Husband and wife

We have a nice house set in a well-tended garden. It has been our home from the time of our marriage. Our two children had grown up there, and now they have left to start new family lives of their own. Over the years we had extended and improved the property. And now it seemed perfect. A comfortable home for the two of us, with spare rooms for when other family members would come to visit.

But my wife started to express fears about security. We upgraded the intruder alarm system and installed external lighting linked to motion detectors. We installed cameras, mainly to cover the outside areas, but also a couple discreetly placed inside the house. This seemed to bring her peace of mind, even though there had never been any sign of unwanted "visitors".

What I didn't know at that time was that my wife had secretly had a third camera installed in our bedroom. Like the other internal cameras, it was placed so that it would not be easily noticed unless you were looking for it.

And this camera was crucial. It changed my life completely.

Helen told me she wanted to show me something on her computer. I saw a picture of our bedroom. Then as the video started, I entered the room and undressed. I went over to her underwear drawers and started putting on some of her things.

And it was obvious that I was sexually aroused by doing so, eventually climaxing by spurting into a towel I had placed to hand for this purpose.

Then I got back into my own clothes and replaced her underwear items as carefully as possible back to where I had found them.

We were both rather upset at this stage. Eventually I was able to explain that this sort of behaviour had started when I was a young teenager experimenting with my mother's underwear. It had continued intermittently throughout my life when the opportunity arose. When I was at university I had "acquired" some ladies' underwear, and often wore it under my male outer clothes.

I realised that my wife must have noticed that the underwear in her drawers was not always exactly as she had left it. Perhaps this was the only reason that she had insisted on the installation of cameras.

The first thing she made me promise is that I would never wear her clothes or underwear again. Of course, I readily agreed to this.

She said that if I wanted some women's clothes, I would have to buy my own. She even suggested that she could help me choose items that would suit me.

I didn't agree to this immediately. Mainly because I didn't want to seem to be too eager to do so.

But eventually I admitted that this might be a good idea.

"Well, it IS a good idea," said Helen. "We are a married couple. We have sex together. I like having a hard cock inside me and it is obvious that if you put on women's underwear a very hard cock is the result. This could be a win-win situation for the two of us."

She placed her hand on my arm and smiled at me encouragingly.

I looked into her eyes and smiled back. I was already beginning to think about the possibilities.

But now Helen saw that I was interested she started to up the ante.

"The only thing is, darling," she said, "that it's all or nothing. If you want to stay living here together with me, you either dress full-time as a woman or full-time as a man."

I said I would need time to think about it.

And the more I thought about it, the more I realised that agreeing to dress full-time as a woman would be a really big deal. I was still working and there were many years to go before retirement was a viable option.

I would also have to explain to my children and their families. And other friends and acquaintances too.

But on the other hand, I knew that it would be very difficult to forgo the pleasure and stimulation of putting on feminine underwear. Even if I agreed to it now, would I be able to shut down this part of my existence forever?

Helen was obviously aware of my dilemma. I could see that she didn't want our marriage partnership to end.

But she was also a very determined person. She gave me a week to decide.

But of course, even after thinking about the problem for a week, I wasn't really ready to make such a huge decision. Helen offered a compromise.

The compromise was that we would book an appointment for cosmetic surgery. Specifically for having breast implants.

I would dress as a full-time woman starting immediately. I had until the date of the appointment to change my mind.

But if I did not go through with the surgery, I would never wear female clothes again.

I had six weeks to decide.

Various options for cosmetic surgery were considered and discussed with a cosmetic surgeon. It was agreed that my new breasts would not be the smallest available.

I would be given a D cup bust. Obvious boobs.

They would be heavy, the surgeon warned. Wearing a bra would not be optional but essential.

And boobs this big could not be concealed under male clothing. This would effectively be an irrevocable body change, trapping me in female clothing.

The surgeon was supportive of the idea of a delay before surgery. It would give me time to get accustomed to appearing as a woman in public instead of occasional crossdressing in private.

