Magic Dress - Emily Pt. 01

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Training my husband.
4.8k words
4.26
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16

Part 26 of the 82 part series

Updated 06/09/2023
Created 02/01/2019
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I was angry otherwise I would never have disobeyed my husband Rob (Robert or Rob, never Bob). Not that he beat or dominated me, just that he called the shots, and particularly liked me to look nice for him.

I was quite a big girl, by which I mean taller than average and with a wider back than many women. Thus although my boobs were a respectable B cup they did not look as large as similar ones would on a smaller women. I so much longed to be little and cute and feminine. The wonderful thing about Robert was that he made me feel that way. He was masterful but gallant, and it was a joy to know that dressing up and being careful with makeup was appreciated. We were actually the same height, but he was fit from playing rugby, and I loved his strong arms around me.

Of course we married. Now 40, he had lost some of the muscle since he stopped playing rugby, but acted as a referee and was still pretty fit.

He always dressed smartly, and even went out clothes shopping with me. As we had no children, we had the money to do this and to go out so I could show off my pretty clothes. The other wives were divided on this. Many said it must be wonderful to have a husband go shopping with you, and to appreciate your appearance. Some said he was too bossy, and a wife should always be in charge.

"I bet he's a little Hitler as a referee!" said one.

I was annoyed because we had not gone to the annual Rugby Club social for the first time ever. And I mean really annoyed. The other wives (or rugby widows as we called ourselves) included many good friends and the other rugby players were always good for a laugh. (Rob's only defect was that he was a bit too serious. He was romantic, but could have been a bit more fun and spontaneous.)

I also got to dance every time with Jason, one of the forwards. In my fantasy world he was my ideal man. He was bigger than me (in fact bigger than most people) and strong. (In rugby parlance he was described as 'built like a brick shithouse'!) Beside him I could feel little and feminine quite legitimately. He was handsome; he was charming; he was a good dancer. Sadly for the world of womankind, he was also gay, and had a man he referred to as his wife, who was smaller than me. That was Luke, who in drag was Lucille apparently, though I had never met him like that.

In the last few years, the club had set themes, such as superheroes or characters from history. This time it was the old favourite of vicars and tarts, but for a change, reversed roles. The women were to be vicars and the men tarts. I was looking forward to seeing how the big guys like Jason turned out, and had been thinking a lot about turning Rob into Roberta.

But he refused. Absolutely. Adamantly. It wasn't right, he said. Well, I suppose he was a bit prim, and maybe he insisted a bit too much on me being girly and feminine. And he was a devoted husband. So we didn't go.

I told myself it did not matter, but when I heard reports of how much fun it had been, I began to fume. That's when it happened.

Coming home from work, I took off my bra and relaxed in the joy of free-range tits. Off with my shoes and tights to wiggle my toes. Aah! I discarded my knickers and went to clean up in the bathroom. I was going to prepare my evening face, when I thought "Sod it!" and cleaned it off ready for bed.

I went in the bedroom where Robert was in his underpants, waiting for the bathroom. He was surprised to see my face as nature intended (nature having pretty low standards). He was even more surprised when I put on plain cotton knickers, slacks and a loose top. He had already put out the green dress and underwear I was to wear that evening, as was our usual routine. But I had had enough. I was well and truly fed up.

"Claire!" he said. "What do you think you're doing? I thought you were looking forward to the dress we bought."

Actually he did have a point. We had gone out and happened upon this dress in a window seeming to say "buy me!" It is hard to explain: it was not as frilly or pretty-pretty as we usually bought, more smart, but very nice. Ideal for a dinner out. The window dress turned out to be the only one they had, and was in my size. In fact with my wide back it was unusual how well it fitted. We both liked it so much that we went and bought some lingerie to go with it. I really had been looking forward to wearing it and being complimented and admired by my husband.

But he had really pissed me off.

"I've changed my mind," I said. "I just want to slob around." The phrase 'slob around' had never before been on my mind, never mind my lips. "If you wouldn't dress up for me, why should I dress up for you?" I looked at the dress, and had the silliest thought. It seemed to be agreeing with me.

