I'm A Cuckold Sissy free porn video

I'm A Cuckold Sissy by Throne My wife Tracy is observant and clever. During the first months of our marriage she noticed my natural submissiveness and how I loved her clothes. I didn't want to wear her panties and stockings. Their appeal was more like a fetish. Except that a fetish is usually exclusive to one thing, like shoes or furs. I liked everything she wore, from a full length leather coat to ankle socks with lace around the tops. The clothes were exciting enough in themselves but when they were on her trim but curvy body the effect was doubled or sometimes tripled. She began to use my not-so-secret desires to control me. It would be, "Ira, do you like me in this fishnet body stocking?" or "Honey, what do you think of these leg warmers?" Soon she began to wear my favorites in the bedroom, which had multiple results. The first was that I got so excited that premature ejaculations became a regular occurrence. Second was that I was so weak in the presence of those fashions that she could easily control me, gradually shifting the focus of our sex life away from intercourse and toward me orally satisfying her. She eventually settled into a pattern. I would provide foreplay by licking her until she was quite wet. Then she would allow me to get into the missionary position but not enter her all the way . "Now, Ira, you know how you keep popping your cork too soon. So I think it would be better if you put just the head of your dick in me, to help you control yourself." Then, after I'd been inside her like that for a few minutes, getting more and more aroused by the warm slippery entrance to her body, she would begin to finger my nipples. That always put me over the top. I would lose control and, with lots of strained groans and even some whimpering, shoot my semen. Then it was only a short step for her to point out that I'd been fulfilled but she hadn't, and that with my oral skills, the logical thing was for me to go down on her. When I tried to postpone it so I could clean her up with a washcloth, she insisted that any delay would spoil her mood. So from then on she had me finishing in a hurry and spending lots of time giving her orgasms, while I also lapped up my own spunk. It was highly unpleasant but I couldn't argue, because I was the one with the hair trigger and, though she didn't make a major point of it, my penis is a lot smaller than average. All she had to do was hint at that latter shortcoming and I was eager to change the subject. The simplest way to do that was to slide down the bed and get my mouth on her pussy right away, despite the cream I had to lick up and -- UGH -- ingest. We continued like that for months, with her gently but relentlessly making me feel like less of a man. After a while I was grateful that she would go to bed with me at all. Tracy had me very vulnerable when she made her next move. She had gotten something new to wear and mentioned it when I got home from work. I was eager to find out what it was all through dinner and while we watched several of her favorite TV shows. My wife had taken over the television, gradually eliminating any shows I preferred. She said she liked having me there for company, so I couldn't go and do anything else while she enjoyed her reality programs and overheated dramas. Tracy wisely made a point to wear something special while we sat on the sofa together. I was in a constant state of tantalization when she draped her legs, clad in shiny stockings, over my lap, or she invited me to snuggle against her while she wore a satiny robe. After her shows were over she led me to the bedroom. Laid out on the bed was a pair of pajamas like none I'd ever seen before. The top was loose and sleeveless, and would end just below her breasts. The bottom was shorts that went to mid-thigh, with wide legs hemmed with ruffles. In fact the legs were wide enough that, when worn, they would appear almost like a mini-skirt. They were made out of something shiny and, I could tell without feeling them, sleek. They would be a tactile treat to touch. "I thought this would look cute with my high-heeled slippers. You know, because it would all be pink." "Yes," I said in a muted voice. What she described as cute I saw as maddeningly inviting. Then she took a shopping bag and removed another pair of the same pajamas, except in lavender, which she set next to the first. "And I had this kind of fun idea, but..." All at once she sounded uncharacteristically doubtful. "You know, it was probably just silly. I should just put these things away and forget about it." Put them away? Not let me see her in that revealing sleepwear? I was already picturing how her breasts would lift the top and the way the bottom would show off her shapely legs. Mostly I was imagining what it would be like to touch those pajamas when they were warmed by her skin. "No, no," I said. "Whatever you were thinking, I'm sure it was a terrific idea." "It kind of involved you." What? Me sliding my hands up under that loose top? Or into the wide legs of the bottom? "Hey, I don't mind being part of whatever you want to do." "Are you sure? I wouldn't want to get started and then have you change your mind." "Anything you want to try is fine by me. Okay?" "Well, if you're certain." "Absolutely." "It's just that what I was thinking was how good it would feel to rub up against each other while wearing those." To press myself against her while she was barely dressed in those PJs? How could I not want to do that? "I love your idea. It's perfect. Let's do it." "Okay. Thank you, Ira. Now I think I should wear pink and you should be in lavender." Confidence flooded back into her speech as she said, "Yes, those are definitely the colors for each of us." Whoa. What? She wanted me to wear girly pajamas? That was exactly what I didn't want to do. I wanted her in them and me either wearing very little or even naked. Well, naked with the lights out. My immature genitals and near total lack of body hair make me sensitive about being seen in the nude. But I had already committed to her experiment, assured her that I was in favor of it, even assuaged her doubts. She took my face between her hands to kiss me gently on the forehead. Tracy had stopped kissing me on the mouth by then, saying that knowing how I ate her pussy after I'd spurted while barely in it made her prefer not to have her mouth on mine. She was nice about it, yet somehow made me