Something Had To Change Ch. 02

"Rick?"

"Yeah hun? What's up?" he answered, in the most masculine way possible. It could only have had credibility if he was not fully dressed as a female. But his eyes never left the TV screen, a sure sign of his piggish maleness.

Diane sighed. "Rick, we need to talk. Now."

He glanced furtively at her and then resumed watching the game. "Only three minutes left in the game, okay? What do you want to talk about anyway?"

Diane's eyes widened. She had had enough and she exploded, "What do I want to talk about? WHAT do I want to talk about?" She stomped over to the TV and turned it off manually.

Rick knew better than to object. He sat up and straightened his skirt.

She turned to him and put her hands on her hips, thumbs forward, as women do, "Look at you! Just look at you! You're acting like a fucking pig! Here you are dressed up like a woman, but you're acting like a, like a---I don't know what you're acting like, but it's not a woman. You pick your nose, scratch your ass, you dress up any time you want to---and look around. Do I see a nice tidy house?" She didn't wait for him to answer when he pulled in his breath to retort. "We had an agreement. You dress up when you want, you do the housework. You haven't even shaved for God's sake! You look like a dirty little man in women's clothes and it almost makes me puke! I don't even want to go near you!" She paused in a search for words to continue.

Rick sat on the sofa like a twelve year old boy caught masturbating. He instinctively knew she was right. He had taken way too much for granted. But this outburst? Whoa!

She continued, "You mentioned before that you also wanted female domination added to your list of weird delights. Is that what you really want?" She paused for effect. "Well I'm afraid you just got it baby! But you really should be careful what you wish for. Obviously you don't understand how this setup was supposed to work and you need some reminding, don't you?" Latent ideas were springing into her mind at an alarming rate, ones she had no idea were hidden within, but she continued, almost frothing at the mouth. "Stand up. Stand up!"

"Honey, listen," He stood up, feeling as bizarre as he was dressed, "I'm sorry okay? I'm really sorry. I'll—"

She didn't let him finish. "Sorry is just not good enough. It just isn't. I want results. I want promises kept. I'm making this up on the fly, but here are the rules from now on. First, you do the fucking housework, got that? Second, when you dress up, you at least shave. Come to think of it, shave your chest and your God damn legs too. Third, when you dress up put your makeup on and put it on right. I am sick and tired of seeing a man in drag each and every night. Got that? If you dress up I want to see a reasonable facsimile of a woman. And for God's sake, when you're dressed up, act at least civilized! No picking your nose, no scratching your ass, no farting. Period. Got that?"

She was pacing and breathing heavily, her face flushed with, with anger? Or was it also something else, he wondered? Almost a fever. He had never heard her swear like this.

"Now get moving," she said, "Now!"

It was too many things for him to absorb, so he stood there not knowing what to do, like a deer in headlights.

She nudged him into action. "Take those clothes off, get in the shower or tub and shave! When you're done put your nicest bra and panties on and cover yourself up decently with a nice skirt and blouse. When you finish, we're going shopping, and then you're doing housework."

Rick was alarmed. "I'm not going shopping dressed up!"

Diane rolled her eyes. "Don't be stupid Rick! Internet. Internet shopping. Get a move on before I cancel the whole cross dressing thing, and then where would you be?"

That actually scared him, she noticed, and he walked with as much dignity as possible into the bedroom to do as she asked. Interesting the triggers and levers that she saw here, she thought. She smiled slightly and poured herself a glass of wine to calm down.

Maybe she had been too hard on him. She thought it through again and again but she always came up with the same answer: no, she hadn't. She gulped her wine. Did she actually demand that he should look like a woman? Where the hell was all this coming from, all her thoughts and commands, she wondered? Diane squeezed her legs together and groaned. "Oh my God," she whispered out loud. Pouring some more wine, she waited.

Rick sat on the edge of the bath tub nude, confused, and not a little bit anxious. As he tried to analyze his feelings, he realized his fear was not of Diane, but of his reactions to her. For the first time he was fearful of what he had wished for. His fetishes were controlling him. Her control WAS his fetish, and he had learned a long time ago that once he had experienced a fetish, he could not live without it. He always became hooked, like an addict to a first shot of heroin.

He stepped into the shower once the water was hot, soaked himself, and then lathered soap all over his left leg. Taking a deep breath, he took a long swipe with the razor. The die was cast and it was like a brick backpack had been removed from his shoulders. The second swipe was easier. The second leg was easier still. Nonetheless, the removal of his chest hair required more of a nerve gathering. Again, the second swipe was easier. The final swipe was simply the last step in a decision already made.

Stepping out of the shower, the first thing Rick noticed was the movement of air across his hairless body, extraordinary and erotic. He shaved his face and chose the nicest panties he had, a pair of pale green satin and lycra ones with lace at the front. The rest was easy, as he didn't have a lot of female clothing still. He fastened the black garter belt around his waist and pulled on the black nylon stockings that seemed to glide up his shaven legs. The squishy silicone breast prosthesis in his bra seemed to stick to his bare chest now, creating another peculiar sensation. For the finale he chose a simple clingy black skirt and a pale blue blouse with modest and simple black ruffles at the ends of the long sleeves and at the high neck.

He looked at himself in the mirror. She was right; he did look like a man in drag. Time to change that. So he collected all his makeup and went to work, for the first time being absolutely meticulous in his applications. At the end, he gazed at himself again and was dismayed at the result. Even fantasy couldn't make him a woman right now, as Diane had dealt him a blow to that with her angered and humiliating statements of scorn. He put on his best heels, and taking a deep breath, walked out to the kitchen to face her.

