Turnabout Pt. 14B

This new imbalance in our marital roles was locked in. There would be no going back, only forward. Primarily in the bedroom, and to a lesser extent, any other time the situation called for it, I was now the lesser half of a female-led relationship.

It's kind of funny how life always presents us with forks in the road of our destinies. Often, we give little thought as to which way we should turn. Instead, we aimlessly make right and left turns at those forks. Any one of those earlier choices may have caused our life to turn out entirely differently. But by the time we might reflect upon, even regret the choices we've made, it's too late to turn back. We must press on and make the best of what we are left with. Who knows, you just may luck out after all.

I am reminded of the song Marie requested for our first dance as husband and wife at our wedding reception: "Bless the Broken Road" by Rascal Flatts. As someone who is not much of a Country Music fan, that was the first time I actually listened to the words. So moved that she had chosen this to represent 'our song,' my tears were running down my cheeks and dripping on her dress by the second verse.

Eleven years later, all the previous forks in my road had led me here. Only time would tell if this is where I was always meant to be. Right or wrong, I had made my choice and would live with the consequences. From now on, I would acquiesce to my wife's wishes.

In less than an hour, a years-long relationship of equality had been transformed into one where the female takes charge.

A by-product of these new roles and rules, my wife was spending more of her free time away from the house and less time doing her share of chores. It now fell upon me to pick up the slack. Besides the lawn and general home and car maintenance, I began doing more of the dusting, vacuuming, laundry, and cooking. I simply shrugged it off as the consequences of being a subservient cuckold.

My wife's happiness has more than made up for any inconvenience her absences might have caused. And even though my orgasms were still under her control, Marie always makes time to tend to my emotional needs. She always provides plenty of hugs, kisses, and words of love and affection whenever she is with me.

Marie has stated that splitting her free time between her husband and her lover has been challenging but also very rewarding. She proves this by warming my heart with an abundance of gratitude, saying she's "incredibly lucky for having such a good and giving husband." (Although, she will sometimes rephrase it as being lucky to have a cuckold for a husband.)

As before, Marie regularly dreamed up what she likes calling "games" for me to play. In reality, they've been more like challenging dares I'm expected to complete. These games had become increasingly demanding in the days leading up to Halloween.

Traditionally, Halloween is a time for kids to pretend to be someone or something else by getting dressed up in costumes. Not since Marie and I were kids had we put on a costume. (As long as you don't count the kind of outfit we might wear for adult-time role-playing.) For several days leading up to that day, I worried that my wife might exercise her newfound authority over me and craft a whole new "game" to be played. Could this be the year when portraying someone we are not exits the safety of the bedroom and goes public? Might I be required to put on a costume? I could only guess what that costume might be. No doubt, the more humiliating, the better.

Aside from our daughter's observance of the holiday by trick-or-treating in costume, Halloween came and went like any other day. Naturally, I was relieved when it was over, and no related challenge ever materialized for me.

Unfortunately, that feeling wouldn't last.

When I returned from work the following Friday, Marie informed me that Megan was spending the weekend with her Aunt Diane, Marie's sister, and the cousins. As for a reason, well, that she said would have to wait. "I'll tell you all about it while you are getting me ready for Jason. I'm seeing him in less than two hours."

And so it was. As I washed, shaved, and primped my wife for another rendezvous with her lover, she informed me that we were invited to a party the next night. A costume party. [OH, NO!]

"This will be so much fun," she said enthusiastically. "I haven't been to a costume party in ages. Tomorrow, we'll go shopping for our costumes. I've got some great ideas of what to get."

As you can imagine, this was not open for discussion. Marie had made up her mind, accepted the invitation, and that was that.

I woke up the following morning the same way I had gone to bed, alone. My wife had taken full advantage of our childless weekend and spent the entire night with her stud.

When Marie did finally return, she looked exhausted and ravaged, yet radiant. I helped her undress, feasted on a massive creampie, gave her a quick but effective sponge bath, then left her to get some sleep.

As she slept, I tried not to think about what a night in costume with people I knew would be like. More importantly, what would I be going as? The harder I tried not thinking about it, the more those thoughts hounded me. It wasn't until I admitted to myself that, just like in my youth, the decision as to what I'd be going dressed as was in the hands of someone else. Ultimately, I would wear whatever costume was provided for me. All I could do was keep telling myself that I would survive this - no matter how I was dressed.

