could have sex. I was content to sit here and let others come to me. It was my prerogative being seven months pregnant. At the other end of the room I saw a slim figure sitting in the corner. From her slim figure, small boobs and clear nervousness it was apparent that she was a new girl. I decided I'd make the effort to walk over to her so I could introduce myself and welcome her to Stepford. Bracing my back with my hands, I waddled over to the other side of the room. "Hi, I'm Sophia," I told the new girl when I reached her. "What's your name?" I asked her. "I'm Katherine," she managed to stumble out. "Do you prefer Katherine or Katie?" I asked. "Katie," she answered me, a little more confidence in her voice. "Welcome to Stepford, Katie," I said, pulling her into a hug. Just then I felt the baby kick. Katie could see my twinge. "Are you okay, Sophia?" she asked me. "I'm fine. I still have two months to go," I reassured her. She looked around the room and then looked back towards me. "Do all the women here have sex like that?" she asked me. "No," I told her. "I might be naked, wearing nothing except my makeup and high heels, but I don't have sex with other women. I'm content to mingle, spend time with my friends and watch the other women," I explain. Katie sighed, but said nothing. I couldn't tell whether it was a sigh of relief because it provided reassurance she wasn't alone or a sigh of disappointment because she found me attractive and hoped that I would have sex with her. "Did you want to have sex with me?" I asked her after a few seconds of silence. It was also a way of feeling out which side of the debate her future husband was on. The debate on women's intelligence was still ongoing inside Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs and it was clear that neither side would ever claim complete victory; both types of transformations would continue for the foreseeable future. "No," Katie told me. "I don't find women attractive anymore. I'm glad I'm not the only one here who doesn't want to have sex with the other women," she explained, nervously chewing her lip. Katie didn't know it yet, but she would be keeping her intelligence. "I don't either," I told her. "The only person -- the only man -- I want to have sex with is my husband," I explained. "I think it's pretty obvious that we enjoy each other," I said, pointing to my pregnant belly as a small giggle escaped my lips. "Sex with your husband is that great?" she asked, her face betraying her fears. She was undoubtedly attracted to men, but she was also undoubtedly scared about the thought of sex with a man; much as I was five years ago when I was newly transformed. "Much better than any sex I ever had before coming to Stepford," I reassured her. What went unsaid, but was perfectly understood, was that it was much better than any sex I ever had as a man. "Can you tell me your story?" she finally asked me. I explained my transformation from the work hard, play hard male Big Four accountant to the happy and content Stepford housewife. I reassured Katie that she would be much happier as a Stepford girl than she ever was as a man. Alluding to my husband's faction within the Labs, I explained that thanks to her intelligence she would recognize that this was her proper role in life. "You'll come to cherish your role as a housewife and mother precisely because you can imagine other possibilities and know that you don't want anything else except to be the ideal woman -- a wife to your husband and a mother to your children," I explained to Katie. I could see both the doubt and relief on her face. I knew from past experience that that doubt would be gone once she returned from her honeymoon in a month. I slowly got up from my seat and Katie followed my lead, getting up and standing next to me. "Come on, we're both pregnant. Let's go and grab some food," I said. "Besides, I'm pretty sure your future husband wants his wife to have womanly curves on their wedding night," I joked. Mirth danced in my eyes and a knowing smile graced my face as I thought about five years earlier and the run up to my wedding with Ethan. "He does," Katie confirmed, nervously chewing her lip as a small smile gracing her face. I grabbed Katie's hand and the two of us were on our way.