EX-WIFE’S REVENGE by Debra
I’m not a dumb blonde by any means, but I guess I’ve always known that my greatest assets are my lovely face and shapely body. All through High School and two years of College, boys have been after me, and I guess you can’t blame them. I’m tall, almost six feet, but definitely well-proportioned with long legs, nice ass, slender waist, flat tummy, and a pair of 38-D titties that are incredibly firm and well-shaped. I’ve always been a body-building enthusiast, and it’s paid off well in my abundant and soft-but-solid curves.
Above the neck, I’m definitely above average too, with vivid green eyes, strong chin and cheek bones, and honey-blonde hair that I wear down to the middle of my back, long and wavy. I’ve been told that I have a very sensuous face and also that I’m an awful cock-tease, and I have accepted the truth of both statements. After all, a girl who looks as good as I do has a right to her fun, doesn’t she?
I also think that a girl like me has a right to pick out the kind of husband she wants. There were lots of big, handsome hunks practically breaking down my bedroom door in College, and they wouldn’t have minded marrying me to get a crack at this luscious body of mine. But I held out for something better.
“Something Better” turned out to be Harold Williams. Young, wealthy, and not bad looking, even though his features were a little on the soft side, and he was much shorter and skinnier than I. He was the kind of man that I knew could provide me all my life with the material things I deserve and the financial security I want. I, on the other hand, would not at all mind letting this cute little bantam-weight have my body in exchange for the wealth and pleasure he could give. I made up my mind to get him, and shortly later we were married.
Married life with Harold, however, turned out to be something of a disappointment. Harold wasn’t actually tight with his money, he just didn’t believe in throwing it around needlessly. For instance, I wanted a big house, with lots of servants, including a cute little personal maid for myself. But Harold insisted that we settle in a fashionable penthouse apartment in the City and use the maid service provided by the Building; I mean, really, those so-called “maids” were little more than cleaning ladies and waitresses.
For clothing, Harold felt that a Thousand Dollars a Month should be sufficient for me, even though I argued that at that rate it would take me months to get up a really nice wardrobe and years to accumulate a decent jewelry collection. I finally got him to agree to an additional Grand per Month for “incidentals”, like Beauty Treatments, Spa visits and such, but he countered thin by flatly insisting that I would be limited to one new car a year.
All this might have been more bearable if Harold had taken more time to spend with me, and we had gone to lots of parties, theater openings, and perhaps a few long cruises, but Harold disappointed me there, too. Although his businesses could run themselves quite well without him, and all Harold really needed to do was sit at home and collect the profits, he insisted on personally visiting at least one of his holdings almost every day, dabbling in dozens of minor details that he really should have hired someone to look after. When I suggested this to him, he got really insistent about how important he was, saying “When I own something, I keep an eye on it,” or something like that.
Well, after a few months of this, I’d had quite enough, thank you. I mean, I wanted to have all kinds of nice things and be spoiled by lots of servants, but Harold stubbornly refused. I knew that to get what I wanted, I’d have to act on my own.
My first try was to dominate Harold. If I could turn him into a submissive sissy, I thought, he couldn’t very well deny me anything. Besides, Harold might look very cute decked out in a little Maid’s outfit with frilly undies! But that idea never got off the ground. Harold was simply too contrary to go along with my plans for him, and he obstinately refused to take orders or wear women’s clothes to please me. The little twit!
So I guess it was only natural that I started taking lovers. I mean, I had the looks to attract them, and the money to make them fawn all over me the way I liked, and Harold wasn’t going to do it for me, so why not? I didn’t just stick to men, either. I mean, men have their uses, but no one can pleasure a woman quite like another woman. Oh, the delicious rub-downs I got, the hours of foot-pampering and other delights heaped upon me by eager ladies. Now this was living!
I should have known, though, that Harold would find out about it and screw it up for me, and in that respect, at least, he certainly didn’t disappoint me. I still remember the afternoon he unexpectedly burst into my bedroom, striding confidently in with his lawyer and a very busy photographer! The embarrassment was bad enough, but when the attorney calmly handed me a divorce suit and a restraining order, forcing me to leave the apartment, I was really taken aback. Harold must have been planning this for weeks!
