Retrospect
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Retrospect 2 free porn video
RETROSPECT 2
Sleazy Blonde, 2021
Well, that was my plan: 1) stop calling him "Pansy" and resume calling
him "George"; 2) no more penis gag; and 3) no more French maid uniforms.
It was a three-year plan, but it lasted only one day.
Those mean, nasty, vile reviewers of the first part of my story caused
me to re-evaluate my treatment of Georgie.
After a guilt filled and cognac heavy night, I awoke the next day more
determined than ever to rehabilitate my husband. I knew that the journey
would inconvenience me. Admit it; it would you too if you had had a maid
for three years and had never had to lift a finger to clean or maintain
your home.
Regardless, the shame inflicted upon by online reviewers directed my
course for this next day, the first of Georgie's new life with me.
As I awoke, Georgie was standing at the foot of my bed, ready as she
always --- I mean he --- always had been for three years to attend to my
morning routine. He had listened to me; he wasn't wearing his French
maid uniform. Excellent on the one hand but not on the other.
"Georgie, you're naked."
He didn't answer me. I got up and went to his room. The closet was alas
filled with but maid uniforms. That was I suppose my mistake, but he
could have told me over the past three years that I hadn't filled out
his wardrobe completely.
"Stay here, Georgie, sweetie. I'm going to Wally World to get something
for you to wear."
I was back in an hour. I quickly directed him on the wearing of his new
clothing. His open-toes 2" sandals went well with his cherry red toenail
polish. The pink blush capris showed off his shapely legs. The crop top
with the unicorn on it revealed his navel piercing and slim waist while
barely hiding his pert chest. I had directed his removing most of the
jewelry; the large hoop earrings were a must-keep though. So was the
Kitty ear headband.
"Now, what do we say when we get presents, Georgie-poo?"
"Thank you, Mistress."
"No, no, no, Georgie. From now on, we say 'Thank you, June'. Now you try
it."
"Thank you, June."
"Excellent!" I bent over and turned my cheek so that he could kiss my
ass in gratitude.
"Now, Georgie, why don't you just walk around the house while I get
ready and then we'll sit at the kitchen table. We'll have a coffee
together!" He scampered away. He looks so delightful. A few minutes
later, despite my troubles finding my panties --- so many dressers and
closets; it's easier to have someone else find and lay out one's
clothing --- we sat and watched each other sip our respective coffees.
I realized that his superb willingness to serve me these past few years
prevented him from initiating any conversation. I would have to teach
him, I suppose.
"Georgie-kins," I began, "as I said last night, I regret my mistake and
accusation that you were cheating on me. You were a very good spouse. I
should have believed you. I didn't. You paid the price for my mistaking
that man at the conference for you. Therefore, you really didn't serve
to be trained and treated as my maid these past years. I am sorry."
I was, yeah, mostly, kinda.
"Mistress, what's the---"
"Georgie! I told you to call me 'June'," I said with a severe smile
while suppressing my more immediate well-honed instincts.
"June, thank you for finally acknowledging my fidelity to you and for
starting this journey of ours to get us back to where we were before. I
don't know if I can---"
He broke down crying on the lace tablecloth, the one from my lustful
vacation a year ago in Bruges with Hank and Leroy. He kept crying and
crying.
Tears of gratitude I imagine. There's a simple way to stop them. I stuck
my foot out. "Go ahead, Georgie-sweetie. It's there if you want to do
it." I said this with love and affection.
His disposition changed immediately into one of brightness, hope, and
optimism. He flew out of his chair and groveled on the floor kissing my
foot. Yes, dear reader; I knew I had work to do to get our marriage back
on track, sort of.
Three weeks later, I was extremely pleased with my project: 'Integrating
Georgie-pie' I called it. He had an entirely new wardrobe. No pants of
course other than capris. Lots of sandals and heels, variety upon
diversity. Hosiery, stockings, garters, thongs, briefs, bras, bralettes,
corsets, blouses, jumpers, rompers, skirts, dress, bodycons, sweaters,
negligees, nighties, etc: you name it, the chances are that I had bought
it for Georgie.
He was ready to see my OBGYN. She had helped me start the George-to-
Pansy transition and offered to help reverse it insofar as she could.
"We still have his testicles," she said, pointing to a jar on a display
shelf in her office, "but that option is you understand off the table.
We can remove or reduce his implants. The facial modifications cannot be
undone. Indeed, June, if I may, why would you? Why not simply keep him
like this?"
"I can't, Grace. She deserves my best effort--- he deserves, I mean ---
to reconstitute our marriage. It wasn't a bad one, remember?"
"Frankly, June, your best efforts will not go far. That body is stuck.
She I mean he is always going to look somewhat like a woman. The best a
plastic surgeon might offer, and I'm no expert, is an androgynous look -
-- permanently androgynous. Consider making lemonade with the lemons
which God, or rather that Maid Academy, has provided you.
"She could be --- he could be --- your wife. Think about it."
