Sissy Wife Sissy Life

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This is part 2 of Sissy Housewife’s Weeks Trial

It was two weeks ago that Greg told me I had passed my weeks trial. He lay down the rules.

I would quit my job.

Tell my family and friends I was moving to the Australian outback

(I only had a sister that never liked me after she caught me in her clothes)

I would sell or give away all my possessions and hand over the money to him.

Give away all but one set of male clothes.

(In case of doctors’ visits. These were to be locked away by Greg.)

I was to obey him in everything, or I would be thrown out with just the clothes on my back.

I was never to cover my legs with anything but stockings.

Hormones would never be allowed. He wanted a sissy housewife, not a trans woman.

I agreed to his conditions. I was scared at giving up my independence but thought that this is what women used to do when they married. They relied on their men for everything.

He explained.

“I want a sissy housewife. You will always strive to look girly and feminine. You will always be a man underneath, a man forced espiye escort to struggle his hardest to be the best wife he can be. With hormones it would be too easy. I get off on seeing you, a man forced to be as womanly as possible, just because I make you.”

“I don’t have too many clothes though Greg. I will have no money to buy more. What will I wear?”

“Don’t you worry your empty head about that. You concentrate on keeping your husband happy and he will look after you.”

Now I stood at the sink dressed as the perfect 1950’s housewife. I was wearing seamed stockings held up by a 6-strap suspender belt. White, silk, French knickers. A white merry widow corset was squashing my waist and forcing my fat to form B cup breasts. I looked down and felt a tingle in my caged cock when I saw my pink toenails peaking out of my white 6-inch sandals.

I had to lean forward to see my feet as my knee length, cap sleeved, flowery housedress was held away from my legs by my voluminous net petticoat. I had bright pink painted nails covered by pink rubber gloves.

My etiler escort hair was curly and dyed blond. When I saw myself in the mirror with my bright pink lipstick I nearly fainted with joy. Greg had ordered these clothes for me. They were perfect.

The dinner was almost ready, and he was due home any minute.

“Honey I’m home.” He said in a mocking tone.

I turned; my hands covered in suds from washing up.

“Oh, hi honey. I get you a drink.”

“No, you stay right there. Don’t you dare move. You’re perfect. You look like the perfect housewife.”

“But your dinner will…”

He crossed the kitchen and slapped my bottom hard.

“Oww, Greg please!”

“Do you want to go over my knee? Perhaps you need a reminder of who the man of the house is?”

With that I felt his hand force my head into the sink. My head was inches from the water. He kicked my legs apart. My heels skidded as I tried not to fall.

I felt my dress and petticoats being pulled up over my back. His hand caressed my silk knickers.

“Lovely. etimesgut escort Just perfect.”

I heard him unzip his fly. I had prepared myself a few hours ago. I would always have to ready when Greg was in the house.

Without foreplay he plunged into me, nearly lifting me off my feet. His cock felt enormous. I thought I was getting used to him, but he must have really been turned on.

Soon the kitchen echoed to the sounds of my heels skidding on the tiled fool and the slapping of flesh on flesh.

I panted and whimpered as he took savage pleasure in my body.

“Who are you?” he said.

“Sssarah.”

“What are you?”

“A sissy.”

“A sissy what?”

“A sissy housewife.”

“Who’s sissy housewife?

“I’m yours Greg. I’m your sissy housewife. Your’s forever.”

Then the reality hit me. I was now stuck in a life of makeup, perfume, pretty clothes, cooking, cleaning and being used for my husband’s pleasure whenever he wanted. I was an old fashion housewife. A sissy housewife. I was his. I belonged to him.

I came harder than I have ever in my life. My legs gave way. I spasmed and as my body was being supported by Greg’s strong hands and cock, he came. I felt him pumping his load into me. Marking me with his DNA. Forcing me to be part of him.

He pulled out and guided me to a chair.

“Now, what were you saying about dinner?”