feel at fault and apologetic. So there I was, obligated to wear those light purple, oh-so-femme nightclothes. She got undressed, which distracted me from my uneasy situation. I got out of my clothes. She was already stepping into the shorts of her pink PJs. As I got into the bottom half of mine, telling myself that there were male pajamas with short tops and bottoms, but not really believing it was the same, she was donning the top of hers. As I had anticipated, her boobs held the front up and offered the possibility of a peek-a-boo view if she was in the right position. I was practically salivating over the sight she made when I put on my top. Tracy said, "This is going to be so much fun." She came close and hugged me. "And so naughty," she added, as she rubbed her chest against mine and then ground her hips on my pelvis. I was left breathless, my undersized dick rock hard. She had me panting as she turned her back to bend forward and, with a giggle, pressed her backside against my crotch and did a kind of standing lap dance. I nearly creamed in my shorts right then. "Let's get into bed," she suggested playfully. As soon as I was on my back she paused and put a finger alongside her mouth. I could see she had some new idea in mind. "What is it?" I asked cautiously. "Just this." She went to her dresser and took a spray bottle of perfume. Before I could react she aimed it at my chest and spritzed, then moved lower and did it again. Suddenly I had a flowery scent that I knew would cling to my pajamas all night. Not that I planned to be in them that long. Tracy surprised me by getting on the bed and stretching out atop my body. She spread her legs and arms enough to keep her stabilized where she was. Then she began to do a sort of erotic dance, horizontally, with her full weight pressing down on me. For whatever reason -- several reasons I guess -- it was highly erotic. I was gasping and licking my lips, feeling helpless underneath her, with the insides of my own PJs caressing me, making every place they touched tingle with currents of sexual energy. By not concentrating too much on my stiff member, she avoided causing an ahead-of-schedule finale. She played with my nipples, except she did it through the PJs, so that their material was teasing those erogenous zones the whole time. In her own sly way, Tracy made being in that unmanly bedwear irresistible. At that moment I didn't want to take it off. She kept me writhing under her for what must have been an hour. Was I vulnerable while that was happening? I was, with a capital 'V'. She took advantage of it. "I can see you're loving this. It turns out that not only do you like to touch sexy clothes but you want to wear them too. It's a logical extension of all your special tastes. So I'll do everything I can to help you explore this new side of you. It will be so much fun dressing you pretty, lover." When I tried to explain how wrong she was, Tracy wet her fingertips and got them under my pajama top, to apply them directly to my sensitive nipples. I made high-pitched sounds in place of words. All thoughts of trying to speak up were gone. I just lay under her and accepted what she was doing and, as she reinforced the narrative that I liked and wanted to be dressed that way, fell deeper under her spell. Even when she said I would have to buy a laser razor to remove my scant body hair, I didn't protest. Eventually she had me move lower, so I could use my practiced techniques to give her multiple climaxes. Instead of letting me partway in, like I was used to, she just did some more teasing and announced that we would save my ejaculation for the next time. And she made me stay in those perfumed pajamas for the entire night. After that she kept providing other girly pieces of clothing for me to wear around the house. There were belly shirts and mini-shorts, the latter lifting and separating my buttocks. I began to sleep in short nighties and eat breakfast wearing brief belted robes. That reached a plateau when she stopped giving me new things to wear. But, at the same time, she introduced me to buffing her boots. Tracy had never shown a special fondness for that sort of footwear before. But suddenly she bought three pair at once. There were riding boots, stiletto-heeled ones, and a pair with tall, chunky heels and square toes. I came home from work one day to find her on the sofa wearing nothing but the first of those. She imperiously told me to strip down, after which she handed me a pair of yellow, bikini-style panties and matching, barely-there top that hardly reached past my nipples and fit like a second skin. As soon as I was in those flimsy bits of nothing, she held out a microfiber cloth and told me to buff her boots. Because she made no effort to raise her feet or otherwise accommodate me, I had to get down on my knees and bend forward. As I began my task I was so close to her legs that I could smell the leather. Also, I could feel the smoothness through that thin cloth. The combination of scent and touch affected me in ways I wouldn't have expected. Maybe she had softened my mind and made it more receptive with everything she had done up to that point. And she had been allowing me less and less orgasms. Whatever the reason, I grew an embarrassing boner in my panties. It pushed out against the thin nylon-and-spandex blend and soon there was a shameful wet spot from my small leaking penis. She smiled down at me, seeming amused at my lack of control. The longer I worked on her boots, the more excited I grew. It was dizzying. By the time I was allowed to sit up on my haunches, like a begging dog, the damp area on my panties was larger and my nipples were hard enough that they poked out against the top. "Oh my," Tracy said. "It looks like somebody not only likes being dressed girly, and staying shaved smooth all over, but also enjoys working for me like a domestic servant. I might have to get you a maid's outfit, Ira. Or should I call you... hmmm... Irene? Inez? Or how about Ima? First name Ima, last name Pansy." That suggestion was so upsetting that my lips quivered and I sniffled. My wife saw that and reached out to pat the side of my face. She made cooing sounds, then told me to resume what I had been doing, and didn't take back that unwanted name she had given me. I worked on her boots a short while longer, occasionally glancing up at her undressed figure, hungering to be allowed to touch her, wishing I could