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

The Real Stepford Wives: Lizzie's Story By Emma F Author's Note: This story is a prequel to my prior story, "The Real Stepford Wives: Sophia's Story". Both stories are 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. Sophia, along with some of the characters in the other two stories make cameo appearances here. *************************************** I had worked at my white-shoe law firm since graduating law school five years earlier. I kept on moving up the ranks and everyone thought I would make partner in another three or four years. However, looking at the personal lives of the partners, I decided that life wasn't for me. I was a few months from my thirtieth birthday and it had been two years since my last serious relationship. My job had been a factor in the breakup and I knew that if I wanted to get married and have a family this job was not conducive to that. Taking a chance, I updated my resume and started going on interviews. I saw a posting for an associate counsel position at a small pharmaceutical company. I submitted my resume and two weeks later had an interview at the small New York office where their legal and accounting staff sat. A week later I was invited to visit their main research facility. That is how I wound up in the town of Stepford. When I arrived in Stepford I immediately noticed how all the women were dressed. Stepford's women all dressed straight out of the 1950's. Every woman I saw was in a skirt or dress that came to at least her knees, faces perfectly made up and hair perfectly done. I also noticed that every woman in Stepford seemed to have a large chest. It seemed the men in Stepford were quite lucky. My interview at Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs was set for the early afternoon. When I arrived there I was greeted by the CEO. He personally led me to his office so we could chat and decide if this was the right fit for both of us. When we got to his office we discussed my professional background and my expectations. I asked him two or three questions. Everything was going well. He told me the chief counsel in New York strongly recommended me. At the end of the interview we shook hands and he welcomed me to Stepford. He also invited me to dinner that evening at the Stepford Men's Club. At dinner, I was introduced as Stepford's newest addition. The men seemed to have a particular interest in both my relationships and my sexual experience. They told me it was time for me to get married and have a family already. They said that they hoped the new start, and the break from the cutthroat corporate culture of big law firms - move up or move out - would help me towards that end. Since most of the men there worked at Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs, I used the opportunity to learn more about the Labs and about Stepford. Stepford's corporate culture was exclusively male and this extended to the whole town. Stepford's culture was straight out of the 1950's, including the traditional gender roles. Men were the breadwinners, going out to work and providing for their families. Women were expected to marry and become housewives. Stepford's housewives centered their lives around their husbands. They would see to his every need. They kept the house and raised the children. When called for they played the dutiful hostess. They were obedient and subservient. In the bedroom they saw to their husbands' needs and desires. Stepford's women were men's greatest fantasy, but one that most men would no longer publicly admit to having. I had interviewed on a Friday afternoon, telling my boss that I was taking an extended weekend. I planned on spending Friday night in Stepford, returning to New York Saturday afternoon and then giving my two-weeks' notice once I formally received the offer from Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs. It would probably catch my boss completely off- guard that I was leaving Big Law, but I was looking forward to the normal hours that awaited me. When I returned to my hotel room, I poured myself a nice glass of bourbon. As the bourbon slid over my tongue I savored the taste, mentally toasting my new job. I didn't notice anyone else in my room. By the time I did, it was too late. He lunged at me, covering my face with a damp cloth. Everything went black to the smell of chloroform. I awoke staring at the ceiling. I had no idea how much time had passed, but I was sure that I was no longer in my hotel room. There were sterile fluorescent lights on the ceiling. When I turned my head I could see a large, moveable overhead light. The walls were sterile and I could see other medical equipment throughout the room. This place had the look and feel of an operating room. Looking down towards my feet I could see I was completely naked except for a few bandages on my abdomen. I tried to get up, but my arms and legs were strapped down to the operating table. Just then a man walked in wearing medical scrubs. I presumed he was the surgeon who operated on me. When I looked at his face I immediately recognized him from dinner. "Ah, good, I see you're finally awake," he told me as he walked over to the operating table. "What... What happened to me?" I asked him. My mind was still in a fog. "You're at the beginning of your transformation," he said, and then continued, "We didn't tell you that part when we welcomed you to Stepford on Friday." "What are you talking about?" I asked, still completely clueless. "Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs selects men with the right qualifications and then turns them into women; pregnant women. Between the shock from the loss of their manhood, the immersion in Stepford's culture of traditional gender roles, and the knowledge that in nine months' time they'll be a mother, you get the perfect little housewives that you saw on Friday afternoon," he told me. "That's the stuff of science fiction," I softly said, still in complete disbelief. "And yet here you are strapped down to the operating table undergoing a transformation you say is impossible," he said. "I implanted a fertilized egg into your abdomen Friday evening. By now the zygote has made its way to your crotch, where it implanted in your seminal vesicle. Your DNA is being rewritten as we speak. In your current androgynous state you don't much look like a woman, but soon it will be impossible to tell you were ever a man," he explained. He pulled out some hair from my chest with ease to prove his point. I looked back down towards my abdomen and my crotch. My dick was bright red, completely limp and less than half its normal size. Something was clearly happening to me, but despite all the evidence piling up, I still couldn't completely comprehend or process or believe what the surgeon was telling me. It didn't matter that all evidence indicated he was telling the complete truth. As if on cue I felt an immense pain shoot through my entire body. It lasted for less than thirty minutes, but it felt like it was several hours. I writhed and screamed in excruciating pain. My body felt like it was being torn up and put back together from the inside out. I suppose it was. When the pain finally passed I could sense the new reality that emerged. The empty feeling in my crotch and the two small weights I now felt on my chest told me everything I needed to know. When everything was mercifully over, the nurses pulled out stirrups from the side of the operating table. My legs were released from their restraints and placed in the stirrups. The same doctor who operated on me performed my first gynecological examination. It was humiliating with my legs spread and my privates exposed for this stranger to examine. His metal instruments felt cold as he stuck them into my new vagina. I just wanted this examination over and done with. "When you were interviewed on Friday it was for this and not for some lawyer's position in the Labs," he casually told me during the examination. "Everything looks good," he said once he was finished. He then turned towards the nurses and told them, "Take Miss Murphy to the Ladies' Club for the usual training. Her wedding is in six weeks." One of the nurses came over, undid my restraints and helped me to my feet. I was unsteady on my feet, having to get used to the new distribution of weight in my body. I was seventy pounds lighter and six inches shorter than I had been as a man. My center of gravity had changed. My crotch was empty. Two small weights adorned my chest. The nurse helped me stand up, but I couldn't get my bearings and she helped me sit back down on the operating table before I could fall to the floor. I knew I was now a woman. I knew I was pregnant. In the back of my mind, I knew I was going to get married. I would become just another housewife in Stepford. But now, hearing it out loud, made it all the more real. Overcome with emotion, I started to cry. I guess that was one freedom I had now - being a woman it was okay for me to cry at anything irrespective of whether or not there was good reason. "There, there, sweetie. Let it all out," she said, gently patting me on the back. "We've all been through this, but you'll soon see Stepford is a wonderful place to live," she reassured me. "We all have loving husbands and they treat us like queens. Nine months from now, when you're as big as a house, you'll really appreciate having a man take care of you," she told me. "Besides, the first one is always the hardest," she added in a second later as an afterthought. Nausea instantly hit me. Was this the first of several or the first of many? Eventually, I was able to get up. Still unsteady on my feet, the nurses helped me get dressed. First came the bra - 32AA - which felt like nothing compared to the breasts on the other women. It felt weird as the straps slid up my arms and my breasts settled into the cups. One of the nurses helped me snap the bra close. It felt like a harness holding my breasts in. Then came the panties. It felt weird having my underwear fit snuggly against my crotch. Finally came my dress. It was a simple dress that I was able to pull on over my head. Once I was dressed, I started to cry all over again. The nurses hugged me and once again reassured me that everything would be okay. They told me that before I knew it I would be happier than I could imagine and I would be unable to think about being anything other than a woman and a housewife. I was skeptical. They might have turned me physically into a woman, but there was no way the transformation was ever going to be so complete that I'd think like a woman. At least that's what I thought back then. When I arrived at the Ladies' Club - officially the Ladies' Cultural Society - it was already late in the evening. One of the nurses helped me to the room that I would be calling home for the next six weeks until my wedding. On the way there I looked at the various classrooms and exercise rooms as I passed them by. They were empty owing to the late hour, but I tried to imagine what they were like during the day - full of housewives and housewives-to-be. I was now one of those housewives- to-be and tomorrow I would start training for exactly that. My room was feminine, but not so overly girly that it made me want to vomit. The walls were painted a soft pink. There was a closet to left the entrance; a dresser was in the corner to the right. On the wall opposite the entrance there was a queen-sized bed. On one side of the bed there was a nightstand. On the other side there was a makeup table and vanity. The nurse helped me undress and then helped me into a nightgown. She walked me through everything I needed to do to get ready for bed now that I was woman, including making sure to remember to wipe myself after I peed. When I was done, she let herself out. For the first time, I was alone as a woman. It was only then that I realized they hadn't told me my new name. With everything that happened - and with the clear amount of control Stepford's men exercised over their women - I knew that they would have already picked out a new name for me; an appropriately feminine name. It was then that I noticed the letter on the table. Next to it there was a picture of a man I didn't recognize. I might have missed them earlier; someone might have slipped them on the table while I wasn't looking. It didn't really matter. I was sure that the letter would contain important information. I walked over and sure enough the words "Please Open" were written in fancy writing on the front of the envelope. I gently opened the letter. It congratulated me on my transformation and welcomed me to Stepford. The letter informed me of my new name - Elizabeth. I would receive a surname in six weeks when I got married. Given Stepford's embrace of traditional gender roles it was no surprise that I would take my husband's name upon marriage. Lastly, the letter confirmed my suspicion that the picture on the table was that of my fianc?. No other information was provided. It said that I would receive additional information about him when my training formally started come tomorrow morning. The next morning my instruction officially began. They first took me to the beauty salon on club grounds so that I could learn the basics of makeup and styling my hair. I hadn't noticed yesterday when I was in such a daze from the transformation, but my previously short hair now reached to the middle of my neck. Once they were done showing me how to do my hair, they showed me how to do my makeup. I looked at myself in the mirror when they were done. I definitely looked like a girl. After they were done with my hair and makeup they walked over with two small boxes. One of the boxes opened to reveal a needle and two diamond studs. They were a gift from my fianc?, Nathan Adams. They pierced my ears. I yelped as the diamond studs entered my ears, even though it really didn't hurt that much. Just as the two small weights that adorned my chest felt weird the night before, the two small weights that adorned my ears now felt equally weird. My diamond earrings were matched by the diamond engagement ring in the other box. It was a cookie cutter engagement ring, albeit one that was quite expensive. There was a large diamond in the middle of the ring and two smaller, but still large, diamonds that surrounded it - one on each side - set in a platinum band. Like the earrings, it was a gift from my fianc?. Once I slid it on, I gazed down to see how looked now that it sat on the third finger of my left hand. I did everything in my power to avoid thinking about the simple platinum wedding band that would be joining it in six weeks. Like many of the men in Stepford, Nathan was quite wealthy despite still being relatively young. Despite being only twenty-eight, Nathan was already a senior researcher at Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs. I also learned that while before I was nearing thirty, now I was younger than my fianc?. As part of the transformation process my body's age had been reduced from twenty-nine to twenty. Readied for what was facing me, I began the first day of instruction for the rest of my life - my life as a housewife and mother. I was accompanied to the classroom by one of the beauticians. I looked inside and saw that it was set up like a kitchen with a small living room next to it. It seemed that my first day of instruction would be about how to do the cooking and cleaning. I suppose I had a slight head start in the kitchen since I had always enjoyed cooking. However, I was completely clueless when it came to the cleaning; that was what I had a cleaning lady for at my apartment back in New York. Seeing that I was more than capable in the kitchen, my instructor pretty much skipped right to the cleaning. I spent several hours in the kitchen and living room doing the tasks that my cleaning lady had previously done for me. This housework would now become part of my everyday routine; part of my domestic responsibilities as a good housewife. And on either end of the cleaning there would be a home- cooked breakfast to see my husband off to work and a home-cooked dinner to welcome my husband home from work. For the next two weeks I continued with the day-long individualized lessons. Everything was one-on-one. They taught me the basics of being a housewife and quite a bit on top of that. There was further improving my cooking. There was the cleaning to make sure my house was spotless. There was the grocery shopping. There was sewing and mending. There was shopping for clothes and accessories. There was how to put together an outfit - from the clothes to the accessories to the hair to the makeup. It was all about turning me into a dutiful and pretty housewife for Nathan Adams. After two weeks my body had undergone a drastic transformation. The small 32AA breasts of two weeks earlier had now grown in size to a 34B. They were still growing, and looking at the other women in Stepford, they definitely still had a ways to go before reaching their final size. My hips were now wider than my shoulders and it seemed that my height had stabilized, leaving me seven inches shorter than my height as a man. My voice was now a pleasant alto. Looking at me it was impossible to deny the truth - I was a pretty young woman; a pretty young woman preparing for her wedding and the married life that would follow. Perhaps more important than the physical changes my body had undergone during those two weeks were the mental changes. I could feel my mind changing. Seeing my feminine face in the mirror - face made up, hair done, wearing earrings - was now normal. I was beginning to conceive of myself as a woman. My sexual attraction was starting to change. I was beginning to find men attractive and concurrently was no longer finding women attractive. I started to wonder what sex would be like with my husband and what it would be like to be a typical housewife. I wasn't thinking like a woman quite yet, but I was certainly starting to get there. That