It would also not be possible to conceal my change of clothing style from colleagues, family and friends for such an extended period.

By the time the surgery was carried out I would be committed to wearing women's clothes full-time.

And all my immediate family, acquaintances and work colleagues would know this.

Or, of course, I would have abandoned this idea; then the surgery would not happen and I would be committed to wearing male clothing full-time.

And although the surgeon did not mention it, in this case I would be committed to never again putting on female underwear for sexual gratification.

We booked an appointment. I booked a week's annual leave - Helen had suggested I would need time to practise and become confident in wearing women's clothing before turning up at the office in a skirt.

"But just take one week off," she said. "You'll need another week or two off work after your surgery."

She also told me to inform the HR Department at work of my decision to present in female clothing.

This was a rather embarrassing conversation, but I realised that it was a necessary action. It was agreed that I would go straight to the HR Manager's office when I returned to work on the following Monday morning.

Helen did not waste any time. On the way home from the clinic we stopped to buy clothes for me. There were various items on underwear including several pairs of knickers, a lace-up suspender-belt, stockings, a dress, a couple of jumpers and a skirt.

In a shoe shop, the assistant gave me some popsocks to put on while I tried on and then purchased a few pairs of shoes with heels of varying heights.

In all the various shops Helen made it obvious that she was selecting items for me to wear. Some of the shop assistants seemed slightly embarrassed but most were rather amused, clearly admiring Helen for her assertive role in our relationship.

We also purchased some cosmetics and a large supply of depilatory cream. As we got home, I realised that one item we had not purchased was a bra.

But of course I didn't have any boobs yet.

"OK. It all starts now," said Helen. "Get undressed and come to the bathroom."

She plastered my body with depilatory cream everywhere below the neck.

Yes, everywhere.

She told me to stand with my legs apart and to closely shave my face while the depilatory cream was working. She left me doing this.

I could hear her making phone calls from the bedroom, but I couldn't hear what what being said.

After several minutes she returned and rubbed part of my arm to check that the cream was working. She made me wait a couple more minutes before allowing me to get into the shower.

Although I didn't think I had a particularly hairy body, it was surprising how much hair made its way to the shower drain.

Helen handed me some moisturising shower gel. "Use this now," she said. "It will soothe your skin. And it will smell nicer than the depilatory cream."

She helped me to towel myself dry. "Don't rub your skin too much after using that cream," she said. "Pat yourself dry as much as possible."

We returned to the bedroom.

"Now let me lace you up," she said.

My suspender belt had to be fastened first with a row of hooks and eyes. Then she started to tighten the laces. "You need to be able to breathe," she explained. "But after a few days we should be able to reduce you waist a bit more." She tied the laces in a bow at the back.

"You'll have to practise doing this for yourself," she added.

She picked up a pair of my new knickers. Pink, silky. She brushed the soft material against my cheek before handing the garment to me. "Put your knickers on now," she said.

"Your knickers," she repeated, emphasising the word 'your'.

I put my knickers on.

The knickers I had bought.

The first pair of knickers that were really my own.

Helen had insisted that I had to buy the rather old fashioned style of knickers (like my mother used to wear all those years ago). High waisted, with elasticated leg-holes.

She had commented to the shop assistant that we need to buy knickers that would allow room for growth.

And they had both giggled.

And they had both been right. It only required the touch of the cool silky material on my smooth hairless bottom and balls to make my cock rock-hard.

But of course, this style of knickers was able to keep everything comfortably contained.

Helen laughed. "You're a big boy now aren't you?"

"But," she continued, "leave your cock alone. No sticky messes! I want you to have a hard cock for me later on."

"Just tell yourself that you are wearing YOUR knickers and it's MY cock that's inside them."

"Now if you can do this without touching my cock, thread your suspenders down through the leg-holes of your knickers."

Once again the words 'my' and 'your' were slightly emphasised again. These items of underwear were MINE. I had MY OWN ladies underwear.

