Mandingo Row Ch. 03 - Disguised

3. Disguised

For the next several days, I walked funny and spoke with a raspy throat from the nightstick mouth-raping. Brittany didn't even notice. Or, if she did, she didn't care.

What was worse was that I couldn't get an erection without it bringing up the memory of the whole incident with the two abusive officers. Any time I touched myself, the feeling of that black cop's fingers plowing into my asshole shot to the forefront of my mind and ruined it for me. And, for some reason, any time I thought of the incident... Of the white female officer abusing me verbally and physically, of the black officer holding me down and finger-banging me with the full force of his thick, muscular, sweaty arms... I got hard. It was humiliating, and it kept re-humiliating me every time I relived it.

However, a couple weeks later, there was another development. Brittany had gone to her knitting club the night before and, as usual, had come back at some ungodly hour, looking a mess, and passed out on the bed.

She had left her knitting bag on the floor by the front door and it was laying there, open, the contents spilling out. I was up early, unable to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, Markus was there. I had started having unwanted dreams about him and his invasive fingers... his muscular arms... that unseen, monstrous threat in his pants...

So, being up first, I started to pick it up put the yarn back in when I noticed it wasn't all yarn. There was something shiny and bright turquoise. Looking around to make sure Brittany wasn't looking, I took it out. To my utter shock, it was a spandex halter top, and judging by its small size, it wouldn't have covered much of my wife's ample bosom. It was stained, too, with lots of crusty white spots. I dug into the bag further and found a tight white latex skirt with what looked like dirty handprints on it, a white leather collar with a silver chain attached to a ring on the front... And a pink lace thong, also stained and torn to shreds.

What in God's name would Brittany be doing with these things?! Did it come from her social work? Had she volunteered to launder the street clothes of some prostitute who was trying to go straight? But why would she have brought them with her to the knitting club? Was it for laughs, to show the other ladies? For shock value? And the leash and collar... We didn't own a dog, why would she have those?

"You fucking snoop," I heard Brittany snap at me from behind. I was shocked as much by the surprise as from hearing her swear. I had *never* heard her use that word!

"O-oh!" I stammered, spinning around and dropping the clothes as if I hadn't seen them, "you dropped your bag last night, I was just tidying up-"

"Save it," Brittany sighed and rolled her eyes as she strutted past me, picked up the bag and dumped the contents on the table. There was the stained tube top, soiled skirt, torn panties, collar and chain and even a pair of 6-inch hot pink stilettos I hadn't seen.

"I suppose you have questions," she crossed her arms and stared at me with a look that made me extremely uncomfortable. How had this revelation led to ME feeling like the one being interrogated?

"Well..." I tried to be as diplomatic as possible. I could tell she'd been on edge for a while, very short on patience, and I didn't want to upset her, "I guess... I do have some questions... About all these clubs you've been signing up for..."

She seemed even more annoyed with me, "oh, just spit it out for Christ's sake!"

I literally gasped at hearing her take the Lord's name in vain!

"Brit!"

Again she rolled her eyes, "you want to know what I've been doing every night, where I've been going?"

"Well... Yes..." I admitted, "I mean, I know you need your space... 'You' time... And I respect that... It's just that we don't really see each other much anymore and I kinda miss-"

She cut me off, "okay, fine. You want the truth, you'll get it."

She paused and thought for a second. Usually if you're about to tell the truth, you don't have to think about it... Right?

She looked at the pile of trashy clothes on the table and suddenly a huge, evil-looking smirk spread across her face.

"I'm going to give you the truth, Nicholas," she said, turning back to me with a penetrating, predatory look in her eyes that made me shift uneasily, "but I can't describe it to you. You need to see it for yourself. That's the only way you'll really be able to understand."

"Alright..." I said, "let's go, then?"

"Not yet," she held up a hand, "we can only go at night. And there's one other catch. Only women are allowed. If a man were to show up, they would be PISSED. And you'd be in DEEP shit, Nicky." She smiled at this, which seemed a rather inappropriate time to smile...

Her foul language was really throwing me for a loop. I was simply flabbergasted. And she hadn't called me "Nicky" since we were first dating, in high school. She knew I didn't like it.

