Then You Wear It 2 free porn video

"What's the matter?" She asked. "Here. Take it. It won't bite you." Strange words, indeed, from the woman who refused to even consider wearing the beautiful nightgown I'd given her a day earlier. Finally, I shrugged and took the bra from my wife, uncertain as to what I should do with it. I needn't have worried, though. Opie untied the satin ribbon that traveled below my non-existent bust line and then helped me out of the robe, placing it on a kitchen chair. Then, she gathered all of the material of my nightgown up to my shoulders and guided the gathered material carefully over my hair, taking care to avoid the headband. As I stood there in just the peach-colored, rose-shaped-lace panties with my hair done so very differently than ever before, I felt very exposed. Not nearly as exposed as I felt when Opie slid the bra straps slowly up my arms, then moved behind me to fasten the hooks and eyes in the back. She moved slowly and gently, obviously enjoying this odd little bit of foreplay we'd somehow created. When the bra was fastened, she spent a great deal of time adjusting the cups and band, and, in fact, manipulating the just slightly flabby skin on my chest, until she was satisfied that everything was just right. "Yes," she whispered huskily. Then she carefully replaced the silk nightgown and then the chiffon robe, delicately tying the ribbon back in place, this time just below my now very realistic looking bust line. "Very nice." "Really?" I asked. "It doesn't look that much different to me." She walked me to the lavatory and I looked into the mirror. I looked pretty much the same, except there was the distinct impression that I did, in fact, have a small, but noticeable amount of cleavage. The enhancing bra had gathered my skin and given me breasts. Before I could say anything, Opie was kissing my neck and running her hands over my mock breasts. "I like them. I like them a lot." She said in a that same husky whisper. I gratefully accepted the touching and tried to continue to breath. Something about the way that the bra enhanced my somewhat flat chest seemed to increase the sensitivity - or maybe it was just the excitement of having a new feature suddenly appear on my chest, but whatever the reason, I just wanted to get more and more and more attention from my wife. I felt her hands caressing my bottom through the material and the chiffon-against-silk-against-silk-against skin was almost more than I could stand. When her hand began to caress my penis through all of that exciting soft-smoothness, I nearly exploded right there. "Let's go upstairs," she muttered through her guttural moans. "Opie, we can't," I said, with a great deal of disappointment. "The chicken is in, already." "Just take it out." "I can't," I pulled away from her and took a deep breath to get a handle on myself. "Go... ummm... go take a shower or something." I breathed a few more times. "I'll... I'll get dinner ready and then we can... well... just go shower, Ope." I would have loved to have just run upstairs and let our passion take us, but I knew that the chicken would burn and even after having some great sex, I'd still have to make dinner for us. Call me a killjoy, but that's what went through my mind. Opie stepped back, smirked and shook her head. "Oh, my God. You're acting just like a woman." Before I could respond, she'd turned to hustle up the stairs, laughing all the way. Uncertain as to how I should take that remark, I turned back towards the kitchen and my supper preparations and that was when I noticed it - the way my nightgown felt, now. With the addition of breasts, even these modest, probably just an A-Cup breasts, my clothes hung very differently. They touched my skin differently. They tickled and touched and caressed in all new and even more interesting ways. As I prepared my vegetables for the steamer, I noticed that some of my chopping was splashing the water from within the vegetables. Now, seeing as I'd been the 'chief, cook and bottle washer' in our house since our relationship began, I'd chopped veggies a million times, and a million times I'd noticed how the vegetables released their water, but getting a little water onto a polo shirt or dress shirt or a sweater never concerned a second of my time before. Suddenly, the idea of messing up this beautiful nighty, though, bothered me a whole lot. So, I went in search of an apron - an item neither of us had ever considered purchasing. What I did find, though, was a beach-towel. I wrapped it around me, just under my arm pits, and tucked it into itself to hold it tightly in place, then went back to work. Then, feeling inspired for some reason, I grabbed some flour and a few other ingredients and quickly made some batter for simple drop- biscuits, placing them into a cast iron fry pan and getting that into the oven in just enough time to have them back in time for dinner. I rinsed my prep tools and put them in the washer, set the table, poured a couple of glasses of white wine and got everything ready. With five minutes to go until the timer went off, I called upstairs. "Five minute warning!" "Yes, dear," she called back, parroting a beleaguered husband in an old sitcom. I was just putting the bowl of vegetables on the table when I heard Opie speaking as she entered the kitchen. "Well, it looks like I need to get my little woman a pretty apron." "Very funny," I joked back. I turned and was surprised that, instead of wearing her usual shorts and tee shirt for the evening, Opie was wearing a polo shirt I'd never seen and I thought was a man's cut, along with a pair of loose fitting jeans. "I just wanted to protect the delicate material. You'll see when you're wearing silk next week." I also noticed that, instead of combing her hair in the typical spiky fashion, she'd combed it from the left to the right - again, a fairly masculine choice. I would have asked about it, but Opie was very sensitive about questions like that. "If you make it that far," she smiled and kissed the side of my head as she moved to take her seat. "Ohh, lots of hairspray," she said. "You can tell that Emma did your hair. She always overuses her hairspray." Then she smiled and said, "but it does look awfully nice. Thank you for that." Then, looking the table, she added, "And thank you for this! It looks almost as good as you - and you both look good enough to eat." So much praise! I was blushing and I actually had goose bumps! I sat and prepared to eat, but heard Opie chuckle. "Aren't you going to take that towel off?" I looked down at the terrycloth and shrugged. "I don't want anything to get on the nightgown." Opie just laughed and shook her head at me. After dinner, I cleaned up and Opie took out the trash, as was our routine. Then we settled in to watch a little TV, etc, before going to bed. I had always encamped on the couch in the evening, while Opie typically sat in a stuffed chair with an ottoman on which to rest her feet. I took off my towel-wrap and put it where I'd remember to drop it in the laundry, then headed out of the kitchen, but when I reached the living room, she had taken up residence on the couch and was answering some emails on her iPad. "Oh," I muttered, a bit surprised, and headed for the big chair. "No, no," she smiled and patted the seat beside her, "come sit with me." "Oh... ok." I sat at the other end of the couch and picked up a remote to turn on the last few minutes of the show that preceded my favorite evening game show, Jeopardy. The