have a normal sex life. But I was too deep into my new self by then, always longing for more contact with her clothes (and now what she put on her feet), and willing to accept all sorts of indignities to get it. After I was done making her boots clean and glossy, she told me to fetch three pair of boot trees from her closet. I had to put them into all the boots and then spread them so they would keep the leather well shaped. Even that menial task was translated into sexual stimulation by my reprogrammed thought patterns. As I stood up with the three pairs of boots in my arms, held against my chest, Tracy pointed at my straining erection and giggled. She told me, "It works out well that you're so kinky and don't want regular sex. That little dingle between your legs can't do the job of a real cock. Your tongue has taken over in that department. And I'm kind enough to let your baby dick touch my pussy long enough to do its squirts, sometimes. You even enjoy cleaning the mess up with your mouth." She sighed. "I can't wait to find out what else works for us." I desperately wanted to tell her that I hadn't stopped wanting real sex. And that I didn't enjoy slurping up my semen. But by then I lacked the self confidence to say anything. Besides, I was afraid of losing the sexual favors she deigned to give me. Tracy had me totally hooked on the touching and feeling. My restricted bedroom practices had started to seem right. I even noticed that, when she appeared in one of her seductive outfits, my instinct wasn't to want intercourse. That had been substituted for by an urge to get my mouth on her labia and clitoris so I could give her as many climaxes as possible. Along with being kept in girly items, every minute I was home, it had all become my new normal. Even that, however, was subject to change. One night Tracy brought me close to ejaculating several times but never took me over the finish line. It was maddening. Then she pushed on the top of my head, which I knew meant she wanted me to slide down and get my lower face against her mound, and start my lips and tongue working. I did it and she was especially responsive. I set off three loud animated orgasms. Afterwards she sighed and told me to get alongside her. All I had on was long knitted gloves up to my elbows, with wide rainbow stripes, and matching knee socks. That was so shameful, especially since I was maintaining my body's hairless state. Tracy began to idly toy with my nipples. "You know," she said, her voice thickened by post-climactic languor, "I noticed that after I didn't let you finish tonight, you really licked me better. And I got a kick out of the idea that I was denying you an orgasm at the same time you were giving me several. I enjoy that extra psychological kick of controlling you. So I'm still going to let you finish, but even less than now. It will be based on how I feel on any given night, so you'll never know when you're going to be allowed to empty your little balls." She chuckled. "I know you miss doing your clean-up job, but at least on the times when I do let you shoot, there will be more spunk stored up, and you'll have extra to lap up and eat. Yummy." Not yummy. That new approach made me very uneasy. It demonstrated how complete her regulation of our love life had become. She could capriciously change the parameters of what I was and wasn't permitted to do. I was trying to summon the courage to finally speak up. But then she told me to get back down there and kiss her pussy, not to make her cum, but just tenderly. And she wanted me to murmur to it as if I was speaking words of love. That kept me from talking, in more ways than one. I kissed and spoke softly, hearing myself thank her and then apologize, before settling into standard terms of endearment. Eventually she wanted something different. She had me change position, so I was kneeling at a 45 degree angle to her hips, dipping my head down. That put my lips parallel with her labia. She made me kiss some more, but now it was as if her pussy was mouth. It as so strange to be doing that. Tracy told me to pretend I was a teenager in the middle of a make-session and really get tongue action going and saliva flowing. When I did that she laughed but soon her laughter turned to panting. It turned out that she could get very stimulated that way but not quite cum. Eventually she had me switch back to my usual spot so I could put her over the top. "Whew," she said after she came down from her high. "I can see why you like to be teased and then not allowed to finish. It's really intense. But I prefer to go all the way every time. Still, I'll give you what you want. Lots of tantalizing but less and less being sent over the brink." She was doing it again. Misinterpreting what I wanted. I was so far beyond asserting myself that I not only accepted it but told her, "Thank you, dear. I'm sorry I didn't make it clear sooner." I was doing what I'd done before, showing gratitude and apologizing. How was she ever going to understand that I didn't want most of what she was subjecting me to? One weekend she had me in nothing but a pair of latex panties, with my male parts tucked down and back, so it appeared that I had only a female mound down there. Tracy had me walk around in that single bit of covering, holding my arms out to the sides with my wrists limp, while I took small mincing steps. She decided I needed something else to complete the look and came up with an old fur muff she had picked up in a vintage clothing shop. I put my hands in it and did another walk of shame for her. She kept saying how it made sense that, with all my other likes, the latex and fur would also appeal to me. I wanted to just run away and hide. Instead I held the muff up to my hairless chest, trying to achieve a modicum of modesty. She managed to misread even that action. "Oh," she said. "You want to tease your nips with the fur. Well, go ahead, Ima. Enjoy yourself." While I'll admit that the fur did appeal to my need to feel soft things, I didn't want to do what she was suggesting. Well, maybe I did a little bit. But not with her watching. Even so, I ran the muff over my smooth chest, making my nipples hard within seconds. My dick strained to stand up but was bent back and pressed to my body, held firmly in place by the snug rubber. My balls were so uncomfortable. "I'll bet you're really getting off on this," my wife assumed. "Yes, darling." She came to me and tickled