Once out on my own again, I found that I was worse off than I’d thought. Harold had arranged it so that he didn’t have to pay a nickel toward supporting me while we were getting the divorce, and I had signed one of those pre-nuptial agreements, stating that I wasn’t interested in alimony. My attorney looked things over and told me that my best bet was to try and delay the divorce hearing as long as possible while he looked for some loop-hole, and maybe Harold would get impatient and agree to pay me a little something just to get rid of me. In the meantime, could I pay the legal fees in advance?
With no income from Harold, I had to pawn most of my jewelry and sell my car to meet expenses while I looked for a job. But here, too, there was a surprise waiting for me.
As I’ve said, Harold’s financial interests were extensive, and even in a large city like this one, he wielded a great deal of influence. I would have made a fine secretary or receptionist, but I found that the doors of the larger corporations and employment agencies were closed to me. I applied for jobs as a salesgirl or waitress, only to discover that Harold had a detective tailing me around. Anywhere I applied, a phone call would follow, full of hints, lies, and veiled threats. And the prospective employer would politely tell me that the position had been filled.
Finally, I found a place where Harold’s influence did not extend, but I think he must have been secretly delighted to see me get this job; it was as a combination Stripper/Cocktail Waitress at a topless bar called The Boob-Eee-Trap. I mean, me, a Stripper!
I expected this job to be a crushing blow to my ego, but the owner of the place, May Dallas, was remarkably comforting and sympathetic. I told her why I needed the job and how Harold was hounding me, and she encouraged me right from the start. There, in the back room, I undressed for May, and she told me that with my looks and figure, I could really make out working for her. She put an affectionate arm around my bare shoulder as she explained the rules:
“First of all, I provide living quarters for you here, but I don’t pay a salary as such. You’ll get Fifty Per Cent of whatever the customer spends when he’s with you, including our over-priced and rather sub-standard food. If he buys you drinks, of course, you’ll get soft drinks or tea, and I’ll give you Seventy-Five Per Cent on those. If you want to take a customer up to your room, that’s fine with me, and I don’t care what you do or charge. But I’ll expect Twenty Dollars per visit. Of course, I won’t want any part of any tips you may get; that’s your money, and if I asked for a piece of it, it would only encourage you to steal from me. Well, what do you say?”
“Hmmra,” I sighed, “It’s not what I had planned for myself, but it’s a living, and I must say, you seem very nice. It’s a deal!”
Over the next few weeks, I found that I could make a very good living indeed in this line of work! My natural beauty and overall look of “class” made me very popular with the customers, and I put out an extra effort to get along with May and the Girls. One way and another, I found that I was making about Three Hundred a week, and since I was living on the premises, this was quite enough to indulge my tastes for nice things — a little bit, anyway. I was even happy with my work. I’ve always liked having men admire my body, and some of the girls there swung both ways, so I was really quite satisfied. There was just one fly in the ointment: Harold.
Harold had been harassing me ever since we split up, and he didn’t stop now that I was a stripper at the Boob-Eee-Trap. Almost every night, he was in there, watching me. He would order the other girls about imperiously, complain about the drinks, and heckle us as we took turns peeling on the tiny stage. He would always try to get me to wait on him — nothing would have given that little twit more pleasure than ordering me to dance for him in my skimpy outfit — but, with May’s consent, I never gave him that gratification.
After a while, though, Harold started costing us money. I mean, he never spent much at the club, although he took up a lot of our time, and his boorish behavior was starting to turn off the other customers. Finally one night, after closing, May decided that something had to be done about Harold. Her announcement worried me, since I was afraid of being fired, but she had no intention of firing me. Together, she and I and the other girls worked out a plan to wreak a terrible vengeance on the little pest!
When we actually put our plan into effect, I was amazed at how simple it was. For one thing, I still had the keys to our luxury apartment, and I knew Harold’s personal habits intimately. It wasn’t hard to sneak in one afternoon when he was out and fill his vitamin capsules with super-strong female hormones. I also substituted a mild depilatory for his liquid soap. On my way out, I checked his calendar and found out that he had an appointment for a medical check-up the very next week.
That was really a stroke of luck for us, because I knew that Harold’s doctor was an old coot who left, most of the work to his pretty young nurse, a girl named Bobbi who just happened to be having an affair with one of the girls at the club. Knowing what an awful complainer and hypochondriac Harold was, it wasn’t hard to persuade her to administer some special shots and prescribe some other medications.
