Sissy Wife, Sissy Life

Hair was perfect, nails done, perfume applied delicately. The timer beeped in the kitchen and I checked on the oven with a smile - everything should be ready exactly when desired. I had that indescribable sense of accomplishment that comes when your husband would be home shortly and everything was coming together.

With about 15 minutes to go before he walked in the door I busied myself with final touches. The kitchen smelled amazing with rich aromas of spices - the roast was coming up on its fourth hour and I was secretly very pleased that it looked like I had timed it perfectly. I peeked in on it one more time: it smelled heavenly. I had chosen a lamb shoulder for tonight and was trying out a new glaze. A heavily used spice rack sat next to the stove - my hubby was always one for something with a little kick - and I had already set a bottle of wine to chill. I still didn't know much about wine but my husband kept a well appointed wine rack and if he stocked it then it was usually good. I had picked a bottle that looked promising.

I went to the table to double check the place settings, nudging a slightly out-of-place napkin back into line and lighting the candles. The snowy white linen table cloth looked like a picture with the delicate silverware arranged precisely around the edges. I was using the good plates tonight from hubby's china cabinet - every once in a while it was good to mix in a little glamor from time to time.

The cake I had made earlier sat temptingly on the sideboard. In my current condition I usually avoided sweets. I wasn't overly vain and hubby constantly said I "always looked amazing" so I wasn't necessarily compelled to diet. Nevertheless I had an image in my head of how I wanted to fill out my dresses and was committed to it.

But fresh strawberries in a moist shortcake were telling me I may need to allow an an exception tonight. It was our anniversary and I was determined to celebrate properly!

As the minutes ticked down I returned to the kitchen to remove my apron and set it back on its peg. One last look around at the bubbling pots and then to the hallway mirror to make sure I hadn't gotten mussed while I was fixing dinner for my lover.

My hair was permed into a short bob in what I thought gave me a very cool, retro look. Brown curls hung down with a little bounce and were (I thought) very nicely accented by the red bow atop my head. Originally I had been styling my hair myself (with a lot of help from YouTube) but I had finally gotten confident enough in my "femme" look that I had ventured out to a salon. It had been absolutely terrifying at first: I had always had a skinny, girlish look to me but most days I still didn't consider myself "passable". Hubby said different (he's always been so supportive!) but it took a good long while to work up the courage.

Once out and about though I had luxuriated in getting to do a properly feminine activity. The long eyelashes that I had perfectly curled at the salon topped off my sparkling blue eyes as well. I made a few touch-ups to my skillfully applied make-up. I was particularly proud of my artistry since I hadn't so much as held a lipstick when I first met my husband. It was he who had introduced me to all the wonders of domestic bliss and femininity.

I beamed at a wonderfully feminine face - partially transformed by hormones but also artfully contoured into girlish glee by my hand.

I smoothed the front of my dress, reveling in the way the white polka dots fell on the snow white folds. My 50's housewife look was never done halfway - I had my typical fluffy petticoats creating just the right amount of "poof" and ruler straight seems on my tan stockings. The garter belt holding them up was authentic vintage - hubby had found it for me in a trendy secondhand shop and it had a wide band girdle at the top that contributed nicely to my wonderful hourglass figure. Matching silk panties underneath helped keep me comfortably tucked in with no unsightly bulges. I caressed my shrinking waistline sensually as I admired my budding feminine curves.

A padded bra would have to suffice until I made more progress in THAT particular area however, I thought with a grimace. Once I had been convinced to transition full time I had taken to treatments happily but some things were progressing slower than others.

I had chosen pearls around my neck to enhance what little cleavage I had and to match the exquisite white heels my hubby brought me from his last business trip. That week had been agony as I sat home alone with no man to take care of but I found solace in thinking of myself as a brave martyr for those endless five days.

I preened a little more in the hallway, admiring the adorable woman I had become. While I waited patiently for the lord of the castle I thought a little about how I had gotten this far.

-----

Ethan and I had met five years ago in a little bar near the apartment I rented. Before I was a domestic goddess I was a lanky teenager living in a dingy part of town. After dropping out of college I had taken a grimy job earning just enough to ply the local gay bars for some occasional company.