show came on and I put the remote down and grabbed my own iPad, to do a crossword puzzles, but Opie tapped her lap. "Come on. Lay down with your head here." That was unusual, but really nice, too. So, I laid down and enjoyed the attention. Once she'd finished her emails, Opie patted my hair and we both played along with the game show. When that was done, she picked a rerun of an old TV show that we both liked to watch. We watched two episodes and, as the end of the second one approached, I noticed that Opie's hands were no longer patting my hair, but rather were rubbing my side, and my bottom and my... breasts. In fact, she was spending a lot of time caressing my breasts, and... I REALLY liked it. I mean, it REALLY excited me. Within moments, we were kissing and it was obvious where we were headed. Pretty soon there were tongues involved and... well... I won't go into the sordid details, but suffice it to say that we were upstairs in our bed pretty darned quickly and let me tell you - when you're on the bottom with your legs spread, your knees bent and your wife is pounding your penis into her while her knees are nearly touching... well, it changes you. Believe me, it does. How? Well, you don't feel like a man at all, you don't feel as if you have any control over the situation whatsoever, and you realize that your wife, who is decidedly bigger than you and most likely stronger than you, isn't seeing you as a man, either. Well, I didn't look much like a man anyway, but you get what I mean, right? So we went at it like newlywed rabbits again that night and by the time that Opie was finished with me - well, that's how it felt - I was exhausted and ready to fall asleep. Before I could, though, Opie sent me to the lavatory to brush the hairspray out of my hair - a hundred strokes on each side, she said. I'd did as I was told and, to be perfectly honest, I kind of loved the way my hair looked after the brushing. I'd always liked my fine, light brown hair, but between the attention I'd given it in the last two days and the brushing that Emma had given me that day, well, it was really looking a lot nicer. When I returned to the bedroom, Opie was on the phone, and since it was nearly midnight, I knew she was talking to Emma. "No, I loved how he looked, Em. You did a great job. Yeah, I agree, cleaning up those split ends would be nice." She listened for a moment and looked at me while she thought. "Hmm. Yes, I think he would, wouldn't he? I wish I could send you a picture of how pretty he looks right now. No, I can't, he'd have a heart attack!" I would have, too. "Great, thanks, Em. I'll tell him. Yup. Love you, too. See you in the morning." Then she dropped her phone onto the charger and smiled at me. A bit nervous, I walked, "Why are you going to see Emma in the morning?" "Oh," she said, innocently, "she mentioned that you should have your split ends trimmed?" "You want Emma to cut my hair?" I asked, surprised. "Yeah, why?" "Because ever since she started taking hair dressing classes in high school, I have spent a good deal of my time avoiding having Emma cut my hair. I remember some of the crazy cuts she gave you and Josie and all your friends back then. I don't want a Flock of Seagulls haircut." Opie laughed at that. "She's not giving you a haircut, Kim. She's just trimming the split ends. Probably not more than just a half an inch along the ends. Look, honey, look in the mirror and see how nice your hair is looking. Trimming the split ends would just make it that much nicer." I checked my hair in the bureau mirror once more and sighed. "Ok. If you say so." "That my girl," she teased, causing me to smirk at her as I climbed into bed and cuddle in next to her. For a moment I just laid there, but then I asked, "Opie... you're not telling Emma everything about what we're doing - the role playing, I mean - are you?" "Of course not, Kim," she scoffed. "Emma called to see if I liked your look when I got home. We just talked about your hair and... well, of course she knows about the nightgown, but that's all. Everything else is between you and me." I believed her, but I was still a little concerned. I didn't think this was the right tome to discuss it though. So, I changed the subject. "Should I make something for Emma for breakfast tomorrow?" "Just coffee," said as she spooned in behind me. "I'll get up a few minutes early and run down to that bakery by the grocery store and grab some breakfast sandwiches for all of us. Besides, Emma said that you should wash your hair before she comes. It'll be easier to work with." "Ok," I whispered, just a bit apprehensive, but too tired and too in love to worry too much. I was sound asleep when I heard Opie's voice. "Kimmy. Kimmy, honey. Kimmy, wake up." 'Kimmy?' That was odd. My mom used to call me 'Kimmy' when I was very little, but my dad, who, as I mentioned, was also named 'Kimberly,' HATED it when she did. So, with the exception of Emma's intentionally annoying use of it, no one called me 'Kimmy.' "Honey," Opie said, as my eyes opened, "you need to get up and shower. Emma will be here soon." I blinked to clear my vision. "You're already dressed? What time is it?" "Quarter past six," she said as she turned to my dresser and began doing something that I could not see. "Quarter past... I don't get up until seven." "I know," Opie laughed as she began laying items on her side of the bed, "but Emma's going to trim your hair and show you how to care for it. Hurry, now. I need to run down to the bakery. I'll be back by the time you come down stairs. Look, I took out a polo shirt for you to wear, and I have a pair of clean panties for you, too." She held up a pair the peach colored panties she'd purchased for me the previous day. "Panties? Opie, I don't wear panties under my work clothes." "Because you never HAD panties to wear under your work clothes. Now you do and I think it would be sexy if you wore them all day." I didn't say 'no' right away, because, to be honest, it was an exciting prospect, but I didn't say 'yes' either. "Come on, Kimmy," she said, leaning down to lay a soft kiss on my lips. "I promise that I'll make it worth your while." Ok, that did it. I mean, A) I kind of wanted to continue to explore the soft, silk feeling of panties and B) it might make Opie even randier than she'd been for the past few nights. That's a win-win scenario, right? "Ok," I said in a quiet voice. Opie just smiled, and I'm pretty sure that part of that smile was just because she'd won a little victory over me. "Thank you, baby," she smiled. Baby, incidentally, was as unusual a word for Opie to use as 'Kimmy.' "Now, go shower and I'll see you downstairs. Oh, use the conditioner I left on the vanity and when your done in the shower, don't dry your hair. Just wrap it in a towel - like a turban, you know? Emma will take care of the rest." "Alright," I called from the bed as I heard Opie hurrying down the stairs. I showered, shampooed, followed the directions on the conditioner bottle and conditioned my hair - a longer job than I expected - and I was out of the shower in twenty minutes. The whole 'turban' thing baffled me, but, thank God for YouTube! I watched a tutorial on my phone and soon had my hair encased in a bath towel. As I pulled on my new panties, followed by my Jean shorts and the yellow polo shirt that Opie had put out for me, I could hear Opie and Emma talking in the kitchen, so I hurried to join them. Even as I was hurrying, though, I noticed a couple of things - the