Monday morning I finally received my formal introduction to the other ladies of Stepford. I attended an exercise class at the Ladies' Club. They provided me with the necessary workout clothes. To emphasize my still-new femininity - and to emphasize the point that women should not be wearing only pants - the exercise clothes include a loose, black exercise skirt to wear over my leggings. My attire matched the other women in the class, all of whom were also wearing exercise skirts over their leggings. Exercise class was an interesting experience. While the exercises certainly helped keep us healthy and fit, it seemed their most important purpose was keeping our men happy. Kegel exercises and pelvic thrusts were deemed particularly important, particularly for the currently- pregnant women and those immediately postpartum. The instructor encouraged this behavior, shouting out, "Harder Ladies! It will keep you nice and tight as a virgin!" My favorite, though, was the bust cheer. All the ladies screamed out in unison, "We must! We must! We must increase our bust!" All the other women had D-cup or larger racks. Compared to the melons on them, my 34B breasts felt like they were mosquito bites. As silly as the chant was, it provided me with encouragement. I wanted my breasts to continue to grow. I wanted those D-cup or larger breasts. To me it was further evidence that my mental transformation was continuing. I was slowly becoming a woman who wanted to please her husband-to-be above everything else. That Wednesday I attended my first Wednesday Afternoon Tea. Wednesday Afternoon Tea is a ritual at the Ladies' Cultural Society. All of Stepford's women participate. At lunchtime all of Stepford's women gather at the Ladies' Club. The curtains are drawn. Food and drink are laid out on tables throughout the club. All the women divest themselves of their clothes, attending Wednesday Afternoon Tea stark naked except for their makeup and high heels. I was no exception. Except for my perfectly made up face and my four-inch heels I was completely naked. My body was on display for all of Stepford's other women to see. While some of the women were simply walking around - gossiping and mingling with their friends - others were making out and having sex other women. This seemed to be a generational divide. Most of the women that appeared to be in their thirties or older were enthusiastically making out and having sex with other women. Most of the women in their twenties seemed to be only gossiping or mingling, although a few were behaving like their older counterparts. As for me, I sat nervously in the corner, not sure what to do. I had no interest in making out or having sex with other women - my sexual attraction was now completely changed. I also didn't really know anyone that I could gossip or mingle with. I was content to sit there and observe. If the other women wanted to come to me, that was fine. If they didn't, then that was also fine. Compared to the voluptuous curves on the other women, my slim body and small boobs made me easy to identify as the new girl. Sympathetic to my plight some of the women started to make their way over to me. They introduced themselves and gave me the same words and reassurances I had heard the past two-and-a-half weeks; "It's great being a Stepford wife,"; "Soon I'll see how wonderful it is being a Stepford girl,"; "In a few weeks I won't be able to imagine anything other than being a woman and a housewife." On the other side of the room I saw a pair that was making out and looked like they were ready to have sex. The two spotted me and motioned me that I should come over and join them. When I demurred the two stopped their make out session and walked over to me. "Hi, I'm Laura," one of them said as she pulled me into a hug. "What's your name, sweetie?" Laura asked me once she released me from the hug. "Elizabeth," I manage to stammer out. My new name still sounded foreign to my ears and even as a man I had long preferred my new name's more common nickname. "But you can call me Lizzie," I told Laura a second later. "Well Lizzie, this is Helena," Laura said, motioning to the woman standing next to her. "Welcome to Stepford, Lizzie," Helena told me. "You'll soon see that this is far from the worst fate in the world," she reassured me. "That's what everyone has been saying," I replied, my skepticism evident. "It's true. We really are happiest this way," Helena reassured me. "I have an amazing husband and six wonderful children," Laura told me. "The men in Stepford are wonderful. They take care of us, they provide for us, they honor us and cherish us. All they ask for in return is that we give them the necessary support so they can do all that," she explained. "Stepford is a great town and you'll soon see that in being housewives we are happy and content in a way we could never be if we were anything else," she said. "Are you still sure you wouldn't like to join us?" Helena asked me. "I'm pretty sure," I replied, feeling slightly more confident in my answer than I did before the pair came over. "We'll see you next week then," Laura said. The two of them walked over to another corner in the room and resumed their make out session. Laura and Helena seemed nice enough, but it was clear to me to that it was impossible to hold an intelligent conversation with them. They both seemed to perfectly fit the stereotype of dumb blondes. There was no way of knowing if they were blondes when they were men - something still impossible to comprehend given how thoroughly feminine creatures they were - but seeing their roots and the hair around their pussies it was clear they were definitely dumb blondes as females. I was a blonde too and I hoped that whatever mental transformation I was still undergoing would not deprive me of my intelligence. That night, encouraged by Wednesday Afternoon Tea, I played with myself for the first time as a woman. I brought my dainty hands up to cup my boobs, gently pinching the nipples. Moaning from the pleasurable sensations, I brought hand one hand down to start playing with my clit, while my other hand continued to play with my boobs. I teased my clit, gently making little circles around it. I slowly increased the tempo. My whole body was consumed by the pleasure. My back arched up and in an instant it felt like whole body shut down. I had my first orgasm as a woman. The next several weeks completed my training. I was now a curvy blonde woman on the eve of her wedding. The 34B breasts of a month ago were now up to 36D. My figure was quite traditional - an hourglass figure of 36D-22-38. They told me that my husband-to-be wanted a curvy wife for the wedding night and he was getting exactly that. The transformation process was undoubtedly fine-tuned to give my husband exactly what he wanted. I had no doubt of that. Staring down at my engagement ring, I wondered about my transformation and the transformations of all the women that preceded me. I knew the how - I could see that from my own experience. I knew the extent - I could see that too from my own experience. I knew the why - I could see that from conversations and observations. What I wanted to understand were the differences; not superficial differences like breast size, but substantive differences like intelligence. As much as I liked Laura and Helena, I wanted to understand the differences that separated us. They engaged in sexual relations with other women, yet I had no desire to. They seemed to lack intelligence, and yet I still apparently maintained mine. They seemed to be unable to imagine anything beyond being a housewife. The other women of my generation, most of whom retained their intelligence and did not engage in sexual relations with other women, seemed to embrace being housewives precisely because they could imagine possibilities other than being housewives and mothers and didn't want any of those possibilities. Should I ever fully embrace being a housewife and mother, I undoubtedly would do so for the exact same reasons that my generational peers fully embraced those roles. The final Wednesday Afternoon Tea before my wedding, the ladies threw me a bridal shower. They reiterated how lucky I now was and how wonderful life would be as a typical Stepford housewife. They said that when I was in my final trimester I'd be very happy to having my husband take care of me. These came with the typical pre-honeymoon jokes and the discussion about sex with our husbands. I considered the latter to be particularly educational because they gave me additional pointers about pleasing my husband-to-be in bed. Staring down at my engagement ring - something I did quite often these days - I thought about the simple wedding band that would soon join it. I thought about what it would be like to be Nathan's wife; to be Mrs. Adams. I thought about life as a housewife. I thought about the child I was carrying. I thought about the children I would carry in the future. Despite my fears, I was excited. Despite the misgivings that still resided in the deepest recesses of mind, I was looking forward to it. Seeing the women of Stepford, I could tell my mental transformation would complete itself and I would likely come to embrace the life I was about to embark upon. The wedding was a simple affair on Men's Club grounds. The ceremony was held outside in the gardens and the reception inside in the City Room. These were the only places at the Men's Club where women were permitted. Seeing Nathan lovingly waiting for me as I walked down the aisle to him brought tears to my eyes. When the priest pronounced us husband and wife a great joy filled me. When Nathan and I entered the reception and we were introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Nathan Adams for the first time, I was overcome with happiness and excitement. I couldn't wait until the reception was over and we were on our honeymoon so I could have my husband all to myself. Immediately after the reception we left for our honeymoon. Nathan rented a waterfront house right on the coastline complete with its own private beach. By the time we arrived at the house I needed my husband desperately. I was already dripping wet. I just needed Nathan to take me out of my wedding dress and lingerie, throw me down on the bed and fuck my brains out. Whatever recesses of my mind that were trying to scream I was a man were being drowned out by my body, which was screaming desperately for my husband's touch. "Let me help you with your dress, Mrs. Adams," Nathan said as he walked behind me and started to undo the buttons on my wedding dress. Between the gentle touch of his hands and his addressing me as Mrs. Adams for the first time I completely melted. When my husband finished unbuttoning my dress, he helped me ease my arms out of the sleeves. My dress pooled at my feet, leaving me in only my lingerie. I took two steps away from my husband and turned around. "Like what you see, Mr. Adams?" I demurely asked Nathan, some playfulness seeping into my voice. I felt my husband's gaze on my body; inspecting me to make sure that I had the womanly curves he wanted his wife to have on their wedding night. When his eyes locked on my D-cup boobs I was particularly proud. I loved that my body could completely capture my husband's attention. "Very much so, Mrs. Adams," Nathan replied as he closed the gap between us and cupped my breasts. I lost all ability to form coherent thoughts a moment later when he captured my lips in a deep and searing kiss. When my husband pulled away from the kiss, took a step back from me and once again looked me over. His gaze once again settled on my boobs. "There's something else that still needs to go," he declared. He stepped back towards me and help divest me of my lingerie. Once I was completely naked Nathan once again stepped back so he could look me over for a third time. "Elizabeth, my love, you are absolutely stunning," he softly declared. I once again melted from my husband's tender affection. My husband stepped back towards me and moved his lips onto my neck, taking full advantage of the fact that I was wearing my hair up today. When he brought his hands up to cup my breasts and then started to gently play with my nipples my legs became like jelly. Thankfully, my husband caught me and lowered me to the bed before I could fall to the floor. Nathan jumped into bed next to me and soon his mouth was all over me. He licked and sucked on every part of my body, deliberately avoiding my breasts. My whole body was on fire. I was reduced to only being able to feel the pleasurable sensations my husband was causing. All I could do in response was moan; forming words was beyond my capabilities. Finally, my husband brought his mouth to my breasts. As he did, he lowered a hand to my soaking wet pussy and gently traced his finger along the length of my slit. "Nice and wet, just like a good wife should be for her husband," he said once his finger finished its journey. I could only moan in response. His dominance only increased my arousal. "I think she needs her husband's cock inside her," he replied to my moan. Once again, the dominance he was displaying only served to heighten my arousal. "Please Nathan," I managed to beg. "Please what, Elizabeth?" my husband asked as he finally mounted me. "Please make love to me, Nathan," I moaned in reply, automatically spreading my legs so my wet, willing cunt could welcome his stiff cock inside me. "As you wish, my beautiful wife," Nathan replied, gently easing his way inside me. My hymen tore from my husband's first thrust. I winced from the slight pain caused by my hymen tearing and then yelped with the realization I was no longer a virgin. Each thrust caused the most amazing sensations; the most pleasurable sensations. I was moaning and writhing in complete pleasure. My legs were spread wide and up in the air, just like a good wife should be for her husband. I was completely lost to my pleasure. Forget wanting this so badly, I needed this so badly! As Nathan fucked my brains out the final barriers were coming down. My transformation was completing. With each thrust from my husband the walls inside my head crumbled down a little more. Each thrust fucked a little more of my remaining maleness away; a little more of my remaining independence away. His cock was taming me with each thrust, turning me into a helpless, docile female completely dependent upon her husband. Drifting in and out of reality, all I could do is moan out, "Ahhhh! Oh my god! Nathan! Uhhhh! This is so great! Uhhhh! Make me yours! Put me in my place! Ahhhh! I love you! I want to be your wife!" We erupted together. My back arched up and I felt my orgasm wash over me. I moaned in complete pleasure, unable to form coherent thoughts or words. I loved the feel of him erupting inside me and emptying his load into me as we came. I slid down along the bed so I could lick my husband's cock clean. I savored the taste of our combined love juices on his cock. I then made my way back up and snuggled into my husband's waiting arms. My husband didn't keep me in his arms for long. I saw him reach for the nightstand and then heard the rattling of a pill bottle. Nathan popped one of the pills in his mouth. Immediately his member sprung back to full attention. Seeing Nathan's fully erect cock, my juices began flowing again. The wetness rushed to my pussy as I stared at his fully erect cock. "Okay Mrs. Adams, we know you know how to use your cunt to keep your husband happy. Now let's see if you know how to use those beautiful lips of yours to keep him happy," Nathan commanded me. He placed his hands behind my head and neck and then slowly lowered me to his crotch so his cock was directly looking me in the face. I willingly obeyed my husband. He was so masterful and dominant - exactly like I needed my husband to be. My thoughts had been so focused on intercourse with Nathan that I hadn't given any thought to giving him a blow job, even when licking his cock clean of our combined juices. Being fucked by Nathan had been amazing, but the thought of giving my husband a blow job - of having his dick in my mouth - and the implications of it made me feel a little queasy. I pushed aside my misgivings and got ready to go work. I wanted to keep my husband happy. Obediently, I cupped his balls with my dainty hands and gave a tentative kiss to his erect member and slowly eased his thick shaft into my mouth. I moaned in pleasure as I took him in, pushing aside any thoughts and simply enjoying the feeling of having my husband inside my mouth. Nathan's moans signaled his pleasure and knowing that I was pleasing my husband only heightened my pleasure as well. Nathan used his hands to force his cock further in and soon I had fully taken my husband's member inside my mouth. I used the little freedom his hands gave me to move my head along the length of his shaft. With each lick and each suck I gave his cock, Nathan's moans increased. As I could feel his cock begin to twitch his hands grew firmer, holding my head in place. Nathan screamed out my name as he erupted, his cum gushing into my mouth. "Swallow it all, Lizzie. Swallow it all," my husband commanded me, holding my head firmly in place. He didn't give me any opportunity to consider the age old feminine dilemma of whether to spit or to swallow. I obeyed. I savored the taste of his dick one last time as I swallowed his cum and licked him clean. Giving my husband a blow job was much better than I thought it would be. My honeymoon completely changed me. I started it a girl nervous about her future and what it held for her. On my honeymoon I became a woman confident about her place in the world as a housewife by her husband's side. It certainly helped that Nathan regularly fucked my brains out - several times per day in fact. His tenderness and his dominance completely tamed me. As much as I didn't want our honeymoon to end, I looked forward to returning home with Nathan. I wanted to really start our lives together as husband and wife. I was looking