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

The Real Stepford Wives - Vicky's Story By Emma F Author's Note: This is my third entry in the Stepford Series. This story is a prequel to my prior story, "The Real Stepford Wives: Lizzie'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. Lizzie, along with some of the characters in the original two stories make cameo appearances here. ********************************* I was a second-year surgical resident. One morning, I received an email inviting me to a surgical conference. Discussing it over with my adviser, we both agreed that it would be an excellent opportunity for me. I arranged everything through the hospital, which agreed to give me the time off to attend and to pay my registration and hotel fees. Two months later I excitedly left for the one-week conference. I had no way of knowing I would never return to the elite hospital where I was a surgical resident. That was because the conference was in a town called Stepford. When I arrived in town I checked into my hotel and then immediately went over to Stepford General Hospital for the conference's kickoff event. The hospital's facilities were advertised as being particularly advanced despite Stepford being a relatively ordinary small town. The hospital was impressive and the tour confirmed that. One of the surgeons there even promised me that I would be able participate in a surgical procedure while I was there. It got me very excited. When I got back to the hotel after the hospital tour there was a message waiting for me at the front desk. It was an invitation to dinner at the Stepford Men's Club that evening. The dinner wasn't on the conference's official schedule, so the invitation took me by surprise. Nevertheless, I politely accepted the invitation. I found the idea of there being a men's club somewhat odd. I hadn't paid attention to the background since I arrived in Stepford, but I figured now would be a good time to start if for no other reason than giving me some extra subject material for the evening. What hit me immediately, once I started looking, was the appearance of Stepford's women. They all were well-endowed and had traditional hourglass figures. All of them seemed to have their hair and makeup expertly done. I also noticed that none of them wore pants. They all wore skirts and dresses; and those skirts and dresses were on the modest side. Stepford's women didn't show cleavage and the hemlines on their skirts and dresses all came to at least an inch or two below their knees. They looked like they could have been straight out of the 1950's. Seeing Stepford's women, I began thinking if their behavior and lifestyles matched their appearances. When I thought back to the tour of the hospital, and the other surgical residents at the conference, there were no women amongst the doctors. That all the doctors were men was something quite unusual given that half of all medical students these days are women. That only deepened the mystery and caused me to start thinking and wondering even more about this peculiar little town. I went to the Men's Club that evening determined to get to the bottom of this mystery. Given that this seemed to be more a men's night out, rather than an official conference event, I suspected that the talk would be quite different and the men of Stepford might give me the answers I was seeking. My suspicions would prove quite correct. It's just that I had no way of knowing just how important those discussions would prove for the remainder of my life. It was impossible to know how in a few short hours everything about my life would completely change forever. Over dinner, the men seemed very interested in my previous relationships and my sexual history. It didn't raise any additional suspicions because they were very free in talking about their own relationships and sexual histories prior to marriage. In doing so they let some of the information I was seeking slip out. Stepford's women were almost all housewives. All they cared about was keeping their men happy. Apparently they all cleaned their homes, were master chefs in the kitchen and expert lovers in the bedroom; and they did so not only without complaint, but with eagerness and enthusiasm. After dinner was over I went back to my hotel to prepare for the next day of the conference. I decided I'd treat myself a little and poured myself a little cognac before going to bed. Sitting in the recliner, I slowly sipped down the cognac, savoring its taste. When I finished and started to get ready for bed I saw something rush towards me out of the corner of my eye. Suddenly a soaked washcloth was over my nose and mouth. My world went black to the smell of chloroform. I awoke to bright lights and sterile walls. Looking overhead, I saw a large moveable light. It was currently off, but it was clear that when on it was very bright. It was the type of light we had in operating rooms. Looking around the room I saw surgical equipment and a tray with surgical instruments. It was clear this was an operating room. In fact, it looked a lot like the one I had toured earlier at the conference's kickoff event. Suddenly I felt cold. Operating rooms were kept a few degrees colder and now it as hitting me after the initial shock when I woke up. I could tell from the cold that I was completely naked. I tried to sit up, but my arms and legs were strapped down. I looked down towards my bound limbs and I saw that there was a bandage on my abdomen. I felt a little sore there as well. It was now clear that during my time asleep they had operated on me. However, I still didn't know the reason why. "You're still at the beginning of your transformation," I hear a voice from behind me say. When he walks in front of me I recognize him as the surgeon that had led the tour of the hospital's surgical facilities. "What transformation? Is that why you operated on me?" I ask, still completely clueless. "Yes, that's why we operated on you," he replied, answering my first question. "As to the transformation, that's your transformation into a woman. Congratulations, you're currently pregnant with your first child and when you get married in six weeks you're officially going to become a Stepford wife," he tells me. "Pregnant?" I scoffed. "Medical technology is not that advanced. What you're saying is science fiction," I said. "You're just playing me," I accused, not believing a word he said. "I beg to differ," he replied. "And in nine months you will too," he said. The surgeon walked up to me and ran his hand across my face. It felt extremely smooth. While they could have shaved and moisturized it to get it like that, that didn't feel like the case. Then he started to pull out my chest hair. It came out with ease. Even more surprising, I didn't feel a thing as it came out. I looked down towards my dick and it was bright red and half it's normal size. I was starting to think that maybe he was telling the truth after all. He walked back to his instrument tray. He took a syringe in his hand and started to speak again as he walked back towards me. "I implanted a fertilized egg into your abdomen; that's why you see the bandages on your abdomen. That zygote has now worked its way down and implanted itself in your seminal vesicles. That means your past the first stage of your transformation," he explained. "However, you still need something to help you further along in the process," he said as he neared me. Once he finally reached me he quickly injected the contents of the syringe into my arm. Almost immediately I felt tremendous pain course through my body. It felt like I was being stuck with a million needles from the outside and as if my body was tearing itself up and putting itself back together from the inside. It lasted for about two hours, but it felt like an eternity. When the pain finally subsided I knew everything had completely changed for me. My destiny was no longer to be a surgeon at an Ivy League-affiliated hospital; it was to be a housewife. The surgeon then walked over to the operating table, pulled out gynecological stirrups from the side and then unstrapped my legs and placed them in the stirrups. I felt humiliated and embarrassed with my legs spread and my privates on display for this complete stranger who operated and transformed me without my consent. The feelings of humiliation and embarrassment were exacerbated when he stuck his metal tools inside me so he could examine my new vagina. "Everything looks good," he announced when he was finished with his examination. "Please take Miss Cabot," he started, at which point I interrupted him. "Doctor Cabot," I replied indignantly. "Miss Cabot," he said, emphasizing the 'Miss'. "I didn't go through all those years of medical school to simply be 'mister' or 'miss'. It's 'doctor' and nothing else," I said, once again jumping in before he could say anything further. Given the state of shock I was in, I didn't know where this was coming from. "Miss Cabot, you're in Stepford. Here only men are doctors. You are not a man; you are a woman. Ergo, you are not doctor. Women in Stepford are addressed by their marital status. Married women are addressed as Mrs. and unmarried women are addressed as Miss. Seeing as how you are unmarried you are appropriately addressed Miss," he helpfully - or not so helpfully, depending upon one's perspective - explained. "Do you understand, Miss Cabot?" he asked authoritatively. "Yes, Doctor," I meekly responded. In hindsight, this was the first time I was put in my place as a woman. "Good," he replied. "Please take Miss Cabot to the Ladies' Club," he directed the nurses in the operating room. "Her wedding is in six weeks," he explained. A wave of nausea overcame me at the thought of marriage and sex with a man. "She's on training routine four. Her husband expects a wife with womanly curves come their wedding night," he explained. "Anyway, I'm off to a round of golf with Doctor Cameron," he said as he walked out the door. Once the surgeon had left the operating room, the nurses came over to unbuckle my arms and help me to my feet. When I got up I immediately noticed that I was shorter and lighter and that my center of gravity had changed. When I was weighed and measured it turned out I had lost six inches in height and seventy pounds in weight. It made me tall and thin. Between my pregnancy and my husband-to-be wanting a wife with womanly curves I expected that the weight would go back up somewhat. The other thing I immediately noticed once I was on my feet were the two small weights that now adorned my chest. I not only had a vagina now, I also had breasts. Compared to the other women in Stepford, they were small, but they were still breasts and they were certainly much larger than when I was a man. Even though they were small enough that I really didn't need one, the nurses helped me into my first bra. I sucked in my breath as they helped me close the 32AA bra behind me. It felt so uncomfortable to have this contraption hold parts of me up and in, but I knew I would need one for the rest of my life, especially if my chest grew to the size of the other women in Stepford. When they gave me panties, and I felt them snugly against my smooth crotch, immediately followed by a dress, I completely lost it. I broke down crying, taking advantage of the fact that as a woman it was considered perfectly acceptable. The nurses comforted me. "It'll be alright, sweetie," one of them told me. "We've all been through this and we are all happier as women. You will be too and you'll soon discover how great it is to be a Stepford wife," she reassured me. I was skeptical. "You're pregnant now and in nine months you're going to be a mother. The first is always the hardest, but in six or seven months, when you're as big as a house and not as agile as you used to be, you're really going to enjoy having a man take care of you," the other nurse told me. I mentally recoiled in horror as a new wave of nausea washed over me. I was sure if she meant the first of a few - say two or three - or if she meant the first of many - say five or six. Facing reality, I steeled myself and put on the dress they offered me. It was a simple dress that I was able to pull over my head. Like the dresses worn by other women in Stepford it was quite modest. No cleavage showed on the bodice of the dress and its hemline fell two inches below my knees. I only put it on because I understood the reality that I was now a woman and that in nine months I would be a mother. They