my ears. Then she ran her fingers through my hair, which was long overdue for a trim. Tracy paused and began to push it this way and that. "Hmmm," she mused. "I think you need a new hairstyle. Yes. Something trendy." "But everyone will see it when I go to work." "So what? Let them look. The other guys will probably be jealous." She went and got an electric razor, comb and brush. Soon she was happily shaving down the hair on the sides but leaving it long on top. Then she combed and brushed it to the side, so it fell over one ear, nearly covering it. When she walked me to a mirror I was appalled at what I saw. My new look was so swishy. She made it even worse by thinning out my eyebrows so that they tapered at their outer ends. Would I have to go to work looking like that on Monday? I did, and when I got there no one could miss the radical change in my appearance. It didn't help that she had put me in a powder blue shirt with an oversized collar, and tight red pants. What I was wearing could have been mistaken for a blouse and female slacks. I hid in my cubicle as much as I could but kept having co-workers stop by to chat, which didn't usually happen. I heard snickering from outside my workspace. Every time I left my enclosure I had to see the office of the company's head. There was his name on the frosted glass of the closed door, in gold letters, Philip R. Fuller. When I was leaving at the end of the day, he appeared in the corridor outside our suite of offices. "Hello," said the tall imposing man. He was a few years older than me, strikingly handsome, and exuded confidence. "You're... Ira?" I almost corrected him and said my name was Ima, I was so used to being called that at home. But I caught myself in time and simply responded, "Yes, Sir." He nodded, as if at some private thought, and then went into the room I had just left. The encounter was deeply disturbing. When I got home I was practically in tears. The situation was so extreme that I found enough backbone to say something to Tracy. "Please," I whined, "you have to change my hair. Everybody gawked at it and I know they were laughing at me behind my back." "Poor baby. Let's give them time to get used to it." "I don't think that'll work." "Let me think about it. I'm sure I can come up with something. Right now you need to unwind. Get out of those male clothes and let's put you into something you truly like to wear. A package arrived today. It's a darling baby-doll nightie with feathers around the bottom, like a feather boa." Once more it was something I would rather see on her and touch while she was wearing it. Or even have it to fondle while she wasn't home. But I didn't want to have to put it on. She said it was on the bed and that she had already sprayed it with perfume so I could smell as sweet as I would look. She also told me that she had something special to wear herself, and would change in the spare bedroom so she could surprise me. I was to meet her in the den. It was a small consolation that I'd get to see her in something sexy, probably that I could touch and savor the feel of. I went to the bedroom and there was the brief translucent nightie, in pale peach, with a big bow at the neck. Just looking at it made me cringe. Nevertheless, I stripped naked. As so frequently happened, I was made aware all over again of the absence of any body hair. I had to use the laser razor less and less and was concerned that its effects might become permanent. I slipped the filmy lingerie over my head and thrilled to the sensations of it sliding down my body. Those feelings were what had gotten me into all this trouble and they hadn't lessened at all. If anything they had increased. I checked to see if there were matching panties but found nothing. As I moved, the lightweight material brushed my crotch and before long I had a full erection. That refreshed my awareness of how small my penis is. I stood there with the flowery perfume wafting around me. Tracy had used the familiar lavender that she said could be my signature scent. Any chance I had of escaping my new life seemed to recede further every time I thought about those things. Going to the den, I sat obediently on the couch with my hands in my lap. My penis softened. Tracy appeared. She wore not the seductive something I had hoped for, but a tweed jacket and slacks, with what appeared to be a man's dress shirt. She even had on mannish shoes. Her hair was pulled back and pinned into place. My mouth fell open and stayed that way. She sounded like she was delivering good news when she informed me, "Since you like to look girly, I decided it would be fun for me to dress more like a guy. Now come over here so I can give you a hug, sugar britches." I got up numbly and took three girlish steps. She wrapped her arms around me and gave a tight hug. The touch of those manly garments was different than what I was used to but, because it was her in them, my mind translated it into something exciting. Being in such a feminine piece of sleepwear while she was fully dressed added to the effect. I got one of my unbidden erections which, with no panties on, was impossible to miss. She reached down to stroke it through the nightie. Tracy said, "You sure can't deny that you like this role reversal." She surprised me by bringing her mouth to my neck and giving me a love bite. I squirmed in her embrace as she nibbled and sucked hard enough that it would leave a vivid mark. I humiliated myself by whimpering and going weak in the knees. What was happening to me? She toyed with my nipples and blew into my ear. I melted inside. She told me to open her pants. I undid the belt, unfastened the waist, and lowered her fly. Then she had me put my hand in there. She had on no panties or any sort of underwear. "Now be good and give me a hand job. Use your fingers like your tongue. Go on. Get busy down there." I began to diddle her. My thumb massaged her clitoris. I stroked and probed. She ground against my hand and bit my ear. I felt trapped, like some helpless maiden in the grip of a cruel lover. My wife kept me at it until she had a screaming climax. I fingered her through the afterglow like I usually did with my mouth. At last she took my wrist and moved my hand away. But she kept it going until it was under my nose. "Smell that. Take a deep whiff." She chortled. "Don't you think you should clean those sticky fingers? In your mouth? Go on, Ima. Pop them between our lips