first was that my panties were much, much, much more comfortable than a normal pair of tighty-whities and unbelievably softer than my Jean shorts. The second was that the polo shirt that I was wearing was much softer than the polos I usually wore. I didn't really have time to think, though, so I just made my way to the kitchen. Emma smiled, amused, as I entered. "Well, don't you look cute." "Haha," I smirked. "This is what Opie told me to do so my hair would stay wet for you." She took a bite from the breakfast sandwich she was eating and set the rest of the sandwich aside. She tapped the backed of a chair that was already prepared for me near the counter. "Come sit. Let's get you taken care of." As I sat, I noticed that, on the counter, Emma had laid out a very professional array of hairdressing tools, including an expensive set of scissors, several different brushes, some hair clips, a professional looking blow dryer and a curling iron. In fact, I smelt the curling iron before I even saw it. It was an unusual smell to me. As I said, my mom was gone when I was young and Opie certainly never had use for such a tool, so the faint smell of old, singed hair definitely caught my attention. Opie sat at the table and watched as her older sister used the towel I'd worn as a turban down stairs to pat my hair and get the excess water out of it. Then she used a regular brush to straighten my messed up hair, followed by a wide toothed comb to organize it into straight strands, and finally, she used a fine toothed comb to insure that everything was well separated and no snarls were hiding in my mane. How did I know that this was what she was doing? She explained every step as she worked so that I could learn how to do it as well. Beyond my lessons in hair care, very little was said to me, as Opie and Emma chatted about friends and work, etc. Occasionally, I would be asked an opinion about the actions of a friend I knew, or something along those lines, but for the most part, if I was included in the conversation at all, it was because the women were talking about me, not to me. Then, Emma reached for a scissor and combed out a section of hair. I must have held my breath, or something, because she laughed and said, "Relax, Kimmy." She held up the two or three inch section of hair that she held between her fingers and explained. "See how your hair is split at the ends? All I'm going to do is cut off those splits. Your hair will be and look much healthier." "Ok," I said as she made the first snip and little flecks of hair fell onto the towel that had previously acted as my turban, but now acted as my cape. "See? That didn't hurt, now did it?" She continued cutting away her little trimmings and chatting with Opie. At one point she called Opie over and asked if she though it would look better if the back of my hair were cut 'this way' or 'this way?' I didn't know what the options were, but I know that Opie chose the second 'this way.' Then, Emma used some clips to section off my hair and began to use the curling iron, holding it vertically and wrapping my hair around it." "What are you doing that for?" I asked, concerned and curious. "I will make these curls and then brush them out while also using the blow dryer. You'll love the volume it gives you," she explained. "Is this really something that men do?" I asked, very aware that I was indeed wearing silk and lace panties. "Men with long hair and a desire to add fullness to it do," she shrugged. "Honestly, Kimmy, most of the long haired men I know go to hairdressers instead of barbers, so this is how their hair is maintained." I looked at Opie. "Do like it?" "I'm fascinated," she chuckled. "Just the little bit of trimming and shaping has already made your hair a lot prettier. It's going to look great with your nighty." "Yeah, but what about the rest of the day?" I asked. "What about it?" Opie shrugged. "You've hardly been out of the house since the pandemic hit. I mean, you were in our backyard for our wedding and I had to drag you to Josie's - and even then, you stayed away from everyone except for my sisters and me. Other than that, I can't remember you leaving the house." It was true that I had become a a bit of a germaphobe since the outbreak and that kind of made me a bit more agoraphobic than I'd been before, too, but I had been out plenty times. Not often, but plenty. "I've been to the grocery store and the pharmacy lots times and I went to The Mill with your sisters the other day." I defended myself. "Do you plan to go out today?" My wife asked as she took a sip of her coffee. "No," I admitted. "Then let Emma work her magic and see how it comes out. If we like it, great. If we don't, then you still are getting all of those split ends cut away and you can go back to flat hair tomorrow." "Ok." I was actually pretty excited at the prospect of having my hair done nicely, but I still needed to pretend that I was concerned about my maleness being impinged upon. Emma continued to work, but suddenly asked a question. "Did you ever consider bangs?" "Bangs?" I had not, of course and wasn't sure it was a great idea, now. "Yeah. Lot's of men wear bangs," Emma said, matter of factly. "Like who?" I asked. "Ashton Kutcher, Justin Bieber..." Opie suggested. "Owen Wilson, Ed Sheeran..." Emma added. "Zac Efron..." Opie continued, but I interrupted her. "Ok, ok, I get it, but what if you give me bangs and I don't like them?" Emma shrugged, looking at my face. "I think you might like them, but if you don't, the you can comb them over and use a little hair spray to hold them there for a few weeks until they grow out enough to stay on their own." I was still pondering the option, but Opie said, "I think you should give it a try." "Ok," I sighed. "I'll give it a try." "Great," Emma smiled and combed a section of my hair in front of my eyes. I looked out through the strands of hair and felt my heart race just a little as her scissors cut them away. "I'll leave them a little long. That way, if you don't like them, they'll grow out quickly." I glanced down at the long pieces of hair in my lap and then looked at Opie, awaiting her approval. "Oh, I like that," she smiled. "I can't wait to see the final results," She continued as she stood, "but I need to get going." She bent and kissed my cheek. "Get nice and pretty for me, Kimmy," she whispered. Then she stood tall and said to Emma, "Make sure my little lady looks pretty for me." After she'd left the kitchen, Emma moved in front of me and folded her arms, a big smile on her face. "Well, well... so, what's going on here? It seems like this game is a little more elaborate than I suspected. It sounds like Opie is looking for something a little more feminine than just a cute hair cut." To say I was embarrassed would be a gross understatement. I know I was blushing. "She's just trying to scare me so I won't wear the nightgown to bed for a week. Then, she wins and she never has to wear something like this herself." "Maybe," Emma shrugged, "or maaaaaaybeeeee, she's really turned on at the prospect of coming home to a pretty little wife. Have you ever considered that?" Of course, I had, and the idea was intriguing to me on a lot of levels. Was Opie really a lesbian? Did she really not see me as a man? As a husband? I didn't know, but I also just found the whole idea kind of exciting. "She was just putting on a show for you." "Maybe... or... maybe she's using her teasing to tell us what she really wants. Let's take a look at your relationship, shall