“It was simple, really,” Nurse Bobbi reported back to us, “I told Harold that the changes he was seeing in his body were the system’s natural reaction to an excess of male hormone that could eventually cause cancer. He fell for it, hook, line and sinker, even when I told him that we would have to do everything we could to increase the feminization processes and help the body along. I reassured him that once we had the excess male hormone well under control, his system would right itself. I prescribed all sorts of hormone creams, ointments, shampoos and medications for him, and I even gave him shots in his chest that will cause his breasts to swell over the next several days. He’s due to come back in a week for a booster!”
Over the next week, Harold kept up his pesky visits to the club. True, he was a little more subdued, but really, just as big a bother as ever. Finally, Bobbi called us back and reported:
“He’s ready as he’ll ever be, Honey! I gave him a complete check-up today, and you wouldn’t believe how feminine he looks! It was so funny seeing him cower in that short, back-less examination robe; I could barely keep from laughing out loud! I purposely dragged things out a bit, making him scamper from room to room in the tiny robe while I weighed him, measured his bust, and gave him an extra shot of the breast-enlarging solution. The look on his face was so cute! I’m sure that in that revealing robe, a lot of the people we passed in the hallway took him for a woman. I think some man even pinched his hinie! Then, I pretended to forget which room we’d left his clothes in. You should have seen how darling he looked as he sat in the hallway with his smooth legs crossed while I pretended to search around. I told him that if I couldn’t find his clothes, he could wear an extra Nurse’s Uniform, and I was really tempted to put it on him, but I lost my nerve at the last moment and ‘found’ his stuff. But I swear, I haven’t had so much fun in years!”
“If you think that was something,” I replied, “Just wait ’til you see what we have in store for him!”
Sure enough, Harold turned up at the club again that night. I thought he looked a little uncomfortable, since the baggy clothes he was wearing couldn’t completely hide his feminine chest, but he was as big a nuisance as ever. Finally, I went over to him in my outfit of panties, pasties, fishnet hose, and high heels. We had especially arranged tonight to seat him at a secluded table in a dark corner, with a long table cloth. Everything was ready for my Big Act.
“Please, Harold,” I tried to hide my anticipation and look worried and contrite, “Can’t you see what you’re doing to me?
May says it’s bad for business to have you keep coming in here, and I’m afraid she’ll fire me! I just can’t lose this job, Harold, but I will if keep this up much longer!”
“And just how are you going to stop me, Miss Stripper?” He sneered, eyeing my tiny outfit scornfully.
I bit back my anger and pleaded, “Oh please! I’ll do anything! May says that if I don’t satisfy you and keep you from complaining, she’ll can me! Please let me serve you, Darling,” Clicked my lips meaningfully, “I’ll do just anything!”
Harold smiled and looked around, noticing his seclusion for the first time.
“All right,” His hands sneaked under the table, and I heard a zipper opening. “On your knees, under the table!” He snapped.
Now I never went down on Harold in all the time we were married, but knowing what was coming up, I was glad to go along with it. Under the table there, I quickly massaged his dick (which is not overly large, by the way) as I gently unbuckled his belt and un-snapped his pants. Oh, how excited he got! The next part was tricky, but I pretended.to be passionately drawing him into my mouth with my hands on his ass (It felt so smooth and round!) to hold him close. It was the perfect excuse to draw his pants and underwear down over, his hips.
After that, I drew back and became playful, teasing him with soft licks while I noticed how smooth and hairless his legs were. I caressed them, and in doing so, pulled his pants and underpants 4own to his ankles, keeping my tongue busy all the while to distract his attention.
Harold was now too far gone with passion to notice as I gently removed his shoes and put a knee between his feet, pulling his pants right off. I had him now! But for extra measure, I even took off his socks. He was now totally naked from the waist down!
Working quickly, I wadded his garments into a ball and slid them off to my left, across the floor. A second later, I heard May whistle softly to signal she’d picked them up. We had his clothes!
The music changed, and I stood up suddenly, startling Harold out of his erotic trance.
“Ooo!” I said, “That’s my signal. Got to be ready to go on next. I’ll finish you off later, Hon!” I bent forward and kissed him on the lips. “See you in a bit!”
I minced off, intentionally moving my ass to remind Harold what he’d almost had. And as I walked, I saw him out of the corner of my eye, just starting to reach down for his pants.
OH, how I wish I could have been there to see the look on Harold’s face when he discovered his pants were gone! And not just his pants, but all his clothes below the waist! But I bided my time, changing into a sexy nurse’s uniform for a strip number, then peeling on stage for the crowd, paying special attention to Harold’s darkened corner as I flaunted my lush boobs and pink derriere for the cheering men and women.