and have a suck." I did it. As familiar as the taste was, it was still different to get if that way instead of directly from the source. I sucked off her pussy juices and dutifully swallowed them. She gave me an air kiss and walked to he couch. I stood there with my balls aching. She called back, "Pour me a glass of white wine and bring it back here. I need to rest up after that. And just think how good of a job you'll do next time you have your head between my thighs, with the way I'm getting you all worked up and not letting you cream. Plus keeping you looking pretty. I know you're loving it. And getting addicted to that treatment, judging from what I'm seeing." Getting hooked on her teasing and denial, being even more of a pussy slave, and having to maintain my girly look? Was there no end to all this? The next day she sent me to work in a pale yellow shirt, again with the large collar, and slacks that were dark green, which was an improvement over the previous, eye-catching red ones. My hair and eyebrows attracted less stares. I settled into my work at the computer and began to feel optimistic. That was when I heard an unmistakable voice asking directions. What was Tracy doing at the office? I peeked uncertainly from my cubicle, still not happy about having to be seen by others. There she was, in a smart skirt suit and two-tone heels, striding confidently toward Mr. Fuller's office. "Honey," I hissed at her. "Why are you here?" "Oh, hi baby." She stepped closer to fuss with my collar. "I thought I'd stop by to talk to your boss and explain that the hairstyle was my idea. I'll make sure he doesn't have any problems with it." "But you can't just walk in and see him. Did you at least call ahead?" "No. I'm sure he can spare a few minutes for the wife of an employee. Now you be good and get back to your work. I'll let you know how it went on my way out." I was stunned. She pivoted and went to his door, then gave a knock. I heard him tell her to come in. And then she was gone, in the private space of the man who ran everything and was rumored to be part owner of the company. I sat there trying not to tremble for the next half hour, a lot longer than the couple of minutes she had estimated. When she reemerged Mr. Fuller was right there, holding the door for her. She glanced back and waggled her fingers at him in a sort of wave. After he closed the door she ducked into my area. "He's so charming," she enthused. "Everything is fine and Jim Dandy with your hair. He even noticed what I did to your eyebrows." She tittered. "And complimented me on it." "I'm glad that's settled," I told her, deeply relieved. "It is. And there's even better news. He's stopping by for dinner this evening. I can't wait to chat with him some more." "He's coming to our house?" "Well -- duh -- of course. And don't worry. I explained to him how you love to play dress-up at home." She gave me a mischievous wink and swept out of my cubicle. I sat there in shock. Mr. Fuller was coming to dinner. And Tracy expected me to dress the way I usually did at home. Which she had already told him about. I would rather have crammed myself under my desk and stayed there but, as usual, I had no choice. When I got home Tracy had something delicious-smelling in the oven. Too bad my appetite was gone. She told me, "I only had two cutlets, but I'm making extra veggies. We'll just tell Phil that you're on a diet. To maintain your girly figure," she added with a chuckle. "Yes, love," I said in a near-whisper. "Oh, and while he's here I want you to talk softly like you just did. In fact, let's only hear that voice whenever you're home." "Certainly, sweetheart." "What you'll be wearing is on the bed in the guest room. I know you'll approve of what I picked." It was a mesh tank top, biking shorts, and pink athletic shoes with red laces. NO, NO, NO. I couldn't face Mr. Fuller dressed that way. It would be even worse with my new hairstyle and reshaped eyebrows. Plus the outfit would show off my smooth hairless skin, which my boss had never seen before. Even as I was telling myself how unacceptable those clothes were, I was changing into them. Like I'd done before, I tucked my dick down and back. I couldn't help getting an involuntary thrill from the mesh against my narrow chest and how the shorts hugged my buns and compressed my genitals. Tracy had turned me into some sort of fashion-related freak. Thoroughly unhappy, I went to find her so she could inspect me. My wife was still in the main bedroom, humming to herself. I waited sullenly in the hall. My top didn't quite reach the shorts. There was a sliver of tummy exposed, which showed how soft my midsection was. I stood there fidgeting until she opened the door and presented herself. OMG. My wife had on a thin blouse with no bra under it. I could see the shadows of her nipples. Her skirt was tight and short. If she bent over, my boss would get a free show. And she had on more make-up than usual, along with big hoop earrings and several jangly bracelets. Around her neck was only a thin gold chain with a small heart on it. "All ready," she said, spreading her arms and doing a slow rotation. "I don't want to get any grease or anything on me, so you'll be serving the meal. Don't worry, I'll be giving you instructions the entire time." She hadn't looked even remotely like that when she came to the office. What would Mr. Fuller think? And I didn't want her giving me orders all evening in front of my boss. I was trying to repair my image with him, not make it worse. When we got to the kitchen she had an apron ready for me to don. It was a long one with ruffles all around and a wide ties that she knotted into a big flouncy bow in back. It covered up some of my revealing clothes but when it came off my boss would still see them. Tracy gave me some instructions about the food and reminded me again that she would say I was on a weight loss diet and I would eat only vegetables. My mouth was watering from the savory aroma of the cutlets. I was busy doing last minute jobs in the kitchen and didn't have time to think more about Mr. Fuller's impending arrival. When he got there she hurried off to greet him. I heard her voice and then his. They settled into the living room, where I could still hear them. He insisted that she call him Phil, as he had asked her to do in his office. She giggled girlishly and pronounced his first name several times as if she was tasting something