forward to finally being a housewife already. When we returned home from the honeymoon we quickly settled into our new life together. Nathan would work hard during the day as a senior researcher at Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs and I would keep the house. Every morning I would wake up and shower so I could get ready for the day. By the time Nathan got downstairs I would make sure that I was ready for the day. My hair and makeup would be done. I'd be fully dressed, complete with accessories and high heels. I always wore a skirt or a dress no matter what I had planned for the day - even if it was just simple housework. My husband deserved a very feminine wife who paid appropriate care to her appearance. Once I was ready for the day, I would make sure to cook my husband a hearty breakfast to give him a good start to the day. I would then see Nathan off to work and start on my day. I diligently tended to my domestic responsibilities, making sure our house stayed nice and clean. Unless Nathan called me ahead of time to tell me that we were going out for dinner, I always made sure there dinner was on the table by the time he arrived home. I loved my life as a housewife. Whenever I imagined the other possibilities out there, I quickly realized how much I truly didn't want anything other than the life I had. After five years in the cutthroat work hard, play hard corporate environment as a high-priced lawyer, I appreciated the simplicity that came with my new life as a housewife. I truly enjoyed doing all the cooking and all the cleaning; and everything else that came with keeping my husband's house. Nothing made me happier than when Nathan came home from work and kissed me hello. Sometimes he would bring home small gifts for me. I always made sure he came home to nice home-cooked dinner. His kind attentions, both emotional and physical, had turned me into a contented housewife whose life was centered around her husband. Of course life wasn't solely about the housework. I gradually started to make friends with the other housewives of Stepford. I felt a particular bond with my generational peers. We shared in relishing our lives as housewives precisely because we could imagine other possibilities and realized that this was the best life for us, both for us as women and for society as a whole. That only helped make me much closer to the women my age rather than elders, even though I did have great respect for everything the older housewives were able to teach us younger ones. Wednesday Afternoon Tea became a central feature of the middle of my week. The first one after I returned home from my honeymoon I couldn't wait to go and see Helena and Laura there just so I could introduce myself as Mrs. Nathan Adams. Like the other women, I was stark naked except for my makeup and high heels - in my case five-inch heels. They both kissed me on the cheek, knowing that I had no desire to join their sexual escapades. As always, I was content to watch and mingle as many of the other women engaged in sex with other women. In an indication just how complete my mental transformation was, the time I spent looking at the other women's bodies was used to compare their bodies to my own. I paid particular attention to their breasts, comparing their racks to my own. While my husband showed me every night just how perfect my 36D breasts were, I couldn't help but look at the breasts on the other women in Stepford. I noted that while I was considered well-endowed by society, compared to the other women in Stepford I didn't feel busty at all; I still felt a bit small. At that first Wednesday Afternoon Tea as a married woman I met Victoria, who transformed five years before me. Vicky already had three children and was very pregnant with her fourth. Her husband wanted a large family. She told me that he wanted at least two more children after she gave birth to the one she was currently pregnant with. It made me think about Nathan's wishes for how many children he wanted to have. He also wanted at least six children and I was already looking forward to giving that to him. Vicky and I bonded over our shared background and intelligence. Before coming to Stepford she had been doctor with both her bachelor's and medical degrees from Ivy League schools; my bachelor's and law degrees were also from Ivy League schools. Like many of the younger women in Stepford, Vicky retained her intelligence and refrained from having sex with other woman. At this point, I had no doubt there was some sort of connection between the two. Our shared pregnancies also undoubtedly helped to strengthen the bond. Within a few weeks, I couldn't imagine anything other than being a woman or a housewife. I loved the everyday, simple routines of my life. I loved cooking my husband breakfast in the morning and having dinner on the table when he got home. I loved having lunch with the girls and gossiping and mingling with them. I loved going to the hairdresser and seeing all the pretty things I could do with my hair now that it was growing out. The locks that two months ago barely reached the middle of my neck were now two inches below my shoulder. Nathan wanted me to have long hair and I was more than happy to let it grow another inch or two. Longer hair might be harder to take care of, but there was more I could do with it; and it would look so pretty. Also, letting it grow out a little further made my husband happy, and being the good housewife that I was, making my husband happy made me happy. Stepford also offered many opportunities for women to give back to the community through volunteering. My personal favorite was going to the elementary school and reading to the kindergartners for weekly story time. I had always loved reading and I looked forward to imbuing that love of books in the next generation. It was important to me to be a credit to my husband and nothing made me prouder than when others addressed me as Mrs. Adams. Despite my eagerness to volunteer, I always made clear that my domestic responsibilities as a housewife came first. I always made sure that no matter what my house was clean and dinner was on the table when Nathan came home from the office. My pregnancy progressed over the next several months. Signaling the mental changes brought about from the transformation, the stirrups in my obstetrician's office didn't bother me. I was perfectly okay to spread my legs and put them in the stirrups so that my obstetrician could examine me. However, seeing my weight gain recorded on the scale did, even if I knew that it was perfectly normal given that I was pregnant bothered me greatly. Most importantly, though, everything with my first pregnancy was normal and going smoothly. At every visit my obstetrician reiterated that mother and child were both perfectly healthy. Throughout my second trimester I gazed down at my slowly expanding belly. Nathan and I made the conscious decision not find out if we were having a boy or a girl. I looked down and wondered if it was my son or my daughter in there. If it was our son, Nathan and I would bring up him to be a man; to head his family and provide for it. If it was our daughter, we would bring her up fulfill her proper role as a housewife and mother. She would be brought up free to be a woman, unshackled by the constraints that modern society would place upon her in the name of so-called equal rights under the banner of feminism. During these months I discovered what a great town Stepford was to be pregnant in. All the women's clothing stores had large selections of maternity clothes, absolutely necessary considering how many pregnant women there were in Stepford. The supermarkets all had special checkout lines reserved exclusively for pregnant women. Restaurants and cafes usually had special reserved seating for us. And on all the main streets downtown there were parking spots reserved for expectant mothers. All these nice little benefits were extremely helpful, especially since nearly every young woman in Stepford was either pregnant or trying. I always loved when Nathan arrived home from work. He'd always sweetly kiss me at the door, tell me how beautiful I looked and then say how delicious dinner smelled. Many times these tender affections came along with small gifts. Usually, they were flowers or chocolates. Sweet little things from my husband to show me how much he loved me. The girls were right when they said that as my pregnancy progressed I'd really appreciate being taken care of by my husband. One day, though, Nathan surprised me. Instead of his usual small gifts he came how bearing a bag that was clearly from the most expensive jewelry store in Stepford. As always, my husband gave me a gentle kiss on the lips and told me how beautiful I looked. Nathan carried the bag as we walked to the dining room and our awaiting dinner. He placed the bag on the dining table and took out two perfectly-wrapped boxes. "Go ahead and open them," my husband softly said as he handed them to me, the most loving and adoring look on his face. I gently unwrapped the larger box first. I knew I would find a necklace inside. I carefully opened the box, revealing a long strand of beautiful, large, white pearls. This would instantly become my favorite necklace and at my husband's insistence I would wear them regularly instead of saving them only for special occasions. The pearl necklace was soon joined by the contents of the second, smaller, box. Inside that box were a pair of matching pearl earrings. Whenever I would see my reflection in the mirror when wearing my pearl necklace and earrings, I would always think back to that moment and how lucky I was that Nathan was my husband. "Thank you, Nathan," I told my husband, giving him a sweet kiss on the cheek. The tears of happiness streaming from my eyes and freely flowing down my cheeks. "Let me help you put them on," he told me, gently removing the string of pearls from its box. I swept up my hair and felt my husband wrap them around my neck before fastening them closed. "I'll take care of the earrings," I told my husband. "Why don't you go sit down?" I suggested. As Nathan took his seat, I took off the earrings I was currently wearing and put in the new pearl earrings. My husband was completely mesmerized as I leaned over to give him a sweet kiss on the lips before I headed back to the kitchen so I could put our dinner on the table. Nathan's sweet attentions kept me a happy, contented housewife. They made my pregnancy not merely bearable, but enjoyable. This child was my gift to Nathan; a symbol of the love we shared. I cherished every moment of my pregnancy. The closeness to my husband; the feeling of my body growing and nurturing life. These were purely feminine feelings no man could understand. I was extremely thankful and appreciative for the experiences Stepford's men afforded me by giving me the gift of this transformation. The most amazing feeling during my pregnancy came in the middle of my fifth month. I felt the occasional twinge in my stomach, most often late at night while I was in bed. I eventually realized that the feeling was my baby kicking. I cried for joy at the realization I quickly brought Nathan's hand over my pregnant belly even though I knew he couldn't feel anything quite yet. It wasn't for another month that my husband could finally feel our child kicking. The look of pure amazement on his face when he did feel our child kick was one of the most beautiful sights I've ever beheld. Throughout my first pregnancy, Vicky was an invaluable resource. Seeing her in action I learned how to balance my responsibilities between keeping my house and raising my children all while being pregnant. The apparent ease with which she seemed to accomplish this helped put my mind at ease and make it clear that this was something readily doable. It might take a lot of work, but it was also something well worth it. That she did all this precisely because she wanted to be a housewife and mother, and didn't want to be anything else, made her lessons all the more valuable in my mind. Laura and Helena were also valuable resources as I continued to build my life in Stepford. While I wasn't nearly as close to them as I was to Vicky - owing primarily to our generational difference - they showed me what long-term life in Stepford would be like. Like Vicky and I, they both were only a few years apart and they both came from cutthroat environments. Laura from technology; Helena from the performing arts. Both of them were happily married to their respective husbands and deeply in love with them. Neither of them could remember what it was like to be anything other than a wife and a mother. In them, I could see myself in fifteen or twenty years. Laura and Helena also emphasized the importance of children. Intellectually, I knew that the child I was carrying would be the first of many; Nathan wanted anywhere from six to eight children. However, I had yet to process that fact. Like most men in Stepford, both of their husbands wanted large families. Laura had borne six children for her husband Mark Jennings; Helena had borne seven children for her husband Douglas Turnbull. Vicky was the same, ready to give a fourth child to her husband, Daniel Hughes. Vicky went into labor during my fourth month. I had watched with excitement as she got bigger, thinking about what I would be like in a few months. As much as the weight gain and increased size scared me, I looked forward to them at the same time. They were symbols of my fertility and fruitfulness. Evidence that I was giving life created by the love my husband and I shared and that I was fulfilling my most important duty as a woman. After twelve grueling hours of labor, Vicky gave birth to a baby boy that she and Daniel named Samuel. When I visited Vicky and Samuel in the hospital the next day all sorts of warm feelings about my future entered my head when I saw him at my friend's breast. I immediately thought to what it would be like a few months from now when I was the one sitting in the hospital bed and my newborn son or daughter was suckling at my breast. When I visited Vicky in the hospital that afternoon, I learned something very important about all first pregnancies and deliveries in Stepford. It shattered my expectation about what labor was like for first-time mothers here. I had originally conjured the image we traditionally see and hear about. Labor in the hospital is largely spent in bed, an epidural pouring anesthesia directly into the spine to keep the pain at bay. That image was completely wrong when it came to first-time deliveries in Stepford. "The epidural definitely helped. I barely felt a thing," Vicky remarked. "It won't be like that for you when you give birth in a few months. You won't be able to get any drugs the first time around," my friend offhandedly remarked. "No drugs?" I nervously asked, the horror at the prospect evident in my voice. "Yeah. I'm surprised you didn't know that," she told me. "I would have thought someone already told you that all first deliveries for new mothers in Stepford are completely natural. No epidurals. No other drugs. Just what nature gave us to naturally overcome our pain," Vicky explained. My anxiety shot up even further. "Absolutely nothing?" I asked the horror evident in my voice. The warm and fuzzy feelings that surrounded my transformation and my anticipation about having a child preparing to evaporate in the face of this news. "Absolutely nothing and I wouldn't have had it any other way," Vicky confidently replied. "And if you ask any other woman in Stepford, she would say the exact same thing," my friend declared. "Why?" I asked, still completely shocked that I would have to give birth the first time without the benefit of drugs and even more shocked that if I was like every other woman in Stepford - something I was up until this point - I would actually come to enjoy and relish it. "Because it burns away the remnants of the old you. It completes the last part of your mental transformation. It shapes you and refines you. You leave the labor and delivery room a pure woman; a complete woman. You may still have the memories of your old life, but all you will ever remember is what it's like to be is what it's like to be a woman. For that you will love the experience and cherish it. You will be happy that the first time you gave birth, you gave birth completely naturally and glad that you were required to go through that experience," Vicky explains. The rapt look on her face as she clearly thought back to her first delivery demonstrates just how passionately she believes that having a first delivery naturally is a truly wonderful experience. Hearing my friend's words, and seeing her face, I can only hope she is right. I can only hope that I will enjoy and savor the experience of my first labor instead of resent it. Either way, I know that in about five months' time her words will ultimately prove to either be completely wrong or completely prophetic. I can only hope that it proves prophetic and that in a few years' time when I am imparting this knowledge to a first-time mommy-to-be I will speak with the same rapt voice and face that Vicky spoke to me with. Two weeks after Vicky and Samuel came home from the hospital, I was lounging with Vicky by her pool. For the past week my bras had been feeling a bit tighter in the cups. My blouse and the bodices of my dresses felt tight across my chest. My skirts and dresses felt tight around the belly. My clothes felt like they were almost filled to capacity and would soon burst at the seams. However, I thought that I still wasn't quite ready for my maternity clothes. For the time being those clothes still sat in my closet waiting to be put into use. That afternoon I wore a two-piece swimsuit for the pool. My swim skirt had enough elastic, and therefore enough give, that it didn't feel overly tight. My bikini was a different story. My boobs felt very tight in them when I was poolside, but the moment I went into the pool the tightness