textfiles/sex/EROTICA/R/r&r.txt

R & R
by Karen-Anne 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 children. 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 epitomy 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 Volkswagon 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 cataloque. 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 margerine, when there is butter in your refrigerator, right? 
   As for me, I do not know how she put up with me. I was a machoman, or,
I thought I was anyway. I knew the truth about myself, but, I often would 
embarass 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 had made my position at the factory, 
redundant. I was laid off, allbeit 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 desparation, 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 dissillusioned 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 obsesseion 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 lacey 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 lacey 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 lacey 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 shouldler straps up and over my new bust, and 
examined my reflection. The lace frothed out at my hips and shoulders. 
It was a delightfully feminne 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 
lacey 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 dresss 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 prettilly back at me, waiting for her slip and her dress. 
   Daintilly, 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 mischevious 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 paiinted 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 generated from my body. Both slips
had delisciously 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 goddamned 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 livingroom, and took a long look at her effeminated husband. I was 
laying on the couch. I blushed as I realized that my dress's skirt had 
worked it way up, and, she could see the lacey 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 peice 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 longsleeved 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 jewelry 
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 mnre 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 cigarrettes, 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 peticoating, 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 desparately to be. You want to wear dresses?...No
problem...My clothes turn you on so much?....No problem...But, since I 
bring home th 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 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 maliscious 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 aking 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 rape her, I manged 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 obvvious 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 pegnour was laid out on her side of the bed. I went over and picked 
up the bottoms of my pajamas, 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. 
   "Gad, 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, untill I tell you you can. And, I expect you to be a little mnre 
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 makebelieveman. 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 machoman 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 transvestim. 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 dildoe, 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 malisciously, 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 scronfully 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 cocksucking 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 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 moviing, 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 fullfilled me in a way I had not
ever immagined was posssible. 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...sodmizing me...womanizing 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, thankyou, 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 chatel. 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
childhood, 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,l I loved the 
feeling. This is what girls experienced every day of their lives. I was 
now, no exeception 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 expereince, 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 gently 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 personna 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 dildoe. It
reacted to my touching it. 
   I lowered my head, slowly taking the thing to my lips. I kissed the
head, honoring 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 personna. I do not believe
that she would be able to live in a masculine role. I think that you are 
doing her a favor 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 embarassed. 
   "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? 

FIN