Helen showed me how to put my stockings on. "You put both thumbs into the top of one stocking and use your fingers to gather the nylon up until your thumbs touch the toe of the stocking. Now put your foot into the stocking between your thumbs and carefully deploy the stocking up your leg."

"You always need to try and do this without any twisting of the stocking. Just imagine that these were seamed stockings and that you needed to keep your seams straight."

She showed me how to fasten the suspender clasp to the shiny stocking-top. Then she watched me put the other stocking on without her help.

"Notice how you need to wear your knickers over your suspenders and stockings," she said. "Then you can quickly pull your knickers down quickly if you need to for any reason. And pull them back up again easily afterwards."

Then to my surprise she produced a package from the side of the bed.

Inside the package was a white bra with false boobs built into the cups. "I got this by mail order," she explained. "I wasn't sure that we'd be able to find a suitable item in your size in the normal shops round here."

She had obviously been confident that I would choose to follow her compromise suggestion.

Helen took some time to adjust the straps to ensure a proper fit. "Something else that you'll have to learn to put on for yourself," she said.

She told me to stand up and step into a pair of black shoes with 2-inch heels. "Now give me a twirl," she instructed.

It suddenly occurred to me that there was probably now a recording of all this on her computer.

A video of her with an amused smile, approvingly watching her husband parade in his bra and knickers and his suspenders, stocking and heeled shoes.

My erection strained even harder at the front of my knickers. I had never enjoyed wearing female underwear as much as this before.

And on any previous occasion I would never been able to resist wanking.

I had to tell myself - MY knickers, HER cock. She would decide when the pressure would be released.

She helped me into a red dress. It had a stretchy top which clung to the outline of my bust. The skirt flared out slightly from the elasticated waist. The hemline was a few inches above my knees.

"You look very pretty, darling," said Helen. "You have nice legs. Now let me put some lipstick on."

She let me watch in the mirror as I followed instructions about the different ways to hold my mouth as lipstick was applied. "Something else you'll need to learn and practise," she said.

"Now we need to do something about your hair."

She led the way downstairs. I stepped down slowly and carefully in my heels. She stood at the bottom of the stairs watching me. I wondered how much she could see up my skirt.

It gave me a little thrill to be wearing a skirt. To know that people (well, mostly males) might want to look up my skirt.

Might be wondering whether I was wearing stockings or tights...

And hoping to see my knickers!

Helen handed me a small handbag, black to match my shoes. "I've put your credit cards in it," she told me.

I suddenly realised we were going out. In public.

Me in a dress and heels. And large boobs.

My erection rapidly subsided. My cock shrivelled and nestled into the comforting softness of my knickers.

"It's not far to the salon. We'll walk," said Helen. "And it's a nice day. No need for a coat."

We walked arm in arm at a modest pace as I got used to walking in heels.

There were not many people about yet and I was very aware of my underwear.

My bra and my cinched waist with taut stockings and suspenders.

The way my stockings pulled at my suspenders with each step.

The faint swishing sound as my shiny stocking-tops brushed against each other.

My knickers felt comforting with my cock nestling in them.

And the silky material sliding on my bottom.

But the absence of trousers was a very strange sensation. I could only feel my skirt intermittently when it brushed my legs.

As we got nearer the salon, there were more people. "Don't make eye contact with people," advised Helen. "Just ignore them. And don't look back."

Now I felt as though every male was looking at me. I was worried about my skirt. Was it covering me properly? Or was it possible that some of my underwear was on display sometimes?

Not surprisingly, I was worried about people finding out about my little secret.

Being out in public wearing a skirt and female underwear was now more of a threatening experience than an enjoyable adventure.

Of course, Helen and I were a couple in our forties, not nubile young women. But still I felt as if men were mentally undressing me and wanting to touch my body.

Hopefully unaware that my private parts were male ones.

I was really relieved when we arrived at the salon.

It was obvious that an appointment at salon had been arranged or me. And that the salon owner knew exactly who I was.