clearly had the ability to physically change me into a woman, but I never thought they would be able to make me think like a woman. I had no idea how wrong I was. I arrived at the Ladies' Club - officially the Ladies' Cultural Society - late in the evening. I was given a large dinner, with an extra helping of dessert, before being shown to the room I would call home for the next six weeks prior to my marriage. The extra dessert was to help develop my womanly curves and the nurses already warned me not to get used to it or develop a sweet tooth because once those womanly curves finally appeared I wouldn't be able to indulge that sweet tooth nearly as much if I still wanted to keep my figure. When I finally arrived at my room I saw that it was tastefully decorated and emphasized the feminine. It was painted a light pink and the furniture was soft and white. There was a queen-sized bed along with a matching dresser, night stand and vanity table with mirror. When I opened the closet I saw they were well stocked with tops, skirts and dresses. At the bottom of the closet there was a large assortment of shoes and boots - all with high heels. The drawers in the dresser were stocked with panties and bras and in various sizes. I knew that with time I would grow into the lingerie. Lastly, there was an assortment of makeup on the vanity table. The room was well-prepared for the training I would undergo the next several weeks. I received my first lesson in feminine hygiene at that point, learning to wipe my privates after I finished peeing. When I got out of the bathroom there was an envelope on the vanity table and a picture in one of the corners by the mirror. Written on the envelope were the words, "Please Open". I opened the envelope and read the letter inside. It told me some basic information that would shape the rest of my life. First, I was given a new name, Victoria. I was told that I should only use my first name until I got married. Once I got married I would take my husband's name. This part was completely unsurprising given how traditional Stepford was when it came to gender. It was also hinted at from the fact that the doctor had said earlier that all women in Stepford were either 'Miss' or 'Mrs.' There was no 'Ms.' or any other form of address for women. Second, I learned that the photo on the vanity table was that of my fianc?. It did not tell me anything beyond that. All it said is that I would learn his name and occupation tomorrow at the start of my training when I would receive my engagement ring and a gift from him. Looking at the picture I wondered who he was, what he did, and whether I had already met him during my first day in Stepford. At that point I just started laughing hysterically. The day before I had been promised the opportunity to participate in a surgical procedure in Stepford after marveling at its advanced surgical facilities for a small-town hospital. I envisioned assisting one of the head surgeons there in my capacity as a surgical resident. I never thought that about the possibility of the circumstances that played out, namely that I would become the patient being operated on. I only laughed harder when I considered the fact that the same doctor who made that promise was the surgeon who ultimately operated on me to bring about my transformation. I laughed because the only other option was to cry. Even though being female crying was perfectly acceptable socially, I didn't feel like crying. That night I barely slept and when I did manage to sleep, I slept very fitfully. It was one of those nights that I could tell in my sleep that I was tossing and turning. I was extremely nervous about the next morning and what the next several weeks and months held for me. I was nervous about whether or not I would undergo a mental transformation to accompany the physical transformation. I was nervous about whether or not my husband-to-be would find me attractive. Even though the idea of being married to a man was anathema to me, there was nonetheless a human instinct to be desired and wanted by my intended spouse. The next morning they woke me up bright and early. They first took me to the salon, where they did my hair and my makeup. My hair wasn't that long, but at mid-neck it was longer than it had been when I was man. When I looked at myself in the mirror, with my blonde hair styled and my makeup done, I realized that I was pretty. I could sense my mind adapting and changing already because I realized that I wanted to look pretty. I guess it was becoming in for a penny, in for a pound. After they finished my hair and makeup, they provided me with the promised information and gift from the night before. I learned that my fianc?'s name was Daniel Hughes and he was a doctor and senior researcher at Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs. I wanted to laugh at the thought that I was going to marry a doctor. I always thought there was an excellent chance I would do exactly that. It's just that I never thought I'd be the bride and that by the time it happened I'd no longer be a fellow doctor. My engagement ring was a typical engagement ring with one large diamond in the center on a simple platinum band flanked by one smaller, but still large, diamond on each side. The other promised gift was a pair of diamond studs that matched the earrings. I yelped in pain as the needles pierced my ears and then when they put the studs through the newly opened holes even though it didn't really hurt that much. Like the two new weights on my chest, the two new weights in my ears were a constant reminder of my transformation. My training during those first two weeks centered on what would be expected for someone bound to become a stereotypical 1950's housewife. There was cooking and how to make sure everything was done so I had breakfast on the table for my husband before he left for work in the morning and dinner on the table when he came home from work in the evening. There was cleaning and how to keep my house spotless. There was beauty with how to make my hair and makeup look professionally down. How to pick the right lingerie and the right tops and skirts and dresses to go over it. How to pick the right accessories. It was a two-week crash course and complete immersion in femininity. After two weeks of individualized training I was finally introduced to the women of Stepford. It started out with a simple exercise class. To emphasize my femininity, and the idea that women shouldn't be wearing pants, they provided me with a loose, knee-length black exercise skirt to wear around my leggings. When I arrived in the class I saw that all the other women there were wearing the same thing. In Stepford, even when exercising a woman was supposed to wear a skirt. Exercise class was nice. It felt really good to be working out again purposely and not as a result of practicing domestic chores. It didn't even bother me that it seemed the primary purpose behind the class was to please our husbands. Our instructor was imploring us to do our Kegel exercises and pelvic thrusts. "Push harder, Ladies!" she screamed, "It'll keep you nice and tight like a virgin!" I shuddered mentally at that, thinking about how tight I was precisely because I was a virgin as a woman. My favorite, though, was the bust cheer. "We must! We must! We must increase our bust!" all the women screamed out in unison. It didn't matter that all these women had large chests, at least D-cup or larger. In the two weeks since my transformation, my breast size had increased from 32AA to somewhere between 32A and 32B. They were now big enough that they were constantly noticeable to me and I would always feel their weight. However, compared to the other women, my breasts felt like mosquito bites even if I knew it was only a matter of time before I too had D-cup or larger breasts. Two days later I was formally inducted into what I learned was a Stepford Ladies' Club tradition: Wednesday Afternoon Tea. All the curtains in the Ladies' Club were drawn. Food and drink were spread out on tables throughout the club. The women took off all their clothes, attending stark naked except for high heels and makeup. I was no exception with my hair and makeup perfectly done and wearing nothing except for my four-inch heels. As much as I initially wanted to resist in the aftermath of my physical transformation, I could recognize the mental transformation being well underway. The women gossiped and mingled in the nudity throughout Wednesday Afternoon Tea. Some of the women engaged in sexual acts with other women, ranging from simply making out all the way to eating each other out. These seemed to be mostly women in their mid-thirties or older, although some of the younger women were also engaged in sexual acts. Most women my age though - and now that was in my early twenties since I was told at the time of my transformation that my biological age was reduced from 28 to 20 - did not engage in sexual acts. I was like most of my generational peers. Most disconcerting about Wednesday Afternoon Tea was that not only did I have no desire to have sex despite all the sex going on around me, but that I had absolutely no attraction to women. When I was a man, seeing very attractive women making out and more would have instantly aroused me. Now, however, I was completely dry. What did get my juices flowing, and get me wet, was thinking back to the picture of my fianc? and how attractive he was. It was a sign of my transformation's progression between the change in sexual attraction and how I was starting to think of myself as a woman. That I didn't feel any sexual attraction to the other women wasn't to say that I wasn't looking at the other women. I was very much looking at the other women the whole afternoon. It was just that instead of thinking about sex I was comparing my body to theirs. I had already done that earlier in the week at exercise class, but now with all of us completely naked it made it that much easier to make the comparisons. In doing so, I began to hope that one day I would have bodies like theirs. Throughout Wednesday Afternoon Tea women of all ages introduced themselves to me and welcomed me to Stepford. With my slim body that hadn't yet carried any children, and my small breasts, it was very easy to identify me as a new girl. They universally told me how wonderful their lives were and how much I would enjoy being a Stepford girl. Two of them, Laura Jennings and Helena Turnbull, interrupted their makeout session to tell me their experiences. After sharing her story, Laura proudly declared, "It's true. We really are happiest this way." Even with the mental transformation I could tell was happening, I was nonetheless highly skeptical. As with so many other things concerning Stepford, time would ultimately prove my skepticism wrong. It was at that first Wednesday Afternoon Tea that I met Zoey Wilson. Like me, Zoey came from the work hard, play hard world of New York professionals. Before she came to Stepford, she had been an investment fund trader and was on the verge of opening a hedge fund with several of her friends. That all came to an end when she decided to spend a weekend in Stepford. Four years later she was the mother of two with a third child on the way. Her husband, Andrew, wanted a large family and Zoey seemed more than eager to give that to him. Meeting someone else from a similar background reassured me. I could see how happy she was and how complete her transformation - both physical and mental - was. It both scared me and made me happy to see what my future held. Zoey reassured me that I would be much happier and eventually be thankful that I came to Stepford. She explained that it was precisely because of her intelligence that she was so happy to be a housewife and mother. Hearing Zoey was a breath of fresh air compared to the older women. I could carry on an intelligent conversation with Zoey; with Laura and Helena that was impossible as they seemed to have nothing but space between their ears and do their best to live up to the dumb blonde stereotype. My training continued three additional weeks. Considerably more important than the basic household skills they taught was how the complete immersion in femininity was turning me into a thoroughly feminine creature. Every day I felt the mental transformation progress. I could very much remember being a man and a doctor, but that didn't mean I still identified as those things. By this point I already identified much more as a woman