we? Physically, who's bigger and stronger? You or Opie?" "Opie." "Who makes more money? You or Opie?" "Opie, but I do fine, too..." "'Opie' is the answer. Who does the cooking? You or Opie?" "Me, but..." "The cleaning?" "Me, but, again..." "Who makes decisions about things like vacations, movies, activities? You or Opie?" "Usually... Opie," was the only answer. I began to see what Emma was getting at. "Final question: Who's been wearing the nightgown for the last couple of nights?" I just looked down at the silk and lace and pondered what Emma was saying. She pulled a chair opposite me and smiled. "I think Opie may have finally realized that the reason she never wanted to wear silk and lace is because she's the husband in this relationship and husbands don't do that. Wives do. Wives cook and clean and let their husbands make the big decisions. Wives go out of their way to look pretty for their husbands - just like you did yesterday. I know I kind of got you into this, Kimmy, and I apologize, but I think it's time to admit that, even though I was wrong, something did happen here because a beautiful, sexy piece of lingerie was introduced into your lives. Honestly, I think it's up to you to take this to the next level. I really do." There wasn't a lot I could say. Emma was a hundred percent right about the way Opie was acting. The problem was, while I hesitated, she asked me a question I really didn't want her to ask. "How do you feel about all of this?" I sighed and, for some reason, I felt my eyes watering up. "I don't know, right now. Are you saying that Opie doesn't see me as a man anymore?" "No, Kimmy. What I mean saying is that she sees you as the person she loves, but she sees you as her wife. That's all." I just nodded. "Maybe. What do you think I should do?" She raised her eyebrows and took a deep breath. "Well... I guess you have two choices. Either you can finish the week out without going any further than this, or... you could let me take you a few steps further into wife-hood and see what Opie has to say. If she doesn't like it - we step it back tomorrow." "What if she does like it?" I asked. "Then we step it up, tomorrow." She smiled. "I don't know," I hemmed and hawed. "Ok. I'm not going to force anything onto you, but I think this is what she wants." Emma went back to working on my hair. I sat there, smelling the smells that were still so new to me - hairspray, hair gel, the smell of the blowdryer and curling iron and I thought about what Emma had said and I quickly came to the realization that it probably was something that Opie wanted to at least play around with, anyway - but it was definitely something I wanted to try. I mean, come on - it seemed like some fun, right? "Emma," I asked as casually as possibly, "what are we talking about doing here? Nothing permanent, right? Like, I could go back to being myself pretty quickly, right?" She smiled at me, seeming a little more excited than I wanted her to be. "One shower and it's all gone." I nodded. "Ok, then. Let's try it. Go ahead and make me Opie's perfect housewife." "You got it," she laughed as she grabbed a large, round brush and went to work furiously on my still damp hair, spritzing it with water when needed. When she'd finished with my hair, she grabbed a small tool that looked a bit like one of those old fashioned microphones that harmonica players use, only it was only a little longer than her forefinger. "Put your head back," she instructed. "What's that?" I asked, both curious and a but scared. "It's an eyebrow razor," she explained. "Don't worry - I'm not giving you pencil thin brows or anything. I'm just going to clean them up a bit. Get rid of those little hairs between the brows and make them look neat and clean. Now, before you complain, most Japanese actors I've ever seen groom their eyebrows, so it's kind of expected for someone of Asian decent to have symmetrical brows. It won't look weird at all." I believed her, but I was still nervous that she might go too far. In a few minutes, she put that tool down and said, "l have to run out to car. Be right back." "Ok, but remember, I have to log on at nine." I reminder her. "No problem," she assured me. "We still have forty five minutes." When she came back in, she was carrying her gym bag and a garment bag. "What's all that for?" I asked. "Well, the gym bag is because that's where my makeup is and if you want to look pretty, then makeup is part of it. I'll explain the garment bag after the makeup is done." She worked for about fifteen minutes on my makeup and finally smiled broadly and said, "Oh, yeah. You're going to like this when you see it. Those Asian eyes are just popping, now." "Can I look in a mirror, then?" I was genuinely curious. "Not till it's all done." She closed her makeup kit and grabbed the garment bag. "Alright, now, hear me out. We're about the same size, I think. This is what I was going to put on after my workout and wear to work, but I can always swing back home and get something else. It is a dress, but it's not fancy. It's just a tee shirt dress and a new set of tights. I think you'll look nice in it. Wanna try it?" I took a deep, steadying breath and nodded. "Ok," she pulled a dark green dress, and it really did look just like a loose fitting tee shirt, out of the bag, had me stand up and held it up to me. "It'll work," she smiled. It'd hang nicer if you had a padded bra under it, of course." "Oh, I have one up..." I stopped, realizing that this was probably something I should have kept to myself. "You have one? Well, you girly little thing!" She teased. I blushed. "Opie brought home ond yesterday to wear under the nightgown. She touched my chest. "But you're not wearing it now." I shook my head. "It's upstairs on top of my bureau." "You just stay here, and don't look at yourself, yet," she grinned as she headed for the stairs, but she stopped. "At the risk of sounding too personal... did she buy you panties, too?" I sighed as I nodded. "Oh, this is incredible," Emma laughed. "And... are you wearing panties, now, or do I need to get panties for you, too?" I shook my head. "I don't need any." "Oh, God!" She chuckled as she ran up the stairs. I really wanted to look in a mirror, but I refrained. Emma was back in less than a minute or so, anyway. She had me stand and helped me maneuver my polo shirt past my head so as not to upset all work she'd done. Then she had me step out of my pants as well. "Wow," she teased, "those are nicer than any panties I own! I guess I need to find a lover who likes me in pretty little wisps of lace the way that Opie likes you." She held the bra up and I ran my arms through the bra straps. Emma did the clasps in the back, then looked at me in just the bra and panties. "I don't know if this is what you want to hear or not, but except for your hips being a little small, and a bulge that you really should tuck away, you look like a very pretty girl." I snickered. "Thanks, I guess. I think the bra points out that my chest is a little flabby." "Yeah, but that little extra skin is kinda working for you right now. Your butt looks pretty nice in those panties and the bra is pushing up your pecs really nicely. I'm actually a little jealous." I checked the clock and pointed out that I only had about twenty minutes left before I started work. I was instructed to sit back down and I received a tutorial on how to put on tights without ripping them or causing them to run or ladder. It took a minute or two, but I got them on, having