R&RR & Rby Miss KarenAnne Brown R & R…means rest and relaxation, right? Well, not in my home, it does not. It means the utter and complete reversal of roles, that is what it means. So, how did this happen? I thought that you might ask. Well, I will tell all, afterall, that is why you started to read this story, right? Anne and I have been married for eight years, now, with no c***dren. I am glad of that, now. The last thing in the world I want, is to be a mother, believe me. It is no picnic, just to be a housewife. I know. I had married Anne, because, she was the epitome of what I thought was the perfect female. She is pretty, with nearly white flawless skin, and long thick dark brown hair. It is long because I insisted that women should have long hair, so, Anne grew it. Her eyes are dark brown, with a lovely mysterious quality about them. I loved her dearly, and, I realize now, that part of that attraction was her womanliness, her femininity. She was very docile and submissive. It never seemed to matter what I wanted, or where I wanted to go. she just let me, and she seemed happy to enjoy it. For example, she used to love wearing slacks. I told her that women should not wear slacks, so, she stopped wearing them whenever I was around. She gave me complete access to her body. I could touch her wherever and whenever I wanted to. She would have orgasms, but, she would just lie in bed, as a completely docile female, and she seemed to enjoy it the most, when I was the total aggressor. All in all, we had become very happy together. She stayed at home and made a home for me. I earned the daily bread, and I was proud to treat her well. Though I was only 24 years old, I was a project manager at a local factory, and, we were living a pretty good life style. We even had our own cars. Mine was a minitruck and hers was a pink Volkswagen bug, but, she liked it. One thing that saved me a pile of money, was that Anne made most of her own clothes, including some very sexy lingerie. If she went shopping for clothes, it was to see what styles were new, then, she would make them herself. She had two closets full of her clothes. In fact, one of the three bedrooms in our house is, in fact, a dressmaker’s shop, for lack of a better description. After our second year of marriage, she asked if it would be alright for her to take some college classes, as she had a lot of extra time on her hands, once the housework was done for the day. I agreed, and she studied, of all things, design engineering, and, she got her degree. I was so proud of her. One of the things that had always floored me was this. It did not matter what kind of weather it was, or how busy she had been, when I walked in the door at 5:30, supper was on the table and Anne looked like something that had just walked out of a catalogue. She always looked so fresh and so pretty, that she never ran the risk of getting me interested in some other woman. Afterall, you do not go to the corner store for margarine, when there is butter in your refrigerator, right? As for me, I do not know how she put up with me. I was a macho man, or, I thought I was anyway. I knew the truth about myself, but, I often would embarrass Anne by touching her in the wrong places in public, just to show off how true my woman was to me. But, she took whatever I dished out, and she just kept loving me. I often said things that would berate her, but, she somehow seemed to understand that I had the great need to somehow try and prove my masculinity, even if it was at her expense. You see, I had some masculinity to prove, to. For one thing, I am only a half inch taller than my wife, and about 8 pounds heavier. I have also been blessed with a cute face. I also only shave twice a week. It is nearly impossible for me to grow a beard. I know. I tried it. To top it all off, I have struggled with something from deep within, that had started when I was very very young, and, though I have fought it every day of my adult life, it has not left me. That, in fact, is the reason for this story. It surfaced and got me into a lot of trouble, the trouble that I am in, now. Anne had never know about it as I had kept it a closely guarded secret. No one else knew. Well, about eight months ago, my little Camelot came crashing down around my ears. Technology hand made my position at the factory, redundant. I was laid off, albeit with an excellent recommendation, but, still, I was let go. Three months and 200 resumes later, I was still unemployed, angry and extremely frustrated. Our money ran out, and, so. out of desperation, I had agreed to let Anne look for work, to help supplement our unemployment insurance benefits. Wouldn’t you know it? Anne got a job on her first interview. It was hopeless to keep sending out the resumes, as we did not want to leave the city we were in. Within two months, Anne got a promotion, to executive status. I was happy for her, but, I was disillusioned and angry to. I began to do the housework, take a lot of long walks, but, this old curse of my life surfaced again, and I had nothing to fill my time with. It became such a strong obsession that, four months ago, I gave in to it once more. It was a Tuesday. As was usual, Tuesday was the normal wash day in our house. After Anne