Of course I could enjoy it later, but it was about time I stopped letting him push me around.

He did the worst possible thing, and tried to push me around.

"Now Claire, stop this nonsense. You're going to put that dress on and we're going out. It's a lovely dress. Put it on!"

I snapped. "If you like it so much, fucking well put it on yourself!" I don't think I had ever sworn in his presence.

He stood frozen. I looked at the dress, which seemed to say "Go on!"

"Go on!" I said loudly. "Fucking well put it on!"

And he did. Like someone hypnotized he put it on. We were about the same size so it fitted reasonably well.

He stood there with his bald head and moustache in a charming green dress. I did not laugh yet, because I could not contain my excitement. I had given my husband an order and he had obeyed. How far would this go?

"Put on the knickers." He dropped his underpants and pulled up my frilly panties.

"Take off the dress, and we will do your underwear." He took off the dress, but would this break the spell? Was it just the dress and its magic powers? (I actually thought this, stupidly enough.)

I had to adjust the bra, but it went on all right, and I stuffed it with some tights. The suspender belt and stockings followed. I could not believe it.

And he actually put on the dress again!

"There," I said, "it is a lovely dress. Tell me, do you like wearing it?"

He hung his head and said "A bit."

Now I understood why he would not go to the reverse vicars and tarts event. He was afraid.

I discovered something else that evening.

If I gave him a direct order, he obeyed. Pretty much as I had done all these years without thinking about it. Had that always been the case, or had something happened? I never knew.

"Would you like to be a woman? Shall I help?" I asked.

"No," he said angrily. "I don't want to be a woman, and I don't want your help."

"I think you do," I said, sweetly. "Say 'I want to be a woman'."

He scowled and said "I want to be a woman."

"So would you like some makeup to go with that pretty dress?"

"No," he said. "I fucking well wouldn't. Can we stop this now, Claire?"

"Stop swearing at me! Never swear at me again. I shall call you Emily. Do you like that name?" (I don't know why I chose Emily, it just came into my head.)

"No, I f...f...f... don't," he eventually gasped.

"Emily, say 'please put on makeup and make me pretty',"

He struggled for a moment, then said "Please put on makeup and make me pretty."

So I did. I told him to sit still and he had to. It took quite a while and I was singing softly to myself.

This was fun! I had missed out on the rugby club, but this definitely was something. I decided it couldn't last, so I would enjoy it while I could.

I showed him the mirror.

"There, don't you look nice? I think we could make you into a proper girlie."

"I don't look nice, I look silly, and I don't want to be a f...f...f... proper girlie," he said resentfully.

"Say 'I look pretty and I want to be a proper girlie'."

"I want to look pretty and I want to be a proper girlie," he said through gritted teeth.

"That's no good. Smile and say it nicely as if you mean it."

"I want to look pretty and I want to be a proper girlie," he said pleasantly.

Yipee!

He must be pretending. He is going to laugh in a moment and tell me how stupid I am.

Or perhaps not.

Under my command he made a simple dinner, served it and did the dishes.

I went for it. Here goes.

"Listen. You are not to argue or complain. You are to go to work as normal, and tomorrow evening you will do what I say, and we are going to turn you into a woman."

That night, once all the makeup had been cleaned off, he fucked me like there was no tomorrow.

He didn't argue or complain or say anything about what had happened, but he also did not order me to do anything, only asked if I would do things. We got up and went to work as if nothing had happened.

+ - + - + - + - + - +

CHAPTER 2

My husband was afraid of putting on women's clothes. Afraid he might turn into a woman. And now I had power over him. I would make him wear women's clothes. Perhaps I would try to turn him into a woman. Wouldn't that be something?

I am sorry to admit I went power mad. Even worse, I enjoyed humiliating him. He HAD been bossy. I would often have done things if he had asked me, but now I think about it, he always commanded, and I obeyed. I really had been like a servant, doing what he wanted no matter how inconvenient. Often coming home, I had wanted to relax, but instead had had to dress up in clothes that were not always comfortable, just to look pretty and sexy for him. I often wore high heels at home! The fact that they made me taller than him was OK when he was sitting on the sofa, and enjoying my legs.

