Man Maid

Man Maid --- Part 1 ---- July 1997 gennie TV

I woke up that morning after having another of those knock down drag out fights with the wife. I was feeling a bit odd but, believing it was just a hangover, I started to get out of bed and realized...*******

The fight was really about nothing important. All I said was that since she has nothing else to do during the day (a dangerous statement in itself) the least she could do is wear a dress for me now and then. Maybe with that nice lacy corset I bought her for Valentine's day last year. She still hasn't even tried it on, "too lacy" she said. I ask you how could anything feminine be "too lacy"? She claimed I should know by now that she doesn't like the kinds of skirts and dresses I want her to wear. She wanted to know why I couldn't wear a dress for her since they were so sexy and comfortable. She argued that the summer would be a great time for me to show off my 'nice ass' in a pretty skirt.

"Since 'you don't have anything else to do' for the summer, no papers to grade, no lessons to plan, you could get into a dress and panties until school starts again. You can even sleep in that nice lacy corset you love so much." Don't you just hate it when they use your own words against you?

I laughed at her. "Me? In a dress? Ha! Get real, I'm a man."

She just smiled (not a good sign) and purred: "But, DEAR, you are so-o-o-o fond of tight skirts and dresses, high heels, and lacy corsets. You should wear them now while you have the time. It's OK dear, you don't have to feel inferior just because you're a man, it's OK for men to look good too."

Of course I came back with the famous, but lame line: "I'm not a woman, and men don't wear dresses. And besides, even if I wanted to we don't have any dresses, corsets, or high heels in my size." she just grinned, as if she had just won the lottery or something.

"OK, Mr. macho, no problem. Here have another beer." Her final words before going off to bed alone.

I should have caught on that something was up, but I was so upset I gulped down the beer and went to bed. Another chilly night, sleeping back to back, I fell immediately into a deep, sound sleep, my lovely wife, apparently did not.

*****... that there was something wrong with my chest. I was still groggy but, it felt as if some heavy weight had been attached to it. I could have sworn that my chest moved after I did, almost like slow motion. As my mind worked through the fog I became aware of the fact that while I was asleep my wife had somehow attached a pair of the biggest tits I had ever seen onto MY chest. They looked real, they felt real, hell they even bounced when I moved. They were HUGE, and those nipples... (So, OK maybe they weren't THAT big but, when they are suddenly attached to a normally flat male chest they sure look big.)

She told me later they were only D she wanted larger but they were not in stock, thank the Supreme Being for small (D small?) blessings. I looked around for my wife but she was nowhere to be seen. I tugged on the monstrosities on my chest, felt pain, decided to leave them alone, and headed off to the bathroom to take care of business. When I pulled down my silk boxers, (What? Lots of men wear silk underwear) I got my next shock. She had actually attached a chastity device to my cock and balls! It looked to be made of heavy leather covered in pink satin, with straps between my legs attached to a band around my waist, I could feel small padlocks under the satin on the front panel. It was designed to allow me to expel both solid and liquid wastes without removal, but would not allow an erection, and I would have to sit to pee! How could I have slept so soundly that she could have done this to me? Was I that drunk last night?

I did what was necessary, feeling very humiliated at having to sit, and headed back into the bedroom. I went to my dresser to get some fresh boxers and the drawer was empty! Empty except for a note from the wife that is. In it she explained that the chastity was locked on and the key was with her. That the breasts would eventually fall off when the adhesive bond broke down, shouldn't take more than a week or so but, if I cooperated she might share the adhesive solvent sooner. Of course, I could try to pull them off but would likely take some skin with them (I could imagine her giggling knowing that I would have already tried that). Her note went on to say that since I was now a woman, (dear you have tits and have to sit to pee) and since, it is so easy to wear a corset, dress, stockings and heels (my words coming back to haunt me again) I would now have a chance to see what it was like first hand. She explained that all of my "male" clothes were in storage at our u-store-it locker on the other side of town. I was instructed to dress in the "uniform" I would find in the closet. And that when I finally got myself dressed (finally? Yes dear, you will find getting dressed today a bit more of a challenge than your normal jeans and T-shirt) I should clean the house and do the laundry. Do as instructed and she might, might, release the chastity later that nite .... maybe.

My mind was racing, I was feeling dizzy. Me in a dress, unthinkable! Dresses are for women! How could she even consider doing such a thing to me? Why should I suffer just because she doesn't "feel comfortable wearing a dress"? She's a woman, and women should wear dresses to look good for their men.

Her words from our argument began to echo in my mind. "Dear, as I've said before. I don't wear 'your kind' of dresses or skirts because they are so restrictive. While wearing one you have to be constantly aware of how you bend and sit. Getting in and out of a car with any degree of modesty, especially in those short tight skirts you want me to wear, is nearly impossible. If I wear a longer skirt, you insist that it be 'nice and tight', so that it shows off my 'nice ass'. Do you have any idea at all what it's like to wear a long tight skirt? What it feels like to have people staring at you as you attempt to walk but the best you can manage is kind of a mincing two-step? Of course you don't, if you did you would understand and stop insisting."

"You have no concept of what it's like to even try to do simple things like; get into a car; go up or down stairs; walk up or down a hill; why, even using the toilet is an adventure in those tight skirts you are so fond of. Simple everyday tasks become difficult, cumbersome chores, in a short tight skirt and are nearly impossible in a long one. And then to top it off you want me to wear high heels with those bondage skirts! Get real! Have you ever tried to even stand in a pair of high heels? Even short ones? Oh no, of course you haven't. High heels are for women, so that they can look good for their men. Isn't that what you are so fond of saying? It's not the inconvenience of the dresses once in a while that bothers me so much, it's that damned attitude you have toward women."

I'm a man damn it! She can't do this to me. It's one thing for her to tease me about my hair (it's only a few inches past my shoulders for goodness sake) lots of men have long hair. And she even encouraged me to let it grow out. So what? And my pierced ears, that was just a college lark, my girlfriend at the time dared me to be a little wild, teased me that I didn't have guts enough to get my ears pierced. So what, lots of men have pierced ears too. That's no reason to wear a dress. I'm a man! I'm all man! I'll simply refuse, I'll show her!

Feeling better I thought I should at least read the rest of her note:

"Knowing you as I do, you have just gone through a tantrum

and decided that you will not dress as I have instructed, no

matter what. You are feeling very "manly" and full of yourself

right now.

So answer me this:

Since you have no "male" clothes, don't bother with the

hamper I got those too, beautiful tits, and what looks like

satin panties attached to your waist, how are you going to get

out of the house? Call one of your buddies to bring you clothes

so that he can get close enough to see the pictures I have posted

outside on the garage door? They are really quite lovely, you

look so content with one hand full of your own breast and the

other on your crotch, no one would ever believe you were unaware

of your situation. (Better hope I get home soon and take them

down hunh?) No, my dear sissy husband, you will not risk allowing

anyone to see you as you currently are. Even if you should decide

to try and wait until the adhesive breaks down on your pretty

new breasts, you'll never get that "panty" off without the key,

at least not without hurting your precious little jewels. You

are stuck love. Go to the closet now. You will find further

instructions there."

I thought I would faint. I was trapped and I knew it. I knew that if I went along with her plan that eventually she would relent and give me back my clothes however, in the meantime I had little choice but to obey. So it was with trembling hands and Jell-O-like knees I opened the closet door and started my new life. True to her word all of my clothes were gone, the only pants available were my wife's and they would never fit me. She had even removed her sweats and T-shirts, my only other hope. Looking at my side of the closet revealed a zippered garment bag that I had seen before. It had appeared in the closet, on her side, about a week before school ended. When I asked her about it she said that she needed something to keep her evening gowns in. It didn't occur to me at the time that she had not worn an evening gown in years. (I had just realized that she must have been planning my transformation for some time, and that last night's argument was simply her way of setting me up.) On the floor below the garment bag was a large box with "start here" stenciled across the top. With trembling hands and jiggling tits I took the box to the bed to examine its contents. What a shock. I couldn't help being impressed with what she had chosen for me to wear. It was beautiful, but as I was to learn beauty is only skin deep. That beautiful lingerie would soon encase me like an unyielding prison.

Inside the box, lying on top and labeled number one was a panty-girdle-like thingy that looked way too small for me and was very heavily padded on the rump and hips. To give me a proper rump the note said. Next, labeled number two, were some shimmery flesh colored pantyhose. These had a note that they were designed to cover even the heaviest leg hair, and that by the end of the day I would be begging her to help me shave my legs. (Ha, like I would ever beg her to help me shave my legs.) Labeled number three was the most beautiful corset. It was a pastel lavender, made from silky satin, frothing with lace, the bra cups were under-wired and huge, it had a zippered front, six lacy garters, and what looked to be very stiff stays. Number four was a pair of sheer white hose with lace tops, they were so fine and silky it was almost as if I was holding air in my hands. Further down in the box I came upon label five, a wonderfully silky, full slip, made of satin it flowed though my hands like water when I picked it up. It matched the corset exactly with wonderful little lace insets at the bodice, and a ring of lace around the bottom. This was all so beautiful,

so soft, so silky, why would any woman want to refuse to wear such finery, I couldn't enjoy wearing any of this of course because I was a man. At least that's what I kept telling myself. The final item in the box almost floored me, a pair of panties, not ordinary panties, that would be too easy. These panties were of the same color as the corset & slip, and were made of satin and lace, lots and lots of lace, rows and rows of lace across the butt. The note said that they were special sissy panties, for her special sissy.

With the box emptied and it contents laid out in front of me, I took a deep breath and began. The fanny panty surprised me in that it was very stretchy and I only had to wiggle a little to get it on. I don't know what the padding was made of but must have been a gel of some kind because now my butt jiggled almost as much as my tits, what an experience, instant T & A. The pantyhose was another story, I eventually remembered that my wife had always gathered the leg together in her hand and then put her foot in and pulled them up from the toe to the hip. They felt very sensuous sliding up my legs the room light reflecting off of them making them shimmer. I tried to get hard but the chastity prevented that quite effectively. My legs felt as though they were encased in silk stretch bandages, I could not move without the hose moving with me.