had left for the day, I started to do the breakfast dishes. It overpowered me once again. I gave in this time. Anne would not be home till around 5:30, so, I had enough time to do it, then to get back to normal, and there would be no reason for Anne to find out. With my mind filled with the hundreds of delightful memories of my youth, I went into our bedroom, threw off my clothes and went to the bathroom. I shaved and then, took a scented bubble bath. It had been years since I’d felt my nearly hairless legs with silky water on them. I got hard, but, I resisted the urges. I dried and returned to the bedroom. Anne had drawers full of ultra feminine lingerie. She loved to tease me with it. She knew that it turned me on. What she did not know was that every single chance that I had gotten, when I was still living at home, even if it was only for half an hour at a time, I got turned on by wearing my sister’s clothes. Not even my sister knew that I wore her things. I loved going to school on days when we were not having gym, and looking at all the pretty girls and knowing that I too had on a lacy bra and a pair of panties under my school clothes. I envied them for being able, and expected to wear their hems at their knees, while I was forced to wear mine at my ankles. I selected a red satin corsolette, that laced up the front. Anne is a small girl, but, this was still a boned garment. I stepped into it, raised it up to my waist, and laced it so tightly, that I had trouble breathing, I’d seen her wear this often and had envied her. I stuffed panties into the half cups and pulled painfully at the chest flesh, and, in minutes, I looked like I had mounds growing out, like breasts. My nearly hairless chest, looked like a girl’s. It was painful to sit at the vanity, raise my legs in order to pull my nylons up to snap onto the lacy garter straps of the garment. I then fitted a pair of three inch heeled open toed sandals onto my feet, then stood up, relishing that lovely sensation that can only be felt when you are wearing taut nylons. I slid my shod feet, carefully, into the lacy leg holes of a delightful teddy that I wanted to wear that day. It had at least five inches of lace trimming the leg holes and bodice. I stood back, after carefully sliding the shoulder straps up and over my new bust, and examined my reflection. The lace frothed out at my hips and shoulders. It was a delightfully feminine garment, and I loved it. I adjusted between my legs, hoping that the silky crotch would hold me in place. Then, I tied the little blue ribbon into a bow at my waist. The red of the corsolette looked so sexy through the sheer white silk garment. The lacy bodice was also trimmed with a blue ribbon that ended in a tiny boy at the bottom of the V necked bodice. That old familiar feeling welled up from deep inside, and it overwhelmed me. I accepted it, and, I loved it. I looked at the reflection for a long time, and, felt that it was somehow wrong, that someone who felt the way I did about wearing such lovely clothing should be denied the right to, just because I had a penis. That was the only reason. I looked like a girl. I wanted to dress like a girl. I felt like a girl. I longed to be a female, but, I also liked that little six inches of maleness, that was the only thing left of my masculine feelings. All the rest was a woman. I was looking at her, and she was smiling prettily back at me, waiting for her slip and her dress. Daintily, as was natural for me, when I let “her” out of her secret closet, I sat at the vanity again. First I spritzed some perfume on my neck and the backs of my legs, then, with a mischievous grin, a spritze at my crotch. I carefully applied eyelashes and eye makeup. I had spent many hours practising before my sister’s mirror, and I watched Anne whenever I got the chance to, so I was very confident in the area of making up my face. Anne had a dress that had long chiffon sleeves, a ruffled bodice, a wide belt, and a full flaring skirt. I had envied her right to wear it many many times. Now that I had the chance, I went looking for this little dream of feminine fancy. It was in the other room, but, I soon had the pink dress spread out on the bed, waiting for it to envelope my body in its utter prettiness. Again, at the vanity, I donned earrings, a watch, a bracelet and a pretty pearl drop necklace. I was a “she” again, and I almost wished that I was not married so that I could be “her” all the time. Then, with a smile, I remembered that I was alone all day, and that there was no reason why I could not be a girl all day. It would, I knew improve my sex life. I always had a constant erection, even from the age of eight, from wearing panties. It had cause me some crisis moments, on those day that I had worn Sharon’s silky drawers to school. Carefully, I painted my nails a dark pink, to match my lip gloss.I had always had a thing about silk or satin slips. So, when I did wear dresses, I loved to wear two slips. Now was no exception. I took two white silk slips from the middle drawer, and, seconds later, the slithery material was rustling to my every movement. I loved the sound. It was so,so, feminine. That was the only word that I could think of. I was feminine, in that sound that was being