and with everything surrounding me, a very traditional woman. It might have been brainwashing from all the femininity surrounding me, but I felt it only appropriate that I be a housewife and nothing else. Two weeks before my wedding I found myself staring at the mirror in my room. Looking back I saw an attractive young woman nearing her wedding. Her hair was done. Her makeup was immaculate. There was a happiness in her eyes, especially when she looked down at the third finger on her left hand and saw the engagement ring that was there. It made her think about what the future held for her in two weeks when a simple platinum band would join that engagement ring. Finally, my wedding approached. At Wednesday Afternoon Tea that week the other ladies turned it into a bridal shower. There were some gifts and some advice. Some of the advice was about how to keep my house and be a good housewife. Most of the advice was about what to expect on the honeymoon and how to please my husband in the bedroom. These were coupled with the typical jokes on how easy it was to please a man in bed. Between that, and their curvy bodies, it was hard to believe that any of these thoroughly feminine creatures were ever men, yet alone that all of them were once men. By the eve of my wedding I was a pretty blonde. My husband-to-be wanted his wife to have womanly curves on their wedding night. I had a traditional hourglass figure - 34C-24-38. I still wasn't showing, so I knew I would look very good in my wedding pictures. I just hoped that my husband would find me attractive and acceptable. All indications were that he would find me just that, but until I met him and received that confirmation from him personally there was the part of me that was nervous. That I was so eager to please my husband-to-be was an indication of how just how thorough the mental transformation was. The wedding itself was a very simple affair on the grounds of the Men's Club. The ceremony was held in the gardens and the reception in the City Room. These were the only places in the Men's Club where women were permitted. Seeing my fianc? waiting for me at the end of the aisle caused all sorts of warm feelings inside me. I was excited about getting married and having a husband. After everything, I was eager to start my new life and hopeful about how happy it would seeing the experiences of the other women in Stepford. When the ceremony was over and the priest formally introduced as Dr. and Mrs. Daniel Hughes, a surge of happiness and excitement coursed through my body. I was officially a married woman. I was Mrs. Daniel Hughes. Now, just as Zoey was Mrs. Wilson, I was Mrs. Hughes. It was a title I bore proudly. My days as a doctor were now officially behind me. I was a wife to Daniel and a mother to the child that I was carrying. That was my future and nothing else. Immediately after the reception Daniel and I left for our honeymoon. He had rented a house with a private beach about three hours from Stepford for the next two weeks. More than anything, I was looking forward to the first private time I would get to spend with my husband. I was extremely nervous about the wedding night, but I was also excited. Every woman told me that sex as a woman was fantastic and so much better than it was previously. Each and every one of them said that my wedding night, in particular, would be amazing. Now, I was about to find out if they were right. "I think it's time that I undressed you, Mrs. Hughes," Daniel told me once we were finally alone inside the house. I just melted at him addressing me as Mrs. Hughes for the first time. "Then what are you waiting for, Mr. Hughes," I playfully replied. "I'm not waiting for anything, Mrs. Hughes," he said. He brought his lips to my neck and I felt him start to unbutton my wedding dress in the back. All I could do is moan as I felt my legs turn into a pile of goo and the warmth and wetness rush to my pussy. My husband kept his lips on my neck as he slowly and torturously unbuttoned my wedding dress. He was doing this deliberately and I was enjoying every second of the blissful torture. For the first time I was truly craving a cock. I needed my husband so badly. I needed him to be inside my cunt. I needed him to fuck my brains out. That was the only way I would ever be satiated. And, for the moment, he was denying me that much needed cock. Once Daniel finished unbuttoning my dress I felt him start to pull the sleeves off of my arms. With nothing in place to hold it up, my dress fell and pooled at my feet, leaving me in nothing but my lingerie. I felt my husband's eyes roaming up and down my body. I nervously chewed my lip, hoping that I had the womanly curves my husband wanted for our wedding night. After what seemed like an eternity I saw what looked like an indication of my husband's approval. I soon felt him reach for my lingerie and take it off as well. I was now completely naked for my husband. Completely naked I felt the intense scrutiny of my husband's inspection. I was extremely self-conscious about my curves, especially because by Stepford standards my 34C breasts were small. When my husband walked toward me and cupped my breasts a small moan escaped my lips. I began to feel his hands eagerly and excitedly roaming all over my body. My nervousness over whether my husband found me attractive began to dissipate. Now all my nervousness was about that most anticipated part of the wedding night. "You're absolutely stunning, Mrs. Hughes," my husband told me once he stepped away so he could look me over once again. I loved the feel of his eyes wandering all over my curves. "Thank you, Mr. Hughes," I demurely replied. "I think it's time that I had my way with my lovely wife," he told me. I felt a new surge of warmth and wetness rush to my pussy. "Then take me already!" I moaned, practically begging my husband to live up to his words. "As you wish," Daniel told me, throwing me onto the bed. The moment my back hit the bed I spread my smooth legs and lifted them in the air, inviting my husband inside me. A second later I felt my husband on top of me, mounting me and ready to put me in my place as a woman and as his wife. Daniel played around, the tip of his stiff member tracing the length of my slit. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he finally plunged inside my wet and waiting cunt. He was finally giving my cunt - and my feminine body - exactly what it needed: my husband inside me and fucking my brains out. I moaned in complete pleasure when my husband entered me. He felt so big inside me. I winced in pain from that first thrust tearing my hymen, then mentally yelped at the realization that I was no longer a virgin. Each thrust was destroying those remaining barriers. I could feel the walls crumbling inside my mind. My mental transformation was completing. Each thrust was fucking away the last of the remaining maleness left in my mind; the last of the independence. My husband's cock was taming me. I was turning into a docile female. I was turning completely dependent on my husband. I was enjoying every second of it. "Ahhhhh! Daniel! Uhhhh! This is so great! Ahhhhh! I love it! Uhhhh! I love you! Uhhhh! Put me in my place!" I moaned out, completely overtaken by pleasure. I could feel my body tense up and my back arched up. I felt my husband's cock begin to twitch inside my cunt. My cunt grabbed my husband's cock like a fist. Then, everything went still as I was completely overtaken by the pleasure. We orgasmed together. Lying next to my husband in complete bliss, I felt him wrap his arms around me. It was the most comfortable feeling in the world. I felt so safe and secure. In a matter of hours, I was already completely in love with my husband. I turned my face towards him, told him how much I loved him and gave him a quick peck on the lips. He told me he felt the same and I shrieked when he couldn't help himself and he gave a quick flick to my clit with his finger. I kissed him again and let him pull his arms back around me. I quickly drifted off to the most peaceful and wonderful sleep of my life. The next morning I awoke to my husband still asleep. I wiggled out of his arms so that I could go have my morning pee. By the time I got back my husband was already awake. Looking down at the comforter I could also see that he was already up. The thoughts of an early morning delight got my juices flowing. By the time I got back into bed I was already dripping wet, ready for my husband to have his way with me. Daniel didn't disappoint, fucking my brains out to start the day. The honeymoon changed everything for me. My husband fucked me all over the house in every position imaginable. I was clay in his strong, manly hands - molded and shaped as he saw fit. The mental transformation was complete. In two months I had gone from being a man to being a thoroughly feminine creature. I had gone from being a doctor and surgical resident to a woman who centered her life around her husband. As my honeymoon neared its end, I eagerly desired to return home so that I could settle into my permanent life. I was excited to become a housewife as my husband went out into the world to work and support our family. We quickly settled into our new lives once we returned from the honeymoon. My husband returned to his role as a senior researcher at Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs and I settled into my new role as housewife. I'd wake up early every morning so that I could shower and get dressed before going downstairs to make breakfast. My husband deserved a feminine wife that gave proper care to her appearance. I wanted to make sure that I was exactly that even if it was early in the morning and he would only be seeing me for the fifteen minutes or so that it usually took him to eat breakfast. It didn't matter what I had planned for the day. It didn't matter if it was housework or spending much of the day in public volunteering or spending time with the girls. I'd always be dressed in a skirt or dress and high heels. My hair and makeup would be done. I'd be fully accessorized with jewelry, especially proud to show off my wedding and engagement rings. It was only when I was finished taking care of my appearance that I would finally head downstairs to cook my husband a hearty breakfast and see him off to work. By the time late-afternoon came I'd always make sure to be home so that I could cook dinner for my husband. I loved making sure there was a nice home-cooked meal on the table for Daniel when he got home from work. And just as I made sure to take care after my appearance in the morning before Daniel left for women, I made sure to freshen up after making dinner so I looked nice and pretty for my husband when he arrived home. Daniel never failed to show me his appreciation. After only a few weeks my life was completely changed. After the stress of medical school and a surgical residency, I loved the simplicity of my new life as a housewife. I enjoyed doing all the cooking and cleaning that came with keeping our home. Daniel always brought me home small gifts - usually flowers or chocolates - and he made sure that I was regularly fucked. After those few short weeks it wasn't that I couldn't contemplate anything else for my life; it's that I didn't want anything else for my life. My husband's kind attentions - and his cock - kept me in my place and turned me into a devoted housewife. Wednesday Afternoon Tea became a ritual for me, as it was for all the other housewives in Stepford. The first Wednesday Afternoon Tea after I returned from my honeymoon I wanted to go just so I could show off my wedding band and introduce myself as Mrs. Daniel Hughes. The look I saw in Zoey's eyes when I saw her that afternoon told me she had the same exact experience the first time she attended Wednesday Afternoon Tea after getting married and could introduce herself as Mrs. Andrew Wilson. Being a newlywed, it still sent tingles through my body when I was addressed as Mrs. Hughes. I hoped that feeling never went away. My friendship with Zoey deepened quickly and significantly. Unlike the friendship some Stepford women shared - Laura Jennings and Helena Turnbull, for example - ours was purely platonic. It came from our similar backgrounds in high-stress jobs and the love that we both shared for reading and were now trying to transmit to the younger generation. Like me, Zoey was a regular volunteer at the library's story time. She would always bring her two children with her and, like me, would