What can I say about that corset? My corset, so soft & silky, it felt so light, I would never have thought that anything so beautiful could be so difficult. After what seemed like hours, I was finally able to contort myself enough to hold my breath, get the zipper together

and pulled up, and get its cups around my breasts, and its straps over my shoulders, all at the same time. When I finally finished with the zipper it was as though a great weight had been lifted from my chest, finally those humongus orbs were under control. My relief was short lived however, for as soon as I tried to take a deep breath and relax my stomach and back I found that beauty could indeed be crushing. I couldn't take a deep breath, I couldn't relax my belly, and I could barely bend my back. Getting the stockings on was definitely not easy, but not too bad they felt so wondrously sensuous going on but, those back garter tabs were sheer hell. I was so worried that I would rip the delicate fabric, and I had no desire to find out how my wife would handle that. Overall the slip was definitely the easiest part. I found that raising my hands over my head posed yet another challenge in that ever restrictive corset and I again feared that I would rip my delicate lace stockings the garters pulled so tight. The slip felt so slinky sliding down across my nylon clad body, landing with its lace hem just above my knees. It was as if I had put my finger into a light socket I had so many tingles of electricity running through my body. Oh it was so wonderful. I knew deep in my mind that I would want to wear these clothes again, but my manly self could not yet face that reality. Looking in the mirror I was female from the neck down of that there was no doubt. I slowly slid my panties up my nylon clad legs, my hands shaking, my body quaking, I had never felt such intense sensations from clothes before. The sight of me with my massive chest jutting out, lifting my slip and pulling my panties into place I almost fainted from overload. My wife was right wearing a corset was uncomfortable, but the body shaping and satin caress could almost make anyone forget the severe constriction, almost. And if nothing else it made a great back brace. It took me some time to break the spell I had come under and bring myself back to my contrite attitude. "I'm a man damn it! I DO NOT! I WILL NOT! Enjoy wearing WOMEN'S' clothes! I'm only putting these things on long enough to figure out how to get what I need from my wife."

Walking from the bed to the closet was almost more than I could handle. Of course I blamed my dizziness on the corset and the fact that it would not allow me to take a proper breath. I could not admit to myself that the clothes I was wearing were bringing back long suppressed desires. Desires that as a child I had been forced to repress.

**** I wanted to know what it would be like to dress in my sisters' silky nylon under things. "Why should they be allowed to wear such pretty colors and soft fabrics, when all I was allowed to wear were plain white BVD's and pants? It's just not fair, I want to be able to wear pretty things too!" I had thought to myself all those years ago.

Had I simply thought, instead of acting on those thoughts, I would not have been caught in my older sister's bra and garter panties with a pair of her sheerest nylons, and my younger sister's dress. It was a sun dress made of light cotton with a flaring skirt and fitted bodice,

it stopped about three inches above my knees, and would bounce back against my thighs when ever I moved. I must have spent hours just twirling around, watching the dress spread out and then fall back against my young nyloned legs. The bra and top of the dress holding tight against my young chest, a constant reminder of the forbidden fabrics encasing my young body. The panties rubbing against my groin and butt. I felt like someone had plugged me into a light socket and turned on the power, I was too young to understand what that feeling meant, but wearing those clothes felt, well, right somehow.

Then one fateful day I was so engrossed in those new and unique feelings that I did not hear my sisters come home. They watched me for several minutes before they could no longer contain themselves and broke into hysterical laughter. I was so embarrassed. All I wanted was to find a hole to crawl into and pull in behind me. They started making fun of their cute little sissy brother. They said they thought I was cute and should stay dressed as I was to show our parents, but my embarrassment was so great I ran to my room and changed back into my BVD's and jeans, thankful that it was only my sisters that had seen me.

That night at dinner my sisters would start to giggle every time they looked in my direction, which of course started my dad wondering what was going on. So they told him, since they saw nothing wrong with me wearing a dress, they did not think that his reaction would be any different than theirs. I thought my dad was going to have a stroke right there at the dinner table. He made it very clear that men wore pants and that women and perverts wore dresses. He screamed at my mother

for allowing such an awful thing to happen in his house and set about training me to be a "man". After that incident he never missed an opportunity to explain to me how women were put on Earth to please their men. To cook and clean and dress pretty so that they could keep their men happy. I now know that out of fear of my father's wrath and disapproval I suppressed that day and those heavenly feelings, suppressed and not thought about, but not completely forgotten. *******

All I could do as I walked to the closet was wonder why I felt so good. I could not understand why the sound of my nylons rubbing against each other caused images of women with tight sweaters, short skirts, high heels and MY face to form in my mind. Nor, why I would get a shiver up my spine each time my nylon encased legs came in contact with my slip. I was still trying to convince myself that I was a man, all man, and men do not wear dresses. Men do not enjoy the sensations caused by satin rubbing on satin while encasing their bodies. I had to pause at the closet to catch my breath before I could get to the garment bag and see what further humiliation my wife had planned for me.

With trembling hands and closed eyes I pulled down the zipper on the garment bag that held my uniform. I had no idea what to expect, but I felt that if I could just keep my eyes closed long enough the bag would be empty.

I took as deep a breath as my satin prison would allow, and opened my eyes. My "uniform" consisted of: A high neck, long sleeve, cream colored silk blouse with lots of ruffles and very loose fitting sleeves with lace trimmed cuffs. A knee length black satin pencil skirt. A barrette with a huge white satin bow with ribbons for my hair, and pair of black patent leather pumps, with 3" heels. I felt a sharp pain in my groin as my entrapped manhood once again attempted to rise to the occasion. There were no instructions from wife with my uniform, so I decided that it would be best to start with the blouse and then move on to the skirt.

I removed the blouse from the hanger and realized that all those shiny little pearl buttons ran up the back of the blouse. I was so absorbed with the slippery feeling of the silk and the contortions needed to button my blouse I barely noticed how it seemed to make my newfound breasts stand out even further from my chest. After what seemed an eternity, with my shoulders sore from being bent in such unnatural positions, I finally got the last button buttoned. (Why did she have to choose a top that buttoned in back? One with a zipper in the back at least would have been much easier to handle than those itsy back buttons.) After all that exertion I felt I had earned myself a break and decided to walk over and see what a real man looked like in a blouse and slip. I gasped, the blouse! It was not only driving me wild rubbing against my slip and corset; it not only made me feel like I had a '71 Cadillac attached to my chest; it was almost transparent! There was no doubt what color my slip was underneath, the lovely lavender and all the pretty lace showed through in all it's glory. So I promptly did what any red blooded American male would do under these circumstances. I fainted.

I don't know how long I was out, could have been minutes, could have been hours, time was totally out of sync for me at that point. Working my way back onto my feet was an experience in itself. Between the corset not allowing me to bend and my stockinged knees sliding against my slip I almost wanted to just stay on my knees and crawl back to the bed to get my skirt. I felt so weak and humiliated by this time. My wife had not only made me look like a woman, now I even fainted like one. What next?

I was able to get the skirt on without further incident even though the button and zipper were also in the back. Wow, was that skirt tight. With my padded ass and nyloned legs though, I thought I looked great in that skirt. I didn't yet realize how hard my beautiful new outfit would be to move in because with what little thought I had left I had positioned the shoes so that I was able to step right into them. (Why did I do that? That's not like me. Was I thinking like a woman now?) The

restriction of the skirt actually kept me from falling over when I first

stood in those shoes. A few practice steps informed me that, restrictive

as the corset and skirt were, walking in heels had its own restrictions.

After a few minutes of practice however, I learned to take steps even shorter than what the skirt would allow, that way each step would place one foot directly in front of the other, thereby allowing me to have my toes land before my heels. I found that in this way I seemed to have the best balance and most graceful stride. (If I was going to wear these

clothes I wanted to look good in them.) I was very self conscience however, of the fact that walking in such a way also made my ass and hips sway in a very feminine way. But I could find no alternative. I think an ape dressed in that outfit, with those shoes, would have had to have had a sexy sway to his walk. I couldn't help it. Honest. At least I would be able to mince around the house without breaking an ankle. I hoped.

My next lesson came when I attempted to sit at my wife's vanity table. Being the "man" that I was, I was accustomed to a rather ungracious plopping down motion when getting into a chair, spreading my legs for balance and comfort. This time however, not only did I not plop, I didn't even sit! I found that in order to sit in a tight skirt required a grace and balance unknown in the normal male world. Keeping my back straight (what choice did I have?) and my knees and ankles together (yeah, like I had any choice again) I folded at the hip and carefully lowered myself onto the chair where, just like a proper lady I sat with my back straight and knees together. When I looked into the mirror I was appalled at the image that greeted me. >From the neck down was a beautifully shaped, well endowed, heavenly dressed woman. From the image presented to my eyes there was no doubt that the body I was admiring, (who wouldn't, it reminded me of Mae West) was 100% pure human female. From the neck up however was the exact opposite. Perched upon that heavenly shaped (even if man maid) body, was a face that could stop a train. Scruffy beard, untrimmed mustache, bushy eyebrows, and soft blue eyes (so I have nice eyes, what can I say?) formed into an expression of complete horror. I had never thought of myself as ugly before, and I really am not, but to have that furry face attached to that body was just too much. I had to do something with that face! Of course I rationalized my decision as a need to do things properly, I could hear my father's words ring in my mind: "Son, if you are going to do something, then do it right or don't do it at all." Well my wife said she had always wondered what I looked like without a mustache, I guess this would be her chance to find out. So with my mind made up, I planted my feet and ever so graciously (well it felt like I had some grace) keeping my knees together arose from the chair and minced into the bathroom. A trip that for my normal stride would have been maybe seven or eight steps now seemed to take hundreds.

The sight of my furry face in the medicine cabinet mirror only strengthened my resolve. As I watched my hand reaching up to open the cabinet I thought how much better, more feminine, it would look with a proper manicure. I heard myself saying out loud, "What a strange thought, men shouldn't have such thoughts. Stop it now!" I sounded weak and unsure even to myself. I continued pulling the door open, I started to reach for my shaving gear, but it wasn't there! In it's place was a bright pink, make-up bag with an envelope addressed to "gennie" attached to it. I almost fainted again. Time came to a halt, long suppressed memories returned in a rush. Feelings so long repressed,

so long denied, engulfed me in a tsunami of released emotion. How could she know? Was that why she was doing this to me? To help my sisters get even with me for the way I treated them after that awful day? It wasn't my fault, my fear of and respect for my father made me assume that macho persona. He made me believe that my sisters should be treated as less than equals because they were just weak females. I loved my sisters, I would never have done anything to hurt either of them had I known.