bahis siteleri generated from my body. Both slips had deliciously full and effeminating skirts to swish about my nyloned thighs. I then raised my dream dress, up, over my head, and, holding it up, I looked up at the insides, the view that only a girl gets, of her dresses. Slowly, I let that pink delight descend, enveloping me in it femininity. In a moment, I had the near perfect fitting dress on, wrists buttoned up, zipper all the way up my back, and the wide belt buckled. My sister Sharon is a very pretty girl, but, she never had anything so pretty or delightful as this dress that I was wearing now. I felt like I was on a pink cloud. I spent nearly an hour watching myself practice sitting in a delicate fashion, stooping to pick up something off the floor, and, of course, hundreds of graceful curtseys. At last, I tore myself away from the lovely vision in the looking glass, and went to the kitchen, where I donned a ruffled apron.The last thing in the world that I wanted to do was to ruin or stain “MY” dress. I did the breakfast dishes, then went around the house, with a loud rustling, and, of course, just absolutely thrilled with my completely overwhelming sense of being a feminine person, even delighting in that constant ache in my pantified crotch. Even that constant pain seemed, somehow, to be worth the price of wearing such a lovely dress. Of course, the tune “I’m the happiest girl, in the whole USA”, ran through my head, as a constant refrain, continually reminding me that I had totally effeminated myself, that I had not even the excuse of being, somehow, forced to wear my pretty dress. I was a feminine male, and, I loved the feminine more than the masculine. I was a “SISSY”. I admitted to myself for the first time in my life, that I was really, a SISSY boy, who would rather be a girl. Somehow, admitting it, made it seem more sensuous. Remembering my tasks, I gathered the laundry and took it all to the basement and proceeded to wash, dry and fold the clothes. I felt so complete. I hate what my girl self does to me, totally effeminating me, but, she makes me complete, somehow. I had such a joy, as I did womanly work, in womanly dress. With an armload of freshly ironed clothing, ready for Anne’s closets, I cheerfully climbed the stairs, and entered the bedroom, just as Anne was entering it from the bathroom. “Oh…my God…what…what the hell are you doing…God… I’m married to a god damned faggot…” “No…no…Anne, it isn’t like…that at all…You don’t understand… Anne?” “Just you shut your mouth…PANSY” Crestfallen, I volunteered to change out of the dress. “I’ll…uh…get changed…” “Don’t bother. It’s too late now to try and be a man. I can see what you are. I don’t know how you could have kept me fooled for so long.” “You…want me…to stay dressed like this?” “Yes, now get the hell out of here. I’m sicker now than I was when I came home. Get out of my sight you “FAIRY”.” I lay the pile of dresses on the bed, and retreated, fearfully. She really did look pale, but, she obviously did not want her pantied husband around at this moment. As soon as I closed the door behind me, I heard a click. She had locked me out of the bedroom. I was forced to wear my dream turned nightmare. Not knowing what else to do, I went back to the basement, finished the laundry, and then prepared our supper. Anne would not respond when I told her supper was ready. At bedtime, I quietly tried the doorknob, but, it was still locked. I had no access to my own clothes, so, I slept on the couch, in my woman’s clothes. Corsolettes are very sexy, but, they are terrible for sleeping in. I was so scared of upsetting her, that I slept in what I was wearing. I did not want her to know that I had put on other of her clothes. It was a horrible night. The sound of the coffee grinder woke me in the morning. Anne came into the living room, and took a long look at her effeminated husband. I was laying on the couch. I blushed as I realized that my dresses skirt had worked it way up, and, she could see the lacy hem of my teddy. Blushingly, I tugged at my skirts to get them to a place of modesty. She did not even say one word. She just stared, then left the house, without eve drinking her coffee. I could tell that she had been crying. Fearfully, I was certain that my happy home was going to be no more, because, I could not control a biological urge. I nervously disrobed. For the first time in my life, I did not have an erection, while wearing female clothing. I was too scared of what I might have brought onto myself. I cried nearly all morning. When Anne came home that night, she did not even talk to me. She again, went straight into the bedroom and locked herself in. I had never seen her act like this. I would do anything to get her back, but, she repeatedly refused to talk to me when I knocked at the door. Thursday night, when she came home, it was obvious to me that she had made some decisions. She looked at me, beckoned for me to follow her to the bedroom, where she took off the two piece suit that she had worn for the day at her office. I wondered if she wanted sex. I hoped so. I hoped that I would be able to get it up for her. I was curious. She then told me to undress, which I did, as quickly as I could. I stood nakedly, feeling very