I cringed when I thought about my usual wardrobe back then - torn jeans and old tees...sometimes washed, most times not. My hair was always long but in greasy streaks, not the pert dos that I maintained today. The same dirty Converse sneakers adorned my feet every evening and, when I met Ethan, I was well into my trademark cruising "move" of sitting awkwardly at the corner of the bar and trying to look older than I was.

The bar was busy that Saturday, singles and couples mixing around in the lounges and dance floor. Despite the vast number of attractive guys though I had few hopes of bringing someone home. I went to clubs now mostly out of habit - the few times where I had worked up the courage to talk to someone ended badly, with me shyly sputtering and fidgeting.

The even fewer times I had actually gotten lucky had led to disappointing experiences all around.

Ethan was sitting by himself in a corner booth but it wasn't the space around him that made him stand out. In a room full of young grungy kids trying to quickly get as drunk and as handsy as possible here was a distinguished older gentlemen quietly sipping a glass of scotch. Close cut, salt-and-pepper hair topped off a handsome face and a tasteful sport coat gave him an almost regal look.

There were plenty of signs he was wealthy as well as handsome. The fact that the bartender had been content to leave an expensive bottle of liquor on the table with him probably said more than anything else but that wasn't what drew me to him. To me he seemed strong, peaceful...in control. There was an air of refinement that you didn't usually find in crummy little twink bars like this.

I spotted him long before he saw me. He sat and coolly scanned the room for what seemed like ages. I must have been staring when his eyes finally met mine because he gave me a little nod and a small lopsided smile.

Embarrassed to be caught I quickly looked down into my glass and stared intently at my beer. I cursed myself for being silly and stupid - I never had any luck at these places anyway and I certainly wasn't go to connect with someone like that. My heart sank a little as I resigned myself to another night alone in my dim studio apartment.

When I looked though I was surprised to see my mystery man still looking back at me. He hadn't moved, just calmly sipping his drink and looking across the bar at me. Even though I was sitting with my back to the wall I still spun around left and right to make sure he wasn't watching someone else. Each time I looked back though he was still there, his eyes borrowing into mine. I lamely raised a finger to my face and looked a question at him - his smile got a little broader and with a jerk of his head he motioned me over to join him.

Only two weeks after I met Ethan I had quit my minimum wage job and packed up the meager belongings that had filled my tiny apartment.

————-

I heard the steps on the walk outside before the door opened. I smoothed my dress once more - no matter how many times I greeted my husband I always felt those same butterflies in my stomach. It made me giddy each time he walked into the house and I settled imaginary wrinkles in my skirt with nervous energy.

His smile was gorgeous when he walked in. "Hello, Darling." I melted a little as he took in my carefully constructed look.

"Welcome home, Dear." I responded meekly. A little tingle appeared under my petticoats as I took in his handsome frame and the well cut suit. Ethan always looked so dapper!

He had started putting little retro touches into his outfits too, to match the going theme we had in our house. While I found wonderful vintage dresses he occasionally would complement me with a skinny tie or a throw-back hat. It always made me feel like something out of black-and-white TV, completing a very sensual fantasy. Today he indulged in none of those gimmicks but I didn't care - he still looked amazing in his flawless power suit.

Strong arms set down a briefcase and wrapped themselves around my waist. I let out a girlish giggle as he lifted me a bit and put his lips to mine. He kissed me passionately and deeply, pressing my body tightly into his. I explored his mouth thoroughly with all the energy of having spent the entire day thinking of this moment.

He set me back down so his hands could wander around my dress, never breaking our embrace. He kissed me fully while caressing my back, my chest, my face. I did the same, slipping my tiny fingers under his suit coat to touch his firm abs and pecs. Although Ethan was many years my senior he was remarkably in great shape and I almost exploded each time I got to touch his magnificent chest.

I broke the kiss finally with half a step back. Not because I wanted to, of course, but because a good wife knows to take care of her duties. Business before pleasure, and all that.