With my heart pounding in my ears, and my mind numbed, I reached out with trembling hands and carefully removed the letter from the make-up bag. "gennie" was the name my sisters had used to help humiliate me all those years before. It was a derivation of my middle name of Gene, they thought that Jean was too strong a name for such a sissy boy, and Gene was a man's name, so they agreed on gennie. They made sure I understood that the first letter was lower case to reflect my status as less than a real woman. I just stood there for what seemed an eternity, holding that letter, thoughts of an ended marriage running through my head. I was convincing myself that Debbie (my wife) was doing this to me to teach the pervert (that's me, hey I was not rational at the time, I was still stuck in my father's imposed mind-set) one last lesson before divorcing him. What other reaction could she possibly have had? I finally fumbled the envelope open, convinced by now that I knew what it would say, and withdrew my wife's note to "gennie".

My eyes were tearing and my hands were shaking so much I had to sit down and brace my arms on the bathroom vanity before I could even attempt to see what she had written. What a sight I must have been, a flowingly curvaceous female form, awkwardly attempting to fold herself into a sitting position, with masculine hands clutching a piece of paper as if it were gold, topped off by a scruffy male face. It took some time but I was finally able to focus enough to read Debbie's letter to gennie:

"Dear gennie,

You are undoubtedly wondering why I would do what I have to

you. By this time you have convinced yourself that I am out for

revenge. That this is my way of getting even with you. That I'm

trying to humiliate you before I throw you out on your ear. That

I am working with your sisters so that they can also get their

revenge on you.

Well dear in some ways you are absolutely correct. You have

been, on frequent occasions, a... ahhh.... oh what can I say;... An

inconsiderate ass?; A chauvinistic pig?; Or perhaps a petulant

little, over pampered, princess? Yes, that's it you've acted like

a spoiled little princess. Always whining and complaining until

you get your way. Just like a 3 year old. A three year old little

girl. Well now my spoiled little sissy princess of a husband gets

to not only act, but dress the part s/he fits so well.

Yes, I have talked with your sisters, they told me all

about how much you loved dressing in their clothes. How they named

you gennie, and how sweet you were to them during the time you

were dressing in their clothes. Yes, dear they knew of your

experimentation with their clothes long before they confronted

you. They disliked you borrowing their clothes but they liked how

gracious, and humble you would become after each session. That's

why they always left certain clothes out where you could find

them easily. They also told me that your personality changed

permanently for the worse, and your dressing adventures stopped after

your father humiliated and belittled you for your harmless little

adventures.

Well dear as I told you last night, I am fed up with your

attitude towards women. As are your sisters. We know why you act

the way you do and feel that that is no excuse. We have put up

with it long enough. It is time to put an end to it once and for

all. We want the real you to emerge not the silly, nasty, arrogant,

"manchild" that you have been acting like for far too long. We all

believe the old adage about walking a mile in another's shoes

before you can judge them. That is why my dear gennie, (better get

used to that name, it's the only one you have until school starts,

perhaps longer) you look as you do now. So that you can walk a

mile, or two, or three in proper high heeled shoes. Having fun

in your new clothes yet? Any trouble walking? Think you can do

that mile yet? Aren't your new tities just to die for? Having

trouble seeing your pretty new shoes when you look down? Don't

you just love the way your chest gets there before you do? Be

careful going through doors dear, you don't want to hurt your

new self. Oh gennie, you'll be so happy to know that your sister

Susan, helped me get your new breasts and the surgical adhesive

just for you. She was so excited to be able to be of help. Don't

forget to thank her when you see her next.

Anyway, by now you should have experienced several episodes

of sexual arousal because of your pretty new clothes. Sorry about

the chastity but it was necessary. Susan helped get that also. She

says it's custom made and based on the Tolly Boy design, with a

steel band between layers of rubber and leather around your waist,

and a metal plate over your precious jewels. The padlocks are

special tempered steel, attached so that the shank is covered by a

metal button. It would take a surgical team with a cutting torch

to get it off without the key, and I don't think you would want

that would you? Yes dear before you ask it was very expensive,

and took us almost a year to receive after ordering. But the result

was well worth the wait and expense. Don't you think so gennie?

We decided that the chastity was necessary for your own peace of mind.

With it you will not have to worry so much about forgetting to sit

when you pee, standing would be so un-gennie like. You don't have to

worry about that unsightly bulge under your pretty skirts or dresses

(pants are forbidden of course). And best of all it will help keep

your panties from getting soiled from that all that nasty cum that

would oooze out of your cute little clittie without it. Doesn't

Susan come up with some of the sweetest ideas ever?

Why I'll bet that by the end of the summer you will shudder

at even just the thought of men's trousers, shirt & tie, adorning

your body. You may not realize it yet gennie but you are a

transvestite. A man who loves enmeshing himself in his feminine

side; Relishes the silky feel of satin and lace caressing her

ah his body. No dear, being a transvestite has nothing to do with

being gay, nor being as your father so hatefully put it, a pervert.

It has to do with a desire, a need actually, to express a part of

yourself that our society deems feminine, and not appropriate for

men to feel or express. Donning the attire of the opposite sex is

not necessarily an expression of sexual identity, but much rather

an expression of your complete identity. By becoming gennie, you

are able to express your self as a whole. Not "man" or "woman" but

human. A combination of the traits that make all of us what we are

and so few of us are willing to express or accept. Now you have an

opportunity to experience that fulfillment.

You will not have to feel guilty for wearing a dress, or

painting your nails, ever again. You will not have to worry about

what your family or wife thinks of you in a cute little mini-skirt.

You will be allowed to express your feminine self and wallow in the

depth of the release of emotions that gennie will allow you, all

because you have no choice in the matter. No guilt, no regrets,

no choice. What more could ask? You gotta love it!

After years of trying to get you to loosen up some on your

"I wear the pants in this family" attitude I realized that you

would never let yourself go enough to accept the "gennie" in you

until you either exploded from repressed emotions, or were forced

to face gennie and learn who you really are. Unbeknownst to you

my dear little sissy husband, I've known your sister Karin since

High School. It was with her help that I snagged you <Surprise!>.

It was Karin that told me about gennie, and how your father treated

you. She told me long before we were even married. I told her about

my brother, (yes dear, Sharon was/is my brother not my sister) and

how much better s/he has felt since s/he has been able to appear

on the outside how s/he felt on the inside. Sharon is different

than you though my love. Sharon was born with the mind and feelings

of a female in the body of a male, she is a trans-sexual dear,

something few people actually know about her. She was lucky, our

parents understood, and accepted that their son was actually their

daughter. They allowed him to start hormone therapy and live as

Sharon starting on his 16th birthday, and he underwent SRS on

his/her 19th birthday. That's why I know so much about the

difference between a Transvestite (you) and a Trans-sexual (Sharon),

I have had personal reasons to research the subject for years.

It was Karin's idea to pretend that we barely knew each

other. That way she reasoned, we could talk about you and you would

never suspect. She really loves you and wants you to be happy as

much as I do. That's why when all else failed we resorted to our

current methods. I have watched stress added to stress without

release build up in you, and it gets worse every day. gennie will

help you to release that stress, allow you to become whole once

again as you were all those years ago in your sisters' bedroom.

So "gennie" inside the attached make-up bag you will find

a pretty pink razor, and feminine shave cream. A pair of tweezers

taped to a pair of plastic templates to help you get just the

right shape to your eye brows. A pretty pink lipstick and matching

nail polish. And of course a pair of nice dangly earrings for you

to complete your look. Shave twice dear, we will take care of your

arm pits and legs later. Karin will do your hair, make-up, and

nails properly tomorrow. Get to work girl! I'll be home by 2:00.

I Love you my little gennie,

grant me my wish and be ready

before I get home.

Kisses & Huggs,

Debbie"

Hair, make-up, and nails tomorrow! That would mean that she expects me to go to Karin's salon! That can't be! No Debbie would never carry this little game of hers that far. She must mean that Karin will come here to the house tomorrow. Of course, that's what she means, Karin will come here tomorrow. Just as well it will give me chance to tell her what I think of a sister that shares such intrigues with a MAN's wife. And Susan too! How could they? Yep, all three of them are going to get a major piece of my mind! If I have any mind left by the time I see them that is.

Using the shave cream my wife had so thoughtfully supplied, I set about the task of removing the excess fur from my face. I was surprised that the shave cream felt so good, it didn't sting at all like the menthol stuff I was used to, a real man's shave cream, a little sting on your face in the morning helps to wake you up. This stuff smelled like the perfume counter at the local department store, but since it was all I had...

Tweezing my eyebrows hurt even more than I had expected. Using the self-adhesive templates my wife had so generously supplied, I pulled out

each uncovered hair one at a time. I didn't realize how little would be left by the time I was done. My efforts left me with thin arched brows that any man ahh, I mean, woman would be proud of. My brows felt like someone had used hot little pokers all around my eyes. "How does Debbie put up with this ritual every week? It HURTS. Why if God had intended us to tweeze our eye brows s/he would have had us born with tweezers in our hands. But I'm a man. I can take it." Yeah right, my eyes would tear more with each plucked hair.

My first attempt at applying lipstick made me look more like Bozo than a human female. I learned quickly to be conservative, and apply in layers, removing the extra with a tissue. Licking my lips for the first time with lipstick on was a memorable experience. I could feel my lips but at the same time I couldn't, it was really strange. I found that in spite of myself I enjoyed the slight adhesion caused by the lipstick when I pressed my lips together. And that sweet smell right under my nose that wouldn't go away. It amazed me how something as simple as some colored goo on my lips could be such a major reminder of my current

situation. Were my sisters and wife correct? Could I possibly be a transvestite? I had to admit that the clothes and lipstick felt good, even if I wanted so badly for them not to.