vulnerable, and foolish, and, I watched her, as she removed her bra and panties. She then sat, removed her nylons and her garterbelt. She stood, and pointed at the little pile of her discarde clothing on the floor. She seemed, somehow, bigger than me. “Well, you wanted them. There they are. They are yours now. Put them on.” I was too dumbfounded to do anything, but, I was too scared of losing Anne, to disobey her. I did what she told me to do. I sat and began to put on the still warm clothing that she had just taken off. As I dressed, Anne unpacked a large bag that she had brought home with her. I saw that she had pantsuits, that could have passed for men’s suits, in it. I did not say anything, though. I just proceeded to put on her things. I could not help but get erect. I felt humiliated and forced to effeminate myself, and it turned me on. I hated myself for being so weak. She smiled when she looked over at me and noted the bulge in the front of my panties. She sat and watched me as I lowered the slip over my head, and adjusted the thin shoulder straps. I felt so vulnerable and exposed under her gaze. I picked up the long sleeved silk blouse and slid it up my arms. I buttoned the cuffs, and reached behind me, to button up the blouse, up to my neck. I opened up the skirt, stepped into it, and pushed my blouse and slip down inside it, as I raised it to my hips. I closed it and buttoned it at my left hip, then slid up the zipper. I sat on the bed, under her watchful eye, and stepped into the shoes she had worn all day. I stood, and slid the jacket up my arms. I then placed on the jewellery that she had piled on the bed. She stood and threw a large box at me. “Put that on.” Nervously, I opened the box and found that it held a long page boy style of wig, in a dark brown, almost the identical color of my own longish hair. I’d never worn a wig before, so it took me a few moments to figure out what was what. I pulled it on and adjusted it. The hair fell to my shoulders, and the bangs fell to my eyebrows. It felt like real hair. “Do your makeup, FAIRY.” I looked over at her. She was sitting in a corner wicker chair, wearing the jeans and the sweatshirt that I had taken off. This was the first time in years that I had seen her in anything but knee length hems. I was shocked. I sensed, that, our roles were now reversed. I wasn’t sure whether I liked my wife being manly, or, if I really wanted to live a womanly life. She was also wearing men’s sneakers. “Admit it, Pansy. I can see from the bulge in the front of your skirt that you are turned on by being a woman. You love your new clothes, don’t you, boy”chick”?” I was so ashamed, I said nothing. “Admit it Pansy. I want to hear you say it.” “Yes…I do, Anne.” “Well, for the first time in our marriage, you are being completely honest.” She stared hard at me, then slowly raised herself to her feet and walked over to stand in front of me. “Well, I must say this for you, you are a more believable looking woman than you ever were a convincing man. You look like the kind of woman that any man would be happy to be married to.” She reached out and gently grasped at the bulge in my skirt. Her hand moved slightly, exploring the skirted shaft. I was nearly dying with passion for this woman cum man. “God, as a woman, you turn me on like nothing else. I find it sexy to find you wearing your new clothes. Now, Baby, I bought two magazines, and I want you to read them. I am going out to buy some cigarettes, maybe go and have a beer or two. I’ll be back, when I get here. You read the magazines.” She handed them to me, and left. I was amazed. That was the first sexually aggressive thing that she had ever done, and though she was no longer there, I could still feel the burning hot hand through my skirt, as it had squeezed and explored the shaft in my panties. Reading the magazines, I had to stop three times, to raise my skirt and masturbate myself. They were about pretty men, men who were forced to live as women, by women, and, in two of the case studies, it was a man who forced them to live as women. They was about enforced petticoating, or transvestism, or, as it was also called, cross dressing. Anne returned home, and she smelled of cigarettes and beer. “Did you read them both, Sweetcakes?” I just stared at her. She had gotten her beautiful long hair trimmed to a short bob. It was almost mannish. “Yes, Anne…” I sputtered. “Well, and what do you think?” “Anne, I…uh…I just enjoy sometimes wearing girl’s clothes. I don’t want to be a woman. I don’t want to be like those …men…dominated like that.” “Oh, quit your whining. Do you want to stay married to me, yes or no?” “Yes…of course…you should not even need to ask that. I love you mnre than anyone in the world.” “Good. I intend to prove it. For once, I am going to be the chauvinist that you tried so desperately to be. You want to wear dresses?