eased significantly. Needless to say I spent a considerable amount of time in the pool, not coming out until it was time for me to get ready so I could go home and have dinner on the table by the time Nathan came home from work. "How do you like finally having big tits?" Vicky amusedly asked me when I exited the pool. I looked down at my chest and saw that my boobs had spilled out of the cups. They had definitely grown some more. I would be needing some new bras with a larger cup size. "I did! I did! I did increase my bust!" I excitedly chanted out, mimicking the Bust Cheer we would always do during exercise class. Vicky and I just giggled. It had been a running joke between us that I was still considered small- chested compared to most women in Stepford, herself included. While most everywhere else my 36D chest would be considered well-endowed, it was still smaller than my friend's 38F rack. With my chest now further increased in size, it seemed that running joke would be coming to an end. I changed and made a quick stop at the lingerie store before going home so that I could be fitted for a new bra. It turned out I went up both a band and a cup size - from 36D to 38DD. My boobs felt so much better being in a bra that properly fit. However, because I was still wearing the same dress, and not one of my maternity dresses, the bodice still felt tight across against my chest. That wouldn't change until I got home and finally got into a maternity dress. When I finally got home I immediately changed into one of my maternity dresses. It felt so much better between the new bra and the maternity dress. The tightness was gone now that I was in clothes that properly fit. I can't say I was completely satisfied with how I looked though. While I loved how my new dress showed off my larger rack, my 38DD boobs hid the small bump I was so proud of. Because of how far my boobs pushed out the top of my dress it wasn't immediately obvious that I was pregnant. Nathan walked in while I was putting the finishing touches on dinner. The main course and sides were keeping warm in the oven. The table was mostly set when my husband walked through the door. The plates were already out, as was the salad, but I still needed to put out the glasses and silverware. I had also put out the candlesticks to help create a romantic atmosphere; the candles still needed to be lighted. Compared to my usual standards I was running a bit behind schedule. The unexpected errand I had to run before returning home to prepare dinner accounted for that. My husband approached me from behind as I was leaning over the table to put out the silverware. He put my arms around my pregnant belly and I turned my head around so he could capture my lips in a sweet kiss. His hands slowly roamed up me as he deepened the kiss. I shrieked when his hands reached my chest and I felt him squeeze my boobs. "Welcome home, Nathan," I breathed out once my husband pulled away from the kiss. My husband took a step back at that point and looked me over. His eyes lingered on my belly, determining if he could make out the slightest of bumps through my maternity dress. He then moved his gaze to my chest and let his eyes linger on my breasts. I could feel the wetness rushing to my pussy. I needed my husband so badly and we hadn't even sat down to dinner yet. "I love your new dress, Lizzie," Nathan remarked, his eyes never leaving my boobs. I loved it when my husband objectified me like that. It made me feel so womanly; so wanted and desired. "It's your fault I'm wearing it," I playfully replied. "A maternity dress, Lizzie? I thought you said you weren't ready for them?" he asked, knowing full well that I was wearing a maternity dress. "Yes, Nathan. I grew too big for my old skirts and dresses thanks to you," I retorted. My pussy was soaking wet and I wanted nothing more than for my husband to just throw me down, even if it was on the floor, and fuck my brains out. "I wouldn't be a good husband if I didn't do something about this," Nathan says, pushing my hair aside and placing his warm lips on my neck. "No you wouldn't," I manage to breathe out as he brought his hands up to cup my boobs through the fabric of my dress. "I agree," Nathan replies. I can only moan as he reaches under the hem of my dress and slowly works his way up my thighs to reach my clit. I'm reduced to a puddle of goo when he starts to play with my clit through the soaking wet fabric of my panties. "Take me Nathan! Uhhhh! Please! Take me! Ahhhh! I need you so badly," I begged my husband as he continued to rub my clit through my panties. "Not now," Nathan firmly told me. "After dinner," he said a second later, pulling his hand away from my clit. "Please Nathan! Please," I begged him. "No. We'll have dinner first," my husband said. "Good things come to those who wait and good things will come to you after dinner," Nathan said, leaving no room for disagreement. "As you wish, Nathan," I told my husband, giving up any thought of hope of sex with my husband before dinner. Working to gather my bearings, I stood up straight and gave my husband a quick kiss on the cheek. I started to walk over to the oven so I could take dinner out of the oven. As badly as I needed to have sex, first and foremost I was a good wife. That meant I obeyed my husband and respected his wishes. If he wanted dinner first and then sex, sex would wait until after dinner. Dinner was absolutely torturous that night. I just wanted it to end so we could get to our after-dinner activities. The anticipation of those activities only aroused me further. Even with the panty liner I was wearing I was surprised I wasn't dripping all over the chair and the floor; I was that wet from thinking what was going to come once we finally finished dinner. I needed my husband so badly. No food would be able to satiate my craving. Only my husband's stiff cock would be able to satiate it. Once we were finally finished with dinner, I waited with bated breath to see what my husband's next move would be once I finished loading the dishwasher. Nathan was the man and I was a good wife. That meant it was my job to obey my husband and respect his wishes, and it was his job to lead. I became hopeful when he started to walk over to me as soon as the dishwasher clicked closed. My husband took my by the hand when he reached me. I needn't have worried. "Shall we, Elizabeth?" my husband asked as he held my hand. I always melted whenever he used my full name. "Lead the way, Nathan," I lustily replied. My husband needed no further encouragement. He led me upstairs to our bedroom so we could finally make love. We stared at each other for a few moments as we stood by the side of the bed. Soon, my husband reached up my dress to pull down my panties and hose. He traced the length of wet slit, briefly sticking a finger inside. "Nice and wet, Lizzie. Just how I like my pregnant wife," he remarked. His tone conveyed exactly what he intended to do; to dominate me and put me in my place as his wife. "Please, Nathan! I need you so badly! Please fuck my brains out!" I begged my husband. He was clearly having none of it though and was determined to draw this out. "Not so quick, Elizabeth," my husband teased me. "First I need to undress you," he said, reaching behind my back and starting to unzip my dress. "Then hurry up!" I begged, impatience seeping into my voice. "First let me finish getting you out of your dress," my husband says, pulling the sleeves off my outstretched arms. With nothing to hold it in place, my dress fell to the floor and pooled at my feet. "Now let me move to your bra," he said, reaching behind me and unhooking my bra. He then slipped my new 38DD bra off my arms and let it fall to the floor. "Nathan!" I breathed out when used his hands to cup my breasts, causing my boobs and most of my upper body to jiggle. "I believe it's time we relocated this to the bed," my husband said. His tone and presence were firm and dominant, exactly like I needed. "Oh god! Yes!" I moaned out as my husband gently eased me onto the bed. I instinctively spread my smooth legs and lifted them in the air; my wet, willing cunt welcoming my husband's hard cock in. "You need me to put you in your place, don't you Lizzie?" Nathan rhetorically asked as he mounted me. "Yes, Nathan! Oh god, yes!" I moaned, needing my husband inside me already. "You need me to remind you that you're my wife, don't you?" my husband rhetorically asked, completely dominating me. "Nathan! Ahhhhh! Nathan!" I screamed out my husband's name as he finally entered me. I was a woman completely surrendered to her pleasure with my husband inside me. My body was on fire. All I could do is feel the wonderful sensations he was causing inside me. My whole body tensed and my back arched up. My cunt gripped my husband's cock like a fist as we came together. When I came down from my orgasm, I made my way down to my husband's cock to lick it clean. It was my own personal lollipop and I had really developed a taste for it over the past few months. That done, I made my back up to the head of the bed and snuggled into my husband's arms. Sleep found both of us almost instantaneously. Falling asleep in Nathan's arms was one of my favorite things in the world. As I entered my third trimester I thought about how much I had changed over the preceding six months. Six months ago, I reluctantly put on a dress only because I recognized the fact that I was a pregnant woman. Now, I couldn't imagine wearing anything other than skirts or dresses. Six months ago, I never thought that they would succeed in making me think like a woman; they might be able to transform me physically, but they would never be able to transform me mentally. Now, I was a thoroughly feminine creature in both body and mind. Six months ago, I never thought I could become a happy housewife. Now, I was so happy and content precisely because I was a housewife. Looking down at my growing belly, all sorts of warm thoughts entered my mind. How lucky I was to have Nathan as my husband. How lucky I was to have undergone my transformation. How lucky I was to be a woman. How lucky I was to have this life growing inside of me. How lucky I was to be a housewife. How lucky I was to have this life of simplicity where all I had to focus on was keeping my husband happy. Far from missing the life I had six months ago - as a man and high-priced attorney - I didn't want to even contemplate going back to it. All I wanted for myself was to remain a housewife for the rest of my life. Nathan increased his kind attentions during my third trimester. Before then he brought home gifts for me two or three times per week. Now, he would bring me flowers or chocolates everyday. He always checked in on me several times per day and made sure that I wasn't overexerting myself with my volunteering or my housework. He only relented to my protestations that I was pregnant and not an invalid - and therefore capable of fulfilling all my domestic responsibilities - when my obstetrician reassured him that it was perfectly safe for me to continue doing the housework. Still, he would remind me that I should pace myself and not move too quickly. Nathan also pampered me even more than he usually did when I entered my third trimester. He increased the limit on my credit card and insisted that I go to the spa twice every week. He made it clear that I should get the deluxe package every time I went, which came with an hourlong massage. My husband was sensitive to my aches and pains. He wanted to alleviate them as much as possible because he understood that I was carrying this baby for us and the physical toll that took on my body. One night during my seventh month, Nathan sat me down after dinner so that we could talk. My husband wanted to explain to me the story behind how I wound up a Stepford wife and how I wound up the type of Stepford wife that I did. When I started my transformation, the doctor explicitly said that I was brought to Stepford to undergo the transformation and become a Stepford wife. Nathan confirmed the doctor was being truthful and that Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs had intentionally sought me out because it thought I made an excellent candidate for transformation and life as a Stepford wife. But that wasn't what Nathan really wanted to discuss. My husband wanted to discuss the big picture. The big picture, Nathan explained, is that Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs made the overwhelming majority of its money on the transformations. The Labs created dream wives to order. I was such a dream wife. Nathan knew from the moment I arrived at the Men's Club that night that I was his wife-to-be. I had passed all the tests and met all the requirements. From there, it was a foregone conclusion that I would become a Stepford girl. However, in many ways I was the exception to the rule. That was because most transformed women were only in Stepford through their transformation, training and wedding before going elsewhere. Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs couldn't sustain itself if it limited transformations to Stepford's single men. My transformation, my husband explained, was part of a broader debate within the Labs regarding the transformation process and the women that emerge from the transformation process. The debate basically broke along generational lines, with the older generation on one side and the younger generation on the other side. Nathan was no exception to the rule, siding with his generational peers. And, from my understanding of what my husband said, he was among the leaders of his generational cohorts. "The debate is all about women's intelligence post-transformation," Nathan explained. "On everything else there is complete agreement between everyone. There's nothing else that we seek to change. We all believe in traditional gender roles. We believe that a woman's place is in the home and nowhere else. We believe that women should play supportive roles. We believe that a woman's role is to keep the house and raise the children. We believe that a woman should not aspire to anything beyond being a housewife and a mother. We do believe in the equality of the sexes, but we do not believe in it in the way that contemporary feminism believes in equality. We believe that equality does not come from identical rights, privileges and responsibilities. Gender roles weren't created solely by men; they evolved into existence for a reason. We believe that equality flows from the equilibrium that is created when men and women fulfill the separate and distinct roles that nature created for each of them. When we pursue this equilibrium, we pursue an ideal society. Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs developed the transformation process so that we could put our beliefs into practice and strive to create this ideal society and the harmony that comes with it. We aren't completely there yet, but I believe that we have made great strides towards it," my husband explained. I sat there silently, contemplating my husband's words. Immediately after my physical transformation I would have been incensed hearing these words, dismissing them as seeking to sugarcoat and whitewash the wholesale subjugation of Stepford's women. Now, having gone through the mental transformation that accompanied my physical transformation, I much better understood my husband's words. They were the words of an idealist. Stepford didn't create its society so that its men could subjugate its women. Stepford created its society as a noble experiment. That noble experiment, in my opinion, seemed to be succeeding quite well. Far from being depressed from being limited to our supportive and traditional role, Stepford's women were quite happy; happier than women in society at large. I knew I was certainly happier than any woman I knew in my old life. It was hard to attribute this difference to anything else other than the traditional society created by Stepford. Seeing Nathan still wanted to speak, I motioned him to continue before I would respond. "You have to understand, Elizabeth, the younger generation shares the vision of the older generation. We share the same basic desires for ourselves and society. We want our wives to know, understand and appreciate their place in the world. We want our wives to be housewives. We our wives to center their lives around their husbands. We want our wives to be dutiful and obedient. We want our wives to wear only skirts and dresses. We want our wives to be completely traditional from the way they dress to the way they behave to the way they view their place in the world. This is the society that the older generation created and it is the society that we of the younger generation seek to continue. We don't seek to change that society so that our town matches the broader society out there. We seek to improve the traditional society that our elders created; to preserve it and enhance it," my husband explained. As with the first part of his explanation, seven months ago I would have been completely incensed hearing these words. Now I saw these words quite differently. I saw them as an expression of love; love for me personally and love for society as a whole. Because of that love my husband had a burning desire to improve the world. It was a desire to improve the world not just for the benefit of society, but also to improve the world directly for my benefit and that of the child I was carrying. Those thoughts made me feel extremely warm inside and tears of happiness came to my eyes. We sat in quiet joy for a few moments before I summoned the willpower to collect myself so I could form coherent thoughts and reply to my husband. "What does women's intelligence have to do with all of this?" I asked my husband through my tears, not understanding the connection between the transformation process and intelligence. "Elizabeth," my husband softly said, before continuing, "Intelligence, my dear Elizabeth, is all about how best to ensure a woman