My efforts at applying nail polish were only slightly less successful than my first attempts at applying lipstick. I learned quickly that if I wanted to wipe away excess polish I had to be quick. That stuff gets sticky real quick but takes forever to dry. I found that I could do a reasonable job of covering my mistakes with a tissue by using enough coats of polish to plaster the stuck on tissue piece to my nail under the polish. If only Debbie had left me with some nail polish remover, I would have done much better. "Just because a man does not usually polish his nails doesn't mean he can't, anything that a weak little woman can do a man should certainly be able to do even better. (Except of course having babies, but that doesn't count.)" I was still determined that I would not admit I had a feminine side.

I used the time it took my nails to dry to try and reflect on the events of my morning. My head was spinning so fast. So much had happened to me already, so much to adjust to, so much to digest, and it was barely 10am, more than 2 hours to get dressed and I still wasn't done. My skirt would not allow my knees to separate the way they wanted to. The corset kept me from any kind of slouch, I had to stretch my neck to it's limit in order to see my hands around my massive faux mammaries. I couldn't even slide down in the chair to give my butt some relief. I could sit with my back straight and knees together, or I could stand. I tried that too, found out that if I stood too long my ankles would start to wobble and my feet would hurt. The slippery, sliding feeling I kept getting from the lack of friction between my satin panties, slip and skirt, kept giving me the impression that I would slide right off of my chair. My encased manhood continued to cry for attention. Several times I reached for my crotch to offer myself some relief only to hit a wall of reality reminding me of my new station in life.

Was I going crazy? I was taught that men do not enjoy soft feminine clothing. That men are not to be caught dead wearing satin and/or lace. The idea of a man in a skirt should have been repulsive to me, only Women and perverts wear skirts, my father had pounded that message into me over and over, frequently physically with a switch from the tree in the back yard. Yet here I was, in a form fitting skirt, with tits that would make Loni Anderson jealous, sitting at my wife's vanity table waiting for my nails to dry. I had to sit to pee, my eyebrows were narrow and arched, I was wearing lipstick and I wasn't screaming my lungs out. What was happening to me? How could I be so calm, my wife couldn't be right, I'm not a transvestite, am I? At this point I had two choices. Stay where I was and dwell on what was happening, what my wife and sisters had said about me, and go crazy(ier). Or I could get up and do as instructed, clean the house and do the laundry, show them that I, a man, could function just fine no matter how I was dressed. In essence keep busy enough

that I would not have time to consciously think about all that was happening to me.

gennie :-)

Man Maid --- Part 2 --- July 1997 gennie TV

Changes were happening so fast. Just short hours ago had anyone asked me I could have told them that I was a man, all man, and nothing but a man. But now...

At last I was ready to get started on my day, my new life. So it was with my emotions in an uproar, my body tightly encased in its satin & lace cocoon, and my mind on hold that I minced my way out of the bedroom to the top of the stairs. The short trip to the stairs helped to reinforce my earlier perceptions on the difficulty of navigating in heels and a tight skirt, but then I was a man and not accustomed to wearing skirts, women were biologically formed to wear skirts, so it is easier on them. (Be careful 'gennie' thoughts like that are a big part of why you are dressed as you are.) But I was, in my own small way, beginning to appreciate what Debbie had said about the restrictions of wearing a skirt. For no matter how wonderfully sensuous the caress of that skirt was around my nylon clad legs and thighs, its ability to restrict even the most basic of movements, was a constant reminder of my limited freedom. In spite of the constant reminders however, the restricted breathing, the short mincing steps, and the constant arousal of my confined manhood my automatic actions were still intact.

When I finally reached the stairs my feet and body started out in exactly the same way that they had been trained to do by years of descending stairs on two feet. My right foot went out and down, my body leaned forward, and my left foot started to lift and move forward. At least that's what my mind thought they were doing. Had it not been for the rail I would have gone down the stairs head over high heels. The simple act of walking down stairs is a very much more complex action than we generally give it credit for being. (Like tying your shoes right? Try writing instructions for tying shoes and see if it is not a very complex task. Almost as bad as trying to buckle thin little ankle straps with inch long finger nails while in a corset, but more on that later.) I was brought to the sudden realization that I count on being able to see my feet and move my legs freely as I walk down stairs. With my newly enhanced chest, I could not see my feet, and my beautiful shiny skirt would not allow me to open my legs. I would never have guessed how much of an adjustment that would be. To add insult to injury the design of my new shoes with the high open instep and tiny little heel did not offer the same platform for my foot to land on as I was used to. When coming down stairs in high heels it is possible to have your heel land on the stair and the rest of your foot land in mid air, very conducive to broken, ankles, legs, arms or even a neck. Not at all like flying down the stairs in jogging shorts and running shoes.

Through careful experimentation I learned that if I turned my body somewhat to the side and slowly lowered my foot to the next step down, I could have my toes land first for stability and not feel like I would fall. The only problem was that because of my restricted stride my other foot had to be right on the edge of the step above, putting most of my weight on that tiny little heel. I even tried pulling the hem of the skirt up so that I would have more freedom of motion, but it was designed in such a way that it fit my proportions exactly and would not move up even on my slippery legs. (It did not occur to me to take the skirt off to get down the stairs, thank the supreme being once again.) I was however, beginning to suspect that the fit of the skirt and blouse like the fit of the chastity was no accident, that my 'uniform' as my wife had called it was also custom made (so I'm a bit slow on the uptake sometimes). After what seemed like an hour but was actually only minutes I reached the bottom of the stairs and almost fell again. It did not dawn on me that thick pile, heavily padded carpet, would take a whole different set of balance and ankle muscles in order to be walked upon in high heels. What an experience, I felt as unsure of myself as a baby just learning to walk, not a comfortable feeling for a virile, self sufficient, self centered, MAN. Fortunately (surprisingly, actually) after a few seconds I learned my new balance center and hobbled my way into the kitchen.

Ahhhhh what a relief to have a solid floor beneath my feet. I found that my beautiful wife had set up the coffee pot, which I promptly turned on, and left me another note, on the kitchen table. After all that I had been through I should have been suspicious of her generosity but I needed my coffee and she had been nice and set it up for me. (How was I to guess that she had put a diuretic into the coffee grounds. I knew she wanted me to learn first hand what it was like to wear a skirt and corset before I would be allowed to 'ask' her to wear one, but to make me need to pee every ten minutes just to enhance the lesson was going a bit far I thought.) I picked up her note and was surprised to discover that my hands were no longer shaking and my knees didn't rattle so I began to believe that I might possibly survive the entire day. I was beginning to adjust to my new role and requirements and I didn't even realize it.

"Dear gennie,

So nice of you to finally make it downstairs.

Have any trouble coming down the stairs? Oh no of course

you didn't you're one of those tough I can do anything

(wo)men, aren't you lover? You have undoubtedly already

started the coffee I made it special just for you, so feel

free to drink the whole pot if you are so inclined. It's a

new blend, let me know what you think of it. Susan recommended

it, she said she was certain you would love it.

Oh by the way, while I'm thinking about it. Just in

case you decided to cheat and come down to breakfast less

than fully dressed... you remember how you insisted that we

have that fancy security system installed. Do you remember

how excited you got when the salesman suggested that we could

put a camera inside the house in case someone got in while we

were out, it would increase our chances of identifying a

burglar. It was you who suggested that we could mount one

just above the front door behind the track lighting and

another just above the kitchen door behind the plants. They

would have a good view of most of the downstairs and being

hidden we could just forget about them when we were home.

You do remember doing that don't you dear? We of course would

only need to activate them when we were out of the house. Well

dear I'm out of the house and guess what? Yep! You guessed it!

Smile! You're on gennie camera. I feel obligated to inform

you that I will review the tape this evening and if I see

you under-dressed or there is evidence that the tape has been

tampered with, I may just forget where I hid the keys for

your pretty new under-panty. Maybe I should invite Karin over

to review it with us, we can make a party out of it. Have some

popcorn, a few beers, and lots of laughs.

By now it is no doubt late morning, perhaps even

close to noon, and I am certain you want to get some food and

coffee into your slightly compressed stomach. I have left you

a grapefruit in the refrigerator and two slices of bread for

toast, dry no butter. For your sake I would suggest that you

eat only half of the grapefruit, and one slice of toast and

that you go light on the coffee, but of course the choice is

totally up to you.

However, before you begin to consume your health

conscious breakfast, go to the laundry room and start a load

of wash. That way it will be washing while you are eating. I

have already separated the loads for you. You will find that

the clothes that need to be washed today are yours. We have

done some shopping for you at the Goodwill store and

feel you should wash the clothes before you wear them. Read

the labels carefully dear before you try to dry anything, you

don't want your new sweaters shrinking any do you? Some of

them may be a little tight on your beautiful bust already

without shrinking. Enjoy your breakfast dear. When you have

finished breakfast you will find the vacuum in the hall closet

and the bathroom cleaner is the under the sink in each of

the bathrooms, be sure to remove all soap scum from the

shower doors, and scrub the toilet, sink and tub. I thought

about having you hang the wet clothes outside to dry but

Karin suggested that that might be too much for you on your

first day of womanhood, and convinced me that you should be

allowed to use the dryer for today.

Now remember dear, safety first. Always lift objects

from the floor with your knees not your back. Bend your knees

keeping your back straight and lift with your knees. Oh that's

right! You can't bend and lift any other way can you? Oh

silly, silly, me! Well be sure you don't run up or down the

stairs with your laundry, we don't want you to trip. Oh,

haha, that's right, I forgot you're in a skirt. Makes running

kinda hard doesn't it? Or does it? After all you're the one

that thinks tight skirts and high heels are so wonderful that

they should be worn all the time. Oh don't look so unhappy

dear, after all this was all your idea. Sorta. Why thanks

to your sisters and I you now have a chance to enjoy wearing

the clothes you love so much.

See you latter my little gennie,

loves & hugs

Debbie

PS: Be careful you don't wait too long when you feel the

urge to pee. Remember you will have to be able to sit. No

more of that nasty gag-me-with-a-spoon action of whip it

out, let it leak, shake it off, and shove it back for

you, no ma'am. Be sure to wipe carefully when you are done

too. Enjoy your coffee.

D."