Finally, about twenty minutes later, I took a tray of drinks — and a few other things — over to Harold.
“How you doin’ Hon?” I asked innocently, sitting down beside him.
“I- I…” He started. But before he could answer, I put an affectionate hand on his thigh.
“My!” I interrupted, “You still have your pants down! Not that I blame you, as sexy as your legs are, but aren’t you getting cold? Oh, and you still haven’t paid for that last round of drinks.”
“My pants!” He finally blurted out in an embarrassed whisper, “What have you done with my clothes?”
“I don’t have your clothes, Sweetie,” I said, a little louder, “Why don’t you go over and ask the people at the next table if they’ve seen them?”
He clamped his shapely legs together, as if the mere idea of anyone seeing him with his legs shaved was just too much to bear.
“I-I can’t do that!” He shushed me. Or tried to.
“Oh? Why not?” I teased in a slightly-louder-than-normal voice, “And by the way, Honey; how long have you been shaving your legs?”
“Not so loud!” He hissed.
“WHAT’S THAT, HONEY? HOW LONG?”
“Please!” He begged, “Oh please, Dear! I’m in an awful jam. I can’t explain now, but I just can’t move like this!” He squirmed his shapely tush in embarrassment as I stared down at it. “Please get me some clothes!”
“You know, Harold,” I mused, “You beg very nicely! Get down on your knees and do it some more. And call me Mistress!”
I thought that might be pushing him too far, but he was down on his knees in a flash, cowering behind the table.
“Oh please, Mistress,” He begged, “Please give mi some clothes to wear! I’m so embarrassed this way! Please, M-Mistress?”
“Very well, Harold,” I smiled down at him, “But I think in your case, we’ll have to get down to the basics before we begin. Hand over what you still have on!”
“Oh no!” He clutched at his jacket, shirt and tie, and I knew he must be thinking about the feminine breasts beneath them. “Please, er-Mistress, I can’t take these off!”
“Very well, then,” I made as if to rise, “You can just get cut of here bare-assed!”
Quickly, desperately, Harold clutched at my nylon-clad leg.
“Oh no, M-Mistress! Don’t go! You’ve got to help me get out of here!”
“Then hand over those Glad Rags,” I snapped, “Now!”
He hesitated just for a moment. I made like I was going to leave. And then, hands trembling, Harold began shrugging off his jacket and un-knotting his tie.
Oh! I can’t tell you how thrilled I was to see this at last! This man who had robbed, hounded and humiliated me, now fumbling at the buttons of his shirt, his eyes shamefully lowered. The surge of power all through my body made me quite wet between the legs, and I felt my nipples stiffen just looking at the helpless, feminized sissy at my knees.
“Wait,” I whispered, when he was down to just his undershirt, “I want to study this for a moment.”
“This” was quite a sight indeed! Harold’s full breasts thrust quite prominently against the thin fabric of the T-shirt, the nipples clearly outlined. Beneath it, his hips curved out nicely, tapering down to very shapely, smooth legs. The depilatory and female hormone had worked wonderfully, along with Bobbi’s bust-enlarging shots, and now Harold looked completely feminine, except for…. you know,” I said thoughtfully, “Your cock and balls look terribly out of place now!” He reddened as I went on, “What have you been doing to yourself? I mean, those breasts are very nice, and I just love that creamy bottom, but I never expected you to be sporting things like that! And what happened to all your body hair? I know!” I chucked him under the chin, tilting his beautifully dismayed face up to look me squarely in the eye. “You want me to come back to you. And you remembered that I like to make it with other women. So you decided to make yourself all sexy and feminine just for me!” I squeezed his chin a bit more tightly. “Is that it, Harold? Do you want me to come back to you?”
“Er- uh…” He was really in no position to contradict me, and we both knew it. “Um-yes Dear-er-Mistress, I-um-I want you to come back!” He managed.
But I wasn’t going to be easily satisfied. I had Harold right where I wanted him now, and I meant to take full advantage of it.
“How sweet!” I smiled. “And you went to such lengths, just to make yourself pretty for me!” I caressed his breast and watched him squirm with embarrassment. “Of course, if I come back, I’ll want you to stay this way for a while! I’ll want to buy you pretty dresses and sexy nighties to wear, and I’ll want you to wait on me from time to time as well. Otherwise, we’ll simply never get along, and I might just as well walk out on you now!”