understands, appreciates and embraces her role in the world. It's about how to complete the mental transformation and bring about the best mental transformation possible. The physical transformation is useless without the mental transformation," Nathan explained. "The truth is that the mental transformation would happen anyway in the wake of the physical transformation because the human mind has an amazing capacity to adapt. However, as you well know, some adaptations are better than others. But the mental transformation and the mind's adaption are not really about the feminization of the mind, acceptance of womanhood and identification as female because those will happen regardless. What it's really about is changing a woman's perception of what it means to be a woman in broader society and getting a woman to embrace it. How to accomplish that is where the older generation and the younger generation differ," my husband said and then paused for a moment. "The older generation," Nathan continued, "believes that the best way to accomplish this is to strip women of their intelligence, effectively making them complete airheads. In your case I believe this would have meant turning you into what they call a dumb blonde," my husband explained. A small giggle escaped my lips. Nathan then continued, "They believe that a woman can only embrace her proper role if she cannot conceive of, or imagine, any other possibilities. I suspect you have already contemplated why certain women here lack intelligence and I believe you can see this theory at work in Stepford," my husband said. "Laura Jennings and Helena Turnbull," I replied, the names escaping my mouth before I even had a chance to think. "They're both really sweet. They've helped me greatly in adapting to Stepford and showing me the joy that comes with being housewives and mothers. They're wise in their own ways. However, I immediately noticed that it was impossible to hold anything resembling an intelligent conversation with them. Neither of them is particularly big on thinking, with Helena often saying that too much thinking brings us wrinkles. Simply put, the space between their ears seems completely empty and they live up to the stereotype of being dumb blondes," I continued. I could see my husband nodding his agreement as I spoke. "Precisely," Nathan replied. "Mark Jennings and Douglas Turnbull are among the leaders of the older generation. Mark is the chief deputy science officer at Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs and in two years he will succeed to the position of chief science officer. He comes from a distinguished legacy at the Labs, as his father headed the team that successfully developed the transformation process. Doug, while employed in the oil industry, is one of the largest shareholders in the Labs and his opinion therefore carries great weight, particularly with the older generation," my husband explained. "So it's obvious the younger generation views intelligence differently and believes that women should maintain their intelligence," I say, stating the obvious. "So my question," I tell my husband, "is why? Why does the younger generation view intelligence differently? What makes it want to women who keep their intelligence?" "We believe that maintaining a woman's intelligence helps facilitate the mental transformation, making it easier and more successful. Ultimately, it makes for a better appreciation and embrace of her proper role as a woman - that of wife and mother and nothing beyond those roles," my husband answers me. "Having lived her life on both sides of the gender divide, she can use her intelligence to understand her limitations and realize and accept her place as a housewife and mother. She aspires to nothing beyond that precisely because she can imagine the other possibilities - particularly because she is a former professional - and she knows that those possibilities are not for her. She knows that being a housewife is the most appropriate role for her. That is why she embraces it. That is why she centers her life around her husband. This is all only possible because she retains her intelligence. That is why we of the younger generation want our wives to retain the intelligence they already possess. We believe that it enhances the embrace of traditional gender roles, which helps creates that ideal society in Stepford. Men are free to be men; women are free to be women," my husband explains. "I'm sure you've contemplated this question as well and you can easily identify it at play from your own experiences and interactions in Stepford," he tells me. "Vicky and me," I reply instantaneously. "Both of us are from very elite educational backgrounds with both our undergraduate and graduate degrees from Ivy League institutions. We both had demanding jobs that require high intelligence - Vicky a surgical resident; me a lawyer on the partner track at a white-shoe law firm. We were both considered highly intelligent and accomplished before our transformations and it certainly seems like our intelligence remains even if we no longer desire the professional accomplishments. We are both happy and content housewives. Having lived those possibilities, we can easily imagine the possibilities of which you speak. Vicky could easily return to the operating room and resume her surgical training. I could easily return to the legal environment and be a big law partner within three or four years. However, we love our lives as women and housewives. We understand our limitations as women. We know what role we fill best and what makes us the happiest and most content. That is why we are happy housewives. That is why we center our lives around our husbands. That is why we are dutiful and obedient. That is why we cherish the lives we have been given. That is why we are thankful for our transformations. Our intelligence is what makes this all possible. It is what has made our mental transformations so spectacularly successful," I tell my husband, the words flowing out with the same speed and eloquence that I demonstrated in the courtroom and writing during my legal career. "Exactly," Nathan replies. "Dan Hughes, Ethan Cameron and I are considered the leaders of the younger generation. Dan and I both looked for exactly these qualities when selecting our wives and Ethan will do the same when he's ready to get married in a few years," my husband explains. "Related to the fact that we believe intelligence aides, rather than hinders, transformation," Nathan continues, "we believe that happiness is best achieved when husband and wife are intellectual equals. That is why in addition to the physical qualifications we consider the intellectual qualifications to be equally important when selecting our wives." "There's one other connection that I've seemed to notice is connected to a woman's intelligence in Stepford," I start, at which point my husband interrupts me. "It's that whether or not a woman has sex with other women seems to be dependent on whether she's been stripped of her intelligence or retains her intelligence," my husband finishes for me. "Yes," I reply. "They are connected," Nathan says. "They reflect the respective generations' view with regards to monogamy. Both generations agree that men should be exclusively monogamous, limiting our sexual relationships solely to our wives. Where we differ is how we view women's monogamy. The older generation views women's monogamy through a modified physical- emotional lens. They view women's monogamy through a physical lens when it comes to sex with men; the only man a monogamous woman has sex with is her husband. However, when it comes to sex with other women, they view it through an emotional lens. Because a woman's emotional bond is with her husband - and she's only having sex with other women for physical gratification with no emotional bond being formed - it is not viewed as a violation of a woman's vow to be faithful to her husband. Effectively, the older generation defines a woman's monogamy in relation solely based on her sexual relationships with men; sexual relationships with women have no bearing on whether or not she is considered monogamous," my husband explains. "This also makes it quite evident which members of the younger generation adhere to the opinion held by the older generation. This is both because you can see their wives having sex with other women and talk to their wives and see that they completely lack intelligence, much like those of the older generation. Their true peers are women of the older generation - women such as Laura Jennings and Helena Turnbull - and not the women of the younger generation - women such as Victoria Hughes and Elizabeth Adams," Nathan says. A small giggle escapes my lips from my husband referring to me in the third person. "That difference is immediately apparent though, whether it's through conversation or whether it's through being at Wednesday Afternoon Tea and being able to observe whether a woman is having sex with the other women present," I remark. "It's part of the transformation process," Nathan says. "When the younger generation transforms our wives, we include a genetic predisposition to the broader societal definition of monogamy - namely that a woman has no desire for sex with any person besides her husband. The older generation does not include such a predisposition. They instead rely upon societal norms so that the only man a woman sleeps with is her husband, but do nothing to curb sexual activity with other women. Their wives keep the sexual attraction to women that they have immediately after their transformation and then that attraction is effectively reinforced through their sexual acts at Wednesday Afternoon Tea," my husband explains. "In simpler terms, since they don't see sex with other women as interfering in their rights with respect to their wives, they don't care," Nathan bluntly states. Nathan's explanation about how and why I came to be a Stepford wife - and why he designed me as he did - makes me feel extremely loved and extremely wanted. I have this life because Nathan loves me and wanted me exactly as I am. He wanted a wife that was his intellectual equal and because of her intellect could appreciate and embrace her place in the world. For that reason the revelation that he made only deepens my love for my husband and I know it will only strengthen our marriage. I am happier, and prouder, than ever to be Nathan's wife and to be carrying his child. The warm, fuzzy, feelings coursing through me made me decide that Nathan deserved a reward for being such a good man and such a good husband. These past few months I'd developed a real taste for my husband's manhood - it was my personal lollypop - and now it was time to satisfy that taste once again. So I walked over to my husband, bent down to kiss him on the lips and then slowly moved my way down towards his crotch. By the time his crotch was staring me in the face I was on my knees and it was clear, even through my husband's pants, that he was already erect. I opened the button on his pants, unzipped his fly and used my dainty hands to pull his stiff member through the slit in his boxers. "Oh hello!" I said, placing a quick kiss on the exposed tip of my husband's cock. Once my mouth was free I pulled his pants and boxers down just enough so that his cock was now free. I rewarded myself by gently cupping his balls and licking the length of his hard shaft. Rewarded by my husband's moans I continued to lick his shaft. My goal was simple. Torture my husband enough that he would take control. When I slowly started to take my husband in, it was enough torture for him. I felt his hands come behind my head and force me to take him in more. My husband was holding my head in place, dominating me exactly like I needed to be dominated. I finally took my husband all the way inside my mouth and Nathan rewarded me by making his grip on the back of my head and my neck firmer. I used what little freedom I had to move my mouth back and forth along the length of his stiff member and to lick that wonderful dick of his. It was my own personal pleasure stick, whether it was fucking my brains out inside my pussy or whether it was my personal lollypop that I licked until it erupted. I felt so wonderfully submissive servicing my husband on my knees. Any woman that tells you otherwise when it comes to servicing her husband on her knees is lying. I brought Nathan to the brink and then eased off. Just because he had firm control of my head didn't mean that I couldn't torture him some more. When I could feel him come to the brink a second time I increased my pace. I was rewarded when I felt my husband's dick begin to twitch against my tongue and the inside of my cheeks. Nathan's load exploded into my mouth. I greedily swallowed my husband's cum, savoring the taste like I once upon a time I savored the taste of a fine bourbon. As my husband released his grip on my head and neck, I licked the length of his shaft clean. "Good to the last drop," I said as I kissed the tip of his of his cock and get one last taste of his cum to finish off the blowjob. Throughout my third trimester it gradually became more difficult to complete my housework. The physical toll pregnancy takes on the body made physical labor more challenging and left me more easily exhausted. Cleaning the house now took two days instead of one. I needed more time to prepare dinner for Nathan so that he wouldn't come home to a basic dinner every night. Midday naps became the order of the day. My husband enforced this regime through his constant communication with my obstetrician and his gentle reminders that I was a housewife without set schedules and deadlines. When Nathan protected me like that, it only made me appreciate my husband even more. One thing I loved as I entered my third trimester was the fact that my bump was now big enough that it was clearly evident through my maternity dresses, even with how far my 38DD breasts pushed out the top of those dresses. I loved it when everyone could see that I was pregnant and all the women in Stepford wanted to come and touch my belly. It made me feel so special, especially since everyone knew this was my first pregnancy. I was very proud of my bump and it was great that it was now so readily on display. The greatest thing about the third trimester, though, is that it was during that trimester that I had the most frequent sex and the most amazing sex. Throughout the first four-and-a-half months of our marriage, Nathan and I had really amazing sex and we had that really amazing sex quite frequently. We would usually have sex at least three times during the week and then twice a day on the weekends. By the beginning of my seventh we had started fucking everyday during the week and three or four times on the weekend. Even when I was completely exhausted it didn't matter. My husband just had to reach up my dress, pull down my panties and pantyhose, throw me down on the bed and I was instantly wet. He'd fuck my brains out and I would just lay there with my post-orgasm glow once he was done. Once I hit my seventh month, my biweekly obstetrician visits became weekly obstetrician visits. A clear sign that I was now mentally fully female came during those visits. The stirrups on the examination table no longer bothered me. I was completely used to, and okay with, spreading my legs and putting them in the stirrups so my obstetrician could examine me to ensure my baby and I were healthy. What did bother me, though, was the scale that showed my increased weight and the fact that I could no longer see my feet when looking down. It was completely irrational considering it was perfectly normal and my weight gain and increase in bump size were within normal parameters. I was simply a typical, irrational female when it came to that. Despite those reassurances from my doctor, and my husband's reassurances that he still found me extremely attractive, I nonetheless continued to bother my husband and complain about my weight. Nathan partially encouraged this by fucking my brains out every time I bothered him, so I continued and made my protestations more frequent. I was constantly wet throughout my third trimester. My real pregnancy craving wasn't food; it was sex. The only way my craving could be fulfilled was with a steady diet of my husband's cock inside me, fucking my brains out. Eventually, though, my protestations became too much for my husband. One Saturday, after I woke up from my afternoon nap, I made my usual complaints about my weight and size to my husband and whether he still found me attractive. Nathan was done coddling and encouraging me. He took me by the hand and led me downstairs to the kitchen. He opened the cabinet, pulled out a glass and then opened the refrigerator. "We need to treat you with some aversion therapy, Lizzie," my husband told me, reaching into the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle containing a blueberry smoothie. "From now on, whenever you complain about your weight or your size, or whenever you ask me if i still find you attractive, you're going to have a full glass of this smoothie. You're eating for two right now and you're so big because you have a life growing in that extended belly of yours. I think that makes you extremely hot - hotter than when you're not pregnant. I hope that makes you realize that I'm going to love you and find you attractive no matter how big you get. In fact, I'm very horny right now from seeing you get so large because you're carrying our child inside you. So unless you secretly want to get bigger or fatter, I suggest you stop complaining about your weight and your size. Now open your mouth nice and wide Lizzie, just like you would for my cock when you're giving me a blowjob," my husband tells me. I licked my lips in anticipation and felt the wetness rush to my pussy. I opened my mouth wide so Nathan could feed me the smoothie. I moaned in pleasure as the cold liquid entered my mouth. I felt the taste of the blueberry on