Diane was on her third glass of "mellow". The bottle sat empty beside her. She had calmed quite a bit since Rick had left to do himself up and she turned now at the sound of his high heels clicking on the hardwood floor. She couldn't help it as she whispered, "Holy shit!" But that was all, because she was beginning to understand her role here. Rather than the wine scattering her thoughts, they had been crystallized. He actually wanted her to be in control, and to her surprise, she in truth wanted to be in control. The epiphany was completed when she saw him. He stood there rather sheepishly, without confidence, head bowed slightly in her direction.

She studied him in the comfort of his discomfort, the smooth legs and face, the feminine look of him, which actually worked. His hair was short, but he still looked feminine, as some women do with short hair. She resolved not make him grow his hair long. She could have it all, a woman with a cock, a man with breasts, the hermaphrodite of her hidden dreams.

Her legs went weak as she stood up to come to him, but she managed to maintain her composure, and therefore, command of the situation.

"Well, don't you look sweet?"

Rick waited for more mocking. It was her way. "I, I showered and umm, I shaved, like you asked. Look, I'm sorry okay? I mean I'm sorry I didn't keep up my end of things."

"Well, you should be. I'm still pissed off you know. By the way, you look okay, certainly better than you did before. From now on, that's the way I want you at home when you dress. Got that?"

"Yeah. I guess."

"Don't just guess. If you want this, there's no guessing. Now let's see what we can find for you on the internet." She pulled the laptop over in front of her and since it was already on, she typed something Rick could not see. After a bit of tapping at the keys, she turned the screen toward him and said, "This is what I'm going to order for you to do the housework in."

Rick looked at the picture, aghast. It was a black and white French Maid's dress with a fluffy crinoline underneath which made the skirt billow out almost perpendicular to the model's body. He read the accompanying description and was stunned to find that it locked on at the neck with a small padlock.

"I can't wear that. It looks ridiculous. What if someone comes to the door?"

"Then, as a maid, you answer the door."

"No way."

"Yes way." She stared him in the eye, "Do you want to cross dress?"

"Well, yeah, but---"

"Then this is what you do the housework in. It's cute. Wearing it would umm, reap some rewards, if you get my drift."

She moved the computer back and tapped some more, "And I'm going to order you one of these. Actually I should order several."

He came around so he could see the severe looking corset she had selected and he remained silent, because he had always dreamed of being laced into a corset. The picture depicted a severely boned and tightly laced leather affair creating an hour glass figure from its victim.

"You can't look like a woman if you don't have a waist. This'll fix that. And if it doesn't I'm sure there must be padding we can buy to make you bigger where you should be bigger. The corset takes care of the narrow bits."

"Jesus Christ!" he said, "Are you sure about this? I mean, Holy shit! You're kinda scaring me here a bit."

She mocked him, "Jethuth Chritht, you're going to have to learn to flap your wrists too I see." And she finally giggled and wiggled her finger for him to come closer. "Is the panty boy upset with me? Huh?"

Suddenly she grabbed him at the shoulders and shoved herself upon him with a deep tongue-searching, and mutual lipstick-smearing kiss. Their breasts met and ground together like hungry lesbians as they sought connection. She felt him bulge in his panties and knew he was ready, so she pulled his panties down to the gartered hose and started to tease him.

"Such a pretty girl, aren't you baby? You want to make love like a lesbian, do you? Well you're going to have to do me first baby. Come to bed. It's me on you, and you on me." She led him to the bedroom and told him to lie on the bed dressed as he was, with his skirt pulled up and his panties down, while she stripped in front of him.

Slowly she mounted him, her vagina sinking to his lips, and in turn her lips engulfing his cock. "Remember, real women cum first. If you don't remember that, you can forget about any more of this cross dressing. Do you understand baby?"

She was smothering him and he responded with an "umm mmph". Translated, she was sure that meant "Yes ma'am", and that pleased her, sending chills of power through her body, supremacy that she had never felt before, and it was hot, like heated honey, an aphrodisiac like no other that she had ever imagined.

Rick responded with diligence, trying to think only of her pleasure, as she challenged him to remain unspent until she stated satisfaction.

The first wave of orgasm rose in crescendo in her body, like an intense need, and she climaxed in sharpness like soaring over the edge of a cliff, the instant you realize you're falling. The second was a continuation of the first but with an unending bliss. The third was a guttural feel, a deep withering end which forced a low groan from her lips and a tightening of her legs around Rick's head.

Then she needed him inside her. He was ready. She turned and rode him to another screaming orgasm this time while he thrust upward to her and filled her with his semen.

She rolled off after about five minutes of wordless communication. This was different, she thought. Something had changed here. And it wasn't Rick.

Though he was spent, she was not. She mounted him again, lowering her vagina to his lips once more. He resisted for a few moments but she was relentless, and he accepted her as she was, un-swept of his semen. He cleaned her as she was brought to crashing waves of orgasm, each one a crushing push on his face. It was not so much the physical feel of his tongue as it was the psychological feeling of domination and power, the fact that he had succumbed to the eating of his own semen that engulfed her psyche.

Finally she collapsed where she was on top of him and drifted into a calm deep sleep. Rick's housework could wait.

Rick lay there under her, stunned and humiliated as she slept. This was way more than he had bargained for. As fantasy goes, it is sometimes better to keep it that way, he thought. Truth, after the realization of a fantasy, becomes crystal clear after orgasm. The clarity was searing his brain now with his future laid out in front of him, a future much like his fantasy, but tinged with his loss of equality in his sexual relationship and beyond with his wife. She now decided when, where, how, and why for many things. It's what he wanted. Wasn't it?