"BUT..." She continued, walking towards me and sizing me up, "yeah... This could work..." She strutted around me, circling me, poking me and tugging at my clothes, squeezing my butt cheeks lewdly, "yeah, we can do this."

"D-do what?" I asked nervously. I felt like a farm animal being inspected for evening dinner.

"You've always been a slim guy, Nicky," she stated matter-of-factly, "and, let's be honest... Kind of feminine."

I started to protest, but she waved her hand at me scornfully to preempt my rebuttal.

"You're an inch or two shorter than me... You've got very light, thin blonde body hair... Clean shaven..." She was right, I couldn't really grow a full beard.

"Okay, I have it all figured out," she suddenly blurted and snapped into action. She grabbed a pen and paper and started scribbling, "I'll make a list, take a quick shower, then we've got a busy day ahead of us!"

"I don't understand," I pleaded, "what are we doing?!"

She called out from out of sight as she stripped and headed into the master bathroom, "we're going to make a woman out of you!"

She slammed the bathroom door and left me standing there, dumbfounded. Was she really going to make me dress in drag and sneak me into her ladies' club, just to show me what she's been up to? It seemed like overkill. But there was no changing Brittany's mind once she made a decision to do something.

I picked up the list and my heart started pounding faster and faster as I read it. I got butterflies in my stomach and got lightheaded at all the things she had planned for the day. Clothes shopping, shoes, mani/pedi, make up, hair extensions... Even waxing! She was really going to take this all the way. And all I could do was go along for the ride...

.

.

.

We really did spend the entire day on my "extreme makeover". I always wondered how women could spend an entire day shopping and making themselves up, but now I was getting a real education. Actually, it was the first full day we'd spent with each other in a while and, as embarrassing as it was, I really appreciated spending the time with her. And she really seemed to be enjoying dressing me up. I felt a connection and spirit of fun between us that I hadn't felt since we were dating. It was actually... really nice.

Brittany took me shopping for clothes, but I was expecting sundresses or something modest to help hide my more masculine figure. I mean, I kind of assumed it was masculine because I'm a guy, but... come to think of it... I don't have broad shoulders... and I actually do have kind of rounded "girl" hips - something the jocks in high school used to tease me about, whistling at my ass when I passed by, then pretending they didn't know I was a guy when I'd look back at them angrily.

To my shock, Brittany made me try on really slutty stuff like she had in her bag. G-strings, crotchless panties, tight skirts, bare midriffs, chokers, etc. she took a long time picking out high heels for me to wear. I was useless trying to walk in all the stilettos and pumps she picked out, but eventually she found a pair that I could manage and which she deemed suitably "slutty".

I couldn't help but wonder what kind of club she was taking me to where women dressed like this! Was it all just one big practical joke to get back at me for snooping? How far would she take it?

Next was a stop at the hairdresser. She picked out some bleached blonde extensions for me and had them weaved into my own hair. When it was done you would have thought I really had a full head of long, blonde hair. She had them give me pigtails that sat high on the sides of my head (my natural hair was long enough that the base of the pigtails was all me, the extensions just made them longer). Next was the manicure, pedicure and the make-up, which was really tacky and overdone. She said that was necessary to make my face look more feminine. Foundation, black eyeliner, long fake eyelashes, powder blue eyeshadow, eyebrow tweezing and penciling, blush, glossy pink lipstick and lip outliner, etc.

She even bought me a push-up bra to make it look like I had breasts. I was actually surprised at how well it worked. Even I was starting to believe the transformation I was starting to see in the mirror.

Next was the body wax. That was painful, but not too bad since I have very thin, sparse body hair to begin with. But I thought waxing my entire crotch and asshole was an unnecessary amount of attention to detail. But Brittany insisted. And what Brittany wanted, Brittany got.

The waxing lady seemed to get a good laugh out of my small, shriveled penis in my pink cock cage. It was totally humiliating and made my penis shrink up even more in the cage, making it look like even the size small was two sizes too large for my little guy.

As the lady waxed roughly pulled the wax off my buttcrack and left it bare, she giggled, informing me my "little winker" was "nice and smooth and ready for action".