And I did.
I took time off work. I devoted myself to Georgie-pie's rehabilitation
and the rejuvenation of our marriage. He no longer dressed like a slutty
maid; his appearance was that of a young, distinguished lady. Her ---
HIS - mannerisms grew increasingly dignified and socially acceptable.
There was now found a quiet confidence in his looks and certainty in his
demeanour.
Don't get me wrong; old habits are hard to extinguish. He still doted on
me and made incredible contributions to cleaning and maintain the house.
But we started working together on more and more things.
Soon, whiffs of our teamwork began to emerge: "George, we have cleaning
to do here," I said surveying his old office that I had closed years
ago. "We need to vacuum, dust, wipe, and organize. We also need too..."
My mind was focused on the innumerable tasks to get this room back into
shape. My instructions finished, I sat down with my Pinot to supervise.
I was proud of him; he did know how to dust far better than I.
And we started to banter as we once did. "Georgie, the government is
proposing a 2.5% reduction in the net Class B offshore emissions rebate
to incentivize companies to use more solar power. What are your thoughts
on the possible contradictory positions now that Big Oil has admitted
its global warming guilt?"
Silence.
Well, almost as we once did.
"Georgie, what do you think of the garden?"
"June, it's very pretty. Would you like me to weed it?"
Yes, almost as we once did.
As the saying goes, the longest march begins with someone saying
"march"; so, I was heartened to hear Georgie even try to converse.
Progress: I sensed it.
I invited him out to a restaurant for fine dining. She looked
spectacular in her little black dress and pumps and clutch, her hair
done up in a French bun. HE looked spectacular; sorry.
The dinner was marred by one unfortunate incident. I saw Leroy with
gorgeous woman at another table. I sighed as I thought that Georgie
never could and never would rival that splendid specimen of rigid, male
muscle, heaving and pushing me to ever greater orgasmic limits. No: I
now had Georgie and... what was left of what he once had.
I also now made changes to my sexual life. I cut out all but two of my
lovers. I purchased a large vibrator to compensate. I no longer snapped
my fingers to compel Georgie-kins to eat me. No: now, I simply pointed
and asked him: "Georgie, please eat me. Now. Here."
I began tickling him with a feather instead of a leather flogger. I
removed the duct tape and let the chastity cage fall off; I didn't even
have to unlock it. Hmm: not Leroy. I couldn't afford to have all his
tattoos removed but I managed to get the most salacious ones off, if
they were visible...
I looked at him with affection again. I did so like him and was growing
in love with...
Yes, love. Love! It was love again! I knew I was falling in love again!
But with whom?
I wracked myself countless nights, wondering how I could have caused all
this. I had taken a perfectly normal, loving husband, had transformed
him into a mutant, into a prototypical online TG fiction fetish French
Maid, and now wished a resurrection of the former.
Yet the further we progressed from that decisive day on which I had
determined that Georgie deserved a chance to return, the clearer it ever
appeared to me that HE could not. There would always be a SHE there,
visible, noticeable, and irremovable.
What to do?
I deliberated back and forth. I made a decision.
I invited him to seat in my Empress of the Universe chair. He was
flabbergasted; rightly so of course but the significance of my
invitation to that chair did not escape his increasingly reconstructed
mind. "Thank you, Mistress! I mean, June!" he exclaimed.
I knelt in front of him. So, this is what it looks like from this angle,
I thought to myself. I prefer the chair...
"Georgie, I would like to marry you. Again. As a statement of our
continuing and now powerfully transformed love. Would you please marry
me?"
I took out the box. I took out the ring from the box. I put the ring on
his finger.
He cried and shouted, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" He asked permission to hug me,
and I replied of course he could.
The civil arrangements were quick and simple and done. We dashed off on
our honeymoon to the same resort in Maine at which we had spent our
first. Throughout our trip there, we exchanged naughty glances. Our
anticipation built. We held hands again.
Yes, this was right. After so many years, this was right. Together
again.
And I was so glad to have read and benefitted from the critical reviews
of my first retrospective story about Georgie. The reviewers were right;
we deserved --- Georgie and I, a now married loving couple --- we
deserved a happy ending after the three years of misunderstanding
brought about by George's failure to adequately explain to me how he had
not cheated on me.
At the resort, we kissed in the elevator to the floor, in the hallway to
the door, in the doorway to the room, and in the foyer before the bed. I
hurriedly stripped her of everything except her --- HIS! Fuck! HIS! ---
stockings and threw him on the bed. He looked at me wantonly, eagerly.
"Turn over," I commanded. He obeyed.
"On all fours," I ordered. He complied.
Like I said, my husband George was too far gone to come back; what's
done is done.
But I loved Georgie, my new wife. SHE. HER. And I strapped on my fav
strap-on, my 12" x 3" Ms. Bull-Dyke and consummated my marriage with my
new beloved wife.
In retrospect, maybe I too was too far gone.
finito
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