to stand to pull them all the way up. The tights were a really pretty cranberry color and I was immediately amazed at the way that they softly hugged my legs and offered them some rather impressive shaping. "If tights, or stocking, or pantyhose become something you wear all the time, you should shave your legs," Emma said, as she prepped the dress for me. I didn't respond because the dress was waiting for me. For some reason, I honestly did not realize how big a deal it would be for me to actually put this simple, dark green dress on, but the minute I did, I knew that I was a different person. The short sleeves hung loosely about my arms, not really touching them. The wide, scooped neck exposed more of my chest than I expected, but showed no cleavage. It hung from shoulders and then from my breasts, keeping the very soft material inches from my skin. The hem was at least six inches above my knees, but didn't come close to touching my bottom or legs at all. The result of which was, whenever I moved, even just a little bit, it swayed and ticked me in different places. The sensations were intoxicating and I LOVED the way that it all felt. "Here," Emma said as she ran a neckless around my throat. It wasn't anything fancy. Just a gold colored chain the went around my neck and in the front had two rows of small, square red stones, four on the top row and six on the bottom. "Just a little bling to dress up a casual dress," she smiled. She looked at me and nodded, then asked, "What size shoes do you wear?" "Six," I said, automatically. "Perfect!" She beamed as she pulled a pair of beige, suede, ankle high boots with chunky two inch heels out of her gym bag. "You'll love these. They're really comfortable. If you like them, I can tell you where I got them. I've never bought a pair of shoes from that store that I didn't love." I stared at the first shoe she'd given me. "I don't know, Emma. I've never worn any kind of heel before and these look pretty high." "Are you kidding!?" She laughed. "They're only a couple of inches high and a big heel like that is really easy to wear. Just put them, on. We've only got ten minutes and I want you to see yourself before I leave." I sat and slid my feet into the boots and was shocked by how comfortable they actually were. When they were both on, she grabbed my hand, pulled me to my feet and ran me up to our bedroom and towards the the tall mirror on Opie's closet door, but she stopped me before I could see myself. Then, she took on a very theatrical manner and announced in a loud voice, "Ladies and Gentlemen! I present to you my sister's beautiful wife... Kimmy!" And she pushed me in front of the mirror. But I didn't respond with the joy Emma expected. I couldn't respond at all at first. At first, I was trying to figure out who was in the mirror. Certainly, it wasn't me. I was a small guy with slightly Asian features, but the reflection looking back at me was a very Asian looking woman with pale, soft skin, rich, full hair wearing a lovely dress, tights and absolutely precious boots. "You don't like it?" Emma asked, a little deflated. "I... I... I..." my brain was stuck on that syllable. "I... I don't really look like that, do I? I mean... that girl is... she's like, fully Japanese and she's... she's really pretty." That made Emma smile. "So you like it, then?" "I... I... I..." I continued to stutter. "I think I love it, but... I can't believe I look like that." Emma glanced at the clock on my bed stand and said, "Oh, crap. You need to get downstairs and sign in. It's eight fifty nine!" "Oh, shoot!" I said, as I hurried back down the stairs as quickly as I could in the low heels and signed in exactly on time, which is about three minutes later than usual for me. "Well, look at you! Running around in heels with no problem at all!" Emma teased. "One last thing, though," she said before giving me a few pointers about sitting without wrinkling the dress before she went out to the kitchen to gather her things. I was quite involved in work when she came back into the living-room and smiled. "You look kind of beautiful, Kimmy," she smiled and I knew that there was no teasing going on. "Thanks, Em," I smiled. "I'll let you know what Opie thinks." She nodded. "Actually, I'm coming by before Penelope comes home. I want to check your makeup. I'm going to pick up a tube of lipstick for you, too. I don't love sharing that with you." Then she shocked me by hugging me and kissing my cheek, a gesture that I returned automatically. She stood back up and shook her head. "Ah, she is going to LOVE you! I just know it!" And she left. It was an odd day, let me tell you. My breasts may have been small, but they were still new to me and I was aware of them every time I moved. Also, my tights remained just as exciting hours later as they'd felt when I'd first pulled them on. At lunch time, I went back upstairs and looked at myself. I'd never really looked great in a suit - adequate, but not great. They're really cut for broader men. I always thought that I looked ok in a shirt and tie and slacks, or even in a casual shirt and jeans, but now... after Emma was done with me, I looked really nice. I thought I was actually pretty, if that was possible. I loved my hair - the new bangs, the fullness, the waviness. All of it. I was actually very proud of it. Then there was my face - or rather - the face of the girl in the mirror. She bore a slight resemblance to me, as if she were my sister or a close cousin, but she wasn't me. The neat eyebrows and bright red lips belonged to someone else entirely. Then, there were my eyes. Now, understand, I had always had almond shaped eyes, they were a gift from my mom, and I kind of liked them. They made me look... exotic, I guess. When you're not the biggest, or most talented, or smartest kid in high school, it's nice to have something that distinguishes you from everyone else and my Asian features did that for me. Here's the thing, though - I didn't just look exotic. I looked Asian - in all the best ways. Think of any beautiful Asian woman you've ever seen. The way her soft cheeks are set off by her elegant, almond shaped eyes. Well, that was me, now! I could not believe that Emma had made me look like this! I absolutely loved everything about how I looked! I spun and felt my dress spin around me! I spoke in a lighter, more feminine voice! I giggled and I smiled and I pretended that I was a girl! That I'd always been a girl! And I loved every second of it! Before I knew it, I needed to get back to my computer, so I headed back down the stairs and, just as I entered the living room, the front door opened and I came face to face with Opie's sister Josie. "Oh... Hi," I said, stopping dead in my tracks. "Hi," Josie smiled, but she looked a bit flustered. "I'm sorry," she went on, "I'm Josie. I'm Kim's sister in law. Are you Kim's sister?" Now, it was my turn to be flustered. "Sister? Kim's sister?" I was a bit surprised that Emma hadn't told her. "Umm... Yes. Yes, I'm Kim's sister." "Oh, I didn't even know he had a sister!" She stepped over to me and extended her hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name." "My name?" I thought and went blank, so I just used my mother's name. "I'm... Yuki." We shook hands and Josie looked around. "Is Kim here? I just dropped by to..." She stopped and she looked at my clothing. "Umm... that dress..." I just looked down at it, then looked back at Josie and smiled. "It's pretty, isn't it?" "It is," she said, as she squinted