What does she think I am a little girl? I mean boy. She did say earlier that I was acting like a spoiled little girl, but what does that have to do with instructions on how to use the toilet? And what was that bit about what I should have for breakfast? I am a grown man (looking down though I did have some doubts) and I will have what I want for breakfast. Grapefruit, umph I don't even like grapefruit. I felt though that I should follow her advice on getting the laundry started, I didn't want to give her any excuses to increase her revenge on me. I had no idea what she would do if I was not done when she got home and I had no desire to find out. I was almost afraid to look in the laundry room. With what I had been through so far I was not sure I could stand anymore. But she did say that she had bought me some clothes at Goodwill. The thought occurred to me that maybe, just maybe there were some pants or maybe some shorts, in those piles. Yes! I'll bet she bought me at least one pair of pants even if they are women's it would be better than this skirt. (Yes, the skirt was beautiful, it felt wonderful, and I loved it's caress , but I couldn't walk, I couldn't sit, and if I stood very long my ankles would wobble.) That's it! I rationalized, this is her way of letting me off the hook at least a little. She must have bought me at least one pair of pants.

Now excited I minced as quickly (which was actually quite slowly) as I could out to the laundry room, my ass swaying like a palm tree in a hurricane, my tits bouncing like Michael's basketballs, I didn't care. I again thanked the supreme being for having the laundry room on the same level as the house, even though it was in the garage. As I walked past my car I instinctively tried to put my hand into my pocket to be sure I had my keys. All my hand found of course was a smooth tight satin plane that even if it had had a pocket, it would have been incapable of holding keys let alone my hand in it's limited confines. That's when the realization that I had not seen my keys hit me like a wall. I had not to that point thought about my keys or my wallet with all of my identification. They are the kind of thing a person takes for granted, s/he assumes that certain items, like keys, wallets, toothbrushes, (at least my toothbrush was where I had left it) will be where s/he left them when they went to bed. In my case that was in my jeans which were no where to be found (I know I looked). A wave of complete helplessness suddenly engulfed me. I felt so small and vulnerable, just like the little girl my wife said I had been acting like. I realized that while I hadn't brought it to the surface I was confident that in case of emergency, I could, if I absolutely had too, get into my car and drive away. I now knew that even if I could get into my car, and somehow get it started, I had no money, no credit cards, no identification of any kind. If I went somewhere and was stopped I had no way to prove who I was and no reasonable explanation of why I was dressed as I was. I had this awful vision of me standing before the judge in all my confined and translucent glory saying "yes your honor I am your 14 year old daughter's teacher". (No matter what, the risk was just too great!)

Then suddenly, without warning the flood gates opened, the emotions that I had been fighting so hard to maintain control of for so long released themselves in an explosion that would have rivaled that of Mt. St. Helen's. Years of repressed emotion, fear, desires, cravings, started pouring forth into my consciousness, and once begun I was helpless to stop or even slow them. With my carefully crafted safety net removed I found myself starting to cry. I tried to stop (men don't cry), but the harder I tried the harder I cried. My body tried to take in deep breaths to aid my crying, but the most my corset would allow my diaphragm to pull into my lungs were short sobbing type breaths, my enhanced chest heaving, threatening to break through the thin silk covering of my blouse. Vivid images of my father's chastisements and humiliations filled my mind. Visions of my childhood, memories of how I had felt while dressed in Susan's and Karin's clothes,

how right it had felt to wear a dress, came flashing through. My attitudes towards my sisters, mother, and wife, and how I must have hurt them all came rushing at me, I tried to hide, but with my wall of safety gone there was nowhere for me. I was again without choice, I faced those emotions and I cried. I could not remember ever having had such a tremendous release of so many emotions at one time. I couldn't move, I just stood there next to my car and cried for what must have been close to an hour.

When I was finally able to catch my breath and compose myself somewhat, I realized that my feet, ankles, and calves were very sore. I no longer cared whether Debbie had left me any pants in the laundry room or not, I needed to get my weight off of those shoes, fast. My only focus was to get the clothes into the washer, and get back to the kitchen so that I could have my coffee and attempt to settle my thoughts. Avoiding another look at my car I made my way into the cramped confines of the laundry room. On the floor alongside the washer were three piles of clothes. One consisted of what looked liked lingerie by the pound, another that looked like a cross between an aerobic teacher and ballerina's wardrobe, and the third consisted of blouses, sweaters, skirts and dresses. The piles were marked with a 1, 2, & 3 in addition to what wash cycle and temperature setting each should be washed in. "I can handle this, no problem." I started to bend over to retrieve the clothes from the floor and was quickly returned to reality. Bending at the waist was just not to be allowed. I instead followed my wife's instructions and bent my knees and kept my back straight and found that I could not pick up the clothes that way (from straight on) either. Between my tits getting in the way and a tendency to feel as if I would fall on my face, I just could not proceed in that manner. So gathering my tattered pride, I stood, made a quarter turn and squatted again. This time I was able to retrieve clothes from the floor with my right hand and hang them over my left arm for placement into the washer. I actually felt a surge of pride at my accomplishment when I started the washer. Isn't it amazing how the mind adapts? Just a few short hours ago I was a strong willed, self absorbed male that would have cringed at the thought washing clothes, now feeling a sense of pride because I was able to get some clothes into a washing machine and get it running. By this time however my body was screaming COFFEE! I WANT COFFEE!! I WANT COFFEE NOW!!! I NEED COFFEE NOW!!!!

I somehow make my way back into the kitchen, the smell of the coffee drawing me closer...closer until I am finally at the pot, mug in hand pouring that life sustaining nectar into it, raising it slowly, savoring that wondrous perfume, taking that first invigorating sip, my body shudders its thanks for at least that small sip of normalcy. Pulling the mug down from my frosted lips I note the fine detail of the imprint my lipstick has left on the edge of the mug. I look down at my hand and note how much nicer fingers look when properly polished. I look down to see if my toes look as good and meet with a lavender vision of satin and lace, barely covered by the sheerest of silk, my feet forgotten in the dream of my obscured vision being a reality. I could almost feel the ache in my nipples as they increased in size and hardness, in lust for the vision my eyes now beheld. I sigh, and think; "Poor old Dad would turn over in his grave if he even suspected the thoughts I was just having." But there must be something wrong with me to feel this way. I am fantasizing about what it would be like to have real tits, I want my hands properly manicured, I feel right, if even a bit trapped in a skirt and heels. I must be crazy or gay. Oh Debbie... Karin... Susan... what have you done to me? So much to process. No matter how hard I try to imagine it sex with a man does not interest me, my vision of sex is still with me in the male role with Debbie, but I'm the one in the frilly nightgown. During these ruminations, without even realizing I had done it, I have poured myself another cup of coffee and sat down at the table to drink it. How did I do that? I sat down without thinking! Without realizing that I had done it! Was I becoming that accustomed to sitting in satin already? I sipped my coffee in silence looking for answers. Answers that I feared would cause even more questions.

Love, gennie :-)

Man Maid ---- Part 3 ---- August 1997 gennie TV

I finished my second mug of coffee thankful for the time to simply be lost in space for a short while. The familiarity of the action of sitting down to a morning cup of coffee, cherishing the sweet aroma, was enough to help me regain some control of my frazzled nerves. Never have I experienced so much in a single morning. Had someone suggested to me that my wife would femininize me while I slept, tell me she did it for my own good and then demand that I clean the house for her I would have called them at best, crazy. I would never have believed she had it in her, and then to have my sisters help her ...

"Well 'gennie' my dear, time to get up off your pretty little (little?) ruffled and padded ass and get to work before your wife comes home and really gets upset with you." (I tend to talk to myself sometimes, especially when stressed) I filled my coffee mug one last time and decided to forgo breakfast. "Maybe I should wear a corset more often if I could always fill up on two cups of coffee I'd really lose some weight." I minced and swayed my way out to the living room to start my first day as a man maid satin clad doll.

I was so amazed at the constant sensations caused by even the minutest movement of my body. Earlier, as I was getting dressed and learning to navigate in skirt and heels my mind was in a fog, focusing on the fine art of survival, but after my mini-breakdown my focus shifted to the sexual frustration of my entrapped manhood. With every push of the vacuum the silk of my blouse would slide against my arm, the straps of my corset and slip would tighten against my shoulder causing the corset to pull up on it's garter straps producing a gentle tug of nylon against my legs, enhanced by the lace hem of my slip rubbing against those nylons, so that my trapped member would scream for a release that I was, for the first time in my life, unable to give it. Pulling the machine back would reverse the process, and I would shudder again. But that was only a part of my troubles, vacuuming carpets in high heels is not a recommend method. In spite of the near constant stimulation caused by my satin prison, I found that if I allowed myself to focus on them, I could not maintain my focus on my feet and keep my ankles straight on the plush carpet. I did discover that if I could keep my weight on the balls of my feet my ankles would wobble less but my calves would hurt more. Then on top of all of that, it seemed that every move I made with my arms my "lovely" new tits would be there to greet them, no matter how I moved my arms there they were. I couldn't win for losing. But I couldn't give up either.

How I was able to vacuum the carpet, wash and dry the laundry (I did not iron, fold, nor put away any of it) and almost finish the bathrooms before Debbie got home is beyond me. Especially since I must have had to pee at least ten times during that whole ordeal. The first time the urge hit was as I was getting the vacuum from the closet, fighting with the tangled cord (I couldn't say much it was tangled in my golf clubs I had thrown in the closet a few days before instead of putting them back in their bag after a trip to the driving range, a man's right, I was late for the basketball game on the tube.) I almost fell getting it out and felt no need to rush. I was a man and men are quick in the bathroom, if you don't believe me just check which rest room lines are the longest at any public event, sports, plays, opera ... so I finished my endeavor before heading off to the bathroom, where my automatic male reflexes once again took over.