always leave in time so that dinner was on the table for her husband when he arrived home from work. Zoey was everything I aspired to be. She was a proper woman that centered her life around her husband. She was a housewife. She was a mother. She was intelligent. She had no aspirations outside the home precisely because she was intelligent and understood that as a woman her proper place was in the home. It didn't matter that there were theoretically other opportunities available to her, Zoey had no desire to leave the confines of the house. She was four years post- transformation and currently pregnant with her third child. I looked at Zoey and I saw myself in four years. I hoped that four years from now that would be me. My pregnancy progressed normally. My obstetrician reassured me that everything was okay. My weight gain was normal and I didn't need to worry about the fact that my baby bump wasn't readily visible. What was most important was what was happening in my uterus. My obstetrician explained that inside there everything was perfect. My baby was developing normally and my body was handling the pregnancy just fine. While I still used the medical jargon and probably sounded more like a doctor than a housewife, I could also feel my days as a doctor completely behind me. I had no doubt that by the time of my second pregnancy the doctor would be completely gone and I would sound like the typical housewife whenever I visited the obstetrician's office. One afternoon, right after lunch, Daniel called me in the afternoon to let me know that I didn't need to cook dinner because we were going out for a date night. Date night usually happened once a week, but it was usually on a weekend and not during the week. Still, I looked forward to our date nights, even if in this case it meant not cooking dinner for my husband. I really looked forward to making sure there was a nice dinner on the table for my husband when he got home from work, but if he wanted to have dinner in a nice restaurant, I was fine with that. I took advantage of the relatively early notice to rush out to my favorite boutiques. One so I could get some sexy lingerie for tonight to give my husband some nice eye candy for dessert; one so I could get a nice dress to give my husband some eye candy during dinner. Zoey came along for the shopping. Thanks to her advice, and my indecision, I wound up getting two dresses. I also discovered, thanks to the shop assistant in the lingerie boutique, that my bra size had gone up in the band, although not the cup. My formerly 34D breasts were now a 36D. I decided that I would stop by my husband's office and surprise him with one of my new dresses. I wore one of the dresses out of the store and made my way over to Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs. While I loved how the dresses looked on me, I was a bit disappointed that my small baby bump was hidden by how the dress hung out because of my 36D boobs. Still, my husband certainly appreciated the dress. When his secretary showed me into his office he immediately told her that he was not to be disturbed for the next half-hour. I felt my husband's eyes roaming all over my curves. I loved it when my husband objectified me like that. It made me feel wanted and desired. My husband didn't even get up from his chair. He was just sitting there, behind his desk, looking me over. "Come over here, sweetheart," Daniel told me once he was finished looking me over, motioning with his index finger that I should walk over to his desk. I willingly obeyed. When I walked over to my husband he turned around so that his back was to his desk. I could see the bulge in his pants. Since the honeymoon I'd developed a real taste for my husband's manhood and seeing his bulging cock through his pants was all the encouragement I needed. I immediately dropped to my knees, unbuttoned the top of his pants and unzipped the fly. I gently stroked his cock in my dainty hands. Daniel rewarded me with his moans and with his cock getting even stiffer. I pulled my husband's pants down just enough and then took his manhood in my mouth. I savored the taste of his manhood, eagerly sucking and licking. With the sound from each moan emanating from my husband I could feel the wetness pooling in my panties. It only became stronger when I felt Daniel's hands coming behind my head to hold me in place. Being so thoroughly dominated - on my knees servicing my husband with his hands holding my head in place - made me feel so feminine and so horny. I brought Daniel to the brink twice before he begged me to finish him off. I increased the pressure on my husband's dick, sucking it as though my life depended on it. I licked and I sucked, pushing my husband back towards the edge. Then I took him over the edge. His grip on my neck and the back of my head became firmer. I felt his cock start to twitch against the inside of my cheeks. Soon he erupted into my mouth. I greedily swallowed his cum. I slowly eased my mouth of his dick, licking him clean. When I reached the tip, I gave it a kiss and a lick, savoring one last drop of my husband's cum. "Good until the last drop," I lustily told him, taking one final lick. A few seconds later I heard the sound of a drawer opening, followed by the rattling of a pill bottle. I looked up to see my husband pop a pill in his mouth. Less than a minute later his dick was back at full attention. The flood in my panties started to feel like a deluge. "Come on, Victoria. You need to stand up. I think it's time I serviced you," Daniel told me. I didn't think I could get any wetter. I was wrong. I stood up, now looking down on my husband. Daniel didn't waste any time. He reached up my dress and pulled down my panties and hose. My husband pulled me onto his lap, impaling me on his stiff cock. I tried my best to suppress the moans of pleasure as I felt my husband enter me. They only grew louder over the next several minutes as I moved up and down on his cock while his hands played with my bouncing tits through the fabric of my dress. I bit into my husband's shoulder as I came. It only made me hornier because I felt like this afternoon was simply the appetizer for tonight, especially once my husband would see me in the new dress and the lingerie I was going to wear underneath it. When my husband called later that afternoon to tell me that I shouldn't wear any accessories, I knew something was up. Daniel loved to give me gifts - usually small ones like flowers or chocolates - so I had no doubt he was giving me something tonight before we went out on our date. Sure enough, when he arrived home he was carrying a bag that came from the most expensive jeweler in Stepford. He gave me two boxes. One contained a strand of pearls. The other contained a matching set of earrings. I wept happily as I swept up my hair so that my husband could put the pearls around my neck and then as I put the earrings in my ears. Dinner was absolutely delicious, even if it was torturous because of just how badly I needed my husband following our afternoon delight. That afternoon delight did indeed prove to be the appetizer for the evening. The afternoon was fast and furious, quickly satiating our needs. The evening was much more drawn out as my husband took his time making love to me. The best part, though, was that after we finished making love my husband pulled me into his arms. I happily snuggled into my husband and soon drifted off to sleep feeling safe and loved in his wonderful arms. During the middle of my fifth month I started to feel regular twitching in my belly, especially towards the evening. Despite my medical training, it took me some time to realize and process that the twitching was my baby kicking. Remember the training from my obstetrics rotation, and from what I had read the past few months, I knew it would still be some time before anyone else could feel the baby kick. Nevertheless, I excitedly shared the news with my husband. He placed his hand on my belly and it didn't matter to him that it would still be at least another month before he would be able to feel anything. It was also during my fifth month that my clothes began feeling very tight. I had started buying maternity clothes back during my third month, knowing that eventually my regular clothes would get too small. However, when I tried on the maternity clothes at the beginning of my fifth month they still felt very loose. Compared to my regular clothes, the only place the maternity clothes felt better was in my chest. That, however, wasn't an incentive to switch to maternity clothes; if anything it was a disincentive. With my boobs still growing, I was happy to wear clothes that showed off my rack, especially now that my rack was starting to compare nicely to the large racks that the other women in Stepford possessed. One morning, though, my clothes felt tighter than ever before. That day I went over to Zoey's late-morning to lounge by her pool and then have some lunch. My boobs felt very tight in my bra and then in my bikini top. And while my belly felt a bit tight in my dress, the elastic of my swim skirt didn't feel quite as tight because of the give. The tightness around my chest eased significantly once I got into the water. Needless to say, I spent nearly the entire time lounging in the pool while my friend stuck to the original plan and mostly sunbathed poolside. I didn't emerge from the water until it was time for us to have lunch. "Tell me Vicky, how do you like having big tits?" Zoey asked me once I got out of the water. I hadn't noticed anything before, but I looked down to see that my boobs had spilled out of the cups. "I did! I did! I did increase my bust!" I chanted out, mimicking the Bust Cheer from our regular exercise classes at the Ladies' Club. Zoey giggled with me. "I'm sure Daniel will be quite pleased," Zoey remarked. "And I'm sure that once he's done enjoying the new sight he will be pleasing you," she playfully added a moment later. That innuendo sent a new wetness to my crotch; one that wasn't from the pool. After that, all I could think about was my husband pleasing me, especially my husband using his skilled hands and tongue to play with my larger boobs. "He most definitely will," I replied, a dreamy look on my face. "I think this occasion calls for a new dress and some new lingerie to go under it," Zoey declared. "And, yes, I know you have plenty of maternity dresses and I'm sure you have lingerie in whatever your new bra size is at home, but we're women and while we don't really need an excuse to shop, it's nice to have one," she added in a moment later. "What you really mean is that you also want to shop and this gives you the perfect excuse to spend Andy's money when doing so," I joked back. "Touch?," Zoey replied, a small smile gracing her lips. Instead of eating lunch by Zoey, we decided to go to our favorite cafe for a light lunch before we commenced shopping. We wanted to make sure we had enough time to have lunch and then have enough time shopping before it was time for us to get home so we could have dinner on the table for our respective husbands by the time they got home from work. Helping matters was the fact that Zoey's mother-in-law was quite happy to watch her grandchildren at the last minute so that we could have our little afternoon out. We went through three clothing boutiques and two lingerie stores on our shopping expedition. What was supposed to be a small expedition turned into a whole, large affair. Instead of getting one dress and some lingerie to go with it, I wound up adding five maternity dresses to my already large collection. I also added several bras, slips, half-slips and pairs of panties to go with them along with some pantyhose. The idea was that I would be able to showcase my pregnant body even if my baby bump still wasn't that big and was hidden by my large boobs. When I was fitted for my new bras I learned that I had gone up another cup size. My 36D breasts had grown to 36DD. I loved having large breasts, but I wondered when they would stop growing and what size they would come back down to once I finished breastfeeding. If the other women of Stepford were any indication, I was guessing that at my smallest I would be a 36DD and might even be larger. Zoey was the perfect example. At nine months pregnant she was a 42G and she said that when she wasn't either pregnant or breastfeeding she was a 40F. While my breasts already felt huge, I wouldn't mind being an F-cup and I knew that Daniel would certainly