All that was hard for Harold to swallow, but when I threw in the part about walking out, he positively cringed in fear! The idea of me abandoning him this way, big-chested and feminized in just a tight T-shirt, here in a stag bar, was just too much!
“Oh no!” He begged, “Don’t walk out! I’ll do anything! Anything! Only please don’t leave me here like this! I’d just die of shame! Please!” I figured that Harold probably thought he could back out of his promises once he was safely out of here. I had a plan to prevent that, but first I decided to have a bit of fun with my former tormentor.
“Don’t worry, Baby,” I cooed, “I won’t walk out on you. If you’re good, that is. Here, put this on!”
And I handed him a white leather C G-string!
Another deliciously soaking thrill went through me as I watched this once-proud male shamefully squirming into the little feminine nothing I was making him wear. It hid his male organs perfectly, pushing them back into his crotch, and the thin straps pushed his bottom out nicely.
“Hon—er, M-Mistress,” He cried as he finally tugged the G-string into place, “What is this?”
“That’s part of your new outfit, Darling,” I explained in the tone of voice you would take with a child, “You need clothing, don’t you? Well, male clothes are hardly suitable for a girl with a chest like yours”, and since you’ve already promised to stay feminine for me, they seem completely unnecessary. Now be a good girl and lift up your T-shirt!”
Confused, Harold did as he was told and I strapped another device on him, around his chest. This was something I’d seen in a store for Transvestites and bought when I first hatched this scheme. It was a latex breast-shaper, designed to push the flabby chest of a TV up and mold it to a breast like shape. On Harold’s already-feminine bust, the effect was even wilder, forcing his breasts out to truly impressive dimensions! I tugged the T-shirt back down over them and admired the result.
My oh my!”-I gushed, “What treasures you have there! They must be at least a 40-D! And look how they stand up! They make the rest of us girls here look positively flat!” I cupped the fulsome titties in my hands as I spoke, and Harold cringed all over again.
But I was just getting started! As Harold knelt there behind the table,. I. took lipstick, rouge and mascara from my tray and began applying them to his face in bold, dramatic tones. Pouting red lips, pink cheeks, blue-shadowed eyes with long, demure lashes and elegant arched brows. Finally, I took off the wig I was wearing, shook out my long, wavy hair, and pinned the wig securely onto Harold’s head. It was a long, Afro-style thing, in vivid blonde, and it completed his transformation perfectly!
“Okay, Honey!” I said, “You can sit up on the chair now. You look perfectly natural. Just like one of us!”
Trembling, glancing this way and that, he cowered in the chair, now truly thankful for the dark seclusion of our corner. And no wonder! He locked incredibly feminine now, with his full breasts bulging beneath the skimpy white T-shirt, the white G-string completely concealing his male organs. The long expanse of his smooth shapely legs, topped by his bare butt, was enough to turn any man on, and the painted face beneath his tousled blonde wig was that of a wanton, attractive woman.
Yes, she was a sexy bitch, all right. And she was my husband Harold!
“Well, Darling,” I teased, “Feel like walking back to my dressing room?”
“Like this?” He gestured down at her skimpy clothing. “Oh dear! No! I just couldn’t walk across the room like this! Oh, please give me more to wear!”
“Very well, dear,” I smiled, “But I don’t think you’re going to like it!”
And I fetched him a pair of knee-high white vinyl cheerleader’s boots, with five-inch heels.
The look on his pretty face as he tugged and squeezed the boots on was simply priceless. But even better was the look he gave me when I said,
“Okay, Honey, that’s all you’re getting till we get back to my room! Let’s go!”
“Oh no!” He squealed, “Oh Mistress! I–I just can’t walk out in front of people N like this!” He fluttered his hands down at his bare ass and sexy bulging T-shirt.
“And why not?” I demanded. “I do just that, every night of the week, thanks to you. Is there something shameful about what I do?”
Of course there was! But Harold was much too frightened to say so. I stood, commandingly, and stretched out a hand for my feminized Harold to take.
Meekly, he stood, trembling, and took my hand. This must have looked like his only-way out, and really, the club was pretty dark. He probably thought he could get back to my room fairly safely. So you can imagine his shock when I led him up to the darkened Dance Stage!
“Oh dear!” He gasped prettily, bending forward with his hands over his breasts and crotch, showing off his cute, round ass very nicely in the process. ”This isn’t the way to your room! This… this is….”