Stepping up to the toilet I lifted the lid and pulled down my zipper, ahhh in my mind that is, years of training do not die in a single day. My mind simply did not immediately accept my unique circumstances. I almost peed in my skirt. Coming to my senses I realized that even if I was in a position to pull down my zipper I still had to sit. So in order to pee I would have to pull up my skirt and slip, and pull down my panties, pantyhose, and girdle. No problem, until I tried. The skirt was too tight to pull up, so I had to reach behind me and undo the button and zipper, and pull the skirt down. Hard enough without those huge melons getting in the way. I then had no problem getting the panties down, but then came the realization that I was wearing stockings attached to garters hanging from a very restrictive corset, OVER the pantyhose and girdle I needed to pull down before I could sit and pee. There was no way I could get the pantyhose down without taking off either the corset or the stockings. In order to remove the corset I would have to remove my BUTTON up the back blouse, my slip, and then unzip that godawful corset zipper that I almost didn't get zipped in the first place. I went with the stockings removal. I could see the whole process in the bathroom mirror and would have laughed at my contortions trying to undo those hellacious back garters, had not the need to pee increased dramatically by that time. Once I got the garter tabs undone I had to get my fingers up under the corset to catch the waist band of the pantyhose and girdle, with some twisting and turning I finally got them down, and landed with a plop on the toilet, just in time. Whew! What a relief. It was so wonderful being able to spread my legs again, even if only for a short time.

Getting re-dressed was as much of an adventure as getting it all off was. I wanted to wear the girdle and pantyhose over the corset but then the garters would've been inside and I would not have been able to wear the stockings at all, and I didn't dare risk leaving out any part of what Debbie had left for me to wear. So I learned to tuck the pantyhose and girdle back up under the corset and finished getting re-dressed. I found that I did not get any better with practice, each time I needed to pee I had to go through my awkward contortions in the limited space of the downstairs bathroom watching myself the whole time in the wall mirror. Lusting over my new form I found my self wondering how I would look with proper make-up, a nice hair style and a proper manicure, I would turn sideways and admire my ample rear and bust, or pucker my lips to see how they looked in kissing mode with lipstick applied. However, at the same time that part of me was fantasizing about what kind of woman I would make a little voice inside my head kept reminding me how wrong it was for a man want to look like a woman. I tried to convince myself that my wife was wrong. She had to be wrong. I couldn't be a transvestite. My father and mother, even my priest told me that men should only dress and act like men, to do or feel other wise was wrong, perhaps even sinful. Even if Debbie was right how could I ever overcome a lifetime of conditioning against anything transgendered? How much better I would have felt had I been able to jerk off while I was there. Why did she have to find such an efficient chastity for goodness sake? Long before she got home I had convinced myself that I would do whatever she wanted so that I could get some relief. After I gave her a good piece of my mind of that is, I was a man and had to stand up for my rights. (yeah right, you bet buddy, your rights as a man, look at your sissy self)

I was just finishing cleaning the sink in the downstairs bathroom when I heard a key rattle in the front door lock. I lost my breath, my heart jumped up into my throat and started to tango with my tonsils, and my knees rattled in time to my heart. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I knew it had to be Debbie, but what if it wasn't? What if someone got her keys somehow, maybe stole her purse and was now going to burgle my house, what could I do? I was helpless. I remember wondering to myself if this is how a woman feels walking out to her car alone, late at night, and sees a man twice her size walking towards her? I just stood there and waited, my massive breasts heaving with each restricted breath I waited. Within seconds, that felt like years, I heard a familiar voice sing "Hi honey I'm home." If I had been able to expel enough air from my lungs I would have sighed and relaxed my body, but of course the most I was allowed was a short uggghh and the inability to relax my body because of the corset. My prepared scream for my beautiful wife came out as a pathetic little whimper that a puppy would have been ashamed of. It was however, apparently enough to be heard, for when I stepped out of the bathroom there she was, my beautiful wife Debbie grinning from ear to ear, and standing right next to her was my traitorous sister Karin. I must have turned seventeen shades of red in the few seconds I stood there before them, my humiliation greater than I could ever have imagined. I wanted to speak but my mouth would not cooperate, I just stood there opening and closing my mouth like the idiot I felt, with nothing coming out.

My wife and sister were, by no means, at such a loss. Karin was jumping up & down clapping her hands squealing with delight. My wife stood there with her hands clasped in front of her mouth, her eyes wide, and giggled like a little girl. I was so humiliated that I thought I would pee in my pants...ahhh I mean skirt. Between giggles and squeals they communicated that they wanted me to turn and give them a fashion show "Show off that nice little ass in that sexy skirt there baby. Yeah, mama! Look at the caboose on that sweet thing." they chorused in unison, uggggh.

I of course did my best, but my best just wasn't good enough... My heel caught in the carpet tilting me off balance and sending me straight to the floor. But true to form for the day I couldn't just fall, oh no, not me. On my way to the floor I had to reach out and try to stop my fall and in the process caught the corner of the table cloth, which in turn upset the vase in the center of the table spilling water over the edge, so that it could run off and land square in the center of my face. Between belly wrenching peals of laughter the love of my life did manage to ask if I was OK; if I hurt anything more than my tattered pride. My sister had to sit down she was laughing so hard.

What a scene that must have been. A grown man (wo-man) dressed in silk and satin, big white bow in her, I mean his hair, sprawled out on the floor (as least as sprawled as my (my?) skirt would allow, water dripping off the edge of the table into his/her face, wanting nothing more in the world than to find a hole to crawl into, being fussed over by two women that could barely breathe because they were laughing so hard at their pseudo-male's predicament.

When they had finally settled down enough to breathe normally they did at least offer to help me up off the floor. What a fool I felt. There I was, me, an adult male, dressed in the loveliest prison of satin and silk, hobbled by a tight skirt and high heels, dripping water from my face onto my artificially enhanced chest, sexually arroused by the slightest movement, and totally unable to do a thing about it. The two women standing before me, appraising me as they would a new dress on a shopping trip, in total control of my life, and enjoying every humiliating minute of it.

It was my sister that spoke first. "Oh gennie you look so wonderful, I never would have believed that you could look so good. Such curves, and you did such a great job on your eyebrows, I'm so impressed big brother, I mean big, (and oh yes they are big aren't they), sister."

"gennie, my love, I am so happy you decided to follow my instructions so well. Did you get all the cleaning done dear? Have any trouble with your pretty skirt? I must say it does show off your cute little (well maybe not so little) rounded ass very nicely. That should make any inconvenience worthwhile, isn't that right dear? Have any trouble with the toilet? Did you remember to sit like a good little girl always does? Isn't so much nicer to sit like a proper lady than that nasty whip it out and pee everywhere but in the toilet routine that those nasty men, yes like you used to be, do?"

The more my wife taunted me the more angry I became. I was a man, and what's more I was the man of this, my house. I was not some whimppy pervert that wanted to be a woman. I was born male and males are meant to rule the world, not wear skirts and clean house. I pursed my lips, and set my fists on my hips with my arms akimbo, and attempted to look mean. I don't think it worked. Karen giggled harder and Debbie just smiled.

"Oh gennie, don't look so glum. You look as though you haven't enjoyed your first day of femininity. Or is it my questions? Are they embarrassing you? Well dear think back on all the times you have taunted me and your sisters about our status as females. As if our only purpose in life is to please a man. Your belief that just because we are women we should wear restrictive, revealing, embarrassing clothes, so that you can sit back and gawk at us as we bounce our tits and wiggle our asses, is more than just disgusting it's insane. By the end of the summer gennie my love, you will have had a full spectrum of experience in the life of a well endowed, sexily clad, woman. Our goal is not to punish or embarrass you, although those are very favorable side effects, our goal, your sisters and myself, is to educate you. As I said in my note to you earlier, we know you are a transvestite and we are going to help you realize it as well."

My reply was not as forceful as I had intended, but hey I was under tremendous stress at the time. My toes hurt from the pointed shoes they were pressed into, my calves hurt from the unnatural stress placed on them by those spike heels, my encased cock screamed for release, and my ankles wobbled more than ever because I could not look down and see my feet, only tits.

"OK 'girls' (a bad choice of words as I quickly discovered) you've had your fun, now get me out of these clothes and that torture device around my waist. I've done what you've asked of me, or rather demanded, and have learned my lesson. I admit that it takes a different set of motions to navigate, that a person must be more aware of his, ahh.. her actions prior to taking them, such as descending

or ascending stairs, or sitting down in a chair, or walking even. I can now say that I have experienced life in a skirt and I will be more understanding and tolerant when Debbie says she does not want to wear a tight skirt. And I am sorry for asking her to wear tight skirts that show off her 'nice little ass' (even if she should), she has a nice ass and should be proud to show it." I certainly succeed in digging myself an even deeper hole with my (I thought innocent) statements.

Both Karin and Debbie replied in unison, almost as if they had practiced. "GIRLS!! UNDERSTANDING!! TOLERANT!! WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE! GOD's GIFT TO HUMANITY?!"

"Whoa, I only meant..."

"We know what you meant brother dear, and we don't appreciate it. We have barely begun to dent that awful condescending attitude you have toward us. By the time we are done with you, you will truly 'understand' what it means to be an equal, and how women are treated as anything but. Any doubts I had about what we are doing to you, any worries I had about your reactions, have now been erased. I want my sweet, caring, considerate brother back, and I am now convinced that the only way to do that is to force you to look inside and release the human inside you. The 'gennie' that you have suppressed for so long is now being released, and if we get a little revenge and you experience a little discomfort in the process, so be it. It will help you to never forget what you have done to us for so long."

"I agree totally with what Karin just said dear. You have not learned much of anything yet. I brought Karin home with me so that she could fix your hair and do your make-up for you before we attend your support group meeting tonight."

"What do you mean, 'support group meeting'? I'm not going anywhere dressed like this. Karin doesn't need to fix my hair, it's fine the way it is. What Karin needs to do is go and get my clothes so that I can change back into something decent, while you give me the key to that godawful thing you locked around my waist. Now!" I wanted to stomp my foot for emphasis but I couldn't raise my knee high enough in that skirt.

They looked at each other and just grinned, as if I had once again reacted exactly as they had expected. It was my wife that spoke first. "Yes love you are exactly right, you are not going anywhere dressed as you currently are. 'Decent' clothes as you call them are in the shopping bags in the back seat of my car. You'll need to go out and get them. Although I doubt they will be what you had in mind. As for the key to that 'godawful device' around your waist, there is no key (I gasped, and went white, Debbie's grin just got bigger knowing I was misunderstanding what she was saying) your training corset has a front zipper, so that you can get it on and off easily. We do have a nice heavy corset that you will just absolutely love, and that one has a lock on it for our convenience for when you have misbehaved, but that will come later."