my tongue and greedily swallowed it like I would swallow my husband's cum after I sucked him off. Nathan continued to pour the smoothie into my mouth until the glass was empty. I continued to greedily swallow it, eager to please my husband. Nathan was perfect. He knew exactly how to keep me in my place as his wife. I didn't have to worry about almost anything, especially my size and weight, anymore. All I had to worry about was keeping my husband happy, but that's exactly how it should be. Yes, I was still intelligent, but sometimes I was guilty of overthinking things. In that case, one of Helena's favorite sayings rang true, "Too much thinking brings us wrinkles." Once I was done with the smoothie, Nathan walked me over to his home office. There was a wide couch in there that I sometimes used for my afternoon naps. He reached under my dress to pull down my panties and hose. I was dripping wet and my panties and hose showed it - they were soaked through. My husband immediately opened his pants and pulled them down. My husband was going to remind me I was his wife with the good, hard, fuck I so desperately needed. I instinctively spread my legs and raised them in the air, inviting my husband's dick into my warm, wet cunt. My husband hitched up my dress and plunged right in. I moaned like a whore as my husband entered me. My pleasure increased beyond measurable limits once he brought one hand up to play with my boobs through the fabric of my dress and used his other hand to play with my clit. I was a woman completely lost to my pleasure. "Ahhh! Nathan! Oh my god! Ahhhhh!" I moaned out, incapable of coherent thoughts or words. "You're eating for two, Lizzie," Nathan grunted between thrusts. "You talk to the doctor at your next appointment to make sure that you're gaining enough weight and are healthy," my husband suggested. I panted my agreement. It was very selfish of me to put my figure ahead of my health and our baby's health. Between my moans, I promised my husband that I'd listen to my doctor and do everything he deemed necessary for my health and our baby's health. My husband picked up the pace of his thrusts. Soon both of us were on the brink. One final thrust sent us both over the edge. My cunt gripped my husband's cock tightly and the two of us orgasmed together. After I licked my husband's dick clean, I snuggled into him. I thanked him for protecting me and looking after me as we both drifted off for an afternoon nap. At my next doctor's appointment, my obstetrician reassured me that my weight gain was normal and healthy. They were well within normal parameters for my hypothetical pre-pregnancy weight and frame. He explained that my concerns were very common for first-time mothers in Stepford. He said there was nothing for me to worry about. My doctor said that I should simply continue what I was doing. If anything else about my pregnancy concerned me, he said that I should feel free to call him. However, he did say that I should listen to my husband more often instead of overthinking things. It was very comforting to hear the doctor say those words. As intelligent as I was, it was nice and comforting to have a man reassure me and protect me from my bad instincts. My doctor made clear that he and my husband would handle all the medical issues. All I needed to do was listen to their guidance. That would keep both my baby and I healthy. It would also make sure that I would keep my husband happy. As a good housewife with my life centered around my husband, keeping him happy was one of my main priorities. That afternoon my husband called me to tell me that we were having a date night and that we were going out, so I needn't bother cooking dinner. I made quick calls to the hairdressers and the salon so I could be extra pretty for my husband. After I finished at the hairdressers and salon, I stopped at my favorite clothing boutique so I could pick out a new dress and lingerie. It had been a long time since Nathan and I had last had a date night, and after everything he done the last few days to protect me and look after me I wanted to be extra pretty to show my husband how much I appreciated him. When Nathan arrived home that evening, he came home to a wife more than ready for their date night. My hair and makeup were perfectly done. My legs were nice and smooth from the waxing. My red dress hugged my ripe curves, perfectly accentuating my breasts and highlighting the baby bump I was so proud of. It came to an end two inches below my knee and hid from my husband's view the matching red bra and panties underneath. Finishing everything off, I wore four-inch heels that matched my dress and pearl necklace and earrings that Nathan bought me several months back. What Nathan could most definitely not see was how that bra displayed my 38DD boobs for his enjoyment. For that he would have to wait until we returned home after dinner and he finally divested me of the dress. My husband stared at me in complete awe. I loved how he took his time staring at my breasts as his gaze roamed over my body. I absolutely loved it when my husband objectified me like that. It made me feel special and womanly and desired. If not for the fact that we had reservations at the most expensive restaurant in town, I think Nathan would have taken me to the bedroom and had his way with me right then and there. He was fond of saying that patience was a virtue and good things come to those who wait. Tonight he would get a taste of his own medicine because he would undoubtedly be thinking of divesting me of my clothing throughout the entirety of dinner. "Before we leave, I have a gift for you sweetheart," my husband told me, reaching into his briefcase and pulling out a long and narrow package from my favorite jeweler. He pulled a wrapped box out of the bag and handed it to me. "Thank you, Nathan," I sweetly said, kissing my husband on the cheek and taking the box from him. I gently remove the wrapping paper. I carefully open the box and the jewelry case inside it . Inside the case there's a pearl bracelet that matches the necklace and earrings that I'm currently wearing. I look to my husband, happy tears escaping my eyes. "Here, let me help you with it," Nathan says, removing it from the case and taking the bracelet in his hand. I instinctively hold out my left hand so that my husband can put it around my wrist. "It's beautiful, Nathan," I tell my husband as I gaze upon on how it looks on my wrist once he's fastened it. "I love to get beautiful things for my beautiful wife," he tells me, giving me a sweet kiss on the lips. "Come on, let's get to dinner," he says, giving me his hand and leading me to the garage so that we could head over to the restaurant. Nathan's pampering continued throughout my third trimester. When he started small things like flowers and chocolates were the norm; more expensive items, such as bracelets, were the exception. That seemingly changed overnight. The starting point was the day of the obstetrician's visit and date night when he bought me the pearl bracelet. For the rest of my pregnancy both the smaller items and the more expensive items appeared with relatively equal frequency. One evening my husband would bring home a box of chocolates; the next evening he would bring home sexy lingerie for me to personally model for him. It made me feel very special. I always wept happily. My husband's pampering of me made for an amazing third trimester. The love and care that he showed me made all the aches and pains worth it. It made me want to be a good wife; to be dutiful and live up to my domestic responsibilities to keep our home. Nathan's tender affections helped keep me in my place. I've read that many women consider the second trimester the best trimester because the morning sickness goes away and the aches and pains of the third trimester haven't arrived yet. I respectfully disagree. My husband's pampering and attentions made the third trimester blow the second one out of the water. The ladies at the club were right. When I was as big as a house, there was nothing like my husband taking care of me. By the time I reached my ninth month, I was more than ready to give birth. The aches and pains were getting to me, but in reality I could deal with those knowing that they were there because my baby was growing normally and healthily inside me. Why I was really ready to give birth was because I was anxious to finally meet my child. As wonderful as it was having Nathan's bun in my oven, after all these months I just wanted to cradle my child in my arms. The thought of the natural birth I would be required to go through scared me, but that was easily overcome by the reward that awaited after - the child that would forever be the symbol of the love Nathan and I shared. Date nights became a regular occurrence during my ninth month. At least twice a week my husband would call me in the early afternoon to let me know we were going out that night and I shouldn't cook dinner. Perhaps it was simply my husband pampering me even further. Perhaps it was his sense that once our child was born date nights would not be so easy to have on a whim because we would need a babysitter. I wasn't complaining though. As much as I loved cooking, especially a home-cooked meal for my husband when he came home from a long day of work to provide for us, I loved date night with him just as much. One afternoon, Nathan called me to let me know we were having a date night that night. I was already out for lunch with Vicky and we decided that we would do some shopping hearing that news. We went to my favorite boutique for our impromptu shopping trip. I bought two new dresses. One was for tonight. Vicky said she'd drop that by my house so it would be waiting for me when I got home and then went on her way. The other dress I wore out of the store. I had something else in mind for that. I made the quick walk from the boutique to Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs. I knew Nathan was in the office today and not the lab. When I arrived there they directed me up to his office. The secretary outside knocked on his door and announced my presence. My husband took one look at me and told the secretary to block off his schedule for the next half-hour and that he was not to be bothered. I walked into my husband's office, a small smile gracing my lips. My husband was sitting in his chair, facing the window. When I reached him the enjoyment Nathan was getting from what the dress did for my body was visibly evident. My husband was unable to take his eyes off of me and his erection was quite visible and noticeable through his pants. Nathan pulled me onto his lap. Soon I was bouncing up and down, his hands playing with my boobs through the fabric of my dress. He finished me off reaching up my dress and playing with my clit through the thin fabric of my panties and pantyhose. He refused to fuck me, saying that needed to wait until we got home from dinner. It only made me hornier. When I finished at Nathan's office I made a quick appointment at the hairdressers so I could get my hair done for the date. It was all out of place after thirty minutes bouncing up and down on my husband's lap. When I got home the other dress I bought that afternoon was waiting for me, just as Vicky promised. I quickly did my own makeup and changed into the new dress so I was ready by the time my husband got home. Nathan kept his promise and that night I went to sleep snuggled in his arms, the post-orgasmic glow still radiating from my body. Speaking to Laura and Helena about their pregnancy experiences, I knew it was quite common for women in Stepford to start lactating well before giving birth. Both of them lactated before giving birth during all of their pregnancies. Laura told me she generally started lactating in her fifth month. Helena said she usually started lactating in her sixth month. Aside from a few drops leaking from my boobs irregularly, which my obstetrician assured me was common and normal, I hadn't lactated at all during my pregnancy. When I spoke to Vicky she said the same was true for her. Aside from a few drops of leakage, she had never lactated before giving birth during any of her pregnancies. One night I awoke to throbbing boobs. I could feel a few drops of leaked colostrum in the cups of my nightie, but not really anything more than usual. It wasn't anything that warranted me getting the breast pump. It didn't feel like I was lactating. It felt like the usual leakage that I had occasionally been having. I made my way over to the bathroom so that I could have a better look. I made sure to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake my husband since he had work in the morning. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw two small wet spots on my chest; one on each cup of my nightie around the nipple. It was definitely more than usual, this being the first time it noticeably stained through. However, it didn't feel like any additional milk was coming down. Yes, my boobs were throbbing, but they didn't feel engorged and like they needed to be drained. I carefully pulled down the bodice of my nightie so I could more closely examine them. What they did look was bigger. It seemed my 38DD boobs had grown some more and some new, and larger, bras were in my future. Staring at my bigger boobs for a minute or two, I then pulled off the remainder of my nightie. I looked myself over in the mirror, giving close examination to the changes pregnancy was bringing to my body; the boobs that were now nice and large and the belly that was very much expanded. While the belly would hopefully go away after birth until I was pregnant again, I was very much hoping I'd be able to keep the boobs. I loved my large tits; how my husband ogled them and the pleasurable sensations they caused in my body when Nathan or I would handle them. The throbbing my boobs eventually broke me of my reverie. I brought my dainty hands up to my tits and started to massage them. It hurt a little more and first, but soon the massaging eased the pain and I felt significantly better. A little more milk started to leak from them, but I still didn't feel engorged or feel any need to have them drained. It did, however, elicit some excitement in my body; excitement that flowed straight to my crotch. I was now quite wet. Despite my best efforts to keep quiet and not wake my husband, those efforts didn't work. In the middle of my quiet moans, I heard my husband stir and get out of bed. Soon I saw his reflection in the mirror. He wrapped his hands around me and hefted my boobs, causing them and most of my upper body to jiggle. "I think they've gotten larger," Nathan declared. "This warrants some closer inspection," he said, starting to play with them. I mustered all my willpower to stay upright and not fall back into him. "Come to bed, Elizabeth. I think we need to do something more about this," my husband said once he finished playing with my boobs. He gave me his hand and then led me back to bed. I could feel my wetness increase. My hands bracing my lower back, I waddled back to bed. I rearranged my pregnancy pillow so that my belly could rest on it once I got into bed. My large breasts swayed gently as I settled into bed on my hands and knees. Comfortably settled, I offered my warm, wet pussy to my husband. I moaned lustily as his hard prick slid inside me. I wanted this - no, I needed this so badly. I felt his hands roaming all over my ripe curves as he fucked me. My boobs slapped together with each thrust, the extra meat on my thighs and ass causing them to jiggle. I couldn't form any coherent words or thoughts, a woman completely lost to her pleasure with her husband inside her. "You love being knocked up, don't you Elizabeth?" my husband grunted between this thrusts. I somehow managed to pant in response that all I wanted anymore in my life was to be his wife and have his children. "Then I guess it's a good thing I plan to keep you nice and pregnant for a while yet," my husband told me. My body started to tense up as it came to the brink. My cunt gripped him like a fist and I felt him start to erupt inside me. My own orgasm washed over me as my husband came. There were two little wet stains on the sheet under my tits. The next day I once again visited my favorite boutique so I could be fitted for new and larger bras. Vicky joined me, deciding she would buy something nice that she could model for Daniel. When the shop assistant proclaimed me a 38F, Vicky exclaimed, "We can share bras now! Now you have large tits, even by Stepford standards!" I giggled in response, eager to buy some pretty bras so that I could showcase my large rack for my husband. Throughout my ninth month my household chores became progressively more difficult to accomplish. As much as I wanted to clean my house on the same schedule as when I was newly married it was impossible. As much as I wanted to cook the elaborate dinners every night that I had cooked seven months earlier that too was impossible. I still managed to keep our house clean and in okay shape and I still managed to have dinner on the table for my husband when he got home from work, but it wasn't up to my own high personal standards. It didn't matter that Nathan constantly reassured me I was still a good wife. I was looking forward to the day I could do all those things again. As my due date neared, I longed even more to hold my child in my arms. It was then that Vicky told me no woman in Stepford delivers early or even on her due date. Every woman in Stepford carries longer and gives birth after her calculated due date. Vicky told me I should expect to carry about a week past my due date and that my obstetrician wouldn't worry or do anything to help the process along unless I was more than two weeks past my due date and there was no indication labor was imminent. However, she told me I didn't really need to worry about that because she had never heard of a first-time pregnancy going more than ten days beyond the due date. Despite being near