appreciate my being an F-cup. That night I created a date night in the house. I made a particularly elaborate multi-course dinner for my husband. The table was set out with our fine linen tablecloth and napkins. The holiday plates, silverware and glassware were out. The table was illuminated with romantic candles. I made an extra effort on my appearance. Before I went home, I quickly ran to the hairdressers to get my hair and makeup done. My dress was one that I would wear if we were going out to dinner instead of an everyday dress I would wear for dinner. Instead of my everyday pearls, I wore a diamond pendant and the matching diamond studs; the same diamond studs that were my husband's first gift to me immediately after my transformation. A little after six o'clock I heard my husband walk through the door. I immediately went over to help with his jacket and give him a proper welcome home, namely a loving kiss on the lips. My husband obliged, bending his head down to kiss me and deciding to deepen it. When we both broke for air, Daniel took a step back. I felt his eyes roaming up and down along my body. He paused briefly at my belly - my baby bump was now slightly noticeable. He paused for considerably longer at my chest. My husband was sexually objectifying me. The feminists might complain, but I was loving every second of it as my panties grew damper with each passing second. "I love the new dress, sweetheart," my husband told me, his eyes never leaving my chest. "Well you're the reason I'm in it," I playfully replied. "A maternity dress?" he asked, playing along although he knew full well that I was in one of my maternity dresses. "What do you think, Daniel?" I rhetorically asked. I tried to sound annoyed, but failed miserably as I started to giggle. "I think my beautiful, pregnant, wife needs her husband," he replied in a dominant voice; the wetness in my panties continued to grow. He stuck his hand up my dress and pushed aside my panties. "Yes, I think she very much needs her husband," he said as he traced the length of my wet slit with his index finger. I was so glad I had decided to go with a garter belt and stockings instead of pantyhose. "Take me Daniel! Please take me!" I begged my husband. "Dinner can wait, but I'm pretty sure that my beautiful wife can't," Daniel said, reaching out for my hand and then leading us to the living room sofa. Daniel positioned me at the edge of the sofa, my breasts resting on the armrest and my feet still on the floor. I heard him open his pants and then a second later heard them fall to the floor. A moment later he hitched up my dress and then pulled down my panties. That he was just going to fuck my brains out without bothering to undress either of us or without any real foreplay only heightened my arousal. I just needed my husband to dominate me. I desperately needed him to put me in my place as a woman and as his wife. "Tell me, Victoria, how badly do you need this?" my husband rhetorically asked me once my soaking wet pussy was exposed to him. "Badly, Daniel! Ahhhh! So badly!" I moaned out as he once again traced the length of my wet slit. "You need me to put you in your place, don't you?" he asked me. The dominance was driving my arousal to new levels. "Yes!" I moaned out. "Fuck me Daniel! Please! Fuck me! I need your cock so badly!" I begged my husband. "You need me to remind you that you're my wife, don't you Victoria?" my husband asked. He was giving me exactly what I needed. Just as badly as I needed my husband's cock, I needed him to dominate me and remind me that he was my husband and everything that came with that. "Oh god, yes!" I moaned. "Daniel!" I screamed as my husband finally entered me. "Yes, I think it's clear you really need this fucking," my husband replied sounding completely indifferent. It only further asserted his dominance and sent my pleasure skyrocketing to new heights. All I could do in response was moan. Forming coherent words or thoughts was beyond my capability with my husband inside me fucking my brains out. "Just how you should be," Daniel remarked when he saw that I couldn't form any words. "How Daniel?" I managed to find the wherewithal to ask him. "Panting and moaning just like a good wife should be doing when her husband inside her and having his way with her," he remarked authoritatively. All I could do is moan in reply about how great it was being his wife and how I wanted nothing else in life except for that. "Good. It's clear you were always meant to be a woman and a housewife," he said. I felt him bring his lips down to my neck while he snaked his hands under my boobs so he could squeeze them. With one more thrust he sent me over the edge. I screamed out his name as I came and a moment later I felt him explode into me. I got up from the edge of the couch, dropped to my knees, and licked my husband clean. I flicked the tip of my husband's dick, savoring the drop of cum that it rewarded me with. "My husband's cum! The best appetizer for dinner!" I proclaimed before I stood back up and pulled up my panties following our pre-dinner quickie. "Why don't you go and touch up your hair and makeup? I can finish putting dinner on the table," my husband suggested. I went over to the bathroom, took a quick look in the mirror and realized that he was right. While my hair and makeup weren't that bad, I could definitely touch them up. I headed upstairs so I could do exactly that and when I got back downstairs fifteen minutes dinner was out on the table. I gave my husband a quick kiss and then took my seat so we could enjoy dinner together. Zoey went into labor at the end of my fifth month. After sixteen hours of labor she gave birth to a baby girl they named Allison. I went to visit Zoey and Allison the next morning. Seeing little Allison at Zoey's breast, I immediately thought to four months in the future and what it would be like when my child was suckling at my breast. I absolutely loved being pregnant and the feeling of a life growing inside of me, but I was also looking forward to being able to hold my baby in my arms and nurture my baby from my body. "Would you like to hold little Allie?" my friend asked me once I had put down my bag. "Sure," I said, a smile coming to my face. "How are you feeling?" I asked Zoey once I had Allie securely in my arms. "Exhausted," she replied. "Labor just takes so much out of me. I loved that the first time I was required to go all natural, but I'm so thankful with the last two deliveries they've allowed me to have the epidurals," she explained. "Required to go natural?" I asked her, the horror evident in my voice. In my mind delivery involved being in bed, getting an epidural and using the drugs to manage the pain. "Yes," Zoey replied and I saw a dreamy look come over her face. "The first time any woman gives birth in Stepford she's required to do so completely naturally. There's no epidural. There's no other drugs. It's just the techniques that we learn in class at the Ladies' Club to help us through the pain," she explained. "And you loved that?" I ask, still completely shocked. "Yes, and you will too when your time comes in about four-and-a-half months," Zoey calmly reassured me. I did some math in my head after the initial shock wore off and then responded. "That would take me past term," I told her. "Yes," she calmly stated. "All women in Stepford deliver late. There's no giving birth on your due date or earlier, whether it's your first child or your seventh child," she told me. It wasn't the thought of carrying beyond my due date that petrified me. It was the startling uniformity, something that wasn't consistent with what I learned during my medical training. "You realize I'm freaking out, right?" I asked her. "I did too," Zoey told me. "But you'll see, it's no big deal that we carry late. We all go into labor before inductions are necessary and there are no C-sections either. All the women in Stepford give birth vaginally. It shows just how talented and thoughtful the researchers at Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs are in designing our bodies optimally for pregnancy and childbirth," Zoey reassured me. "Carrying late doesn't scare me. The bodies that we both have right now and what those bodies are currently doing is proof enough of just how skillful they are at the labs when it comes to designing our bodies," I explain. "It's the whole giving birth naturally that's terrifying me right now," I admit. "Like I said earlier, after I went through the experience I loved it and had an appreciation and understanding for why it was absolutely necessary," Zoey told me. "And why is that?" I asked her. "Because it refined me and purified me. It completed the mental transformation that I didn't realize was incomplete. It turned me completely into a woman. Yes, I remembered my time as a man, but lingering memories of what it was like to be a man were eradicated. All I could remember and contemplate was what it was like to be a woman." Zoey explained. "When your time comes it will be the same for you. It's like that for every woman in Stepford," she said very matter-of- factly, but simultaneously with a dreamy look on her eyes as she was clearly thinking back to her own first-time labor. I stopped right there. I was still skeptical, but there were so many other things I was skeptical about when it came to Stepford and my transformation despite what the other women were telling me where I was proven wrong. That I now referred to them as 'the other women', rather than 'the women', was proof enough of that since it showed I now self- identified as a woman. Immediately after my transformation I thought that while they could give me a woman's body, they could never make me think or identify as a woman. Given the contented housewife I had become, one who wanted nothing else for herself and craved sex with her husband, I had already been proven wrong on the biggest things. Compared to that my skepticism on labor and delivery was small potatoes and I was confident experience would once again prove my skepticism wrong. Throughout my sixth month I finally began to fill out my maternity dresses. When my sixth month began the baby bump I was so proud of was hidden under my 36DD breasts. Even with my breasts growing even more - my bra size was now 38F - my bump finally hit the point that it became noticeable my breasts notwithstanding. Everyone in the street could now see my baby bump. When the other women excitedly rubbed their hands on my belly it made me extremely happy. I loved that I was now visibly pregnant; that it was immediately evident wherever I went that Daniel's bun was in my oven. By the middle of my seventh month I started to get worried about my weight and my size. Intellectually, I knew that everything was progressing perfectly normally and that my weight gain and the increase in my belly size were within normal parameters. My medical background only reinforced this point. My concern, however, was not about my health. My concern was about whether or not my husband continued to find me attractive given how large I now felt and the fact that I would only continue to get bigger. Daniel constantly reassured me that he found me extremely attractive. He loved to emphasize and regularly prove to me how attractive he found me by constantly fucking my brains out. If anything, it only encouraged my behavior because my hormones were making me horny as hell and I needed my husband to constantly fuck me. Eventually, though, it got to be too much for Daniel and he decided it was time to stop my constant complaining about my weight and size. My husband decided it was time to remind me that I was his wife and that it was his responsibility to keep me in my place. "Do you really still find me attractive?" I whined one weekend morning late in my seventh month. We were watching a movie about a couple's pregnancy and it was at the point where the wife was starting to get really big. "How many times do I need to tell you that I find you extremely hot right now?" my husband asked me, clearly exasperated since I was now constantly asking him this question. "Well, you're not the one that's as big as a house," I huffed. "Follow me. I'll do something about that," my husband told me, his exasperation showing, but the mirth in his eyes telling me he had something already planned. "You're going to drink this pint of heavy cream and then I'm going to fuck your brains out," my husband told me when we got to the kitchen and he opened the refrigerator. "Now