I never really got my choice of clothes. I would often have preferred smart and elegant, but I got pretty and perhaps a bit too feminine, like someone trying too hard.

Now the boot was on the other foot. We were going to do reverse vicars and tarts for real. I was going to have the comfortable casual clothes, and he was going to be the housewife. Even better, I might make him into the girlie woman he had made me, like it or not. In fact, best of all if he did not like it.

When he came home, I ordered him to shave, then go in the shower. He put on tights, and knickers. I had to help him with the bra. Then makeup and a housecoat while he made the dinner. I took off my makeup and had my slobbing-around clothes. He did the washing up while I watched some TV.

Essentially I did some experiments to find out what he would and would not do. The answer seemed to be that he would do anything if it was a command like from a master to a servant. More indirect things like "I would like you to wash the dishes" he was able to resist. "Wash the dishes!" compelled him. Usefully, I could instruct him to do things from now on, to save having to repeat myself. I told him he must wear a nightdress from now on. I told him that he was not to have sex unless I instructed it.

I don't think I am a bad person, but there was something exhilarating in being in control so that someone has to do something even when they really don't want to. The slave owners probably felt this. But at least I did not beat him or make him do something really nasty. It was mainly embarrassment and criticising his efforts as being inadequate. Maybe I AM a bit of a bad person.

That evening I made him shave off his moustache, his pride and joy. Which gave me an idea. Underarms and legs were also made smooth. The tights looked better. I wasn't sure about the pubic hair, but trimmed it so that it did not show out of the panties. He got erect but I ignored it.

We tried on some of my prettiest frilliest clothes. Not all fitted, but I noted the ones which fitted best and he wanted least. I said these were Emily's favourite clothes, and put them in his wardrobe, moving some of his clothes out into mine. I found a wig I had forgotten I had, which now became his, or rather hers.

Slowly I began to get Emily to do the household chores. She was an unwilling pupil, which suited me fine. Of course, she did not like cleaning the toilet, which is why she had to be told to do it.

When my lust overcame me, Robert was keener on sex than ever before, though somewhat less considerate.

+ - + - + - + - + - +

I decided I wanted to get some clothes to suit me. I took my pink short slip with straps and a lacy top and made him put it on under his shirt and trousers. Then we went out shopping, but very different from how we had done it before. I bought a pair of jeans! Yes, jeans to slob about in. I had not had jeans since before we were married. And some slacks and some T-shirts.

"I want to buy a comfortable bra," I told the assistant in the lingerie section and gave her my size.

"Excuse me," she said, "would you mind if I measured you up first? I am a trained fitter and there is no charge. You might actually be a bit different from the size you normally wear. I found that about half the women I measure are wearing the wrong size bra, and are just used to the discomfort. It won't take a moment."

In the fitting room she looked at me critically. "This is a very pretty bra and the underwire gives a good shape, but I don't think you have the straps right. May I make an adjustment?"

She did and, yes it felt better. She measured me carefully and said that she thought a C cup in a different style would suit me. I tried it on and it was wonderful. Truly I had not realised how used I was to discomfort. I also looked better. I bought two. She said that was a good idea, and I should wear them on alternate days to allow the elastic to recover.

Then I had an idea.

"I also want a bra for my husband. Could you measure him please?" She did not bat an eyelid.

Into the fitting room, off with his shirt and there was the pretty slip. Obviously humiliating and demonstrating my control.

"I see," she said. "Is he being trained?"

I had to think for a moment, then answered "Yes, I suppose he is." It was interesting that all the conversation was addressed entirely to me.

"Right," she said. "The slip is a good idea, but a bra will be better. I'll measure up and then make some suggestions."

She measured around the chest, and the width of his shoulders, and also his waist and hip size 'While I'm here,' then went off and came back with some items.

"Now this is an AA cup bra, almost nothing. It is white so he can wear it under clothes at work and it will be hardly noticeable, but it will remind him that he is a trainee woman. In case of difficulty he can say he has a shoulder brace because of a sports injury."