the end of my ninth month I still didn't miss Wednesday Afternoon Tea. All the ladies excitedly rubbed my belly and telling me how much I would love giving birth and holding my baby in my arms for the first time. I was still skeptical about giving birth naturally and whether it would be as wonderful as all the other women said, but at this point I had no other choice. I chose to believe them, the excitement overcoming my fear. At that last Wednesday Afternoon Tea before my due date I saw a new girl there. Her slim figure and the nervousness written all over her face gave her away, much as mine did over eight months ago. I saw Laura walk over to her and introduce herself. I couldn't hear the words they exchanged, but I soon saw them locking lips. The new girl played with Laura's boobs and Laura soon lowered herself down the new girl's body and started to eat her out. The new girl was certainly enjoying herself, but she would never truly understand how completely everything changed for her in the same way that Vicky and I understood how completely everything changed for ourselves. As predicted, and expected, my due date came and went with me still pregnant. Vicky had told me several weeks before women never delivered early in Stepford and at my last obstetrician's visit before my due date he confirmed this fact. I once again was bound to be a typical Stepford woman, my pregnancy carrying on beyond forty weeks. Many months ago, even before my mental transformation had been complete, I had reconciled myself to the fact that I would become a mother. Now I reconciled myself to the fact that there was no way to predict with precision exactly when that would happen. Once I started carrying beyond my ninth month it felt as a switch flipped inside my body. The discomfort from pregnancy increased. The aches and pains during the day weren't really worse and they were more than manageable. What was unbearable was trying to sleep at night. No matter how hard I tried it went beyond the typical discomfort I had become used to during my third trimester. I simply couldn't find a comfortable position to sleep. I would eventually fall asleep, but it was because my body was overcome with sheer exhaustion and was far from comfortable. And even that sleep wasn't particularly good, since it was almost always restless and fitful. During that time Vicky became a regular visitor to my house. We would have lunch together everyday before she returned home to cook dinner for her husband. Sometimes I would manage to get myself out of the house and instead of eating lunch in my house we would go out to one of the restaurants downtown. It was difficult getting my pregnant body out of the house, but it was also worth the effort because being cooped up was driving me crazy. Vicky's visits were keeping me sane, especially those afternoons when I managed to summon up the ability to head out for lunch instead of eating in. Eight days past my due date, I began to feel some twinges at night. There wasn't any pattern to them and they produced discomfort more than anything else. The discomfort was slightly more than I had been experiencing, but it wasn't anything particularly horrible and I didn't think much of it. Those twinges continued into the morning, but I didn't say anything to my husband as I prepared breakfast for him and saw him off to work. I didn't want him suspecting I was in labor because then he would focus entirely on that. There was no need to concern him until I was actually in labor and it was almost time to go to the hospital. Besides the generally conjured image of a woman in labor automatically receiving an epidural - something that does not happen in Stepford for first-time deliveries, my obstetrician dispelled two common myths about what happens when a woman goes into labor. The first is that a woman goes to the hospital immediately upon the onset of labor. In fact, he told me that I had to wait my contractions were frequent enough and long enough before it was time for me to go to the hospital. The second is that the water breaks at the beginning of labor and that when it does the amniotic fluid comes gushing out. However, the water usually only breaks after labor has already begun and when it does, sometimes it gushes out, but sometimes it trickles out. I kept my obstetrician's words in mind as the twinges continued throughout the morning. The morning of my ninth day past my due date the twinges started to show somewhat of a pattern. I suspected I was in labor, but decided I would continue about my day for the time being. I did, however, start to mentally count how long the twinges lasted and how long separated the time between the twinges. When I was mentally honest with myself, I admitted that they weren't twinges; they were contractions. Vicky and I went out for lunch that afternoon. We went to my favorite Italian place, where I got my usual order of mushroom ravioli in Alfredo sauce. I had half the ravioli and then asked the waiter to have the other half wrapped up so I could finish it at home. Most people think pregnant women are always eating. That part is true. What isn't true is that we're eating it all at one sitting. We actually eat less at our meals than everyone else because the growth of the baby inside us pushes against our other internal organs. One casualty of this is our stomach, which during the later stages of pregnancy actually has significantly reduced capacity because of all the other organs pushing against it. "Lizzie?" I hear Vicky ask me. I realize that my body had just tensed up from a contraction. "Yes, Vicky?" I ask her, wanting to see where she's going with this. "I used to be a doctor and I have four kids," she knowingly tells me. What goes unsaid is that she's figured out I'm in labor. "Your point?" I ask, trying to play ignorant. "Don't play ignorant, Lizzie," she replies, seeing right through my ploy. "So then what is the question you want to ask?" I ask her. "Should I be calling Nathan?" she asks me. "Not yet, at least I don't think not yet," I tell her. "So far my contractions are lasting for about 45 seconds and they're about six minutes apart," I concede. "In that case, let me get the check and then we'll head over to my place so I can cook dinner for tonight," she tells me. "In the meantime, why don't you call Nathan and tell him that the two of you have been invited to dinner by Dan and me tonight," Vicky suggests. "Sounds good, but first I need to go to the bathroom," I tell her. "Yes, pee before we leave; par for the course with pregnancy," she giggles. Vicky motions our waiter for the check and I head to the bathroom so I can empty my bladder. By the time I got to the bathroom, I felt the dampness in my panties. The past several months I had been wearing panty liners day and night because I was constantly leaking pee and had no control over it. Things as simple as sneezing or laughing would cause me to leak pee. While it was perfectly normal - nearly every pregnant woman went through it - it was nonetheless embarrassing. The panty liners helped somewhat reduce the embarrassment because at least they kept the pee contained instead of it leaking through my panties and leaving stains on my skirts and dresses. When I got to the bathroom I locked the door behind me, pulled up my dress, pulled down my panties and pantyhose, and settled myself down on the toilet. I heard a trickle of fluid hit the water, but it felt odd. I hadn't eased the muscles I usually needed to in order to urinate and the liquid did not feel like it was coming from the usual spot. Given that I already had conceded that I was in labor, I knew it was quite possible that this was amniotic fluid and that it was nearing the time for me to go to the hospital. My pad could hold the answer to that question. If the fluid in there was yellow and had an odor it was likely urine; if the fluid was clear and odorless it was likely amniotic fluid. As I started to get up from the toilet so that I could investigate my panty liner, I felt a gush of liquid escape at my crotch. There was a large whooshing sound as the liquid hit the water in the toilet and I felt some of the resulting splash come back up to hit my ass and privates. There was no doubt now what that fluid was. My water had broken. I got myself ready to head back outside so I could call Nathan and let him know that it was time. In the meantime, I hoped that I didn't gush anymore fluid until I got to the hospital. "Change of plans," I told Vicky once I got back to our table. "I'm going to have to pass on dinner tonight," I told her. The wide smile on her face told me she understood the meaning of my words. "Do you need me to call Nathan?" she asked me. "That would be appreciated," I replied. "I don't know how I'm managing to keep so calm and collected right now and I know that if I got on the phone with my husband I would probably lose it immediately," I conceded. Nathan told us to remain at the restaurant and that he would be there shortly. Like the restaurant, Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs was in downtown Stepford. Within ten minutes of Vicky calling my husband, he was at the restaurant. By this point my calm was long gone and I was a volatile mixture of emotion - both nervousness and excitement. Nathan's arrival and cool demeanor calmed me down. He remained focused as he got me in the car for the short ride to the hospital. It was so nice and calming to have a man take charge of the situation. By the time we arrived at the hospital my contractions were now five minutes apart and they were lasting for a full minute. That was part of the criteria for when it was time to go to the hospital, although I likely would have gone anyway because my water had broke and had done so in such spectacular fashion. The resident quickly assessed my condition and he immediately had me admitted. It certainly helped that despite all my best efforts, every contraction now completely incapacitated me until it passed and I was able to return to normal as much as was possible given the circumstances. Even the short walk from the triage room to the labor and delivery room proved difficult. Ordinarily, I'd make that walk in no more than a minute. However, it took me closer to five minutes to make that short walk. My body was wracked with two contractions that left me squatting while they passed and in-between I walked very slowly. The pain from those contractions was intense. While all the other women in Stepford said that going through this naturally the first time was amazing and looked back fondly on this experience, I was wondering how I was going to get myself through this until I finally delivered my baby. When I finally got to the labor and delivery room I changed into the birthing gown that Nathan had bought me for this purpose. I was using the birthing gown instead of the typical hospital gown and being in my own clothes was small touch that me feel a bit more comfortable. The atmosphere was further helped by the nice television and the large bathtub. It gave the room a bit more of a feel of being at home rather than in the hospital. Of course, whenever one of my contractions wracked my body that warm and cozy feeling was gone. Finally dressed, I settled myself in for what was ahead. There would be no drugs; no epidural. Labor would progress naturally. I would feel all the pain that comes with natural labor. I would be completely reliant upon everything I learned at the Ladies' Club to help manage natural labor. I could only hope that the Lamaze classes and pain management techniques taught at the Ladies' Club proved effective. It would be their effectiveness - or ineffectiveness - that would determine whether or not I would become another Stepford woman that appreciated the completely natural first-time delivery experience. Thankfully, for the first few hours, those techniques proved quite effective. Birthing balls, breathing techniques, walking around, leaning against my husband, squatting and receding into the recesses of my own mind - used separately and in various combinations - helped significantly in managing the pain. They didn't completely eliminate the pain, but it was certainly much better than I initially feared. The pain was worst during the contractions, but I was able to get through it. I didn't quite yet cherish my natural labor experience like the other ladies said I would, but I also wasn't cursing it like I had when I first found out I would have to go through it. Nathan was amazing throughout everything. He was constantly holding me up, both physically and emotionally. My husband was an absolute rock that made all of this possible. Without him there by my side - holding me and giving me encouragement - there is no way I would have been able to do any of this. The past seven-and-a-half months Nathan had been an absolutely amazing husband and now he was proving even more amazing. That alone helped comfort me and made think to how wonderful a father Nathan would be in a few hours' time when we were finally holding our baby in our arms after these past nine months of waiting. My obstetrician came in for hourly checkups once I was admitted. When I admitted I was already dilated 4 cm. Four hours later I was dilated 9 cm. My doctor told me that in another hour I should be fully dilated and ready to start pushing. While natural labor had so far been bearable, I hadn't really contemplated pushing. My fear increased exponentially. I was about to push something the size of a watermelon out of something no larger than the size of an orange. And I was going to do all of this without the benefit of any pain medication. An hour later my obstetrician came back for his hourly visit. The past hour I had started to feel this strong, insistent, need to push come from within my body. Every contraction now felt like my body was squeezing me from the inside; it wanted to squeeze this baby out. Everything I learned about labor during my pregnancy told me that this was perfectly normal and it was a sign that my body was now ready to push. My obstetrician confirmed these suspicions when he announced at the end of the hourly checkup that I was now fully dilated and it would soon be time for me start pushing. An hour later I was pushing as if my life depended upon it. My birthing gown was soaked with sweat. My hair was completely unkempt and I had cleaned off my makeup hours ago so that it wouldn't streak and bother me during labor. The sweat caused my hair to stick to my face in the front and to my neck and shoulders in the back. My large breasts were splayed, pushing up against the sides of my arms. In my mind, I looked like a complete disaster. According to my husband I was never more beautiful, even when compared to our wedding day. "The baby's head is crowning," my obstetrician announced after my latest push. "It shouldn't be much longer, Lizzie," he reassured me. Of course, to him fifteen minutes or an hour wasn't that long, but then he wasn't the one pushing. Pain coursed through my body with every push and every contraction. It felt like my body was consumed by the fire. There was something inside me changing. I knew that becoming a mother would change everything, but it was impossible to imagine what that change would feel like. This change, however, was not that. It was something I had thought had already happened, but this proved me wrong. This change was completely unanticipated, but it was also completely welcome. I now understood why Stepford women cherished their all-natural first-time deliveries. The pain that coursed through my body was refining me. It was burning away the last remnants of my old mental existence that I thought had long ago been vanquished. The pain was a cleansing fire. It was turning me into a pure woman; a woman who remembered her past life, but all she could remember and contemplate was life as a woman. This experience was absolutely necessary and I was cherishing it. I thought my mental transformation was long ago completed, but this was the true completion of that transformation. I would leave this room a pure, refined woman. Another hour later labor and contractions were still wracking my body. My obstetrician and my husband both kept on encouraging me throughout the process. My baby's head was coming more and more out with each push. I knew getting the head out of the birth canal was the hardest part and then after that the only tough part remaining were the shoulders and those were easier than the head. Now, I just needed to get through the next hour and then I would be holding the reward for all the hard work of the past nine months in my arms. "One more push, Lizzie. I just need one more push from you," my obstetrician told me. "You've got this, sweetheart," Nathan told me, brushing some hair out of my face. "Ahhhhh!