open wide, just like you would for my cock," he told me as he opened the carton of heavy cream. I licked my lips in anticipation and greedily swallowed the cream as he poured it into my mouth. Once I finished the heavy cream my husband didn't disappoint me. He walked me back to our bedroom and reached up my dress so he could pull down my panties and hose. My cunt was dripping wet before he could even get them down to the floor. Daniel then laid me at the edge of the bed and hitched up my dress. I lifted my smooth legs in the air and spread them, desperately needing my husband inside me. I moaned like a whore when my husband finally entered me. It felt so great with him inside me, fucking my brains out. I certainly couldn't think anymore. All I could do is feel. My husband was reminding me that I was only a woman and only his wife with the good, hard fucking I so desperately needed. "You're worried about getting too big?" he rhetorically asked. "Maybe it's time I spoke to your doctor about how big you should be getting. Maybe you're actually not getting big enough," he grunted between thrusts. I moaned that I would listen to anything the doctor said and would gain as much weight as he decreed. When Daniel brought his hands up to my tits and played with them through the fabric of my dress I was a goner. My cunt gripped his cock like it was holding on for dear life and the two of us orgasmed together. After I came down from my orgasm I felt my husband pull out. I got up off the bed, turned to face him and then dropped down to my knees. It was time for me to reward Daniel for being such a good husband. I licked my husband clean and then kept him in my mouth until I felt him get hard again. Then I sucked him off, savoring the taste of his cum like I used to savor the taste of a fine cognac. Two days later I visited my obstetrician for my weekly visit. Ever since I entered my third trimester the biweekly visits of my second trimester had become weekly visits. When I stepped into his office after the examination he said that Daniel had talked with him and his concerns and about my weight. My obstetrician reassured both my husband and I that my weight gain was within normal parameters. He told me that my baby and I were perfectly healthy and that I should continue to do what I had been doing throughout my pregnancy. He then told me that he would see me the following week. When I returned home from the obstetrician I was surprised to find my husband already waiting there for me. Daniel reached under my dress, pulled down my panties and gently eased me down to the floor. I lifted my smooth legs in the air and spread them wide, giving my husband easy access to my wet pussy. He opened his pants and pulled them and his boxers down. "See, nothing to worry about," he grunted as he entered me. I moaned that I would be a good wife and listen to him when it came to my weight instead of complaining. During my eighth month I continued with my busy schedule. I would keep the house clean and continued to volunteer during story time at the public library. I would always make sure that I was freshly made up for my husband and had breakfast on the table by the time he got downstairs in the morning and then have dinner on the table by the time he got home from work in the evening. Despite the discomfort, I would still always wear high heels because I loved what they did for my shapely legs. All of this got my husband worried about how much I should be doing at eight months pregnant. Now it was my turn to reassure my husband. I did so as his wife, and not as a medical professional. My days as a doctor were now long behind me and I couldn't imagine myself anymore as being anything other than a devoted housewife. I explained to Daniel that I was listening to my body, taking it easy when called for and taking naps whenever I felt tired. I once again told my husband that this is exactly what my obstetrician had told me when I raised these exact questions with him. Nonetheless, Daniel called my obstetrician, who reassured him that I was perfectly healthy and doing everything right. Throughout my pregnancy I had wondered about the differences between Stepford's women. There were the women such as Laura and Helena, who, for lack of a better term, were complete airheads. Then there were women such as Zoey and myself who retained our intelligence and could have easily resumed our professional lives if we so desired. The difference seemed to exist along generational lines with women under thirty generally retaining their intelligence and women over thirty generally lacking intelligence. It also made it easy to determine how long a woman was in Stepford, since regardless of what happened to her intelligence during the transformation process, her biological age was reset to twenty. All that was needed to know how long she had been a Stepford wife was to subtract twenty from her current age. At thirty-five, Laura had been in Stepford for fifteen years; at thirty-three Helena had been in Stepford for thirteen years. Whatever had happened to change the most common outcome of the transformation process had occurred ten years earlier several years after Helena arrived in Stepford and several years before Zoey arrived in Stepford. When I asked Zoey about these differences and why they existed, all she said is that it wasn't her place to tell me. She explained that when the time was appropriate Daniel would sit me down and explain everything. She said that this is what happened with her during the ninth month of her first pregnancy. One day Andrew sat her down and explained everything, from why she was selected to become a Stepford wife to why she retained her intelligence. Now knowing that it was my husband's place to explain everything to me, like a good wife I simply waited until my husband decided the time was appropriate. Whereas Laura and Helena might differ from Zoey and I when it came to intelligence, all four of us wholeheartedly agreed when it came to our role as women, wives and mothers. Finally, early in my ninth month Daniel sat me down. My husband explained that the time was now appropriate to explain everything to me. Specifically, he wanted to explain why I came to be in Stepford and how each of Stepford's women factored into what was happening at Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs. Daniel confirmed that I was invited to the conference all those months ago specifically so I could be transformed into a Stepford wife. He also explained that the Labs made most of their money from the transformations. The Labs' specialty was dream wives to order. All the women who underwent the transformation process were specifically designed by their husbands-to-be. My husband explained I was no exception. Daniel had specifically designed me once he confirmed I was a perfect candidate for transformation after my arrival in Stepford. That wasn't everything though. My husband explained that Stepford's women factored into what was happening at Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs in the context of an ongoing debate between the older and younger generations of researchers at the labs. It wasn't difficult for me to deduce that intelligence factored into this debate. That the older generation favored women lacking intelligence; that the younger generation favored women retaining their intelligence. Daniel also explained that he followed the generational fault lines when it came to the debate, which, given my retained intelligence was certainly no surprise. I just wanted to know how intelligence specifically played into this debate. Daniel started out not by mentioning intelligence, but rather what both generations agreed on. "When it comes to woman's role there's no disagreement between the older and younger generations. Like those before us, we of the younger generation strongly believe in traditional gender roles. We believe that women belong in the home as housewives and mothers and not in the workforce. We believe that a woman's role is supportive; to support her husband and make it possible for him to go out into the world and provide for his family. That women's aspirations should be limited to being good wives to their husbands and good mothers to their children and not any professional aspirations. We believe that this creates the ideal society; one where there is true equality as men and women fulfill the distinct roles that nature created. That is why we created the transformation process. We are not the conservatives that outside forces would claim we are, but rather idealists that seek to create the best society possible," my husband explained. We sat there silently for several moments, knowing that before my husband went any further it was important for me to respond. Eight months ago, in the immediate aftermath of my transformation, I would have been incensed and looked for every available escape opportunity. Now, however, I felt happy. I felt an overwhelming wave love wash over me from my husband's words. It was a love for society, but, more importantly, a love for me individually. I needed those moments to think through my feelings so that I would be able to properly communicate my feelings to my husband. "Thank you for this wonderful gift, Daniel," I told my husband, an adoring look in my teary eyes. I leaned over to give my husband a sweet kiss on the lips. "You make me feel so loved and precious. It makes me the happiest woman in the world to be your wife and to be the mother to our child that I'm carrying," I told him, before leaning in again to give him another kiss. When we broke from the kiss, I continued. "So how does intelligence factor into preserving and enhancing the traditional society we've created in Stepford?" I asked my husband, steering the conversation back to its original course. It was then that my husband explained to me that while the men of his generation believed that maintaining intelligence enhanced a woman's transformation and made it easier for her to accept her place in society, the men of the older generation believed that it was more effective if a woman was stripped of her intelligence. He also explained the connection that existed between intelligence and whether or not a woman had sexual relations with other women. In the end it all came down to generational viewpoints. The younger generation wanted completely monogamous wives whose intelligence allowed them to accept their place in society. The older generation didn't think their wives having sex with other women interfered in the rights they enjoyed in their wives and thought that intelligence hindered acceptance of their place in society. The explanation of why I was brought to Stepford, and why my husband designed me as he did, made me feel especially loved and wanted. Those philosophical and scientific debates surrounding the transformation process impacted me directly. It was because of those debates, and because of my husband, that I possessed the wonderful life I now had. Daniel wanted me exactly as I am. I knew that would only strengthen our marriage and help make a better life for the family that we were creating together. Starting during my eighth month I frequently awoke during the night due to my throbbing boobs. Sometimes they would leak little droplets of milk, but that was the exception, not the rule. Whenever they caused me to wake up, I would walk over to the bathroom so that I could massage them. After a few minutes massaging them they would usually feel better enough that I could go back to bed. I always tried my best not to wake Daniel whenever I'd do this. After all, unlike me, my husband had work in the morning and I didn't want him feeling exhausted when he was in the office because his wife kept him up during the night. Having had medical training, I knew that milk production had been underway for months and that my breasts were currently full of milk. I also knew from that same medical training that women would sometimes lactate before giving birth; small leaking, like I experienced, was not really considered lactation and it happened quite frequently during pregnancies. I also knew from personal observations and conversations that in Stepford prenatal lactation was a fairly common occurrence. For those reasons I considered it a very real possibility that I would begin lactating prior to giving birth. One night, approximately three weeks before my due date, I was once again awakened by my throbbing boobs. I felt some wetness around