"Yes, a hair and makeover for him," said Helen. "You can call him Sissy. He's my sissy husband now!"

Both women smiled.

Helen said she'd be back in an hour or so, leaving me to the ministrations of the salon.

"I'll do what I can with your hair," explained the stylist, "but you'll need to let it grow longer before we can put any curlers in."

But when she had finished the styling was certainly more unisex than masculine.

Then another assistant set to work on my face. My eyebrows were more or less completely removed and pencilled in. A light make-up was applied. My ears were pierced and sleepers fitted.

Meanwhile, a manicurist worked on my nails.

I realised that the number of people who knew that I was a sissy husband was increasing.

Helen returned and was obviously very pleased with my appearance.

"You look as if you are ready for some clothes shopping now," she said. "I've seen a few things I think would suit you, but you'll need to try some of them on."

So an hour or so later I found myself carrying shopping bags containing a couple of dresses, some nightwear, more knickers and several pairs of stockings.

It was now early evening and Helen led the way to our favourite restaurant.

I discovered that she had already booked a table in my name.

The staff were quite surprised at how I was dressed, but Helen explained that I had decided to change my appearance and that I would now like to be known as Sissy.

Once again, more and more people were learning about my feminisation.

But the staff were all very polite - no sniggering.

The food was as good as usual and I was able to relax and enjoy the meal. We took a taxi home.

As we left the restaurant it was noticeably cooler than earlier.

My stockings kept my legs warm but it felt as though cooler air was reaching up to my bare (and now hairless) thighs.

Back home we relaxed on the settee. Helen put one arm across my shoulder. Her other hand stroked my stocking and then started to reach up my skirt.

I parted my legs to allow her access. Her fingers caressed the bare flesh above my stocking-tops.

I remembered my teenage encounters with girls. Especially with the ones who wore stockings. The mounting excitement to find bare flesh above the stocking-tops. The anticipation of reaching further up the skirt, of thighs parting to allow access...

It was very erotic to be treated this way. To be wearing a skirt and stockings.

And to compliantly allow my partner's hand to explore like this.

Helen touched the front of my knickers. By this time my cock is rock-hard again.

"Oh," exclaimed Helen. "Seems like it's bedtime already."

Upstairs she helped me off with my frock.

"Keep everything else on, wearing your pretty underwear makes your cock hard, doesn't it?"

I lay on the bed watching her strip naked. She pulled down my knickers and straddled my cock. Her cunt was really warm and juicy.

I couldn't hold back. I climaxed almost immediately. It felt as though my balls were completely drained.

"Oh dear. You'll have to do better than that in future," complained Helen. "I'll let you off this time as it's been rather a special day for you."

"But now you'd better lick out all that stuff you've pumped into me."

Helen assisted me by placing her cunt over my mouth.

"Your lipstick is rather smudged now," she giggled as she stood up. "But you always need to remove your make-up before going to sleep anyway. Come to the bathroom."

I stood up and pulled my knickers up. Still in my heels, and following Helen's instructions, I used cleaning tissues to remove the make-up that was now smeared across my face.

We returned to the bedroom. "OK get undressed. but leave your knickers on," my wife instructed.

She watched as I removed my shoes and stockings and struggled with my bra and suspender-belt.

"You'll get better with practice. Snuggle up in bed. Sleep well darling. Busy day tomorrow...."

I woke up with a very pleasant sensation. Helen's hand was gently massaging my erection through my silky knickers.

All the events of the previous day flooded back.

I took my knickers off and she straddled me, guiding my cock into her cunt, and controlling the pace of our lovemaking. I held back as long as possible before cumming copiously inside her.

She then kindly repositioned herself to straddle my face so that I could clean out our combined love juices. Eventually she thanked me and went to the bathroom.

She returned to the bedroom glowing from the shower, "It's all yours now, darling," she smiled. I made sure I shaved my face thoroughly before stepping into the shower.

She had put out some "Obsession" shower gel for me.

A very heady perfume.

And (I realised) a pointedly appropriate name.