That afternoon, we shopped. Boy, did we shop! For Marie, it was simple. She found what she would wear in an actual costume store. But they didn't have what she had in mind for me. No, it couldn't be that simple. We bounced from thrift stores and consignment shops to a discount mart. It didn't take long to figure out what I would be going as. All I had to do was keep my mouth shut, question nothing, and do as I was told, even if it meant taking items into a dressing room to try on and then coming out to model for her - and anyone else who happened to be nearby.

That evening, Marie decided that she would help me get into costume first. Of course, we had both showered and shaved beforehand. She started by painting my fingernails. You can already see where this is headed. My wife's idea for my perfect costume was to turn me from a 'he' to a 'she.'

Next, Marie applied eyeliner, mascara, and shadow to my eyelids. She then tweezered and colored my eyebrows. Next, she used a complexion cream to mask my larger beard-growing pores, brushed on several colored powders to give my face "contour," and finished by applying lipstick. It was then time to get dressed.

Marie pretty much did it all for me. First, she hooked a black lacy suspender belt around my waist. That was for holding up a seasonally appropriate pair of stockings: nude with black spiderwebs decorating them. After stretching and smoothing them up the length of each leg, (which admittedly felt incredibly stimulating), the stocking tops were attached to the garter belt suspenders.

The next ordeal I was subjected to was something I could never have seen coming. Marie had me stand with my feet spread apart. Then using medical tape, she tucked one testicle at a time up into the abdominal pouch. She then applied additional tape to secure the remaining scrotum in place. Next, after sticking two extra long pieces of tape to the end of my penis, Marie secured them there by snugly wrapping more tape around the head of my dick. Taking those free-hanging strips and pulling down and back, she stretched my penis between my legs, attaching the resulting sling inside either butt cheek.

Surprisingly, it sounds more painful than it actually was. Actually, it was oddly arousing. Even after all that manipulation, stretched and strangled as it was, my dick couldn't inflate, much less become erect. Somehow, losing that ability somehow caused a kind of erotic mental stimulation.

With all my male bits neatly tucked away, I stepped into an undersized pair of spandex panties. Once in place, it appeared that my dick and balls had been removed. Grazing my hand over my groin felt like I was cupping a woman's pussy. With my dick stretched across and dividing my scrotum, my panties hinted that a female vulva - AKA a camel-toe - was within. Disturbing as this should have been, undeniable thrills shot throughout my entire body instead.

The next item was a snow-white, lightly padded push-up bra. After some manipulation, the bra pushed what little breast meat I had towards the center of my chest, giving the appearance that I had grown a pair of modestly sized breasts accentuated by a surprising amount of cleavage. I kind of liked that. Marie brushed some darker powder between my boobs to create the illusion of even greater cleavage.

A white blouse with black pinstripes finished my top half. The blouse was a v-neck that buttoned to just above the bra, leaving my forced cleavage exposed. On my bottom half, I first stepped into a black skirt, then a pair of two-inch high heel shoes. (Yes, they were among the day's purchases after being fitted by a sales clerk and modeled in front of others.) Once the skirt was hooked and zipped around my waist, Marie looked at me in awe of the finished results. I was embarrassed. Adding to my embarrassment, the hem of the skirt was so short it barely covered the top of the stockings.

For finishing touches, she attached a pair of clip-on earrings to my earlobes and hooked a pendant necklace around my neck. "It helps draw a man's eye to a woman's breasts." Checking myself in the mirror, I could see why.

After taking my eyes from what appeared to be B-cup breasts, I took in the complete picture of what I had become. Damn! If I didn't know I was behind this get-up, I'd have believed that I was looking at a relatively young and, admittedly, alluringly sexy woman.

If this was what was to be, then everything was perfect—all except for my hair.

This seems as good a time as any to mention that for quite some time now, I had been known to go somewhere around 8 to 10 weeks between haircuts. Both Marie and Megan always told me they like my wavy hair long and free-flowing. Well, just as the length was starting to get on my nerves, that sexual reunion with the old boyfriend occurred.

From that evening on, our lives began changing, and getting a haircut got pushed way down on my to-do list. Now that it was the end of October, it was going on close to four months since I last saw my barber.

To make do at work, I resorted to pulling my hair back into a man-bun which management and co-workers accepted. However, with how I was currently dressed, a man-bun wasn't going to work. Marie did a quick brush-out of my lengthening hair, then clipped it behind each ear to ensure the earrings remained visible. After a spritz of perfume, except for shoes, I was all set.

A serious question popped into my mind. "What if I need to pee?" I asked.

"Whoa! Hold that thought. Before I answer that, I want you to stand in front of the mirror." What one thing had to do with the other, I didn't know, but I did it anyway. Marie instructed, "Now closely look at yourself and then ask that question again." Damn. I still found it hard to believe it was me in the mirror. I looked that good.