my nipples. I walked to the bathroom so that I could massage my boobs, dab my nipples dry and then head back to bed. When I looked in the mirror, however, I saw two sizable wet stains on the bodice of my nightie surrounding my nipples. I lowered the bodice of my nightie and saw that the milk was flowing freely from my engorged breasts. Before I had been occasionally leaking. Now it was clear that I was lactating. I gently closed the bathroom so I wouldn't wake my husband. I took off my nightie and then attached my breast pump to my leaking tits. As I turned the breast pump on, I hoped that the closed door muffled the whirring of the machine enough that it would not wake my husband. I sat down on the toilet, letting the pump slowly do its work drawing the milk from my engorged tits. The machine continued to whir as it milked me like I was a cow, which was somewhat appropriate given that I was now officially a milk producer. At first, the breast pump hurt as it applied pressure to draw the milk from my large breasts. However, as it began to drain me my boobs began to feel significantly better. They were no longer engorged now that the milk was being taken out from them. Eventually, the pressure of the machine began to feel less like painful squeezing and more like the squeezing from when my husband played with my boobs. Given that, it wasn't that surprising when I eventually became a little wet from what the breast bump was doing to my boobs. When the pump was finished I disconnected it from my breasts and decided to look at myself in the mirror before heading back to bed. I cupped my boobs in my dainty hands and gently tweaked the nipples. A little milk dribbled from the nipples and a low moan escaped my lips. The wetness in my crotch started to increase and I thought about perhaps playing with myself a bit before heading back to bed. It would be a challenge to remain quiet, but I welcomed challenges. Before I could put my plan into action I heard the bathroom door open behind me and then saw my husband's reflection in the mirror. So much for my plan to avoid waking him. Heading back to bed anyway, I turned around to face my husband. Daniel closed the distance between us and then reached for my breasts. "I think your boobs have gotten a little bigger," my husband said as he hefted my boobs in his hands, causing them to jiggle. "I think I'll need to do a closer inspection," he said, continuing to cup my breasts in his hands. "Would you prefer a hands-on examination?" he asked, gently caressing my boobs with his strong, manly hands. "Or would you prefer an oral examination?" he asked, releasing my boobs from his hands and then bringing his mouth to each of them. I somehow managed to moan out, "Oral," in response to my husband. I was already starting to become completely lost to my pleasure from his tongue swirling around my nipples and then sucking, slowly drawing milk from my breasts. I could feel my legs start to turn to jelly and knew that this activity would soon have to be relocated to bed. "Well, come to bed my dear Victoria, I think you need to be serviced," Daniel replied, gently placing his hand on the small of my back so that he could lead me back to bed. I used my hands to brace my back as I followed my husband and waddled back to bed. I eased myself into bed and positioned a pillow under my belly. My dangling tits gently swayed as they hung from my chest. I released a soft moan as I felt my husband's hands reach under my tits and give them a quick squeeze. A moment later I felt my husband enter me. I moaned lustily as his cock slipped inside me. His hands roamed all over my ripe curves and I could feel my boobs slap together with each thrust from my husband. "You love being pregnant, don't you Victoria?" my husband grunted between his thrusts. I managed to pant that all I wanted in life was to be his wife and have his children. "Then I suppose it's a good thing that I intend to keep you knocked up for awhile," he grunted. My cunt gripped his cock tightly as I orgasmed and a moment later I felt him erupt inside me. There were two wet stains on the bedsheets under my tits. As I neared the end of my ninth month I kept wondering when I would go into labor. With every little twitch, with every Braxton-Hicks contraction, I kept thinking that I might have entered labor. However, I kept in the back of my mind Zoey's words from months before about how women in Stepford always deliver late. I remember that she delivered after her projected due date and that she said that it didn't matter whether it was a first pregnancy or a seventh pregnancy. I thought that I might prove the exception to that rule, but intellectually I knew that as with so many other things where I thought I might prove the exception to Stepford's general rule it was unlikely. So far my experience had been a textbook case for a Stepford transformation and realistically I knew that would continue when it came to labor and delivery. When my predicted due date finally arrived it came and went. It was exactly as predicted and, honestly, expected. I ended the due date exactly as I began it; I was still pregnant. During my weekly obstetrician's visit he reassured me that everything was fine and I needn't worry. His tone and mannerisms were the same as they had been throughout my pregnancy. They were confident and reassuring and they emphasized that he was the medical professional and the only one with expertise. He was fully aware of my background, but he nonetheless treated me as an ordinary Stepford housewife instead of the medical professional I once was. Having fully embraced my transformation, and my role as an ordinary housewife, I welcomed the treatment. Ten days past my due date and I was still pregnant. My obstetrician informed me the day before that this was nothing to worry about and only if I went another week would he consider inducing labor. Just after midnight I began to feel twinges in my belly. At first they were irregular, but by the time I woke up so I could prepare breakfast for my husband they had become stronger and more frequent. They were also considerably more regular, although nowhere near frequent or long enough to justify going to the hospital. I did my best not to show anything and I didn't say anything to my husband before he left for work. I had plans for labor and if my husband found out I was in labor he would interfere with those plans. Immediately after Daniel left for the office I called my hairdresser to see if she could fit me in that morning to get my hair done. Initially, said she was completely booked up, but when I explained the situation she promised me an appointment at ten o'clock for hair and makeup. I didn't know what I would like as labor progressed, and I certainly had no illusions the hair and makeup would still be in place once I gave birth, but I was determined to look as pretty and feminine as possible when I entered the hospital. After I scheduled the hairdresser, I called Zoey, explained the situation and asked her if she'd like to keep my company for the morning before it was inevitably time to call Daniel and let him know that it was time to go to the hospital. Thankfully, Zoey agreed. She picked me up at nine-thirty and we made our way to the hairdresser so I could look nice and pretty. Even though there really isn't anything more feminine than giving birth, there was something inside me that I wanted to feel pretty and feminine for myself and having my hair and makeup done was what I needed to do to make that happen. It felt so nice to get my hair and makeup done. It not only made me feel pretty and feminine; it made me feel normal. When I looked at myself in the mirror I liked what I saw. The only indication that something wasn't quite normal were the occasional twinges that manifested themselves on my face. Those twinges corresponded with each of my contractions, which were now growing more and more frequent. It was starting to become increasingly likely that instead of eventually making it home, I would be going to the hospital. After leaving the hairdresser, Zoey and I decided to go out for lunch. With everything happening my appetite was largely gone. I ate a very light lunch and even then there was more of my grilled chicken salad left in the bowl than there was in my stomach. As we were finishing I knew it was time to stop putting off the inevitable and call Daniel to let him know that I was in labor. I had no doubt that my husband would come home from the office and most likely tell me that it was time to go to the hospital; especially since my contractions were now nearing the point that it actually was time for me to head to the hospital. Before we left the diner, I stopped in the bathroom so that I could pee. With an increasingly heavy child sitting on my bladder, my restroom stops to urinate had become considerably more frequent. For the past several months, even if I didn't feel the urge to pee, I would nonetheless make sure to pee before leaving anywhere. I didn't want to find myself nowhere near a bathroom with an uncontrollable urge to pee. I already peed in my panties from laughing or just everyday walking, I didn't need to add a deluge from an actual need to urinate. When I sat down on the toilet, I knew that the time was finally here. My body was wracked by a long, powerful and painful contraction while I fought the urge to fall forward. Once the contraction passed, I heard a whoosh as liquid gushed into the toilet. I didn't need the medical degree I once had to know that it wasn't urine gushing into the toilet. It was amniotic fluid gushing out of my vagina; my water had broken. "Call Daniel," I told Zoey when I got back to the table. I was a mixture of excitement and nervousness, although I could feel the nervousness starting to win out at the moment. "It's time?" she asked me, although she already knew the answer to that question. "It's time," I confirmed. "My water broke," I told her and then as if on cue another contraction wracked my body as if to emphasize the point. Daniel told us to stay at the diner that he would head over there immediately from the office. Even with my intelligence it was so nice to have a man take charge of the situation. It reassured me and instantly calmed my nerves. My excitement took over while Zoey and I waited for my husband to arrive. After all these months of waiting, it was now only a few hours until I would finally be able to hold the child I was carrying these past nine months in my arms. When we finally arrived at the hospital everything was already in order. There was someone there awaiting our arrival and then he took us through the admissions process. Barely an hour after my water had broken I was out of my dress and in a hospital gown, laying on the bed in the labor and delivery room. As each contraction brought excruciating pain throughout my body I was extremely nervous about going through this without any medication to ease the pain. However, with my husband holding my hand and knowing that he would be there every step of the way, it gave me complete confidence that I could do this. I was determined to push through and hoped that as with all the other women of Stepford I would eventually come to savor this experience. Ten hours later, shortly after midnight, my obstetrician indicated that the time was approaching. My makeup that had been perfectly done when I entered the hospital that afternoon was now completely smeared. The hair that was perfectly done now was now completely disorganized. It was damp from sweat and I could feel it clinging to my neck and my back. I could feel my breasts splayed out and pushing against my upper arms with each push. I felt like a complete mess. According to my husband, however, I had never been more beautiful. By the time that the doctor told me I was near the finish line I had already been pushing for two hours at that point and even with using all the techniques that I had learned in class the pain was unbearable. Still, I now understood exactly why I was required to go through this completely naturally the first time. Just as Zoey had told me months earlier this was a purifying experience. It was burning away my old thoughts and memories that still lingered. It was refining me; turning me into a pure woman. Even though I wasn't completely through the experience, I knew that just like every other Stepford woman this would be one of my most cherished memories and experiences. Finally, my obstetrician told me it was time to give