“The Dance Stage, Honey!” I finished for him, “That’s right. It’s dark now, but in a few seconds, the Spotlight will come on. And when it does, I want you to climb up there and do a real sexy number for all the men and women out here! You’ve watched me do it often enough, you ought to know all the moves You’d better! ‘Cause if you fuck up, or try to back out, I swear I’ll tear your G-string right off and throw you to the Wolves!” The music began, and a bright orange light flooded the tiny stage. “Now get started!”
I watched in thrilled delight as the trembling, big-breasted, bare-assed bitch that was once my husband tiptoed up onto the garishly-lighted stage. Applause and whistles greeted the new “girl”. Harold began moving in time to the music. The tempo picked up, and he moved faster and more rhythmically about, switching his sexy, smooth hips and jiggling his ripe boobs, turning to grind his ass sexily for the cheering onlookers. Something seemed to happen to him then. It was almost as if my former husband had lost himself in the erotic thrill of feminine exhibitionism. Lost himself to a new identity.
As I watched “her” up there, white boots kicking, body swaying feverishly to show off all the womanly charms in the white G-string and T-shirt, I knew I had won. Harold was my feminine slave now. For keeps.
The rest of that evening was a celebration of my victory. Harold obligingly acted just rebellious enough to earn more punishments, but he and I both knew I had him. May closed the place up early, and all of us girls went into a specially-furnished room which she keeps for high-paying customers. Since we had his wallet, checkbook and credit cards, Harold certainly qualified!
There, we stripped him completely to the buff and made him re-apply his makeup and dress in feminine clothes while we took pictures. He protested at first, but a half hour in bondage, stretched over the foot rail of the big brass bed, licking my toes while the other girls spanked him, made him eager to comply. After Harold had finally gotten his makeup on correctly and donned a lovely long auburn wig, we made him dress in scandalously tiny black lace panties, black fish-net hose, a combination corset and garter belt, made of strong, confining black silk that pinched in his waist cruelly, and a lacey half-bra that matched his darling panties. Black patent leather sandals with six-inch heels came next, and provided several amusing shots as Harold tried to get used to walking around in heels and undies. When he had mastered this at last, he had to strap himself into a stunning, low-cut green strapless formal gown, floor-length, made of silk so sheer and cut so tight that it seemed positively painted on his feminine shape! The skirt was terribly confining, permitting him only the shortest, most mincing steps, and every move outlined the sexy, curving body beneath it. A matching pair of elbow-length gloves completed the outrageous outfit.
Thus arrayed, Harold had to smile and pose while we took dozens of pictures of him, simpering about in his finery. On inspiration, May fetched a life-like male dummy and had Harold pose crouched (his dress was too tight to kneel in) with his face at the dummy’s crotch, as if he were loving it. Harold knew that with the proper lighting, the pictures that resulted would look like he was actually engaging in homosexual pleasure and he really balked at some of the poses. But a few well-placed swats on his silken ass, plus a threat to provide the Real Thing, made him obey almost passionately.
Later, we all got on the huge brass bed and played Strip Poker. Harold was bound to the brass head-and-foot rails, his arms and legs fully extended, face-up, still wearing his lovely outfit. We girls sat around his helpless, feminized figure on the bed, playing for our clothes. Since we were all wearing just our work outfits — pasties, panties, heels, hose arid garter-belts — it should have been a quick game, but our luck kept switching back and forth, stretching the whole thing out to more than an hour.
Ok yes; we made a rule that the girl with the best hand got to play out the next hand sitting on Harold’s pretty face! Poor thing! Especial!v when chunky Leola won three hands in a row!
Finally, a girl named Liz won all our clothing and as a reward got to have Harold’s services. She decided to keep him stretched out on the bed, but removed his dress and turned him over on his stomach. It was delightful, seeing his feminine body tied across that bed, wearing heels, undies, corset, fish-net hose and elbow-length gloves, as Liz settled herself at his face and slowly curled her legs around his head!
So delightful, in fact, that the rest of us just couldn’t keep from spanking Harold’s pantied ass as he eagerly serviced Liz.
Excitement kept us working through the night. There were Bondage Games, seeing how long it took “Missie” — our new name for Harold — to do simple tasks like fetching wet sponges, towels and powder-puffs in her mouth with her hands tied behind her. Or her knees hobbled. Or duck-walking with her arms and legs in tight, confining leather sheaths.