A sultry finger made a quick check at the edge of my lips for any smeared lipstick - there wasn't any but this always brought a smile from Ethan, he loved when I did little teasing things like that - and I reached to take his coat. After placing it on a hanger in the closet I walked back in front of my husband and took his hand.

With 20 minutes still to dinner I led him to the living room where I lowered him gently into a recliner. He sat admiringly while I sashayed over to the bar and poured him a generous tumbler of whisky. I took my time returning it to him, doing a slow sassy walk - one foot over the other - back across the room while the ice clinked around inside the glass.

His eyes strayed from mine as he took in the 4" heels, the silky stockings, and the hint of frill underneath my housedress. My red lipstick accented the red on my nails and both stood out against the rest of the white outfit. I gave him a little wink when his gaze finally returned to my face.

-----

At first our relationship was nothing out of the ordinary. We didn't live far apart so I would come by his place for the usual dinner, netflix, and fling. Occasionally we would go out but we quickly discovered that both of us preferred to be home bodies together.

I spent the night a few times that first week but after then I already found myself staying at his place more than mine. His home was enormous - and gorgeous! Ethan was a person of taste and wealth. The furniture was all plush, the amenities all high-end. We would camp out in front of the enormous TV, snuggling on the couch or sharing a snuggle in the sunroom. He even had a bathtub big enough for us both to squeeze into (although it was sometimes a bit tight) which made for all kinds of fun when it came to getting clean.

I quickly found it hard to go back to my scummy little studio after luxuriating in his exquisite home. I started spending more of my days there as well as my nights. He had his usual work schedule and so was out of the house 9-5 most days but he never minded me hanging around when he wasn't home.

While he was out I did try to show my appreciation in small ways. I was far from a neat freak (one of the reasons we never spent the evenings at MY home) but I wanted to do something to thank Ethan for his hospitality. It started out small - dishes, making the bed, tidying up - but I found myself surprised by the self-satisfaction I got from improving the home. Little by little I branched out each day to do a little more cleaning or straightening. I even got bold enough to decorate a place or two in what I started to feel was (at least a little bit) my home too.

Leaving to go to my job however was always a chore. I wasn't doing anything worth writing about and I was making pitifully little money. While I had every intent of keeping up my independence at the beginning of our relationship, as it went on I increasingly lost my motivation to stay at my job.

It must have all been very transparent to Ethan: one night we were nibbling on Chinese in front of a trashy movie and I must have moaned about work one time too many.

"Maybe don't go." Is how he broached the topic. I stopped mid-bite with a noodle hanging out of my lips to peer over at him.

"'Maybe don't go' what?" I asked through a mouth full of Chinese.

Ethan laid out his proposition to me carefully and respectfully. There was no pressure to move faster than I wanted and he was very generous in his offer. I was practically here full time anyway so why not quit my hateful job and give up my dingy hole of an apartment to stay with him?

-----

Whiskey glass now in his hand, I dropped to my knees in front of Ethan. Not yet to satisfy that ultimate wifely duty but first to make my hubby comfortable. He sunk into the armchair, relaxing as I began to tend to his needs.

His laces came free in my dainty hands and I pulled off his shoes as he sipped his cocktail. While some wives might recoil at the thought of being up close with their man's feet at the end of a long day, not me. I was always excited to demonstrate my affection.

My hands worked their way around his silk socks, tenderly massaging his tired feet. I listened to his appreciative groans with a broad smile, knowing that I was pleasing him. He sat back with closed eyes, allowing his attentive wife to indulge in some nurturing. My fingers worked their way into all his pressure points and then wandered their way fleetingly up his calves. I delighted in feeling his tense muscles melt away under my touch and of the loving intimacy we enjoyed.

Ethan opened his eyes to give me an endearing look and I returned it with a grin that quickly became mischievous. My hands left his feet and found their way inching up his pant legs. A raised eyebrow told him exactly what was on my mind - not that there could have been much doubt before.

I found his belt buckle and blew him a flirtatious kiss.