Brittany also made me wear "spanx" so that my cock ("as little as it is", she had to add) wouldn't poke out if I got hard and raised my cock cage like a little tent in my skirt. She told me the worst thing that could happen would be for a man to get caught at this ladies-only club! That made me nervous a bit, but I wasn't really afraid of a bunch of suburban white women. I just hoped nobody would recognize me! For that reason, I went willingly along with anything that would hide my identity better.

But there was one last humiliating detail, the "coup de grace" as she put it. She produced a heavy, shiny, silvery metal object - it was shaped kind of like an oversized chess piece or a three-dimensional spade like the playing cards suit, I suppose. The top of it was rounded, about 3 inches in diameter but tapered at the top. It narrowed suddenly to a thinner neck, maybe only an inch in diameter. Then it had a 2-inch flat base with a pink jewel embedded on the bottom.

"What is that...?" I was totally confused. It was far too big and heavy to wear as any kind of jewelry or accessory.

"It's a butt plug, stupid," Brittany shook her head at me like I was some sort of idiot, "bend over."

"Wait -- WHAT?!" I protested. Disguising me as a woman to sneak me into her women-only club was one thing, but this? What purpose could this have possibly served?!

"You heard me. Bend over and spread your cheeks," my wife repeated firmly, "NOW."

"But... but-" I sputtered, not sure if I should obey or not. She seemed serious.

"Look, wimp," Brittany needlessly insulted my manhood, "do you want me to take you or NOT?!"

"Oh... okay... okay," I acquiesced, seeing in her eyes that she meant business. It was this or nothing.

I bent over the bed and waited.

"Well?" Brittany sighed, exasperated.

"What?" I mumbled nervously.

"I said: SPREAD 'EM!" Brittany smacked me on my ass so hard it made me yelp and jump. A red handprint immediately started forming.

"Okay, okay!" I reached back hastily and spread my cheeks for her, feeling so incredibly exposed and vulnerable. Being dressed like a woman was already intensely feminizing, but opening myself for this kind of intimate, dirty penetration made me feel a hundred times more emasculated.

"Oh come on," she smacked my ass viciously again, "you can spread better than that! I need to be able to see up in there, sissy-boy!"

I moaned at the humiliation of it all and did as she said -- spreading my cheeks as far as I could to try to just get this ordeal over with.

"Come on," she encouraged me, "squat into it -- I know you can, I've seen my workout DVDs sitting around after you've been doing them. Did you think I didn't know? Squat and push out that tushie, slutty Nikki!"

I groaned and did as she said, squatting into the humiliating position and sticking my ass out even further, really spreading my cheeks as far as I could. I was reminded again of my ordeal with the two sadistic cops and I groaned as I felt my little dick stiffening in its confinement.

"THERE we go!" she smiled sadistically and tried to push the tapered end into my tight, wrinkled butthole.

"AAIOW!" I jerked, "stop -- stop!"

She didn't listen -- instead she grabbed my garter belt and pulled back on it to hold me in place. I was surprised by her strength!

"Damn you're a tight bitch," Brittany snickered as she pushed harder, but to no avail, "guess you're a virgin, aren't you?"

"Wh-what?!" I gasped, "What does that..." Did she know? Did she know, somehow, of my humiliating ordeal with Markus and his ass-raping fist? "Uh.. o-of course I am... back there!"

"Fine," she sighed and I thought it was going to be over. But then I felt something cold, wet and hard enter my asshole and I drew a breath sharply.

"Whoa!" I jerked, but again she held me down.

"Relax, sissy boy," Britt assured me, "just lubing you up some. Trust me, you'll thank me later."

"Uh... o-okay..." I gulped nervously. It felt so weird to have the sensation of the cold, thick lube being pumped into my butthole. She seemed to be squirting the whole tube up in me, filling me up obscenely.

"J-Jeez, Britt," I cried, "don't you think that's enough?!"

"Like I said," Britt finished and spanked my ass one more time, "thank me later."

I shivered at the implication in the tone of her voice, then tensed up suddenly as I felt the cold, hard tip of the metal buttplug pushing up against my anus. It was much thicker than the lube nozzle, but already it was going in easier.

"Mmm, yeah, that's much better," Britt sighed satisfactorily. She seemed almost... turned on by the torment she was inflicting on me? Could she really have been such a pervert, I wondered?

