Made to Obey Ch. 13

I still met up with some of my ex work colleagues for a girly chat quite often when I was in town buying a few things or going to have my hair done.

As you would expect, Pam just loved sex with me. Whatever else I could be accused of; premature ejaculation was not one of them. Pam liked to keep me caged too: she bought me a new chastity device, a kind of plastic tube with a slit at the end; it was more restrictive than the old one, which we kept as a kind of keepsake. My having to wear this new cage was not as a punishment she informed me but because I needed restraint so that my dick wouldn't get hard under my panties and dresses, especially when out in public. It also meant that she could have total confidence in my fidelity and also know that I couldn't have a wank, thus saving all my lust for her. How could I not approve?

Now that she had a more senior role, she sometimes came home later than expected and was often really tired; occasionally too tired to have sex with me. If she was having a particularly stressful day, she'd ring me and tell me to run her a bath for when she got home. She really appreciated this and looked forward to it immensely, so, quite justifiably I'd say, if I'd made the bath too hot or too cold for her, she'd put me over her knees and spank me, quite hard. I guess she just took out her frustrations over work on me, but I think too, she really liked feeling her palms hit my lovely, fleshy-round bum.

I never knew where she kept the keys to my chastity cage, Pam said it added a bit of excitement to our sex life and who was I to argue. Every now and again, she'd make me use one of her dildos on me to allow me some release while she watched. When I came like this, my spunk drizzled pathetically out if its new plastic prison making it quite messy. She did playfully warn me that if I disobeyed her, she might make me insert a butt-plug for long spells, but as yet, she hasn't gone that far. I guess she just likes to keep me on my toes.

Pamela also insisted that I telephoned my brother and told him the truth, that I was now living as a woman and was now Carla Gifford – until I divorced and remarried. This was arguably the hardest thing I'd done throughout this whole saga. At first, he thought it was some kind of daft joke although I did manage to convince him in the end. I even sent him an email with a picture of Carla (fully dressed of course) just to make sure he knew it was true. Eventually he came around to the idea and still kept in contact with me, although his wife wanted nothing more to do with me. That was a price I could live with paying.

I adore looking after Pamela and cooking for her, washing and ironing her (and my) smalls, feeling the wind blow up my dress and around my briefs when I'm hanging the washing out to dry. She deserves my complete obedience for it was a very brave thing for her to do, to accept me as I was, as Carla. Even though she spanks me more often than Ruth ever did, it probably does me good. We both know who's the boss, even though I'm the man in the relationship; she wears the trousers, I wear the panties I guess you could say. Maybe some women, especially business women, professionals, just have a dominant streak.

I guess that's more or less the end of my story. There's one thing though that you might find interesting.

Not so long ago, I was in town to have my eyebrows waxed and do a little shopping (Pamela needed me to get a few things for her, tampons and the like) and I was always on the lookout for new underwear for us both. I'd stopped to have a break and a cup of tea in a café and was just looking into my make-up mirror before leaving to see if I needed to re-apply my lipstick when I noticed in the mirror a smartly dressed man of about 50 staring intently at me. I didn't recognise him. He was quite good-looking for his age, having very short, spiky hair and dressed in a smart suit and tie, with quite an expensive wristwatch too if I was any judge. He was certainly staring at me – no one else.

I put it down to his just being another admirer; my summery dress was quite short after all (a strapless cream floral printed one if you must know. I wasn't wearing stockings or tights but did have a nice, silky pair of French knickers on. Perhaps he'd caught a glimpse of them.)

As I got up to leave, I turned to see if he was still staring; he was and made no attempt to hide it. This quite annoyed me.

"Do I know you?" I snapped.

"Well yes actually you do," he replied in a friendly tone.

I took a closer look at him but still didn't recognise him.

"It's Carla isn't it?"

I nodded.

"Here, come and sit down with me. I'll get you another drink if I may."

Curiosity now raised, I moved to his table as he called the waitress over and asked her to get me another drink. I asked for tea again.

"Well?" I asked. "Aren't you going to put me out of my misery and tell me who you are?"

He laughed and looked straight at me, as though this would be enough for me to recognise him and save him having to spell it out. It was no good, I couldn't place him.

"It's Bert."

I shot him a confused look.

"Bert? I don't know any Berts. Are you sure you've not mistaken me for someone else?"

"Well no, I did know you were Carla, that's right isn't it, I'm not mistaken?"

I confirmed I was Carla.

"Maybe you know me better as Bert Johnson – Gertie Johnson, Mrs Johnson's husband. Bet you remember me now eh!"

To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I wanted to run away; I never wanted reminding of my time with Gertie or his wife. He sensed my clear unease.

"Look, Carla, it's alright. Don't be scared. The past is our secret. I just noticed you in the café and wondered how you were getting on that's all. I hear you've left Ruth. Is that right?"

"Yes, that's right. I've started a new life with someone else, someone who loves me for who I am, as a man. I guess Mrs Johnson told you about me and Ruth?"

"Yes, she did my dear, and I wanted to tell you just what a lucky escape you had. If only you knew what Ruth and my wife had planned for you."

The waitress arrived with our drinks just then, giving me time to consider if I really wanted him to tell me what they'd planned. (She wore a nice, white frilly pinafore over her black dress, rather similar to one Pamela liked me to wear about the house.)

"Oh, and what plan was that then?" I asked Bert.

"Look, I'd read your history, about how you'd been caught wearing your sister-in-law's panties by Ruth. That's right isn't it?"