…No problem…My clothes turn you on so much?No problem…But, since I bring home the bacon, I call the shots. You got that, Lady?” “What are you saying, Anne?” “What I am saying is, I am in the husband’s role, and you are in the wife’s role. Consequently, if you want canlı bahis siteleri to remain married to me, then you have got to be the wife that I was, while I take the role of the husband that you were. You will look like a pretty doll when I get home from the office. You’ll have my supper on the table. You’ll wear what I tell you to wear. If I ever catch you wearing pants without permission, I’ll beat the shit out of you, and, if I can’t, I’ll hire someone to do it for me. You got that?” “You want me to live your life, Anne?” “No…I want you to live the life that you made me live. If you cannot live as my wife, get out now.” “I…I…I will do what you say, Anne.” She came over and stood in front of me, with a malicious smile on her lips. Very quickly, she drew back her right hand, formed a fist and drove it into my solar plexus. I bent over in pain, and fell on the floor, conscious that my dress was up to expose my panties. I was so weak. “You are to be submissive and docile, and pretty at all times. If you do not like what I say or do, that’s just too bad for you. You will be a good housewife. You will learn to make your own clothes and save me a bundle, like I did for you. Understood?” “Yes, Anne…” I sobbed out painfully. “If I am the husband, you can’t very well call me Anne, now, can you? Call me Andy. I will call you…ummm…KarenAnne. That will suit you. A bit of something new, and a bit of something borrowed, like my clothes, my life and my name, only you can’t be me, so you you will be something close to it, a KarenAnne, not an Anne. How does that sound, KA?” “It’s pretty, Andy.” S/he took my hand and helped me up. He led me to the bedroom, where I was directed to lay on my back. He lay on top of me, and began kissing my neck and face, touching me all over. I could not help it. He was turning me on sooo much. I reached for the breasts. He slapped me hard, across the face. “A lady does not do that. She waits for her lover to do everything. Now, you just enjoy being made love to, and let me do the making of the love, alright? If you can’t keep your hands to yourself, I’ll tie them to the bedposts, to make sure you act as a docile girl. A docile wife waits for her husband to make love to her, not the other way around.” “Yes…Dear.” She smiled at my response and kissed the reddening cheeks. Andy kissed me, feeling me all over,and aching me if I wanted him to fuck me, and make a baby inside of me. I lay, quietly with my hands over my head. When I heard the words, I began to cry. She laughed at me for crying like a SISSY, as she pushed my skirt up, and slowly worked my panties down to my knees. I realized that she was serious. If I stayed married, I would not be allowed to be a man at all. I cried mnre. Though I was so turned on that I wanted to **** her, I managed somehow to restrain myself. She slowly lowered herself onto me, commenting that she wished that she’d known about me long before this. She loved having a pretty, docile wife. I lay under her, acutely aware that I was the woman and that I was being made love to. “Oh…God…this is so much better than just laying there, waiting for him to give you something and hoping that what he gives you is enough, but…ahhhh…you, my Pretty wife, you would rather just lay there, and be the loved one. Don’t lie to me, I know how turned on you are.” “Yes….I love it…I hate being this way, but, I love it…” “Sure you do, you are so damned effeminate. You are one of those people that they make jokes about, you know that?” “Yes…ahhh…I know I am.” “Are you going to get mad and hit me with your purse if I get you pregnant, KarenAnne?” I could no longer control myself. The friction caused by her movements made me lose it. Anne/dy had the most glorious orgasm that s/he had ever experienced. It was obvious that she relished the role of the man. She loved it, as much as I loved being her wife. The orgasm that ripped through my body was the most dynamic that I had ever experienced. It took me nearly twenty minutes to get my strength back. I felt that being made love to was obviously superior than making love. “Okay, Karen, you got your jollies. Now, pull up your panties, and get me my supper.” I rolled over, kissed her lips, then did as she told me to. Andy went and took a shower as I made us a light lunch of tossed salad and tuna fish sandwiches.After eating, he watched me as I washed the dishes, then, he told me that I was going to stink like a cunt if I did not go and take a shower. On emerging from the bathroom, I saw that Anne had had laid our our night clothes, on the bed. My cotton ones were on my side of the bed. Anne’s pink peignoir was laid out on her side of the bed. I went over and picked up the bottoms of my pyjamas, and was just about to step into them, when I felt a sharp and very painful sting on my bum cheeks, the first of seven. I was near crying when she stopped hitting me. I turned to look at her. She was standing there, with a yardstick in her hand. “God, you are a stupid bitch. Can’t you tell the difference between men’s clothes and women’s clothes yet? I would have thought that you’d have no trouble doing that, at least. Now, go and put your own clothes on. DON’T YOU EVER WEAR MY CLOTHES AGAIN, DO YOU HEAR ME? That is, unless you like getting your pretty cheeks reddened.” She roared when she saw the crestfallen look on my face, as I walked over to my new side of the bed, and picked up the sheer lace