delicious. All I could do was to start steaming the vegetables and listen for the timer on the oven. Then I remembered that she wanted me to bring two glasses of wine, red for him and white for her. She must have asked him his preference while they were talking at my job. I entered the living room with my cheeks burning from shame. There I was in my apron, bare arms and legs smooth and pink, the hair on my head in that unwanted style. Mr. Fuller smirked at me. He said, "You certainly have a different look at home. But your lovely wife explained to me that this is something you like, along with some other... habits." "I... well... yes, Sir." I was reflexively keeping my voice high and muted. "It's sort of... the real me." Why had I said THAT? Tracy accepted her glass and mentioned, "You can't be out of the kitchen too long, Ima." Mr. Fuller wanted to know, "Did you just call him... Ima? Instead of Ira?" "Oh, yes. That's his girl name. It's all he wants to be called when he's home." He shrugged. "Maybe I should have everybody at the office do the same. There could be a memo to all the employees." That would be terrible. I didn't want my private life to spill over into my work life any more than it already had. I handed my boss his glass and turned to scurry back to the kitchen. From behind me he said, "Nice shorts... Ima." I had to lean on the counter for a few moments to regain my composure, or as much of it as I could. I was breathing hard and sniffling. This was a disaster. He was treating me like a laughingstock, at the same time he was being gracious to my wife. And she was acting so friendly toward him. Each time they had made eye contact I was sure she was flirting, even though there was nothing overt going on. I shook my head and peered through the oven window at the baking potatoes. Then the timer dinged and I turned over the two cutlets on their foil- covered cooking sheet on the upper rack. I heard glasses clink from the other room. They hadn't been close enough to do that before. One or both of them must have moved. At last I was able to call out to them to go to the dining room. I had set the table earlier. When I snuck a look, Mr. Fuller was pulling out her chair. As she sat, she looked back and up at him, with a smile that I could only call enticing. I went cold inside. For the next several minutes I was scooting back and forth to and from the kitchen. Then they wanted their glasses topped off. By the time I was ready to sit, they were already enjoying the meal. Tracy raised her eyebrows and asked me, "Aren't you going to take off your apron, Ima? You can put it back on when you clean up afterwards." "Yes. Of course." I struggled with the knotted apron ties. Had she intentionally made them difficult to undo? At last by boss called me over and, while I stood with my back to him, blushing furiously, he easily untied me. I thanked him in my weakest voice. Then came the moment of giving him an eyeful of what was under the apron. I knew my face was bright pink as I neatly folded the apron and set it on the sideboard. At last I got to sit, which allowed me to be less exposed. Then I started to spoon vegetables onto my plate. Tracy made sure I took plenty. And then some more. When I tried to take a potato my wife wagged a finger at me and cautioned, "Don't forget -- carbohydrates. Wouldn't you rather take only a half?" "Yes, dearest. Thank you. I'm sorry." After having trouble with the simple task of slicing my baked potato and nearly launching it onto the floor, I at last began to eat. That was when Tracy sniffed the air and asked me if I was sure I'd turned off the oven. I minced back into the kitchen, my training in how to walk determining my gait, and found that I hadn't forgotten to shut off the heat. Then I had to sit with both of them watching me and eat the overly generous serving of mixed veggies, along with my half a potato with no salt or butter because I was supposed to be limited my sodium and fats. It was a bland meal for me. I realized belatedly that I was the only one without wine. Too late for that, and there was probably some reason I would be restricted from having it anyway. After dinner they moved back to the living room, while I redonned my apron and got busy with the dishes and other pieces that needed washing, wearing rubber gloves and doing them all by hand as per my wife's instructions. When I did rejoin the others they were so close together that Mr. Fuller had no problem reaching her to administer some relaxing back massage moves. She purred happily and sighed. My temper began to rise. When she again faced him she showed interest in his hands, which she said had relaxed tense muscles in her shoulders. Tracy took his big hands in her much smaller ones and felt them, remarking on their strength. He took the compliments levelly but also seemed to be sending some unspoken message with his expressions. It irritated me. They chatted for the next hour, mainly about Mr. Fuller's responsibilities and what she did with her leisure time. I was unsettled when the topic changed to me and my supposedly voluntary lifestyle. My wife was much more revealing than I would have expected her be, even saying in a roundabout way that our sex life was largely one-sided because of the combination of my quirks and inadequacies. By then I was simmering inside. I was thankful when my boss said it was time for him to go. Tracy walked him to the door and when they got there she went up on tiptoes and held onto his upper arms so she could plant a chaste kiss on his broad jaw. It could have been taken as purely innocent and probably should have, but I was at my breaking point and that made me snap. I rushed at them, hands balled into fists that were at shoulder level, with my face -- I'm sure -- a distorted mask of flustered emotions. The big man, moving smoothly and faster than I could follow, clamped his hands on my wrists, holding so tightly that it made me wince. As I struggled impotently, he held me still, with no visible effort. "Ima!" my wife snapped. "What were you trying to do? You could have hurt somebody." Mr. Fuller applied downward pressure and my knees buckled. Suddenly I was kneeling directly in front of him, my arms still rendered useless. He made a disappointed face. My boss said, "I don't know what set you off but I'd better stick around and make sure it doesn't happen again." He stepped back, pulling me forward at the same time, and then