I blushed at the memory. "Yes, go on. What about it?"

"Well look, I know for a fact that, even if you hadn't been caught out like that, Ruth was going to make you..." he looked around to see if anyone else was near enough to overhear our conversation; there wasn't.

"Ruth was going to make you become her submissive; she was probably going to dress you up in her knickers when you were drunk some time – her family have form on that I believe. Then she would have funnelled you into becoming more and more sissy like and blackmailed you somehow into ending up at me and Mrs Johnson's place. Something similar happened to me like that. I ended up as Gertie – it made us lots of money, still does. I was never into, you know, cock and fellatio and all that, but Mrs Johnson forced me to do it, until in the end, I confess, I rather enjoy it. You would have enjoyed it too eventually I reckon."

"I doubt it, but anyhow, how do you know all this then?" I enquired.

"Well, Mrs Johnson and your Ruth were lovers and may still have the odd session. They both share this desire to have a man under their complete control. What a gift for Ruth when she caught you in her sister's panties eh!"

"Look, just forget about that. Why did I have such a lucky escape?"

"Mrs Johnson and I, well, we've been in this business quite a few years now; we were looking to retire to the Lake District soon, we've made our money. Ruth wanted to take over from Mrs Johnson and have her sissy – you – take over my role, getting your cock sucked by all those perverts willing to pay handsomely for the privilege. And, in due course, taking and giving cock up the back passage."

I shook my head in disbelief.

"But Gertie, you sound as though you didn't want to do all that, yet you still did. Why didn't you rebel, like I did?"

"Well Carla, like I said, I did get to enjoy it actually, quite a bit if you must know. In fact, some of the sissies Mrs Johnson trained were very sexy and nearly all had wives or girlfriends who wanted them to take dick from my wife's sissy – me. Your Ruth though, she was going to take her time and make you wait. Make you carry on wanking whilst watching film of that sort of stuff until you agreed. But I couldn't wait. I watched you develop under my wife's supervision and I wanted you. It's as simple as that."

The whole memory of Gertie getting her way with me made me feel uneasy; dirty.

Gertie continued. "So, when Mrs Johnson told me you'd had your breasts enlarged and was coming back to her for a photo shoot, I told her to ask Ruth to name a price. Your wife said that it must be your choice, that you had to agree to it. I knew you needed money to repay some sort of debt, so guessed if I pitched it high enough, you might succumb. I guess I pitched it right."

With that, he gave a big grin and left it to me to speak as he took a drink.

"I feel manipulated; used. Taken advantage of," was all I could manage to reply.

"I suppose you have been. Deep down though, if you're honest with yourself, you did enjoy me, didn't you? I hope so, I loved taking your virginity. What heaven it was to feel my dick in your back passage, your lovely bum staring up at me and those long, beautiful stocking-clad legs. I'm getting horny now just thinking about it. Oh, Mrs Johnson said I'd paid too much. Perhaps two thousand might have done the trick she reasoned. But I wasn't going to risk missing out on you; you looked so lovely, so pretty."

I didn't quite know what to say. I wasn't going to admit enjoying my frolic with his Gertie other self and I was annoyed that his wife thought I could be bought for so little. What kind of girl did she think I was? Anyway, what was done was done. I wanted to move our conversation away from Gertie and her taking advantage of me.

"So, Gertie, how come you're here today dressed as Bertie, as a man?"

"Oh, I get to choose how I dress Carla. Mrs Johnson doesn't force me to do anything nowadays, but of course, when she's breaking-in a new sissy, I make sure I'm Gertie, just in case our client wants them to get that little "extra" humiliation, you know, that Gertie specialise in."

"And business? You said you and Mrs Johnson were thinking of retiring. But now Ruth isn't able to takeover with me in your place, are you still going to give it all up?"

"Don't know about that my dear, you'll have to ask Mrs Johnson; maybe young Jasmine will buy us out. We're still getting plenty of business though, in fact we're fully booked-up for the next twelve months, even though we've put our prices up. Perhaps it was the latest footage of your being owned by Gertie that did that. In fact, we've a new would-be sissy starting training next month, our first American. The client is a friend of Ruth's I believe."

What a conniving bitch Ruth was. Very attractive yes, but conniving. How I felt for poor Maggy's unsuspecting husband, but what could I do about it? Nothing.

Anyway, after my meeting with Bertie, I went about my new life and tried to forget about the past. Unfortunately, my meeting with her had rather thrown me out a bit and I forgot to buy Pamela's tampons. She gave me quite a good spanking for this oversight I can tell you. She's also started to make me curtsey on seeing her in the morning and when she returns home after work.

She' is generous to me though and has recently bought me a nice frilly maid's dress and little matching hat amongst other things. I guess I do so much cooking, she doesn't want me spilling stuff on my skirts; how thoughtful.

I admit, I sometimes think back to that day I got caught wearing and sniffing Esther's panties and the humiliation that followed. All that's happened since then hasn't erased that inner belief that I retain that residue of being a man deep-down. In spite of the hairdo, the jewellery, the dresses, the lingerie, the spankings, the chastity device, and my breasts of course, I've still got a macho, male dick that wants pussy. When I'm feeling down and start to cry a little, after looking at my new self in the mirror and realising it was never my ambition or intention to end up like this, I just have to keep telling myself that it doesn't really change anything, that I'm still a man, I'm not a sissy. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've just got to run Pam's bath so that it's ready for her when she gets home; I don't want to get another spanking now do I? Or perhaps...

THE END