panties. “God, Karen, you are so pretty. I don’t know why I never noticed it before.” “Anne, how long is this little game of yours going to go on?” I asked as I tied the little ribbon at my neck. “My little game? My game? Whose idea was it to run around the house in the clothes of a housewife? It was your idea, Honey. This little game will continue for as long as you want to stay married. You will not wear pants again, until I tell you you can. And, I expect you to be a little more grateful for the chance to be my wife. You, Dear, are now, the lady of the house. You might just as well give yourself over to enjoying it, till I am tired of being a chauvinist pig. But, don’t hold your breath. I know that you love it. I saw your reaction when I made love to you. You are a hot bitch. The shoe, or, should I say, the high heel, is now on the other foot, your foot. Don’t tell me you do not want to be dominated. Yesterday, I took the day off work, and went to the university. I spent the day with the professor of psychology. Dr. Workman spent the day explaining everything he knew about your kind of make-believe. You transvestites crave having a woman love you enough to turn you into her wife. Well, your dreams have come true, Karen. I love you and that is why I married you. But I was getting pretty sick and tired of putting up with your macho man crap. Now I know that you acted that way because you did not know how to be a man. Now, you can put up with it, the way you expected your wife to put up with it. From what I understand, a person like you will be happier than you ever dreamed you could be, because, the only choice that you have in this matter is to stay married or not to stay married. You want to stay married, then you will do so as my wife. You have no other alternatives. Do I make myself perfectly clear, KarenAnne?” “Yes Anne…uh…dy.” “Good girl. Now, go and get me a beer.” An hour later, I got another rude awakening. Wearing such dainty materials, gave me a nearly constant painful erection. Andy took some pity on me, after teasing me about my obvious excitement about wearing such lovely clothing, by enforced transvestism. She took my hand and led me to the bedroom. When I lay on my back, I reached for her crotch. She slapped me very hard, disgusted that I had not yet learned my lessons in docility. She then took a pair of pantyhose, and tied my hands to the headboard. He then went to the dresser and took out a double ended dildo, that I had never seen before. I watched, fearfully fascinated as she slowly inserted one end inside of herself, then, hooked the leather harness to her pelvis. She grinned maliciously, as she crawled onto the bed, her legs wide apart, with on knee on each side of my bound shoulders, and told me that she wanted for me to suck her cock. I tried to turn my head, but, she scornfully insisted that all girls loved sucking cock, and I was no exception. She grabbed my head, and forced it into my mouth, nearly gagging me, she shoved it so far down my throat. “I can feel every move of your pretty sucking lips and your tongue, so, Baby, make me cum with your pretty cock sucking mouth.” Her right hand went behind her, and I could feel her fingers gently caressing the crotch of my silk panties. I ached, I was so sore. Every fibre of my being was acutely aware, that I was in the feminine role, and, I was nearly blissful. I submitted to the role enforced on me, and began to suck her cock, and moaning as she manipulated the front of my panties. I knew I would give anything if she made me stay this way for all of my life. I loved the feelings of my clothes. That psychologist surely must have a good understanding of transvestites, I thought. My most secret and yet unrealized fantasies were being forced on me with the rudeness of reality. I moved my head back and forth, and, she orgasmed, nearly asphyxiating me, as she drove her cock down my throat. “Oooohhh, I love fucking your pretty mouth…Aaaahhhhh…” Her words inflamed my sense of femaleness. As she orgasmed, she grasped, painfully, at my penis, nearly ripping it from me, as she twisted it around, grinding the girl material of my panties into it. I exploded, and actually passed out with the intensity of her lovemaking. When I recuperated, I had another surprise. She had tied my ankles together, pulled my legs up, so the my knees were nearly touching my chin. They were held in place by a belt securing them to the headboard. I was absolutely helpless. “What are you doing, Anne?” “Andy. And, for that matter, it doesn’t matter to you. You are the lady of the house, so, you just accept whatever I decide to do with you or even to you. Not only that, you should be thankful.” I felt her fingers pulling at the pantywaist at my back, and she lowered them. She put her head down between my legs, and licked the cum of my cock, and, sucked me till I was hard again. Then, she lay on top of me, and kissed me, forcing her tongue into my mouth. I tasted the cum being forced into my mouth. “Swallow it, Baby, you’ll love it.” She wanted canlı bahis me to admit that I liked the taste of a man’s cum. When I did, she went back down to my rear end. She began kissing my anus, and poked at me with her tongue, driving me nearly insane with the intensity of the