at me. "It's also Emma's." She looked more closely. "KIMMY!? IS THAT REALLY YOU? OH, MY GOD! YOU LOOK AMAZING!" I was torn between being thrilled that Josie was so impressed and embarrassed that I'd been caught dressed this way. "Umm... thanks." "Kimmy, this is amazing. Did Emma do this? Well, of course she did, I mean, who else could have and besides you're wearing her dress... I CAN'T BELIEVE IT THOUGH, KIMMY! YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL!" Suddenly, I was being hugged kissed by a girl I'd known for years and had never so much been alone with for more than a few minutes at a time. "Oh," she laughed as she stepped back to get a better look at me. "I wish that I could get my husband to look this cute. Of course, at six foot four, two hundred and sixty five pounds, that might be a pretty big trick! Oh, oh! Has Opie seen you, yet?" I shook my head and was about to say something, but Josie was too wound up to give me so much as an opening in her stream of words. "She is going to flip! There's no way that she could ever expect you to look this good! I never would have expected it was possible to make you this cute! Can I take a picture?" "A picture!?" That was a lot to consider. I mean - where was the picture going to end up? What if Opie didn't like how I looked? Could I get Josie to destroy the picture? It didn't matter, because before I could pose any kind of alternative to taking a picture, Josie turned her back to me, held up her phone and snapped a quick selfie with me included. "Oh, I almost forgot," Josie switched gears faster than my brain could handle. "The reason I came by is because Opie said I could borrow your big cooler. We're having some friends over for a little cookout on Friday and we don't have one." I blinked and got my brain around the subject at hand. "Our cooler? Sure. It's in the garage. Listen, do you mind getting it yourself? I have to get back online." "Sure." I dashed back to my desk and signed back on just in time and went back to my numbers, while Josie retrieved our cooler and the afternoon flew by, but I was always aware of my new attributes and the new clothing I was wearing. I was just standing up at five o'clock when Emma burst through my door. "I only have a minute, Kimmy. I have to meet a buyer in twenty minutes. Let me take a good look at you." She looked me over, from top to bottom and muttered, "Very nice." Then, rather unceremoniously, she took my hand and dragged me to the mirror in the downstairs lavatory and handed me a small tube and what looked like an artists paint brush. "Ok, listen - you can apply your lipstick straight from the tube, but you can use the brush to be extra neat, if you need to. Go ahead and try putting it on yourself." Now, Emma had applied my lipstick earlier and it seemed pretty easy, but that was pretty much the only time I'd ever considered how to apply lipstick. Opie wore a very natural shade and only on special occasions, but those occasions were few and far between, so I really hadn't had a lot of opportunity to observe the process. I opened the tube and applied it cautiously. Emma shook her head. "No, Kimmy, come on. You have to cover the entire surface of both lips. Think of your lips as a coloring book and the lipstick as a crayon. Try it again and don't be afraid to put on too much." I tried again, this time thinking of the edges of my lips as the lines in a coloring book and the result did look better. Not as nice as Emma had done, but nice. "Better," Emma said, both of us looking into the mirror, "but not perfect. Here," she took the paint brush and applied some of the lipstick to it, "use this to spread it out as neatly as you can." I did as I was told, adding more color to the brush when needed and within a minute or so, Emma said, "Excellent. Here." She offered me a tissue. "Blot your lips on this." I'd seen women in movies put on makeup enough to know how to do that much, so I did. Emma pulled me back into the living room and gave me one last inspection. She nodded and smiled as she checked out every aspect of my new look. "You look great, Kimmy." She checked her watch. "I have to go, but listen - Opie is going to adore you this way, I'm sure of it. Now, don't go crazy making something big for supper, just have a nice salad or something. I don't want you to get all red faced from cooking. And remember, just before Opie comes home, check your hair and lips in the mirror and make sure everything's perfect for her. I gotta go. Love you! Good luck!" She hugged me and ran out the door in a rush. Did she just say 'love you' to me? What was going on? I went into the kitchen and grabbed some lettuce, spinach, kale, tomatoes, some cold, leftover chicken, and some orange slices from the refrigerator and put together two bowls of chicken salad - not my typical meal, but still healthy and tasty. I set the table and set out a bottle of nice white wine. Then, since it was Wednesday, which had been 'Vacuum The First Floor Day' since I'd taken over the household chores, I grabbed the vacuum cleaner and made short work of cleaning. I was just putting the vacuum cleaner back into the hall closet when I heard the garage door open. Remembering Emma's instructions, I hurried into the lavatory and checked my lips. They looked fine, but I added a little more, just because, and blotted my lips again. I stepped out of the lav and was going to go to the kitchen to greet Opie when I was seized with an overwhelming sense of dread. What the hell was I doing? I was a man, for crying out loud! What was I doing dressed up the way I was? Opie wasn't going to like this! Opie was going to flip out! Opie was going to call me a fairy and throw me out on my ear! God Almighty, what was wrong with me!? This wasn't a game, any more. I wasn't just prancing around our bed room to play some silly sex game with my wife. I'd let my sister-in-law turn me into a woman in every way possible, shy of my sex organs, I looked like any other woman, and now I was going to present myself to my wife? Looking like this? This was a very, very, very bad idea and I needed to find a way out of it. Unfortunately, Opie was already entering the kitchen and there was no way to make a run for the bedroom without being seen. "Kim?" I heard her call as she headed in my direction, still unable to see me. "Kim? Are you here, honey? Kim? I have big news, hon? Where are you?" I turned my back to the doorway she'd have to use to enter this hallway, shut off the light and gritted my teeth, ready for my life to end. "There you are," I heard her say, just behind me, but I also heard her footsteps stop. God, what was I going to do!? "Kim?" She sounded different. A little confused. Who could blame her? "Kimmy? What's wrong, honey?" "Don't look at me," I said quietly. "What?" 