Then it was Breakfast time, and Missie served us all very nicely dressed only in apron and heels. As a reward, we let her lick our plates clean before she washed them. And, later, we let her have another night of Dancing on Stage at The Boob-Eee-Trap.
It was Eleven O’clock the next morning when Harold and I showed up at his attorney’s office. Harold looked outwardly normal at this time, dressed in the suit he had worn into the Club two nights and a lifetime ago. Meekly, he explained to the Lawyer that he wanted to drop the divorce suit, destroy the incriminating photos of me, and make certain other arrangements.
By Four that afternoon, we had visited all of Harold’s major holdings and announced his early retirement. We had been to his bank and signed the necessary forms for his dividend checks to be paid into accounts in my name only, and his name was taken off our joint accounts. We had even been to the Hall of Records and staged proceedings for a legal name-change!
In fact, we were just about to leave that Government Building when I got a flash of inspiration.
“Quick — in here!” I hustled Harold now “Missie” — into a deserted Ladies’ Room and pushed him into a toilet stall. Working quickly, I tore his male clothes off (It was easy, since May had carefully cut away at the seams the night before. All day, Harold and I had both known that any time I wished, I could simply rip the clothes right off him!) revealing the tiny black panties, garter-belt, and dark, seamed stockings beneath. I removed the wide elastic band that had concealed Missie’s beautiful breasts all day, and handed her a lacey black bra to replace it. She meekly obeyed as I ordered her to hand over her male shoes and put on a pair of open-toed black ones with five-inch heels.
“Now then,” I said, handing her a wig and makeup kit from my over-size purse before stuffing the remains of Harold’s male clothing into it, “I saw a charming Exotique Dress Shop a few blocks from here. I’ll go there now and find something to replace that male clothing that is now so unsuitable for you. While I’m gone, you can put on your wig and work on your makeup until it’s just right. And you can wonder about what I’ll bring back for you to wear out on the street. It may be a sensible dress, such as I’m wearing, or it may be a brightly-colored, skimpy top with a contrasting micro-skirt, and a red purse to make you look like a hooker. Or I might find something even more embarrassing for you to parade around in. Then again, I might not make it back here before the building closes, leaving you stuck here in women’s undies! Well, Hon,” I pinched the poor little big-breasted, half-naked she-male tenderly on the cheek, “Have fun!”
It’s Six Months later, now, and I couldn’t be happier with little Missie. She does every bit of the housework, cooking and cleaning and serving in her black taffeta Maid’s outfit. I picked out a very low-cut one with a short skirt to show off her feminine charms, which are now quite abundant. Nurse Bobbi and I experimented around quite a bit until we found a hormone dosage for Missie that would enhance her femininity without reducing her masculine sex drive too much.
Oh yes, it’s very important for me that Missie never forgets that she was once Harold, and just how and why Harold was changed from a wealthy, arrogant male into a lowly, submissive she-male. I think the best way to do this is by keeping the male sex drive very strong. Not that I have any intention of ever letting her gratify it. It took months of searching in the most bizarre shops, but I finally found a permanent Chastity Device for Missie. One that confines her male organs back between her legs and covers them with something that looks like women’s pubic hair. The effect was simply charming, right from the first when Missie suddenly realized that she couldn’t even masturbate any more. Nowadays I sometimes catch her off-guard, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She swivels her hips uncomfortably, and I realize that the male in her is getting turned on by her sexy female appearance. Poor dear!
Also nice is the way Missie services me and my lovers, attending us in the bath, drying and powdering us…. If Missie does a good job and my lover consents, I sometimes tie her up and let her watch from the foot of the bed.
But best of all are our weekly visits to the Boob-Eee-Trap. I get such a kick out of sitting there, watching Missie wait on tables and dance on stage, vicariously re-living the thrills I had exposing my own lovely body that way. Next week, I’m going on a cruise, and May has graciously consented to keep Missie at the Club, guaranteeing that she won’t escape by keeping her scantily clothed, or perhaps with a little bondage.
“She’ll certainly have to hustle for a living here,” May told me, “There’s just one question I find interesting: What she makes hustling drinks will just barely buy her the cheapest food here. That’s none too good, and she certainly can’t go out to eat!” She glanced over at Missie — poor, big-busted, bare-assed Missie, scampering about with a tray full of drinks for a table crowded with men, her long hair curling prettily over her bare shoulders. “I wonder just how far she’ll go with the male customers in order to get a little more money and some better meals!”
And me, I can’t wait to find out!