sensations. I had never dreamed that that was such an erogenous spot before. “I love eating your pussy, KarenAnne. It is so sweet. Make sure you keep it entirely free of hair for me, okay. Your pussy is just so sweet, that, I think I am going to fill it up for you.” She lay directly onto the back of my legs, forcing my knees into my chest. The pain was horrible, but, did not compare to the searing agony that penetrated my anus, as she shoved her cock into me. I could not cry out, as, she drove her tongue into my mouth at the same time. Something very strange began to happen after the initial shock of her penetration. I felt her moving, rocking slowly, back and forth, moving it inside of me. I was being fucked, as I had fucked her so often. The pain slowly became a lovely sensation that fulfilled me in a way I had not ever imagined was possible. He noticed that I was no longer resisting being fucked like a woman. She worked herself to a kneeling position. In and out, in and out, sodomizing me, womanising me. I loved it. My head rolled sideways and I somehow became aware that as she was entering my body, she was also entering my very psyche. I began to push up to meet her thrusts. He was orgasming as he fucked me. He screamed as he hit the peak. He did not even touch me, but, I spurted again, in a wild sensation. I came all over my my face. The pain I felt seemed strangely to be some kind of just payment for being allowed to be a woman. I was complete for the first time in my life. “You are one very foxy fuck, Lady.” “Why, thank you, kind Sir. I am glad that I pleased you.” The next two months were sheer agony. Every day, he left me long lists of things to have accomplished by the time that he got home at night. After supper dishes were washed, I’d endure the pain of the electrolysis kit he bought to use on my face, chest and legs, for nearly two hours a night. I took to using her ID, her car, and, in fact, when the new driver’s license came out, I had my picture on it. It was in the name of Anne, but, at home, I was Karen. Anne was my middle name. After about five months, I had accepted my total effemination. I was happier than I had ever dreamed was possible for me. I was a happily married woman. I thought in womanly terms of references, due mainly to rather harsh punishments for not doing so. She then had me meet with Dr. Workman for psychological assessment. I felt so vulnerable, sitting there, in front of his desk, dressed as a girl. I wondered if it was my lacey hem that his eye kept going to my knee to see. He spent nearly three hours asking in depth questions about our new life styles. I realized that we were having nearly three times the sex we had had before. Dr. Workman told Andy that he was pretty well convinced that I really was happier as a woman, but, there was one final test that he would like to try, if he had my husband’s permission. He wanted to take me on a date, alone with him, to see how I reacted in public circumstances. I did not even have anything to say about this. I was treated as a chattel. Andy said yes, and, since Dr. Workman was such a good friend, that he should feel free to take his liberties with me. Andy said that I would do anything I was told to. I blushed as Dr. Workman glanced over at me, and I wondered if he were thinking about getting a blow job. He looked straight at me. “KarenAnne, I think that this transition that you have made is a truly remarkable and fascinating case study. I would like to report on you in medical journals. Of course, your identity would be kept secret. I really would like to do a paper on your marriage.” I noticed that his beard moved in an attractive fashion as he talked. The date started with a very long drive, where I answered his questions about my feelings of docility and acceptance of my feminine nature by Andy, into his tape recorder. I admitted that I found a strange satisfaction in having someone else make all of my decisions for me. He explained that somehow, early in my c***dhood, I must have experienced great rejection of myself as a boy, and that that was why I wanted to have someone make love to me , the way a girl is sought out and made love to, as opposed to being the aggressor and possibly being rejected. I had been taught that girls are more sought after than boys, like the old fairy tales and rhymes about sugar and spice and all that stuff, he explained, and, I wanted to be like that, rather than to repeatedly experience the rejection that had happened to me, that was still buried somewhere deep in my subconscious mind. He asked if I were a homosexual. I said no. He then wanted to know why, if I was not a homosexual, that I submitted to being fucked and to sucking Andy’s cock. I had no answer. He parked his car, put his arm around me, and pulled me to him. I did not resist. I wanted to feel his beard on my cheeks. He was so strong. I realized at that moment that I had been still looking at him as one male to another, but, now, that I was in his arms, as a girl, I was amazed at how small I really was, and, I´ll loved the feeling. This is what girls experienced every day of their lives. I was now, no exception to the rule. His tongue probed my lips, and I received him, willingly. I was a girl. He kissed