'Just... look away and let me get upstairs and get back to normal." "What are you talking about?" She touched my shoulder, but I pulled away. "Please..." I felt like I might die right there. "...please just let me get changed and we'll never talk about this again." "I don't understand," Opie touched me again, more gently this time. "I've been waiting all day to see how your hair came out. And I have really big news to share. Kim? What's wrong?" I was shaking with fear. I'd done it. I'd destroyed my marriage by doing this foolish, foolish thing. "I'm sorry, Opie," I said, with a quiver in my voice. "I... Emma convinced me that you'd want me to take this whole girl-thing further and I... I thought you'd like it, but now... I just look like an idiot... which is what I am. I'm so sorry, Ope. I just want to crawl under a rock and die, now. Please, just turn your back to me and let me go get changed." "Honey," I don't think I'd ever heard Opie speak so lovingly before as she had when she said that one word. "Just let me see you." She remained behind me, but ran her hand down my arm to my hand, and she took that in hers. She turned and headed back into the kitchen. I offered no resistance, but followed, with my head hung in shame. In the kitchen, finally, she turned me so that my body faced her, but my eyes were still focused on the faux-wood-tile of our kitchen floor until she put her fingers under my chin and raised my face until I was looking up into her eyes. The knot in my stomach had solidified by this point. Opie's face showed a great deal of surprise as she surveyed me, but I didn't see anything that indicated that she was happy with the way I looked. Eventually, her head began to shake, slowly, from side to side, and she let out a long breath. "All day long, I've been excited just to see your hair all done up nicely, with your new bangs, but..." She shook her head again and I began to wish I could just die. "I never expected anything like this, Kimmy." "I'm sorry..." "Sorry?" She shook her head again. "Kimmy... I do not deserve this..." "I know..." I started to say, but she continued. "I mean, I left here this morning wondering if my husband might indulge me in a little game and I come home to find him looking more beautiful than I could ever have imagined." "I know, Opie, I'm an idiot. I never should have... What?" I looked up, shocked. "Kimmy... I just can't believe how great you look! My God, you're gorgeous!" "Really!?" I was shaken to my core, having just moments before expecting to be thrown out on my butt. "Then... you're... ok... with this?" By way of answering my question, Opie moved forward, very quickly, wrapped her arms around me and planted a deep, firm kiss on my lips, while her tongue forced its way into my mouth making me feel excited and nearly defenseless in the face of her onslaught. When, at last, we came up for air, she smiled down at me. "I've never tasted lipstick when I kissed someone before. I like it, a lot." It's funny, because the same thought had occurred to me. "Me too," I whispered as I pulled her back towards me and, this time, I kissed her. The chunky heels on the ankle boots I wore making me just a little taller - still shorter than Opie, but taller than usual. Opie's hands were exploring the very loose fitting material of my dress, feeling the bra strap, tights and panties beneath, resting with one of her hands cupping one of my butt cheeks. Her fingers seemed to be searching for the crease in my bottom, but, of course, the tights prevented that. A moment later, she broke the kiss in a very theatrical way, pulling her head back in a dramatic manner and letting out a frustrated groan. "Oh, God, Kimmy, I need you right now!" I turned to lead her up the stairs, but she grabbed my hand and pulled me back. 'No, baby," she said, sounding desperate as she opened the front of her suit coat and began undoing the button at the top of the fly in her slacks. "Right here. Please." Her slacks fell to the floor, followed by her plain, cotton, high waisted underwear - hardly what you'd call 'panties," more like boxers - and she pulled me closer. "Please, baby, please." I felt the gentle pressure on my shoulders guiding me to my knees and, even though oral sex had never really excited either of us before, right now, I wanted nothing more than to kneel before my wife to worship her womanhood. So that's what I did. I knelt down before my wife and as I knelt there in supplication, I looked up at her and never felt smaller or less powerful in my life - but in a good way. I was hers and that was all that mattered. I loved her and she loved me and I was going to serve her in this way. I felt the gentle push of her hand on the back of my head, the soft, full hair on my head being stroked by her powerful palm. I smiled, knowing that my smiled looked brighter than ever due to my lipstick, and I asked, "Do you love me like this?" "Kimmy, you are the most beautiful husband I could ask for and I love you more right now than I've ever loved you before." I could feel her quiver with excitement as she spoke. "I don't think I'm really your husband any more, though," I teased. "I mean... you just called me beautiful and I'm on my knees on the kitchen floor about to give you oral sex." She moaned a bit more and moved her crotch closer to my face. "Oh, you're killing me, Kim. You are my wife, then, baby. My soft, beautiful, little wife. Kneeling before me in her pretty little dress, her heels, her makeup and her soft, beautiful hair and I love her - you - so, so, so much. Please. Don't be a tease like all the other girls." I know it was part of the game, but hearing her calling me her beautiful wife and using the word 'her' to describe me sent me over the top and all I wanted was to be my husband's wife - right there on my knees. So, I went to work with my tongue, teasing her lips before plunging into her with a desire and aggression I'd never displayed when I'd penetrated her my male organ, which was now imprisoned in silk and lace panties and tights. Opie moaned, nearly to the point of howling, as she grabbed the back of my head and pressed it further into her womanhood, sometimes making it difficult for me to breathe. She must have orgasmed twenty times or more before she finally pulled away and grabbed the edge of the counter for balance. "Are you ok?" I asked from my knees. "Ok?" She laughed. "Kimmy... I'm in Heaven! My God, you are amazing! I never experienced anything like that!" I smiled and stood up. Then I helped Opie pull up her trousers and buttoned and zipped them up for her. "I'll afraid I may have messed up your makeup," she chuckled. Still glowing in the joy that I'd been able to bring to Opie, I smiled even more broadly. "Nothing that can't be fixed. I'll be right back." I leaned up and kissed her cheek, then departed for the lavatory, feeling more loved by and connected to Opie than I'd ever felt before. I was surprised that my makeup didn't just smudge off when I removed Opie's fluids from my face. Emma had said that she had used a high quality makeup. I guess that's what she meant. I took a moment to fix my hair as well and I once again marveled at how much my eyes resembled my mother's now that Emma had worked her magic. Satisfied, I returned to the kitchen to find Opie leaning on the kitchen island, speaking into her phone. "I cannot believe how beautiful you made him look," she said, smiling at me and signaling for me to come to her. When I did, she put her arm around me and cuddled me to her shoulder. "No!" She continued, "I was excited to see what he'd look like with his bangs when I got home. I never expected to find a beautiful woman waiting for me." She kissed the top of my head while she listened to who I assumed, correctly as it turned out, was Emma, then she said, "I have a real challenge for you, then. I haven't even told my beautiful little Kimmy this yet, but the Chief Administrator for the hospital announced his retirement last week and the board of directors announced his successor today. Would you like to guess who they chose?" I pulled back and looked up at my wife. "You?" I asked in astonishment, obviously at the same time as my sister-in-law. "That's