Brittany twisted the large, heavy buttplug back and forth, working it into my butthole trying to get it in up to the flare. I can't explain how wrong it felt to have something going into my butt instead of out. I imagined a "do not enter" sign at my asshole being discourteously ignored.

Suddenly the flare popped past my sphincter and the rest quickly popped into my rectum and my dilated hole immediately sealed shut around the base, locking the plug inside of me firmly.

"Oh FUCK!" I cursed involuntarily at the feeling of sudden fullness.

"YESSSSS!" Britt hissed lasciviously, "that's a GOOD little butt slut!" She spanked my ass hard several times.

"OW, OW, STOP, BRITT!" I cried and squirmed and tried to escape her blows.

"Oh, don't be such a girl," Britt snickered as she landed one last, violent blow on my exposed rear with deft precision, "now get your heels and panties on and do a little catwalk for me. I want to see how it all came together."

I groaned, feeling the size and weight of the giant metal plug pushing against my rectal walls as bent over and pulled on my lace pink panties. I waddled awkwardly over to the couch and grunted as I sat down on it to put on my heels. This made Brittany chuckle evilly. Once I'd laced up the heels, I was fully "dressed" (not that I felt properly dressed, being so exposed as I was). I stood up and almost fell over. I was NOT used to heels, it felt like walking on your tippy toes and not being able to stop doing so made me a bit panicky.

"Well? Come on, do a little slut strut for me, sweet Nikki!" Brittany purred, eying me up like a man eyes up a street hooker, "sashay that pretty little butt of yours over to the mirror and check yourself out!"

I did my best and walked forward to the mirror. Brittany whistled as I walked past and slapped me on the ass, reminding me of those awful teenage boys who used to tease me in that way.

I looked at myself in the mirror. Jesus Christ, but I really looked like a girl. And I was actually pretty sexy, if in a slutty kind of way. My wig and makeup and shaven, smooth body... the bare midriff, tight skirt, fishnets and stilettos... all created a package that definitely said "slut".

Then I felt my little dick twitch. Dammit! What was wrong with me! Was I so turned on by seeing a slutty girl that I'd get hard looking at her -- even if she's me? Or... or was it something more perverse, more depraved... did I... did I actually enjoy being forced to dress like a girl?! No... no, no way, I was NOT gay, not some deviant "she-male" or what have you! It must have just been the tightness of the spanx and the skirt against my caged penis, that was all (I told myself emphatically).

I turned around (again losing my balance but recovering it) to check out the rear view and the stilettos made me wiggle my hips in a very feminine way. I had to say, I had a pretty nice butt.

"Bring it on back, now, sweetness!" Britt purred.

I walked back toward the couch to complete my catwalk for my leering wife, my heels clacking on the hardwood floor.

My heels made it extremely difficult to walk in any normal way and I found I had to basically walk on my tippy-toes, in a much more feminine way. That combined with the heavy metal buttplug in my ass put the final touched on my humiliation and made me feel especially girly.

From the perversely satisfied look on my hot wife's pretty face, that was exactly the effect she had been aiming for...

Brittany clapped, "perfect! The heels and buttplug really make you wiggle your hips back and forth just like a slut!"

"Gosh, Britt, is this all really necessary?" I whined, "I mean, a joke is a joke, but you've really taken it too far!"

Brittany sighed and shook her head. She stood up, checked her watch and suddenly got a look of panic on her face.

"Shit! Fuck!" She grabbed her purse and my pink, bedazzled handbag and rushed us to the door. I barely managed to stay upright in my heels as she hurried me along, "we've got to get going NOW! They don't like it when the girls are late!"

Suddenly, as I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror again on the way out the door, I froze. Staring at myself, I had a moment of clarity. I couldn't go through with this. Being made to dress up for my sadistic wife was one thing -- but to go out in public like this, with all these other women -- many of whom I knew from our own town?! No way... it would be humiliating... I would get caught, found out, recognized! My life would be over...!

"Come on, princess!" Britt called as she stood in the doorway, "you're plenty pretty enough, now get that tight ass over here!"

Britt's demanding tone snapped me out of it and I obediently sashayed over to my wife, who (in sharp contrast) was dressed in her usual modest fashion.