let go. The result was that I fell flat on my face. I squealed like a schoolgirl and tried to tug down my top. When I looked up he had gone to Tracy and put his long arm around her shoulders, drawing her against him. She held him around the middle, clinging there as if she needed protection from me. She said, "Ima went crazy." "That's for sure," he agreed. "I'll stay here as long as you need me, Tracy." "Thank you so much, Phil." She put her hand on the side his face and turned his head. This time when she kissed him it was full on the mouth and not at all reserved. I was sure their tongues were involved. When they broke it off I was trying to get back on my feet. Mr. Fuller stopped me by brandishing his fist in my direction. "You stay on the floor," he told me firmly, and I was intimidated enough to obey. "Let's sit back down," my wife suggested to him. She sneered at me and said, "You can just follow us to the couch... on your hands and knees." I did it, painfully aware of how I was debasing myself. When they sat I had an unintended peek under her short skirt, at the gusset of her panties. Mr. Fuller had his arm across her shoulders once more, his hand on her upper arm. She snuggled against him and got her fingers on his thigh, disturbingly high up. "Dealing with your husband's quirks must be difficult for you," he began. "Yes. I've tried so hard. And it's so disappointing to not have a normal sex life. I miss ordinary sex." "I'm sure you do. A woman deserves that." She gazed up at him adoringly. "I wish I had a real man, like you, Phil." Her hand inched higher on his leg. "You know," he observed, "it's not fair for you to go on like this. Ira... I mean Ima... isn't like a husband anymore. It's as if you're living with someone else. Maybe I could... make you feel the way you should." "Oh, Phil. That's so thoughtful. So caring." Her hand went to his crotch. What she felt there made her eyes go wide. "And now I know that you honestly could help me, in ways my spouse was never able to." She moved away and turned to face him, then undid his belt and the top of his slacks. Next she lowered his zipper and reached into the fly of his boxer shorts. As I knelt there goggling at the impossible-to- believe scene, she worked free his cock. I saw what she had detected with her fingers. Mr. Fuller was hung like a prize bull. My wife gave his long thick cock a few strokes and it grew to a breathtaking size. As if I wasn't even there, she bent over his lap to get her mouth on the fat head of his tool. Tracy sucked on it hard, making her cheeks draw inward. Then she surprised me by easily taking it further into her mouth and down her throat. I never knew she had that skill. She certainly hadn't demonstrated anything remotely similar on me. Her head rode up and down, with his impressive member vanishing and reappearing, in and out of her lips. Tracy let him pop free. She got a grip on the root of his enviable shaft before going to work on just the head. Pangs of jealousy stabbed at me while she lavished all that attention of another man. When my wife took her mouth off him again, it was only so she could make her tongue dance all over the saliva-slicked knob. He put a hand lightly on the back of her neck. He swore appreciatively. "I'm guessing you didn't learn that with your husband dearest." "No," she confirmed between licks. "This was something I got good at while I was single." She demonstrated her talent by once again engulfing him entirely and keeping him there for long seconds. After she unimpaled herself once more she smiled up at him. "Am I doing it right?" she asked with feigned innocence. "You're doing it amazingly right. Please continue, gorgeous." "All right, handsome." She got busy on his stick again. I tried to speak her name but the word stuck in my throat. "Hey," he said when she had him out of her mouth and was stroking him with her hand. "What you really need is me inside you. Right?" "Yes." She sounded so eager. "So why don't we move this to the bedroom? If you want, Miss Candy Pants can come and see what a long hard bout of lovemaking is supposed to be like." "You mean Little Miss Quick Shot? Yeah, she needs to see it take more than a minute." He helped her to her feet. They undressed each other. My penis was unaccountably hard. Well, maybe there was a reason. Despite the fact that my wife was committing adultery in front of me, it was still an amazingly erotic scene. But my dick remained bent back and my balls snugly packed under the tight biking shorts, so being aroused was more uncomfortable than enjoyable. Once they were naked, Mr. Fuller snapped his fingers and motioned for me to follow them. I knew better by that point than to get up. I crawled along behind them, unable to take my eyes off her shapely backside and his firm muscular buttocks. In the bedroom my wife ordered me to crouch in the corner. I had to get up off my knees and assume a deep squat. Then she had me put both my thumbs into my mouth, effectively gagging myself. My position was uncomfortable, and being unable to speak amplified my loss of control. As she lay atop the mattress, on her back, and spread her legs, I moaned through my full mouth. When he knelt in the 'V' of her thighs and aimed his rampant organ at her sweet spot, I whined, the piteous sound rising and falling. My mesh top seemed to come alive, titillating my nipples with every deep breath I took. "Do it, Phil," she urged him in a whisper that was hoarse with passion. "Right away, babe," he granted, and slid his considerable length into her in one long unhurried motion. "OMG, OMG, OMG!" she cried. "I'm so full. And you're in so deep. It was never like this with my loser husband. Not even close. You're fantastic." He just glanced toward me and flashed a smug smile. Then his full attention was back on her as he set a measured rhythm and, over the next forty minutes, by the clock on the nightstand, had my wife squirming and squealing, and gave her two quaking climaxes. As they approached the one hour mark he politely asked her if she had taken precautions. Tracy affirmed that she was on birth control. He worked her toward another orgasm. When she finished, he let himself go at the same time. For them it was glorious. And loud. For me, squatting there and looking as unmanly as I felt, it was horrid. I knew we had passed a point from which there was no turning back. After they had come down from the stratosphere of