right," Opie smiled, "yours truly." She listened for a moment as I hugged her in congratulations, then I heard her say, "More like quadruple my current pay, actually, and that's why I'd like to take all of you - you, Josie, her husband, mom and Kim to that steak house down at Mohegan Sun Casino - You know, that really fancy one we saw on that Food Network show? Yes, that's the one - On Friday at eight. I figured we could get all dressed up - fancy new dresses and new suits, you know - have a nice dinner, do some dancing and maybe lose a few dollars at the tables or slots before coming home. Of course you can bring a date." "Opie, that's so great!" I said quietly hugging my wife, excited for her success and the prospect of a big night ahead. "Yes," she continued talking to Emma and hugging me, "but I think that we'll need some help in that department, too. Sure. We'll talk in the morning. Thanks, Em. Yep. Love you, too." When she'd set her phone down, I was like an excited puppy jumping around Opie. "Oh, my God, Ope! That's amazing! Congratulations! Why didn't you tell me the moment you came in?" She smiled and guided me to the table. "I tried to, but attention was diverted away from the silliness of my work by the beauty of my husband," she smiled as she held my chair out for me. "Did you do all of this for me?" She asked, indicating the hair, dress, makeup, etc. I smoothed my tee shirt dress beneath me as I sat and I smiled up at her as she helped me to scoot my seat in to the table. "I did. Well, if I'm really telling the truth, I guess I have to admit that I did it for both you and me. It was kind of fun to get dressed up for you like this." She sat and pulled her own seat in and smiled as she spread her napkin across her lap. "I'm glad to hear you say that, Kim, because the truth is, I really like the way you look like this." I felt tingles go down my spine when she said that. "Really?" "Really." She sipped her wine and picked up her fork. She stabbed a piece of chicken and some spinach and began to bring it to her mouth, but stopped and looked at it for the longest time before putting it back down in her bowl. "Opie?" I asked. "Is something wrong?" She breathed a very deep sigh, picked up her wine glass and downed the whole thing, then put her elbows on the table, folded her fingers together above her elbows and rested her forehead on her knuckles, obviously distraught. "Ope?" I could feel myself shaking. She'd just been so happy and now she was so upset about something. This was not like her at all. This was serious. I'd known Opie a long time and I'd only seen her get like this a few times and never this quickly. Something had gotten to her and gotten to her very suddenly. I knew what was happening, though. She was leaving me. That had to be it. She had all this new wealth and she came home to find me dressed like a little pansy and now she was leaving leaving me. "Opie... please... please... talk to me." She sighed again and raised her head to rest her mouth on her thumbs for a moment before dropping her hands to her sides and speaking. "Kim... I think it's time that I tell you the truth about something." I could actually feel my heart breaking. "Oh, my God... You're leaving me, aren't you?" "What?" She shook her head, shocked. "No. Of course not." "It's the dress and makeup, isn't it? I'll... I'll get changed." "No, Kim..." "Is it... another man? An affair?" "What? Kim? How could you even think that?" "Then whatever you have to tell me doesn't matter, Opie. As long as you still love me, everything is fine." She smiled and let out a nervous laugh. "Ok, Kimmy, just stop." She shook her head. "Look, I think the best thing for me to do is just to say this, so... please... no matter how shocking you find this... just let me get through this, ok?" I just nodded, scared to death that Opie had some terrible disease or something. "Alright, look, about three years ago, when I moved from billing to building management, I changed the way my badge read from 'Penelope Jane Reed' to 'PJ Reed.' I didn't do it for any particular reason. It just kind of fit the badge better, you know? Anyway, right around that same time, I stopped spiking my hair at work and just combing it over - kind of like a guy does. I'd spike it here, then comb like a guy at the gym. It was just easier." "It was always spiky again when you got home." I pointed out. "Yeah," she answered. "I don't know why, but... I was a little embarrassed about it, so I'd spray it and spike it again in the car. Weird, I know." I didn't see anything too bad in her confession so far, so I just waited. "So, anyway, one day, this man comes in to see my supervisor and he is all upset about an issue with a renovation that's underway at that hospital and my supervisor does a lousy job of explaining why the renovation is taking so long. I happen to overhear the conversation and I jump in and explain everything. As it turns out, the guy who is upset is Jack Lawrence, Managing Director of the Hospital and he takes an immediate shine to me. Two weeks later, I'm his personal assistant and he only knows me as PJ and he just assumed that I'm a man." She stopped and waited for my reaction. I sputtered as I spoke. "But... how? I mean... yeah... you wear suits that look manly, but... you have breasts." She sighed. "I don't have breasts at work." "You don't have breasts at work? What do you do? Do you take them off and put them in a desk drawer or something?" "Hang on." Opie got up and walked across the kitchen and exited through the garage door, coming back a few moments later with a gym bag. As I'd mentioned, she had been very health conscious for a long while and I knew she'd been going to a gym, but I couldn't imagine why she'd gone to get her bag. She unzipped the bag, then looked at me and stopped for a moment. "Let me show you how this works." She unbuttoned the plain, white Oxford style shirt she was wearing to reveal a very plain, beige, minimizing sports bra. "First off, I don't have an awful lot of boob to begin with," she explained. "The sports bra makes it even flatter, but then I add this." From the bag, she produced what at first appeared to be a men's sleeveless undershirt, but when she put it on I realized it was made of the same kind of stretchy material as a woman's bike shorts. "Spanx makes them for men with flabby chests," she explained, "so that their man-boobs don't show through their shirts. With this on and my hair combed this way, I just look like any other guy." She pulled her shirt back on and buttoned it up, reached into her bag and grabbed a tie and deftly added it to her collar. When she pulled on a pair of decidedly masculine looking eyeglasses, the results were undeniable. My five foot eleven wife looked like a very fit man. She took a men's suit coat out of her bag and put it on instead of the women's blazer she'd worn into the house before taking her seat again. When she spoke, her voice was just a tad lower and a lot more authoritatively. "I know this a bit... unorthodox, I guess, but to be very honest - PJ Reed has a lot more opportunities for advancements in this 'man's world' than 'Penelope Jane Reed' ever have ever had." I just stared at her, my mouth agape. She was a man. A strong, handsome man. She looked like a man. She sounded like a man. She even moved like a man. "Well?" She asked. "What do you think?" I didn't know what to think, but I blurted out the thing that had been bubbling in my brain. "Oh, my God, you're Clark Kent!"