The look of horror on my face must have really delighted her, for she again started to laugh and went on. "OH! I'm sorry, you meant the key to your chastity device. Well dear by all means here." She dangled a key in her outstretched hand waiting for me to take it.

So I excitedly grabbed the key only to notice that it had a logo of some sort stamped into it, and it was much too large to fit the lock on my chastity. "What's this?" I asked. Such an intelligent question deserves an equally intelligent response, and my lovely wife just loves to have such opportunities to get even with me.

"Why it's a key dear. Haven't you ever seen a key before?" How could anyone so diabolical, respond with such an innocent expression on her face?

Karin elaborated. "gennie dear, it's a key to a safety deposit box here in the city. You hold in your hand the key to your freedom, all you have to do is figure out where the box is and whose name it is in. The box is setup so that you have full access, under your real name, looking like you do now, anytime you wish. In case of emergency, you become pregnant or something, both Debbie and I have each have keys. Debbie, may decide to use hers when she wants to use what's locked away in there, I of course, don't care if you ever get loose. So I would suggest, sisterbrother dear that you go out of your way to keep us happy.

Love, gennie :-)

Man Maid ---- Part 4 ---- October 1997 gennie TV

"All I have to do is figure out where the box is located, and whose name it's in, and then go in, dressed as gennie, and I have my freedom. That's it? No problem. You bet sis. A daunting task dressed as myself with access to my car, nearly impossible in my current state, hell I can barely walk let alone chase around the city trying to find a safe deposit box. Not to mention that I would be the laughing stock of the city dressed like this." I tried to sound as sarcastic as possible as I replied to my dear sister.

"Oh I see. Debbie did you hear that? 'Little gennie' thinks that people will laugh at her if she goes out wearing a skirt. She thinks it looks funny to wear a skirt. Then that must mean that all the times she has harassed you about not wearing a skirt, and trying to coerce you into wearing one, was so that she could have people laugh at you. She didn't want you to look pretty for her, she wanted to make fun of you."

"gennie is that what you think? Yes it must be I heard you with my own ears. Oh dear how could you? All this time I thought your motives were simply a post adolescence fantasy of what a woman should look like, but now I find out that you wanted me to wear skirts so that you could laugh at me. When did you first have this desire to humiliate me?"

"But... but... that's not what I meant... Why are you two turning everything I say around into a slam against women?"

"Because dear, everything you say is a slam against women, you just don't realize it. Now dear, if I were you, I would shut up and head out to the car and retrieve those packages from the back seat so that I would have something to wear this evening. You have insulted Karin and I quite enough for one day. Any more noise out you and I just might take Karin's advice and forget where I put my copy of your chastity key for a very long time. Would you like that dear?"

To add emphasis to her final question she approached me, threw her arms around my neck and pulled me against her beautifully curvaceous body planting a long sensuous, tongue filled kiss onto my painted lips. Her hands slowly sliding down the back of my body. Lingering briefly at my shoulders, her long fingernails outlining the straps of my slip and corset through the silk of my ever so sheer blouse, my shoulders quake at the sensation, my mind screams YES! My own fingers seek out the same target on Debbie but find no target, just smooth shoulders and back under her shirt. Debbie was braless! Into my mind sprang an image that I would never have believed: Debbie and I in bed, tit to tit, me in a sheer shimmery bra and matching panties, Debbie in her naked glory straddled atop me, leaning over to kiss me, her hands on MY tits. I wanted to rebel against that image, but it only became stronger as her delicate hands made their way further down my silk covered back. Slowly, ever so slowly, her hands slide across my back, silk against two layers of satin, her fingernails never missing an opportunity to outline the stays of my imprisoning corset, my whole body feeling the indescribable sensations that only true sexual play can bring. Her hands continue their mind boggling journey until finally reaching their destination they grab and begin to massage my well padded ass. Her kiss continues, my first experience with a lipstick to lipstick kiss (I knew then I would not want it to be my last, would you?), a kind of sticky, slippery sensation that felt like our lips were being glued together at the same time that they were sliding apart. Our lips each with their own distinctive aroma. You know, that scent that only lipstick can provide, intensified two fold because you are both wearing it. Her foot sliding up my nylon encased calf. The feel of my legs being rubbed through sexy sheer stockings sending electric tendrils directly up my legs into my groin (me wondering: If this feeling is this intense with those heavy pantyhose on under my stockings what must it be like with smooth, silky, hairless legs, and sheer silky stockings held up by only the laciest wisp of a garter belt?), my trapped member struggling against its confinement. Her knee pressing into my groin, my own imprisoned leg attempting to wrap around her beautiful body, my mind caught in a whirlpool of emotion swirling deeper into its own imprisoned state. One more brick broken from my carefully constructed wall protecting my innermost self from the "manly" persona inflicted by years of correction for exhibiting any trait or mannerism that "HE" (my father) considered even the slightest bit feminine. All combined to cause my weakened mind to withdraw further from Dan and move inexorably one step closer to gennie. My knees went weak, my breathing quick and shallow, as my body shuddered in what felt like an orgasm without ejaculation, I thought I would faint again. The sensation of all that satin sliding around on my ass and body, combined with Debbie's more than ample tits pressing into my own well padded chest, caused the corset to pull up against my waist as my own tits were pressed up into their bra cups the sliding satin sending sensuous, sexy tendrils of electric shock though my abdomen and groin. The intensity of the would have been orgasm so great that I feared my cock would get hard in spite of its awful confinement and cause damage to my poor encased little precious. I was lost to her will at that moment and she knew it.

Karin stood on the sidelines cheering her encouragement. "Yeah bro-sis, go for it. What a hot little number you are. All right, with passion like that you'll have every guy at the ball wanting a piece of that sweet little ass of yours."

Any other time I would have been upset with her taunts but Debbie tasted sooo good and the electricity coursing through my body held me in its embrace so thoroughly that I was barely even aware of her presence.

Upon breaking her embrace Debbie asked, "Well sweetie still in the mood to argue? Ready for Karin to get started on your face now, or do you still want to rant and rave about your poor "little precious" and its cute little prison? (How did she know I call my cock little precious? It really is small in its flaccid state and I have been self conscious of it since puberty, I was taught that just like big tits made for a real woman, a big cock made for a real man. Since I did not have a big cock I had to make people think I did. I must talk in my sleep, yes that's it, I talk in my sleep. How else could she know? What other of my secrets does she know?) My original plan was to let it out for a short time tonight so that I might play with it but, the way you have been acting I guess I will just have rely on my vibrator instead, perhaps you would like to borrow it too, it's sometimes a girl's best friend you know."

"Debbie...I...I...I... I guess I'll go get the packages from the car. But how can I go out dressed like this? What if I'm seen by someone who knows me? I'll never be able to live this down. I'm a man and everyone knows it, and men just don't walk around in tight skirts and transparent blouses. Can't I wear something at least a little less revealing? Maybe a jacket or something? This blouse is so sheer it's almost like it's not even there. And the way my ass wiggles when I walk in this skirt, I will draw everybody's attention straight to my ass just walking out to the car. I don't know if I can go out dressed like this."

"But dear if it was me in that outfit you would not think twice about sending me out to the car to bring something in."

"But you're a woman, you're supposed to dress like this. Women were designed to have their asses stared at. (Would I ever learn to keep my mouth shut?) I'm a man. I'm not supposed to wiggle when I walk, but in this ...outfit... I have no choice."

"There you go with that double standard attitude again. Welcome to the real world gennie. You really don't understand that it is just as embarrassing for a woman to be stared at in that kind of an outfit as it is for you, do you?"

"Well if it's so embarrassing for women to wear sexy clothes, why do it? Nobody is forcing them into it. (oops, there I go again) Don't women want to look good for their men? Dress a little sexy to show off their bodies like they were meant to be seen? (ever deeper I dig my own hole) OK I admit to the inconveniences of a skirt and can understand why you don't want to wear a nice tight skirt to do the house work. If I promise not to ask you to wear tight skirts anymore will you release me? I think I've learned my lesson."

The smoke curling from her ears should have been an indication of what she thought of my reasoning. "RELEASE YOU?! LEARNED YOUR LESSON?! I thought we just went through this. You will be released when you have come to grips with what you have become, and when you can finally allow yourself to be the person you really are. No more posturing or false bravado. It's exactly that attitude that has built the glass ceiling and made it so hard for women to be treated as equals in our society. Sexy clothes are just one of the things we girls have to live with to survive. We don't put up with being stared at because we

ask for it or like it, we put up with it because we have to. And now you have a chance to see what it's like. Isn't it fun gennie?"

Reaching into her purse she pulled out a pair of dark oversized sun glasses with roses at each of the top corners, and said, "Here wear these, with those big tits and sweet round ass even if someone did see you they would only see the woman you now are, and the glasses are big enough to cover your face so no one will ever recognize you. Go look in the mirror if you don't believe me, you won't even recognize yourself."

There was no need to look in the mirror, I had been doing just that all day. Every time I struggled out of and back into this satin prison I would look up and briefly wonder who the sexy chick with the big tits and nice ass was, before I would realize that that sexy chick was a man...me!

By this time my options were limited to say the least. I knew in my heart that my wife and sisters would not do me any permanent physical harm. I also knew that I loved my wife dearly, and would do almost anything for her. Perhaps if I had rebelled at the beginning, just sat down on the bed and refused to get dressed. I would have been in a better position to protest when she got home. But let me tell ya guys, it is very disconcerting to wake up with certain additions and losses to your normal anatomy. I was not really awake when I started, and Debbie's notes seemed so well thought out that I just could not at the time think of any alternative but to cooperate and hope that she would relent within a few days. I guess I could have tried hiding and when she got home attack and demand that she release me, but then if I tried something like that and failed... Or I could have called the Police and ended not only my marriage but my career as well. Not to mention the fact that I had been raised with the belief that a man solves his own problems and does not let others, especially public officials, know what they are.