ecstasy, Tracy sighed and said, "It never ended like that with Ima." My boss wanted to know, "How did it finish with that wuss?" "Well," she began slowly, and then proceeded to detail how she would allow me to only press the tip of my dick against her oh-so-stimulating pussy, and then make me cum very quickly by her fingering my nipples. I pleaded silently for her not to reveal what normally followed that but she did, sounding amused as she described how I had to lap my own semen out of her vagina. She even included the fiction that I enjoyed it, though I had to admit to myself that, while it still disturbed me to have to do it, it had also become the center of my sex life, and at some level I craved it. He laughed. "You know, since he's already used to cleaning his own spunk out of there, it wouldn't be a big step for him to do the same with mine." "Oh my." She sounded delighted with that thought. To me she said, "You heard the man, Ima. Time for you to perform your specialty, though this time there's more to deal with, and it was unloaded a lot deeper inside. You'll have to work for it. I might even have to sit on your face to help you get it all. But let me rest up first while you eat most of his big load. I need time to recover from Phil's incredible cock, his terrific endurance, and his pussy-pleasing technique. For right now just get into your usual spot and start licking... and swallowing. Try not to think about how your mouth will be where his wonderful cock just was." I crawled to the bed, got up on the foot, and put myself with my face an inch from her overfilled cleft. She was covered with his cream outside and in. I got my first taste of another man's ejaculate. It sickened me, even more as I forced myself to swallow. Her words stuck in my mind, that I had my tongue where Mr. Fuller had so recently put his cock. And yes, before the cleaning was done she did sit on my face, so that more could leak out into my mouth. After that disastrous visit, matters progressed rapidly. It turned out that Mr. Fuller didn't own just a portion of the company but all of it. That was something he didn't publicize because it allowed him to delay negotiations when it suited him, as if he had to consult partners. With his power, it was easy to have me designated as a work-from-home employee. I had barely enough to do, all of it insultingly menial, to justify paying me my salary. All the money went into our joint account but then his high level attorneys stepped in and had my name removed from that, along with the ownership of our home and both cars. My credit cards were canceled, divorce proceedings were initiated, and steps were begun to legally change my name. It all happened so fast. Tracy and I moved into Mr. Fuller's mansion. My male wardrobe didn't follow us. I was left with nothing but girly fashions and got reduced to Tracy's personal servant. She had a beautician visit to trim the hair on top of my head and dye what was left platinum. I looked and felt ridiculous, my manhood destroyed. In record time our marriage was dissolved and I was left penniless, totally dependent on my boss and ex-wife for everything. They announced their marriage. After the wedding, which I didn't attend, there was an elaborate reception at their home, during which I wore a skimpy maid's outfit and served snacks, without my true identity or gender being revealed, though the smirking expressions of some attendees suggested that those few knew the truth. Beginning then I had to address my one-time wife as Mrs. Fuller. The newlyweds enjoyed a rich sex life and I was always nearby as her lick-up slave. My own pleasure was limited to masturbation, usually once a week, with both of them watching and making fun of me. It normally consisted of me jerking off into whatever panties I had on and having to wear them until the next day, when I was allowed to remove them, but had lick them clean. There were added indignities, like having to give Tracy foot rubs while she cuddled against her new husband and watched TV. Or cleaning the multiple bathrooms in the nude and not being allowed to stop if they came in to shower together, or Mr. Fuller showed up alone to relieve his bladder. He spent more and more time at home. As the months passed I gained a few pounds and lost most of the scant muscle tone I once had, which made me softer and even more feminine. A variety of maid costumes, all of them scandalously brief, became my daily wear. Any failures in my housework cost me spankings from Mr. Fuller. He took obvious pleasure in leaving my bottom red and sore. I was never addressed by my male name. One evening I was called to the den, a very masculine space that Mr. Fuller often occupied, where my lack of maleness was emphasized by contrast. He was sitting on the leather sofa with my former wife -- now Mrs. Tracy Fuller -- close by his side. He told me, "We thought you'd like to know, Ima, that your name change became legal a week ago." That was typical of them, to not bother giving me relevant information until they were in the mood to do it. "Tracy would like to tell you who you are now." My attractive EX held up an official document and giggled as she consulted it. "Your fist name is still Ima. Middle name Cuckold. New last name Sissy." She let that sink in and then said, "Full name Ima Cuckold Sissy. Or informally, Ima Sissy. Isn't that appropriate?" What could I do or say? I lowered my eyes respectfully and murmured, in my wispiest Ima way, "Yes, Mrs. Fuller. Thank you for giving me a name that's so... accurate. I'm sorry I'm so girly and not very good at much of anything." "Don't worry," she said. "I like you better this way. And you're good at one thing, in the bedroom. Speaking of which, Phil and I are ready for some afternoon delight. Change that bib apron for one of the tiny ones, lace trimmed. And unbutton your blouse. I want your chest bare so you can play with your nips while my husband and I have sweet, sweet sex. That way you can have fun too. Or as much as you can without emptying your little balls." She chortled. "We're always thinking of you, Ima Cuckold Sissy. Always." ********* (That was quite a nasty downhill ride for Ira/Ima. I'd love to read your thoughts on this one. Did you have a favorite part that you'd like to see more of? Please let me know.) (And thanks to everyone who has reviewed my recent stories, when the first appeared or in the weeks following. That's always appreciated.)