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, the pain coursing through my body. "Push Lizzie! Push!" my husband screamed, holding my hand with one of his hands and using his other hand to help hold back one of my legs. "Ahhhh!" I screamed, pushing for dear life. I could feel myself squeezing from inside. I could feel my body opening up so that it could push something the size of a watermelon through a hole the size of an orange. "You're almost there, Lizzie," my husband reassured me as I continued to push. "The head is out. Next contraction I need just one more push to get the shoulders out and then you'll be done," my obstetrician said. Two minutes later I felt another contraction start to wrack my body. I sucked in a deep breath and then held. With all the strength I could muster I started to push. I heard my husband's words of encouragement in the background, but I wasn't really listening. I was focusing inside, mentally blocking the pain, while my body squeezed one last time. Soon the contraction passed and in the background I heard the screaming cries of a newborn baby. "Congratulations Dr. and Mrs. Adams. It's a boy!" My obstetrician announced. Turning to my husband, he asked, "Dr. Adams, would you like to cut the cord?" "Yes," my husband replied, tears in his eyes. He took the scissors from the doctor and cut between the two clamps the nurses had made in the umbilical cord that still connected me to my son. The cord proved tougher than my husband thought and it took him three cuts to finally get through it. Once the cord was cut they immediately placed our son on my belly so he could make his way up to my breasts for his first feeding. This time was known as the golden hour. The hospital staff all exited the room and left just Nathan and I there with our newborn son. For the next hour we would bond as a family. It would be just the three of us without any outside interference. Mom, dad and son. I very much liked the sound of that. Nathan and I had decided to wait until I gave birth to find out what we were having. As a result we picked out a list of boys' names and girls' names that we both liked with the understanding that we would make a final decision on the name after our child was born. Now was the time to make that decision. "Oliver?" I ask my husband. "Nice, but Oliver Adams sounds off for some reason now that I'm seeing our son," Nathan replies. "How about Michael?" he asks me. "Said it before and I'll say it again. It sounds too common," I tell my husband. "Just for the hell of it, how about John?" I ask my husband semi-jokingly. "I know you're a history buff, Elizabeth, but I'm not naming our son John Adams no matter how much a fan you are of that particular Founding Father," Nathan tells me. "I had to throw it out there," I say through a giggle. "How about Henry?" my husband asks me. I think it over for a few seconds and then turn down to my son, who is still slowly pushing his way up my belly and chest so he can get to my breasts and feed for the first time. "Welcome to the world, little Henry Adams," I tell my son. "I think he should go by Harry though," Nathan comments. "Henry formally, but Harry to us," I say. "Agreed," my husband responds. It takes Harry a half-hour to crawl his way up and reach my breasts. When I feel him latch on to my right breast and start to suckle it's the most amazing feeling in the world. At first it hurts, as Harry is just starting to learn how to suckle and my colostrum is thick, making it more difficult to come out. Despite all that, I love the feeling of my son on my breast. It's a very special feeling knowing that my body is giving sustenance to my son. Harry just stays where he is, slowly drawing out the milk from my breasts. The medical staff waits until Harry is finished eating before they come back in so we can be transferred to a private room on the maternity ward. Harry and I spend four days in the hospital after I give birth, which is typical in Stepford. Nathan is there the whole time, not wanting to miss a second of precious time with his wife and newborn son. My husband is the epitome of the younger generation of Stepford men. He's very conservative compared to modern standards when it comes to the role of women - a position I share in, cherishing my role as a housewife and mother, and not wanting anything else. At the same time, compared to the older generation he's much more liberal when it comes to his involvement as a father. In fact, my giving birth also marked the beginning of my husband's eight weeks of paternity leave to better bond with Harry. The paternity leave is a concession from the older generation to the younger generation at Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs. When Harry and I come home from the hospital, we don't have to worry about the nursery being ready for Harry. Several months back we ordered the furniture and Nathan had painted and decorated the nursery. Since we were waiting to find out what we were having we went with gender neutral designs. Those designs will change as Harry gets older, but for the time being they'll do just fine. The eight weeks of paternity leave were really nice, even if by the end I was more than ready for Nathan to return to work so I could once again have free rein over my domestic realm. During that time my husband insisted upon helping out with the housework, explaining that he had read the literature and that my body needed time to recover from pregnancy and giving birth. It didn't matter to him that I insisted I was more than capable of resuming my housework as long as I paced myself. My husband didn't take no for an answer. The only thing he didn't insist upon helping out with was the cooking. That was a very good thing because, if he had, then we would have starved unless we relied on a steady diet of takeout. Throughout the eight weeks that Nathan was on paternity leave I never really slept more than three or four hours in one shot. Despite my husband offering to help out with the night feedings, I respectfully declined his offers of help. I wanted to breastfeed exclusively and not have Harry exposed to the bottle. Even if that meant I got less sleep, both in overall quantity and in individual stretches, I nonetheless considered it well worth it if it meant that the only place my son got food was from my breast. Most excruciating, though, during those eight weeks were the first six weeks. That's because my obstetrician told us we needed to wait six weeks before we resumed having sexual intercourse. Thankfully, I had long ago developed a taste for my husband's manhood. If I couldn't have Nathan's cock in my pussy, at least I could have his cock in my mouth. I blew my husband nearly every night during those six weeks. I always savored the taste of his manhood in my mouth and I always greedily swallowed his cum. When those six weeks were up, we were finally able to have sex again. It felt so great lying on my back, my legs spread and up in the air. I desperately needed my husband inside me after six weeks. I moaned like a whore when Nathan finally entered me. It was so great having him inside me again. It was pure, animalistic, sex. My husband completely fucked my brains out in a matter of minutes. My cunt gripped him like a fist as I orgasmed. He erupted inside me a moment later. When Nathan finally returned back to work after his eight weeks of paternity leave our new normal began. With my husband back at work I was finally able to resume the full responsibilities that came with being queen of my domestic realm. I was finally able to do all the housework without my husband interfering and telling me he would help out. I was a good wife. That meant that I was a happy housewife and that I wanted to fulfill all those domestic responsibilities. After the eight week partial interruption I thoroughly enjoyed being back to doing all the cooking and cleaning. There was another thing that made me happy about Nathan finally being back at work. As much as I loved the time that my husband got to bond with us as a family, I longed for what Stepford's other housewives had. I wanted time alone with my son. Being a good housewife meant both keeping our home and raising our children. Now that Nathan was back at work I finally had the opportunity to do exactly that. It made me the typical Stepford housewife and there was nothing I wanted to be in this world besides that. Three months after giving birth I went back to my gynecologist for my third postpartum follow-up visit. In Stepford, many women were eager to get pregnant again after giving birth. I was no exception and looked forward to my second pregnancy. The main purpose of the gynecologist visit was to determine if he would clear me to get pregnant again so that Nathan and I could start trying for our second child. Thankfully, my doctor pronounced me in excellent health and said that it would be perfectly fine if I got pregnant again. Unfortunately, my period hadn't started yet even though I had been cleared to start trying. Thankfully, the men at Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs are attuned to our needs as women. They developed a drug that would cause our bodies to start ovulating and menstruating again in short order once we started on the medication. My gynecologist wrote out a prescription for the drug and told me that once I started on a daily regimen I could expect my period within two weeks, at which point I could stop taking it. Even though I didn't need the reminder because I was a dutiful and obedient wife, my gynecologist reminded me that I should discuss taking the medication with my husband first instead of just starting it in my eagerness and excitement to get pregnant again. That night I discussed the medication and getting pregnant again with my husband. Nathan wanted a large family and I shared in that vision. He enthusiastically supported anything that would help enlarge our family, expedite the process and keep me pregnant. I was so happy. That night, before we started dinner, I sucked my husband my husband off in appreciation. After dinner, Nathan made sure my body was completely consumed by pleasure as we made love. The next morning I took the pill for the first time and waited for my period to start. Three weeks later, Nathan and I celebrated our first wedding anniversary. It was the first time we were leaving Harry alone. Vicky reassured me that everything would be fine. She had plenty of experience with her own children and there was plenty of my expressed breast milk so that I didn't have to worry about Harry being fed formula. It didn't matter. I was still a nervous mother because I had never left my son with anyone else before. When Nathan reassured me that everything would be fine and I should relax a little so that we could enjoy our first date night since becoming parents it helped tremendously. For the first time since giving birth I made a special effort to make myself extra pretty for our first real date night since becoming parents. I made sure to get my hair and makeup professionally done. I wore a dress that hugged my curves. Since giving birth I had lost all but six pounds of the pregnancy weight and I was convinced those remaining pounds were in my 40G boobs. Whether they would go back down in size eventually was still to be determined, but tonight I didn't care about that. I was just eager to show off my figure. It was slender and shapely, but there was still a little roundness to my belly that would forever stay as proof of my pregnancy and fruitfulness. I was not only more than okay with that. I was proud to show it off. We went out for dinner and dancing at the Men's Club that night. Every night they converted the City Room for that purpose because it was the only room in the club where women were permitted. I briefly stepped out so that I could go pee and then change my pad. Even though it had been three weeks since I started the medication I hadn't menstruated yet. If another week passed I would call my gynecologist and go in for an appointment. I was hoping that would prove necessary because I was pregnant again. When I came out from the bathroom I saw several men entering and exiting the other rooms in the club. I thought back to fourteen months ago and how I was once one of those men. Sometimes I would get tired of all the cooking and the cleaning and having primary responsibility for the child care. Seeing those men, and their relative freedom, those thoughts briefly came to the fore and I envied them and their apparent freedom. Then I thought about how it felt when Harry suckled at my breast. Stepford liberates its women. We have tremendous freedom in Stepford. Our liberation didn't come from imitating men and having identical rights and responsibilities, as the feminists would have us believe. Our freedom and liberation came from us being free to fulfill the role nature intended for us. It came from fulfilling our domestic responsibilities . From cooking and cleaning and raising our children. Stepford freed us to be women. Warm thoughts filled me and I realized how truly lucky I was. A week later my period still hadn't started. It was now four weeks since I started the medication. During those four weeks my husband made sure to make regular, daily deposits of his seed inside me. Hopeful as to this being the reason why I still hadn't had my period, I called my gynecologist and made an appointment for the next day. I declined my husband's offer to accompany me for the visit, but I did promise him that I would call him with any news - good or bad. When I went to the gynecologist that afternoon I was very nervous. I was cautiously optimistic I was pregnant, however in the back of my mind I wasn't completely certain of anything. Because of the nature of how I became a woman I hadn't ever experienced a period. While I could have taken a home pregnancy test, I preferred to visit my gynecologist and find out for certain. When he examined me and then reached for his sonogram machine I felt myself get excited. The gel feels cold on my belly, but after one pregnancy I'm already used to it. I'm hopeful while he moves the wand over my belly, looking closely at the image on the screen. When he announces the news I'm ecstatic. I'm three weeks pregnant. Epilogue I was wandering around the room at Wednesday Afternoon Tea. It had been less than three years since my transformation, but I was now four months pregnant with my third child. About four months after giving birth for the second time I finally had my first period. I had them monthly like clockwork until four months ago when I became pregnant again. I wasn't really showing right now. My belly was still relatively flat, only having the slight curve it's had ever since the end of my first pregnancy. The only place I was showing was in my boobs. Through the last months of my first pregnancy until I stopped breastfeeding my daughter after the second one, they had held steady at 40G. Once I finally stopped breastfeeding they went back down to 36DD for about six months. Now, however, they were back up to 38F and I suspected they would get back up to 40G later in my pregnancy. In the corner of my eye I saw a new girl. I couldn't see her face, but I could tell she was new because she was still relatively slim and although her breasts were large by regular standards, they were small by Stepford standards. If I had to guess, I would say she was a 36D. These last three years and all these Wednesday Afternoon Teas had me really good at guessing other women's breast sizes, especially because I was always comparing them to mine. When the new girl turned around, I recognized her. I had been at her wedding two weeks earlier, but didn't speak to her aside from offering her and Ethan a quick congratulations. I walked over so I could introduce myself. I knew I would be seeing a lot more of her because our husbands were best friends. "Hi Sophia, I'm Elizabeth Adams. Welcome to Stepford," I told her. "Any chance you're Mrs. Nathan Adams?" she asked me. "I am, but you should call me Lizzie," I answered her. "Would you like to introduce yourself more formally?" I asked. "Sure, I'm Mrs. Ethan Cameron," she replied and from the look in her eyes I could see how much she was enjoying being able to introduce herself as Mrs. Cameron. It caused me to remember how I felt the exact same joy when I was able to introduce myself as Mrs. Nathan Adams the first few times. "But since our husbands are best friends, I think we'll be seeing a lot more of each other, so you might as well call me Sophia," she replied, a small giggle escaping her lips. "So how was the honeymoon?" I asked her. "Amazing!" she said. The far-off look in her eyes emphasized that fact. "I had been so nervous about what sex with a man would be like, but now I can't stop spreading my legs for my husband and I have a real taste for his dick. I just need him to fuck my brains out, then for him to pop one of those pills in his mouth so he gets nice and hard again right away and then I can suck him off," she tells me after she gets her bearings back, but as the words leave her mouth her mind goes back to that far away place. I remember the feeling quite well from when I was a newlywed and it still hasn't gone away when it comes to sex with my husband. "It doesn't go away," I reassured Sophia. I'm sure the far away look that came over my eyes only emphasized that fact to her. We chatted for the rest of Wednesday Afternoon Tea until it was time for both of us to go home so we could cook dinner for our respective husbands. I suspected we would soon grow close because of the close friendship our husbands shared. Vicky was a good friend, but she wasn't quite a best friend. I hadn't had a best friend since coming to Stepford. I hoped given the relationship between our husbands Sophia might fill that role. "I've noticed that some women are all over each other at Wednesday Afternoon Tea and others just mingle and gossip without having sex. We're both the latter type. I was wondering if you know the reasons behind that?" Sophia asked me. "I know the reasons, but it's not my place to tell you," I told her. "It's Ethan's place as your husband to explain it to you and when the time is right he'll sit you down and explain to you the reasons behind everything in Stepford," I explain. It wouldn't be for another eight months, until Sophia was well into the ninth month of her pregnancy that Ethan finally explained everything to her. When we met the next day at Wednesday Afternoon Tea she told me that she was glad he waited until he did, because the night before had been the right moment. Most of all, she told me now hearing the words from him made her feel special and loved. It made her feel even happier and luckier that Ethan was her husband. It made her feel happier and luckier that she was a Stepford girl. I told her I felt the same way about Nathan and Stepford when my husband told me during my first pregnancy. By that time, Sophia and I were best friends. Actually, much like our husbands were more like brothers than mere best friends, Sophia and I were more like sisters than mere best friends. After three years of waiting, it was nice to have a sister and a best friend once again.