-----

Ethan made more than enough to provide for both of us and, although the relationship was still young, we had found a wonderful rhythm. There was no obligation in our relationship even after I moved in: while he worked and I stayed home we still felt a partnership. I would wake with him in the morning and greet him at the end of each day. We passed the time we had together in absolute bliss.

I was determined to contribute to the relationship however possible. It was clear Ethan would be the breadwinner so I plunged into whatever domestic roles I could find. In addition to the light cleaning I had dabbled in before I took it upon myself to support Ethan in every way possible. I took to maintaining every aspect of our home.

That I really enjoyed cooking was a shocking revelation. In my untrained, poorly equipped past life I had never attempted anything more challenging than boiling water. But with Ethan's wonderfully appointed kitchen and virtually unlimited budget I quickly discovered new joys. With patience and YouTube a whole new culinary world opened to me.

The apron was another new (and transformative) part of my new life. Ethan splurged on me shamelessly, including an ever increasing wardrobe. Far apart from the cheap clothing I was used to wearing he bought me exquisite garments which I was enchanted by. Seeking to preserve their beauty I wrapped myself in a long white apron I found by his stove. Nothing overtly girly but I admit I did (surprisingly) get a bit of a feminine thrill from wearing it.

It was one morning that I was making breakfast in my apron - and little else - that Ethan remarked on it. Something to the effect of me making a good housewife.

I turned sharply and quickly corrected him: I made an EXCELLENT housewife, amending his statement.

Ethan chuckled as he sipped his coffee and turned back to his paper. I smiled too...but my statement lingered in my mind a bit. I suddenly wasn't quite sure how much of me was joking.

With my fingers I played with the hem of my apron a bit. Imagined it trimmed with lace or ribbon. Thought about how much I enjoyed making a home for us both. I had never thought of myself as 'feminine', per se, but I certainly had never thought of myself as masculine. Skinny and slight, I had always known I was different from other boys. As I caressed the soft fabric my thoughts wandered and I considered a change. Something that suddenly started to feel right - distantly at first but, as I thought on it, increasingly apparent.

Ethan saw me gathering wool and must have read my mind. More than just an understanding partner, he had the uncanny ability to know me better than I knew myself.

A little embarrassed I blushed a bit but didn't turn away. I looked a shy question at him and his grin grew larger, giving me a knowing nod.

------

The buckle came loose in my deft hands and I was through wasting time. Ethan's sparkly eyes and hungry grin told me that my seduction routine had done its usual impeccable work. He reached for me and stroked my hair as I moved in on the object of my affection.

I scooted closer as I pulled down his fly. My bright nail polish shone against his plain white briefs: I hooked my hands underneath to remove them and his pants in one fell swoop. Off the whole bundle came to be discarded with his socks to the side of the chair.

Ethan always rose to the occasion - this time was no different. Eight inches of delight awaited my ruby lips and I applied myself immediately, devouring him ravenously. This was one of the most critical homemaker skills in my estimation and I had committed myself to refining it even more than my cooking and cleaning.

My fingers wandered up and down his shaft as I doused his head in my lipstick. By this time in our relationship I had perfected the most sacred of my wifely duties and I knew exactly what most pleased my husband. My increasingly long fingernails prevented me from performing a few of my favorite tasks but nothing stopped me from applying my loving care all over his body.

My hands found his testicles and then beyond them. His enormous cock penetrated deeper into my hungry mouth. I used my tongue and my lips to show my appreciation for my new life and for the endearing man who meant everything to me.

Long eyelashes batted at him from my place in his lap. I did the best 'come hither' look I could do while so occupied and Ethan responded with a gratified sigh. He grabbed my hair more tightly and gently, but forcefully pulled.

I knew the act wasn't one of complaint - far from him it. I meekly acquiesced to his direction and (mock grudgingly) slide my mouth off his penis with a mild 'pop' sound. His powerful hand moved my head further up until my lips had met his. I embraced his kiss with all the passion and energy I had just been employing elsewhere.

He caressed my feminine body as I repositioned myself on top of the chair. Never taking my face from his I made my way onto his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck. He ran his fingers through my soft, styled hair and I did the same to his. My tongue explored his mouth as we gave ourselves over to the impassioned moment.