Back in the bedroom, she handed me an epilator and explained how to use it.

"Use it every day starting now. It will pluck out any hairs as soon as they start to grow, even though they are more or less invisible. Your legs are practically hairless already, so there will hardly be anything to remove yet, but you may feel a few little tingles here and there."

"The epilator will find wispy little hairs that you can't even see. If you use it daily, you'll remove a few hairs every day."

"But if you leave it a few days there will be a lot more hair to pluck at the same time. And pulling out a lot of hairs at once can be painful."

"Each time a hair is plucked out from the roots, the re-growth gets a little weaker. I've been using the epilator for years and now there are hardly any hairs left on my legs. I only use it about once a month now, so you can have it - I'll just borrow it occasionally."

"Don't use the epilator on your dangly bits though. It's not designed for that."

Helen watched me as I struggled to fasten my bra and my waspie.

She nodded approvingly at the way I put on my stockings.

I put on one of my new dresses but needed her help to fasten the back zip.

Getting dressed got easier as the week progressed. I also got more practised in applying light make-up.

Each day we went out shopping for food and other essentials.

Helen insisted I needed to get used to being out in public.

I needed to learn how to act in a ladylike manner.

How to sit down and keep my knees together.

How to get in and out of a car without flashing my knickers.

As I got more confident being dressed in public and less nervous about wearing a skirt, I started to enjoy the sensations of the underwear again.

But this brought another problem.

It was one thing having a throbbing erection when wearing feminine underwear in the privacy of home, but there were now occasions when I could feel my cock stiffening as I walked down the street.

Especially when we walked past a shop window displaying ladies' underwear.

Helen realised my problem and presented me with a chastity device. Presumably another online purchase. It looked very small, and obviously could only be fitted when my cock was flaccid.

Which it was after sex and a shower each morning.

It was necessary to fit a ring behind my balls (by gently pushing one ball at a time through the ring) and then pushing my soft cock into my body, allowing it to emerge again through the ring. Then the short plastic tube part fitted over my cock and was linked to the ring and fixed in place with a small padlock.

The first couple of times Helen had to help me do this, but soon I could do it myself. I wore the key on a thin gold chain round my neck.

The chain was long enough for the key not to show if I wore a blouse with an open collar.

"You don't want to have to explain what it's for," giggled Helen.

Wearing the device meant that there was hardly a noticeable bulge in my knickers.

It was quite comfortable to wear.

Unless I started to get an erection.

Anything more than a slight swelling was restrictive enough to make my cock forget the idea.

I only wore the device when I was out in public.

If I got an erection lifting the front of my skirt when I was at home with Helen, she didn't mind at all.

Not a problem. Just an opportunity. (As the management training manual advises.)

I phoned my two sons and explained that I would be wearing a skirt when I next saw them. They seemed to accept this in a neutral way. There was no rush to visit. I was almost disappointed in this response.

Helen told me not to worry. They were considerate and accepting adults. We had parented them well.

And the grandchildren were still babies. it might have been different if they were teenagers!

The day I went back to work I was very nervous. Helen dropped me off at the office. Then I was on my own.

The HR manager was female and a little younger than me. But she was very professional and put me at my ease straight away. She complimented me on my appearance.

She asked me if this was a permanent change. I explained that it was a for a trial period, after which I would either present as female permanently or male permanently.

And in the former case I would need to take some more annual leave to recover from surgery.

I didn't explain what surgery was planned and she didn't ask.

She said she was glad that I would not be switching frequently from one to the other. "Your colleagues might find this rather disconcerting," she said.

"I think that you will find them respectful of your decision to make a permanent change of appearance, and equally respectful if you decide to revert after a trial period."

She told me that she had informed my immediate manager and colleagues about my situation and there had been discussions with other senior personnel.

"It would be preferable - for the time being at least - if you would use the visitors' or disabled toilets, and not the designated male or female staff toilets. I hope you will understand that this was a concern raised by a few staff. We can review this situation at a later date."