me for a long long time, then, slowly, he moved his hand down to the front of my dress, over my hip and to my knee. His fingers on my nylons were strong, hard and calloused. I opened my legs and welcomed his intrusion into to my privacy. This is one of the most feminine things that I think a girl can experience, to have a man’s hand under her dress, feeling her panties. I was vulnerable and exposed, and, therein was the excitement. I was living in a totally effeminated circumstance. There was nothing I could do, but to respond naturally, as would a girl, in the same circumstances. I shuddered as his tongue probed my mouth, and his hard fingers fondled the front of my delicate silk panties. I nearly died form the sheer bliss that flooded my soul. He was so masterful. I could not resist cumming in his hand, as he fondled me through my panties. “Well, my little lovely, do you need any other evidence that you are about as feminine as a male can get?” “No, I guess not. What now, Dr.?” “Well, for a start, would you like to suck a real cock, one that can cum for you?” I stared at him. He was still holding me tightly. I blushed as I nodded my desire to do so. “That, my dear, is not good enough. You must hear yourself saying so.” My face burned with the shame of my inner desires. “I cannot explain it, Dr., but, I do.” “Do what, Dear?” “I want to…to…suck your cock.” He touched a button on his seat, and it lowered backwards. so that he was nearly lying flat. “Put your hand on it, KarenAnne.” I did. I felt the heat and the throbbing right through his suit pants. I gent felt out the shape, watching my girlish hand as I did so. “You can’t see my cock, if you don’t open my pants.” I reached for the belt and undid it. I was thankful that he was a thin man, and not a fat one. Then, I opened the hook and slowly, tugged at his zipper. “Are you flattered that you can make me so hard, Karen?” “Yes…I am. I am ashamed to admit it, but, I am proud of the fact that I got you so hard.” “The feminine persona reacts that way. Don’t be ashamed. You are acting quite normally…for a girl.” I touched the now exposed cock, running my hands gently over it’s head, and up and down the shaft. It felt so very different from the dildo. It reacted to my touching it. I lowered my head, slowly taking the thing to my lips. I kissed the head, honouring something that I would never have, a man’s cock. “Suck my cock, you pretty little faggot. Make me cum for you, into your pretty cunt mouth, just like my wife does for me. Remember, I do not want to get wanked, I want someone to suck my cum right out of me, because, she sooo enjoys making a man cum for her.” When he came, I could not swallow it all. I watched as it spurted from the corners of my lips, all over his belly, and my hands. I sucked, coaxing it to give me all the cum that was in it. I was satisfied. I had, at last, done what feminine fairies do. I was a cocksucker now, a pansy cocksucker. I was pleased. He cleaned himself up, drove me home, and, to my surprise, accompanied me to the front door. Andy was waiting for us, and poured him a glass of white wine. “Well, Doc, what about her?” “Andy, I believe that she has a feminine persona. I do not believe that she would be able to live in a masculine role. I think that you are doing her a favour by making her wear dresses all the time. Regardless of what she says, do not let her out of her feminine role. Deep inside, she does not want to be let out of this role. If you did let her be a male again, she would fail miserably, and just make herself worse.” “Yes, that is what I thought. what about the other?” “Well, you were right there also. All I had to do was kiss her, and she wanted, really wanted, to suck me off.” I nearly crawled through the floor, I was so embarrassed. “So, if I again assume my own feminine identity, there would be no problem having a man live with us? I mean, she would be just as pleased to have sex with him as I would be?” “You got it. She is more woman than man, and will probably only get more so.” As he stood to leave, he turned to me. “KarenAnne, I almost envy you. You are living in a kind of heaven. Most people will never experience the joy of completely living out their deepest and most secret, sometimes hidden fantasies. I wish you well.” With that, he took my hand, turned it over, and raised it to his lips, as though I were a great lady, or a “queen”. “I really hope that you appreciate what a great love that Andy here has for you, to enforce this life style on you. I did not know what else to do, so, I curtsied. It was the right thing to do. Well, friends in skirts, this is a fanciful story of how I came to understand what R & R really is. Andy has since engineered other circumstances designed to do only two things. One she wants me to be humiliated because, I am only a pretend woman who does not qualify as a man. Her constant enforcement of humiliation also reinforces my feminine nature, which, I believe, she likes even more than the man she married. I know that I do. Perhaps, you may see some more of these fanciful experiences recorded, for the sole purpose of keeping bulges in your panties? © 1998 Miss Miss KarenAnne Brown & Michelle Johnson

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