one final push. As the next contraction wracked my body I pushed with all my might. My body felt like it was squeezing me from the inside, wringing my uterus to bring my baby into this world. A few seconds later I was rewarded with the sound of crying. Right after that the doctor announced that it was a girl. He placed her on my belly so she could begin her trek up to my breasts and a minute later Daniel cut the umbilical cord. Once he did, all the medical staff exited the room so that the three of us could have an hour together as a family. "I think it's time we finally decided on a name," my husband said once we were finally alone. "Yeah, I don't think we have much choice at this point," I joked, a small giggle escaping my lips. Meanwhile, our still unnamed daughter was continuing her climb up my belly and chest in search of my breast and her first meal in the outside world. "So, what do you think of Ava?" Daniel asks me, starting to go through the names that we had picked out before her birth. I quickly shook my head. "How about Isabella?" he asked. "She doesn't seem like an Isabella," I replied, shooting down that option as well. "How about Emily?" I asked my husband. "She doesn't seem like an Emily," Daniel replied, parroting my reply. "How about Leah?" he asked. That felt like it could work. "Leah Hughes," I said, testing out how the name sounded. "I like it," I said, pausing briefly and then continuing, "I think we have a name," I told my husband. "Welcome to the world, little Leah Hughes," her father told her as Leah continued to make her way to my breast for nourishment. When Leah finally made her way to my breast and latched on to the nipple there was a slight pain. Then, a moment later she began to suckle. It was the most amazing feeling in the world. Nothing could compare to the feeling that comes from the knowledge that the child my body helped grow the past nine months was now taking nourishment from my body. It connected me to my femininity, my womanhood and my new motherhood in a way that was indescribable. Any lingering doubts about the path my life had taken were completely vanquished. Completely gone forever was Doctor Cabot, the surgical resident. All that remained was Victoria Hughes, contented housewife and mother. We were released from the hospital after four days and that's when Daniel began his six weeks of paternity leave. It was extremely helpful to have Daniel around while I recovered from the effect that pregnancy and labor had on my body, but it was also an annoyance. Daniel wanted to make everything as easy as possible for me and to ensure that I had maximum time to bond with Leah. Unfortunately, that involved my husband taking over many of my domestic responsibilities, including the cleaning and some of the cooking. While I appreciated the gesture, I couldn't wait to fully resume my duties as a typical housewife. Slowly, over the course of the first four weeks of my husband's paternity leave I convinced my husband to let me gradually resume my domestic responsibilities. Once Leah turned a month old, Daniel finally agreed to let me fully take care of my domestic realm. That gave him two weeks where all he did was spend time with our daughter while I tended to our house. It was nice to finally be a typical housewife once again, especially now that I had a child. I knew that I was the stereotype of the ideal 1950s woman being a devoted housewife and mother. To many outside of Stepford that might have been extremely outdated and they would have considered me repressed. However, to me, I was extremely proud of that and found liberation in being free to be a wife to my husband and a mother to my daughter without having to worry about anything else. There was nothing that me prouder than to be addressed as 'Mrs. Hughes' because it mean that I was wife to Daniel and mother to Leah. Once Daniel finally returned to work, I was able to properly settle into my new life now that I was both a housewife and a mother. I slowly started to resume my volunteering and took full advantage of the fact that my husband's parents were more than willing to watch their granddaughter when Daniel and I had our date nights. However, I made sure to limit our date nights to once a week because I really wanted to minimize how many times Leah would take the bottle. Yes, she was having my expressed breast milk rather than formula, but it didn't matter to me. I felt the breast was better and I was determined to breastfeed exclusively for the first six months. Three months after giving birth it was time for me to visit my gynecologist for my final postpartum visit. He gave me a clean bill of health and informed me that I was now fully recovered from the pregnancy. He said that Daniel and I were free to start trying whenever we'd like and asked if I had started getting my period. When I told him that I had yet to menstruate, he explained that if I wanted to he could give me a prescription for a medication that would cause my period to start and allow me to get pregnant. Before I could even ask the question, he informed me that this was common in Stepford and that it would have no effect on my breastfeeding. That night, I spoke with Daniel and we both agreed that it was time to start trying for our second child. I called my gynecologist the next morning and asked him to give me the prescription. Two hours later I picked the prescription up at the pharmacy, took my first dose of medicine and let it sink in that we were now officially trying. Naturally, there was the part of me that was hoping that I would have to wait even longer to get my first-ever period because Daniel would knock me up the first time I ovulated. Four weeks later I was disappointed. I had started wearing menstrual pads two weeks earlier in anticipation of a potential first period. That morning I awoke to a bloody mess in my pad; my period had started. My period lasted for a typical week, with the bloody flows easing up after the first two days. I was moody and hormonal. I had the typical aches that I had seen countless times in my medical training, but never thought I'd experience firsthand. Finally, after a week it was gone and I once again felt fully human. Two weeks after my period started, Daniel and I celebrated our first anniversary. For the first time since giving birth I went to the hairdressers so I could get my hair and makeup done. Zoey and I went to my favorite boutique so that I could pick out a new dress and some lingerie to wear under it so that Daniel would have a nice surprise when we returned home from dinner. I had lost all but five pounds of my pregnancy weight, but it was still enough to impact my dress size. I felt like all five of those pounds were in my 40G breasts, but I was proud of them because their carrying that weight meant that they were still giving nourishment to my daughter. Once I returned home, Zoey spent the remainder of the afternoon with me so she could help me get ready and critique my appearance. I was nervous about tonight's dinner and it was helpful having her give me insight since she had been through exactly the same thing several years earlier. When I was finished getting ready, Zoey headed home so she could cook dinner for her husband and children. She also took Leah with her, reassuring me that she had plenty of experience with babies and that I should just enjoy the night with my husband. We went for dinner and dancing at the Men's Club that night. It was always held in the City Room, which was the only place inside the club where women were permitted. It felt nice having my husband order for us and then lead me out onto the dance floor. I loved the feeling of being in his arms as we swayed to the music. A year earlier it might have still felt weird and difficult to wear high heels, especially while dancing, but now I couldn't imagine anything else. Before dessert, I went to the bathroom. As I was exiting to make my way back to my husband, I saw men entering and exiting the other rooms through their oaken doors. It caused me to briefly think back to about fourteen months earlier and what it was like to have that independence. Sometimes I would get tired from the cooking and the cleaning and even having the primary responsibility for our daughter. But then I would think about what it was like whenever Leah took my breast and suckled. That always vanquished those thoughts. I realized how lucky I was to have the wonderful life that I did and knew that I wanted nothing else than what I had. That night when we returned home from the Men's Club, Daniel and I made slow, passionate, sweet love. When my husband erupted inside me I just got this feeling that it was exactly the right time and it would be awhile before I got my second period. Three weeks later that feeling would be validated. My period was already a week late and I decided to take a home pregnancy test. It confirmed what I already suspected. I was pregnant with my second child. I was so excited. Epilogue I was waddling around Wednesday Afternoon Tea at the Ladies' Club. It had been five years since I transformed and I was currently pregnant for fourth time. Even though I looked like I could deliver at any moment, I was actually only in my sixth month. I was carrying very large this time around and my normal 38F boobs were already back up to a 40G. The combination made my back extremely achy and I found a place to sit to ease some of the pressure on my back. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a new girl. She was easy to identify because of her smaller breasts and her flat belly that made clear she was at the beginning of her first pregnancy. When she turned around I got a clearer look at her face and was able to identify her. Stepford had a wedding a few weeks back and she had been the bride. While Daniel and I had attended the wedding, we had only briefly introduced ourselves at the reception. Daniel and her husband were friends and coworkers at Stepford Pharmaceutical Labs but they weren't particularly close. I caught her eye and motioned her to come over to where I was sitting. A few seconds later she sat down next to me. "Hi Elizabeth, I'm Victoria Hughes. Our husbands work together at the Labs and we briefly met at your wedding reception," I told her, reintroducing myself. A second later my face twinged as I felt my baby kick. "Are you okay?" Elizabeth asked me, her face full of worry and concern. "Are you going into labor?" she asked me as she looked down to my enormous belly. "I'm fine. I'm nowhere near going into labor. I'm only in my sixth month, so I still have about another four months to go before I give birth," I told her. "I'm carrying a bit bigger than I did with my three previous pregnancies, so I'm still going to get much larger," I said, wrapping my arms around my front and moving them out to show her how much bigger I expected to get. "You enjoy being pregnant?" she asked me. While I knew she probably had worked out her feelings about being a woman and a housewife, and now embraced those, I knew it always took a little longer to work out the feelings about being pregnant. Besides, she had no experience to draw upon to know the positives and negatives of being pregnant. "I love it. It's the most amazing and wonderful feeling. It makes me feel so feminine and womanly. And the way it turns my husband on seeing my pregnant body, it makes me feel so needed and desired," I explained, my mind drifting off to the clouds as I thought about what Daniel was doing to me every night when he fucked my brains out. When I came back down to earth, I saw that Elizabeth was still staring at me. "So tell me, Mrs. Adams, how are you liking married life?" I asked her, breaking her out of her reverie. "It's wonderful," she said, a dreamy look on her face. "Nathan is so amazing and such a great husband. He's so great at taking care of me and keeping me in my place. After the cutthroat life I had up until a few weeks ago, I love my new life as a housewife. There's just something so great in the simplicity of this life. I actually enjoy the cooking and the cleaning. I can't imagine ever wanting to be anything else; to be anything other than Nathan's wife; to be anything other than Mrs. Adams," Elizabeth dreamily rambles. "It only gets better, Elizabeth," I tell her. "I prefer Lizzie," she replies, a coy smile on her face. "Well then, Lizzie, welcome to Stepford," I tell her. The smile on her face tells me that Lizzie is already enjoying being the typical Stepford wife.