"Here is a rather pretty bra with a B cup which I think would be the right size for the feminine times. I would not have a larger cup size: I think this is ideal for his figure. It is full cup of course so you can stuff it with socks or tissues. You might want to get something with a bit more weight and movement at a later date. They are called breast forms and couples usually like them a lot. He likes the feel and she likes the look. No rush, as they can be expensive."

"It also comes with a matching suspender belt, and this is the size for him. What do you think?"

I was sold! She also suggested some panties which were pretty but had enough room for what she called 'his superfluous parts' and some control pants which by contrast would minimize the bulge.

It was one of the best shopping trips I have ever had!

It had also given me the idea I needed. I was training my husband to be a woman. A very servile one of course. This gave me the opportunity to think and plan.

Obviously I looked at websites about femdom, and rapidly knew I was not into the fetish and slavery side, but submission was good. There was advice: some of it looked practical and useful, but I decided that I was not going to be controlled by someone else. I would just go with what I felt at the time.

Our program of feminization by control and mild humiliation proceeded. Robert and I went to another city and went to a large shoe shop. In the women's section, I found the youngest looking assistant and asked her to measure my husband's feet for high-heeled shoes. She nearly laughed, but controlled herself to do the job. I found a pair of mid-heeled shoes, and showed him some higher stiletto heels which I promised he would eventually wear, but we did not buy. As we left, the assistant was definitely sniggering with her friends. Perfect!

However the phrase 'superfluous parts' kept coming to mind, and I realised what was wrong. Robert was getting a sexual thrill out of his time as Emily, and was fucking me three times a week. That obviously had to stop.

"You are a trainee woman now, Emily, and it is wrong for you to be getting pleasure from your cock. At some time in the future we will have it cut off, of course, and find some men to fuck you, but from now on you are forbidden to have any sexual pleasure. It does not matter how hard it gets, you are not to relieve yourself or touch it in any way other than what is required for hygiene. With practice you should get rid of those annoying erections. Of course, those nasty sperms may come out at night, sometimes and you will have to deal with the mess, but this should become less often as you learn."

Who was this mean person that Claire had become?

+ - + - + - + - +

CHAPTER 3

Obviously if my husband was forbidden to have cock pleasure this had consequences for me. The answer was obvious, and would allow another possibility for humiliation.

Robert and I went to a large Adult Store on an industrial estate, where I asked the assistant for help. I had never had a vibrator before I was married. Many of the other wives had urged me to get one, but I was getting plenty of sex and Robert did not approve of such things. Now I needed something for my pleasure, and the fact that he did not approve was an extra bonus. While he was denied sexual pleasure, I intended to have as much as possible.

"I want to buy a vibrator, as my husband is now unable to satisfy me," I said quite loudly. (Humiliation.) The assistant misunderstood and suggested some herbal erection stimulants, creams and some male pleasure devices.

"Robert, show the lady what is under your shirt." He unbuttoned to show his bra.

"I see. Is he being trained?"

"Yes, so the last thing I want is stimulation for him. Do you have any anti-erection creams?"

She said it was the first time she had been asked and she didn't think there was much of a market.

She asked me about what vibrators I used and was really surprised I had never tried. (It was me that was a bit humiliated, this time.) She recommended a silicone rabbit vibrator which she said she used herself at least twice a day. Twice a day! I really would be increasing my pleasure. She also said I should come back later and we could talk about other devices and techniques.

"Perhaps I can suggest some other products for you to use as a couple," she said, pushing for sales (which I did not mind at all - that was her job).

The first thing she showed me was a harness and dildo.

"Do you think your husband would like to be fucked in the ass? Lots of couples like the woman to perform as a man, while the man is in women's underwear."

"If he would like it, then he's not having it. I might think about it later if I am sure he would hate it."

"I see," she said, and took me to the section for fetish gear and showed me a collar and lead, a cock cage and some restraints. I said no, I was training him to be a proper woman, not anything else.

She did not give up.

"Can I suggest you think about this anal training kit?" She showed me three butt plugs in different sizes.

"As you say, he may not like them, so you could take things further. The third one is actually pretty difficult. Many couples take months to manage it, but there are bigger ones available."

"Robert," I said, "Tell me: do you think you would like a butt plug."

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