I agreed to this, and she accompanied me to my department. My colleagues were all very friendly and did not ask questions. I had prepared a few comments in case the topic arose.

I didn't want to blurt out that my wife had insisted I wore a skirt after catching me wanking while wearing her knickers!

But in the event there was no need to explain myself. And after a day or two everything seemed to be very normal.

Although now I found myself more often involved with conversations with female colleagues than before. So I was more likely to be discussing clothes than football.

In fact I settled down into a "normal" life as a woman at work and in public.

But, of course, at home I was Helen's husband in a skirt and knickers.

But as the surgery appointment date got closer, I became more and more apprehensive.

It had been (on the whole) an enjoyable experience living as a cross-dressed husband.

But the prospect of surgery was a bit frightening. I had been warned that there would be some discomfort for a few weeks until the scars healed.

The larger the implants inserted, the more stretching and bruising there would be.

The operation would be under anaesthetic.

Should I go through with it or not?

As the planned date for surgery got nearer, I began to have doubts about going through with it.

There were always risks with surgery. Something could go wrong or not heal properly. There could be problems with the anaesthetic procedure. There could be infection of the wound.

And, of course, there was no medical reason why the surgery was necessary.

And it was not just the operation itself that worried me, but the fact that I would no longer have the choice to remove my bust (if I should want to).

There had been times when having tits of my own had been an exciting prospect. But I was no longer quite so sure.

Perhaps it was time to terminate this adventure? To revert to being a conventional male and forego the pleasure of wearing female clothing.

After all, I had had several weeks of full-time cross-dressing, something I had not imagined would ever had been possible.

And decision time was nearly upon me. There was a letter in the post asking me to confirm the date of my appointment.

I was almost at the point of cancelling the planned procedure when Helen played her trump card.

It was a Saturday morning. "I don't like to see you doing the housework in your best clothes," she said. "So I've bought you this outfit to put on."

She handed me a package. When I opened it, I found it was a maid's uniform.

I could see that it was rather short, but it was only when I put it on that I realised just how short it was.

The hem of the skirt only partly covered my knickers. Helen demonstrated that she could fondle my bottom without having to lift up my skirt.

And the outline of my now huge erection was obvious as the relevant area of my knickers was on open display. As were, of course, my suspenders and stocking-tops.

Ostensibly I was wearing a dress, but a dress specifically designed to maximise the display of my underwear.

To make it absolutely clear that the underwear was being worn by an anatomical male - and especially one who was very aroused by doing so.

To compound the sensation, Helen insisted that we went out shopping while I was wearing the maid's outfit.

OK - she let me wear a raincoat over it.

But the raincoat was not exactly like a skirt. It was more distant from my body, it almost felt as if it wasn't there, if you understand what I mean.

And of course, I knew very well what was under the raincoat. I just had to hope that nobody else would find out.

And it wasn't possible to wear the chastity device. There was no way to put that on while my cock was so hard.

At times I had to carry a shopping bag in front of me to try and hide the evidence of my throbbing maleness.

As soon as we got home we went to the bedroom and Helen straddled me. I didn't hold out long before gushing inside her.

"Thank you darling," she said a few moments later.

I didn't reply. I was too busy licking out all that I had just pumped into her.

Eventually she removed her cunt from my face so that I was able to pull my knickers up again and go to the bathroom to repair my smudged make-up.

So now I started to do some housework.

After all, that's what the maid's uniform was supposed to be about.

There were a lot of mirrors around the house and I kept seeing my reflection. The reflection of a maid showing a lot of her underwear and bare thighs.

It wasn't long before my cock was rock-hard again.

This didn't escape Helen's notice. Smiling broadly, she fondled the maid's bottom.

The maid's knickers were, after all, on display and easily accessible.

And it felt very nice to have my bottom fondled through my soft, silky knickers.

She led me across to a table and handed me a pen.

I signed the forms confirming that I would be attending the appointment at the cosmetic surgery.