No, I was stuck and I knew it. My personal priorities of family, home and career were more important to me than what clothes I would wear on any given day. I could play their game for a while, I could pretend to become whatever they wanted me to become, and they would never know the difference (my only fear was that I would stop pretending and allow myself to enjoy the sensations that had been coursing through my body all day). And then there was that kiss that Debbie had just planted on me. Talk about confused feelings, the sensations of all that satin, the helplessness I felt while in her arms. The total release of myself to her will, it all felt so liberating, so right, but of course I knew that I was just lost in the moment, I was a man and as such would never allow myself to give in to such feelings, it was all just the result of the stress of the day. There was no way that I could enjoy being dressed like a woman. Because I was a man I could never in a hundred years be the submissive partner in a relationship, could I? I mean it felt really, really nice just then letting Debbie be the aggressor for a change. I know that if mom was still around she would tell me it was OK to feel that way. Why did she have to be the one with cancer? Why couldn't it have been him instead? Mom understood people, she knew that sometimes everyone, even males, have a need to be soft and gentle, to allow themselves to crack that hard manly shell that our society demands of men. HE never understood that, he was so locked into his men are superior by right of birth mindset that he never could have understood that. He believed that any expression of emotion from a man was a sign of weakness, and there was no way he was going to have a "weak, wimpy" son, no matter what it took. And he didn't, I learned my lesson well. To be called a "male chauvinist pig" I considered a compliment. My bearing was more of swagger than a walk, my comments toward women rude and derogatory, my tolerance for anyone or anything even the least bit different from the norm was nonexistent, and my treatment of my girlfriends through high school, and early college was one of me Tarzan, you less than Jane.

Then I met Debbie. Ahhh, Debbie! Five, seven, 135 lbs., big beautiful blue eyes, long dark wavy hair, full sensuous lips, 'C' cup tits, and the roundest, firmest, softest, (does that make any sense?) sweetest ass I had ever seen. I first fell in love with her body, then with her. She was two years younger than I, the same age as my sister Karin. She seemed to understand me, to be interested in me in spite of the way I acted (I was not used to a "girl" sticking with me for more than one or two dates before I would scare them away). Debbie, helped return me to being human (at least somewhat), she got me to mellow in my demands on her, re-trained me to say please and thank you, when I was addressing her, she even got me to let my hair grow out from the buzz cut I had worn for so long. She seemed to understand me as no one ever had. She had patience with me, something I was not used to from anyone. I fell and remain still, head over (spike) heels in love with her. Standing there pleading with her to let me at least wear a jacket, with Karin taunting me from the sidelines, I finally began to understand why she seemed to know so much about me, she had been friends with my sister since high school and was interested in me then (who knows what attracts people to each other, I have no idea what Debbie saw in me, but she decided then that she wanted me), and my blabber mouth sister told her EVERYTHING about me. Debbie knew me, knew all about me, the real me before she even met me.

So it was with wobbling ankles, mincing steps, and swaying ass that I headed for the front door and the outside world. My wife and sister behind me taunting me with whistles and cat calls. Making comments about my swaying ass (I guess I did bring that on myself) and how my skirt made it stand out so well. I couldn't see my face but I am sure, judging from its temperature that I was blushing the brightest shade of crimson that could be imagined.

I had never before realized how safe and warm the inside of a person's home could be, nor how scary the simple act of walking out of the house sometimes is. In my mind I knew that no one could see me walk from the house to the car, between the wall and the hedges no one could even see the house from the street let alone someone walking from the front door to the driveway. But knowing something in my mind and convincing my racing heart and trembling hands were two entirely different things. Oh be still my racing heart ...

Man Maid ---- Part 5 ---- June 1998 gennie TV

It was as if I were in the theater watching a movie, the camera closes in on the heroine's silk clad arm as she slowly stretches her red manicured fingers towards the doorknob. The frills on the sleeve of her almost transparent blouse obscuring all but her delicate fingers as they wrap around the knob. In my turbulent mind that hand is reaching out and gently grabbing for my imprisoned cock, causing it to stir to life, to become ready for its intended purpose. A purpose that would once again be thwarted by its all too restrictive prison. As my cock hardens, the pain begins, I gasp as my mind attempts to continue in its fantasy, but my body requires a return to reality. The fantasy gone, the pain becoming severe my little precious returns to sleep mode as I pull the door open and hobble out into the bright summer sun. Again I have to remind myself that I am a man and that I am dressed in skirt and blouse through no choice of my own, and that I do not enjoy wearing women's clothes.

"I'm a man! Men don't enjoy wearing skirts!" I cried

aloud to myself but, it seemed I was becoming ever

more difficult to convince.

Encountering the heat of the outside after the comfort of our air conditioned home was like walking into a wall. I would never have imagined that so much sweat could flow from my body in such a short time, but between my sweet satin corset, my whisper light satin slip, and the heavyweight pantyhose, perspiration was immediate and profuse. I swear I could feel the sweat running down my nylon encased legs, into the heels of my torture shoes, snaking down the incline of my arches, and pooling in the pointy little toes at the end of my shoes. The wetness spreading throughout my corset, eliciting a nearly unbearable itch that no matter how hard I tried the best I could do was to rub satin against satin which not only did not help, it served to make matters worse. The more I attempted to scratch the more aroused I would become.

The wobble out to car seemed to take forever, one short little step after another, a walk that should have taken seconds, in my heightened state of arousal and extended sense of time, took hours and nobody will convince me otherwise. In my mind I was convinced that people were there at bushes watching me hobble around, laughing and making fun of the sissy in the tight skirt and high heels with the swaying ass and bouncing tits. With every mincing step I heard the click of my heels on the cement. The sound assailing my ears convincing me that someone would soon call the police because of all the noise. But I was on a mission I could not afford to stop, I had to get to the garage door and get those pictures Debbie had said she had posted. I should have known they would not be there by the time I got there, instead I found remains of tape and another note from my loving wife.

"Dear gennie,

You silly girl did you really think that I would

leave valuable pictures of my precious little sissy

out in the open where they might get damaged? Of

course we took them down as soon as we got home,

Karin still thinks we should post them on the job

board at the supermarket. What do you think? It

might be fun to have you stand there as people

look at the pictures and see if they recognize you.

Karin has some wonderful ideas sometimes don't you

think? Are your pantyhose feeling a little warm yet?

How about your shoes are your feet sloshing in your

sweat yet? Oh and I'll bet that corset has started

to itch something awful by now hasn't it dear? Oh the

little inconveniences that we 'girls' must endure

to look good for our men. Don't you just love it?

Times-a-wastin' darlin' best get the packages out

of the car and into the house before we think that

you decided that you've had enough and tried to

run, ohhh oops I mean, mince-away and we lock the

door. By this time Karin is ready to do your make-

over and style your hair so that you are presentable

at your meeting. So hurry dear, wiggle that cute

little ass of yours and get back in the house.

Love,

D."

Again she has predicted my actions. I had actually forgotten about the itching under my corset, and the hot and sticky feeling of the pantyhose against my legs until it was mentioned in her note. Now the itching hit again with a vengeance. Attempts at scratching yielding the same erotic results as my previous efforts and I was again reminded of my chastity. I had little choice but to continue on my errand and retrieve the packages from her car. I still hoped that the sooner I got the packages and got back into the house the sooner I could be released from my portable prison.

With a sigh limited by the restriction of my satin prison I hobbled to the car to retrieve the packages my lovely wife had sent me for. I thought little of my situation as I opened the car door. The polish on my nails glinting in the sun. My new tits jiggling as moved out of the way for the door to open. My feet now somewhat accustomed to the height of the heels and my restricted gate, my movements were on autopilot as I attempted to reach into the back seat of the car to retrieve the packages. My hands and arms were reaching but my waist was not bending as my nose made a gallant effort to keep my face from coming in contact with the roof of the car. I came to the immediate conclusion that simply bending over and reaching into the car would not work. Rubbing my damaged nose I turned my back to the car and bending at the hips I stuck my padded and oversized butt into the car and sat somewhat ungraciously (more like fell) onto the back seat of the car. I was then able to raise my feet, knees together of course, and swing them into the car. Taking time to catch my breath I realized that I had just entered the car in the same manner that I had watched Debbie do on those rare occasions that I could get her to dress as a woman should, short tight skirts and high heels. Was this one of those simple movements that was made "difficult" because of of a skirt and heels that she had referred to in her note to me earlier? Well it was certainly awkward, but nothing that should keep a woman from dressing properly (of course at that time I had only done it once and had not yet tried to exit the vehicle, what a difference time and experience make in a person's attitude).

Resisting the urge to search through the packages I gathered them together in my hands and attempted to get up out of the car. My attempt to swing my right leg out the door was of course unsuccessful the skirt demanding that I move my left leg at the same time. I found that I would have to scoot my butt to the edge of the seat and swing both legs out simultaneously, once again knees together in a very feminine manner. My attempts to rise however, were anything but feminine. I tried to stand with my hands full of packages, but without the ability to bend my waist or spread my feet for balance the best I could accomplish was a slight rocking motion. I thought about putting the packages back on the seat so that I could use my hands but the pain in my nose reminded me of the futility of that idea.

I finally came to the realization that my only way out was to sit and wait for the "girls" to take pity on me and come out and help (which I knew was not going to happen) or find some way to get the packages out of the car so that I could pick them up from the ground. So at the risk of damaging what was to be my new attire I threw the items out onto the driveway and used my hands to grab the frame around the door to pull myself up. What I sight I must have been. My arms outstretched, my hands groping for the door frame, my newfound tits jutting proudly from my chest swaying like a J-ello mold with every movement. My satin clad butt sliding against the satin of my whisper light slip, sliding against my nylon clad legs sent shivers up my spine and caused my hands to tremble. Only my determination to prove that I could succeed kept me going. Struggling to an upright position, my knees wobbling, my breath coming in short restricted gasps, I felt as though I had just done a hundred pull ups. Almost unconsciously I used my open palms to smooth my skirt back into its intended position. My mind elated with my accomplishment, my whole body alive with the electric sensations elicited by my satin prison, I hurriedly squatted to collect my new packaged wardrobe and began my trek back to the safety (safety?) of the house.

The walk (mince) back to the house, my arms loaded with shopping bags from department stores and lingerie shops, my mind filled with images of my father's disapproving visage, and my body alive with the sensations of my attire, was entirely too brief a time for me to prepare for what I was about to encounter.

-- miss_gennie@hotmail.com

Love, gennie :-)