Studying the reflection of the lovely lady in the mirror, I began to repeat my question. "How am I supposed to....?" That's when I got what Marie was getting at. The voice didn't match the image. "You heard it, didn't you? That is not the appropriate voice for a lady, is it?" I had to agree. "You need to speak softer and a little more breathy. Now try it again."

It took a couple of attempts until we both felt I sounded convincingly feminine. Satisfied, Marie smiled slyly as she answered my original question.

"Don't worry, my dear. I thought of that. I left a little opening in the tape. When stretched, the tip of your dick lined up perfectly with where a woman's urethra would be. Just pull your panties down to your knees and sit to pee like a lady does. Just be sure to wipe when you're done." I could only shake my head as to what I was going along with.

Of course, much of this wasn't a surprise. After all, I had been a reluctant accomplice in shopping for my costume. But if having me wear panties and bras daily hadn't already tested my boundaries, Marie just pushed me to take things a multitude of levels beyond that.

Day by day. Bit by bit, I was being challenged to break customary barriers and jump through non-traditional hoops, all for the sake of holding onto the woman I couldn't imagine being without.

When it came to Marie's costume, instead of matching the theme of my get-up by also doing a role reversal, hers was that of a scantily clad biker babe. That consisted of black, super tight short-shorts, a black, half-cup bra under a sleeveless denim jacket so short that much of her midriff remained exposed. Instead of the expected motorcycle club name on the back, her jacket read, 'OUT 4 FUN'.

After putting on darker than usual lipstick and eye shadow, she combed some sort of gel through her hair. It slicked down her lovely mane of hair back until it lay flat against her head. As a finishing touch, she applied several threatening-looking temporary tattoos. Of course, she had them on her arms and legs. But also on each side of her exposed waist and one on the inside of her otherwise barely covered right breast.

God! She looked incredibly hot, in a very dangerous way.

The neighbors hosting the party lived in one of the larger houses in our part of town. It had been built 40 odd years ago for the mistress of some big-shot finance wizards. After the guy was imprisoned for creating a Ponzi scheme, the house was impounded. That forced his mistress and their kids to move out. After that, it was owned by a family of six who, years later, after their kids moved out, decided to downsize. Most recently, this nice, financially comfortable couple bought it.

This past summer, they invited several neighborhood families to join some of their friends to attend an end-of-summer BBQ and pool party there. The couple went all out with endless burgers and other munchies. There was an open bar for the adults. For the kids, they had even rented an inflatable slide. Almost everyone took dips in the swimming pool at one point or another. Needless to say, everyone had a really good time.

When Marie got the invite for tonight's party, one thing was made very clear; this would be an adults-only affair. Absolutely, no minors.

The great thing about where they lived was that their house was close enough that we could walk there, drink as much as we wanted, and easily stagger home again when it ended. Cool, right

The temperature was seasonably cool for late October, but we still chose to travel as lightly as possible. There we were walking hand-in-hand along the street. Two women who, based on appearances, were from opposite ends of the social spectrum. The leather-jacketed, half-naked biker babe and the fashionably dressed socialite. Biker babe clopped along in heavy black boots while the high heels worn by the socialite clicked with each step.

Already my feet were beginning to hurt. And these were only two-inch heels! I wondered, [How do women endure 4, 5, and 6-inch heels?] All I knew was I wasn't sure how long my feet would last.

It was about then that I began noticing and enjoying how my clothing was moving against my skin. The air caressed my nylon-covered legs, and the breeze flowed beneath the skirt, tickling my bound-up crotch, and being hairless made this even more noticeable and pleasurable. Wearing a skirt had its benefits.

"Hey, babe. I just thought of something. If I'm supposed to act and speak like a woman, don't you think I should have a woman's name?"

At first, Jess seemed like a logical choice, until it didn't. "I don't think that's a good idea. It sounds too much like my real name. It almost announces who's behind this get-up. If I'm going to play the part of a woman properly, then I need to be that woman. Besides, there are guys with the name Jesse. Their nickname is also Jess." Marie asked if I had a better idea for a name. "Well... How about Linda? If I had been born a girl, my parents planned on naming me Linda. I'd rather go with that."

Honestly, I don't think Marie cared what name I went by. But the smile on her face made it apparent that she was delighted that I had relented and now fully committed to playing my part as a female. A part my wife had orchestrated. And, dammit, I was going to play it to perfection.

Marie beamed, "Okay, Linda. Let's join the party and have some fun."

End of Part 14B