I sealed the form in the envelope provided. Helen handed me my raincoat.

"Put this on to cover your underwear while you go and post it. The post-box is only down the road a little way."

My erection subsided at the thought of walking down the street unaccompanied. Although the raincoat did cover what it needed to, I still felt as if my underwear was on display.

And someone might ask me why I needed a raincoat on a sunny day.

I tried to look confident as I walked down the drive and along the footpath. It was only about 100 yards to the post-box, but it seemed to take ages. But fortunately there were no other pedestrians about.

I hesitated for a moment or two before posting the form in the post box.

But then I did it. I heard the envelope drop onto other mail in the box.

I was committed to getting tits of my own.

I felt a little tingle of excitement in the tip of my cock.

I turned back and headed for home. Now I wasn't so nervous about being out alone. I was full of anticipation and started to get excited.

By the time I got back to the house my cock was rock-hard, I was breathing fast and feeling rather flushed.

Helen gave me a big hug. Her body pressed against my erection.

She understood me perfectly.

She had known that the maid's outfit would be irresistible.

And that wearing it, even just once, would convince me that female clothing was my normal attire from now on.

That the prospect of reverting to full-time male clothing would be too much to bear.

That if I did so, I would always be yearning to wear skirts and knickers.

That's not to say that I wasn't a bit frightened by the prospect of surgery. I had been warned that there would be some pain and discomfort for a time.

But eventually this would disappear and I would be able to enjoy having breasts.

And I would still have my cock!

Following the operation there was some bruising and stitches. I needed to wear a restricting bra day and night for several weeks. This prevented much movement of my new breasts in order to allow the surgery wounds to heal.

Although it was to be some time before I could really enjoy my new breasts, there were some immediate changes. There was now a lot more weight on my chest and my posture had to adapt to accommodate it. Helen told me I was more upright when sitting and standing.

"And your pretty little bottom sticks out a bit more."

This might have been even more accentuated because she had encouraged me to wear higher heels.

And my tits are now part of my body. If I touch my boobs with my hands, my boobs can feel my hands fondling them. That's a really erotic sensation.

So the first couple of months following surgery were not the most comfortable time of my life. But now I can wear a bra that allows my tits to bounce - a very erotic sensation. And I have started wearing clothes that show my cleavage.

Nobody has asked me about the key on my necklace. Well not yet, anyway. I have thought about various possible explanations, but none of them seems very plausible.

Except for the true reason, of course.

After a difficult start I'm now so glad I went ahead with the operation.

Having my own tits is wonderful. Before the surgery I needed to wear a falsie bra just to give me the shape of a bust. To pretend I had a feminine chest shape.

Now I need to wear a bra to support my real tits.

Tits that are larger than many women have.

Tits that move.

Tits that bounce as I walk.

Tits I can hold.

Even if I still had any male clothes, most of my shirts and jackets would now be too tight because of my large tits.

It was now obvious and natural that I needed to wear clothes designed for people with tits.

Did I mention that my tits were large and noticeable?

And people do notice them. I am often aware of people glancing at my cleavage. It gives me a little thrill when they do.

It's just as well I wear the chastity device when in the office or out in public.

My waist is quite trim now. The waspie can now be laced up to the maximum extent and Helen has bought me some other figure-shaping undergarments. My favourite is a bustier that both cinches my waist and supports my boobs.

With a cinched waist I naturally eat more dainty portions at mealtimes. So I have actually lost a few pounds despite having a lot more weight on my chest.

I discovered that the cosmetic surgery can also enlarge bottoms. I'm giving this some serious thought.

Helen is really enjoying life too. Ever since she started me wearing female clothes, she has clearly been empowered and dominant (in a nice way). The sex has been wonderful and much more frequent than before.

But we are both REALLY enjoying my new boobs...

When we are in bed, and I am on my back with her straddling my hard cock... She leans forward her tits hanging down... I cup MY tits so that our nipples rub together...

My cock gets even harder, and I can feel her cunt muscles gripping me even more firmly...