Yes, Mistress

Chapter One

"Ok, I know when I'm beat. I concede. So, what's my punishment?"

My wife, basking in the glory of her victory, lowered her controller and smiled at me like a viper. "I thought you said these silly games were complicated. I just mashed the buttons and you went down like a punk!"

"Beginner's luck," I teased.

"Uh... huh."

"Best out of three?" I asked.

She set the controller down on the coffee table and turned to look at me. In the soft fluorescent light her skin was still as vibrant as the day I'd married her.

"I thought we could play a different game."

"Well, I don't really have a lot of other competitive games download..." I said but was interrupted as she gently touched my hand.

"That's not the type of game I have in mind. I was thinking more along the lines of a game of... endurance.

"Oh?" I asked nervously. "Like what?"

"A challenge. For the next two weeks you have to do anything I ask. If you obey, you win. If you refuse, you lose."

"lose what?" I asked.

"Sex," she said, smiling slyly. "For an entire year."

I laughed. "Impossible, it can't be done. You'll cave."

"I can, and I will."

I studied her. In all the years I'd known her, I'd never doubted her resolve. If she said she would deny me sex for an entire year. She meant it.

"And if I survive your abuse for two weeks, what do I get?"

She looked at me, a dark sorcery brewing in her eyes. "Something you've always secretly wanted to do but were too afraid to ask."

As I stared back at her, my heart pounded. "Like what?" I asked.

"And ruin the surprise? No, I don't think so. If you want to find out, you'll have to play along."

Something I've always secretly wanted to do, but was too afraid to ask, I thought. What was left?

It wasn't like we were tame in the bedroom. Fuck... we hadn't even confined our passion to it, having spared no room of our two story home, nor the backyard, or the garage. We'd attempted every position, navigating uncharted territory as we explored the murky depths of our sexuality. Then what, what was left?

Whatever it was, it was unknown to me, which only led me further into her sticky web.

"Why two weeks?" I asked.

"Because I say so," she teased.

"And I have to do anything you ask?"

"Yup."

"Well, if you're planning to humiliate me, don't bother. I have a thick skin."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"So then like... what?"

"You'll have to wait to find out."

"I hate waiting," I said.

"I know you do," she said, smiling again. "That's part of the fun. It's your choice. Take your lumps now, or double down. If you do though, I promise it will be worth it."

I looked around our living room. We'd done quite well for ourselves. My wife, having clawed her way up the corporate ladder at a huge pharmaceutical company, had brought in an astronomical salary. Paired with mine, while modest, allowed us to purchase a decent sized home. Plus, I worked from home which kept our expenses low.

It made sense to turn her down. Risk no sex for a year? Fuck no!

... and yet. I'd never know what I secretly desired but was too afraid to ask.

"Ok, I'm in. You have a deal," I said, extending my hand.

"Two weeks," she said.

"Two weeks."

"And you'll do anything I ask?"

"Anything," I replied.

"Deal," she said, and shook my hand.

As I stared into her eyes, I saw a dark twinkle. I dismissed it. After all, how bad could it possibly be?

Chapter Two

The next morning I woke to the sound of my alarm clock wailing like a wounded animal. Fantastic, another Monday, I thought as I blindly swung at it. After putting it out of its misery, I looked around. My wife, an early riser, had already left for the day. As I stretched, pulling at the knots in my back, I noticed a small note on my nightstand. I reached down and read it.

I'm sick of the body hair. So gross! Remove it. ALL of it. You'll find what you need in the bathroom.

The fuck, I thought as I read it again. She wants me to shave all my body hair? Why?

I oozed out of the bed and walked into the bathroom. Sure enough, waiting for me by the sink was a brand new personal groomer and a plastic bottle of hair removal cream.

Is this meant to be a joke? I thought.

I walked back into the bedroom, grabbed my phone and sent her a quick message.

Seriously? I asked.

She replied immediately. Sad. Are you giving up already? Too easy.

A year without sex, I thought as I quickly broke it down by months, days... hours.

No, I replied.

Good, she wrote back. And remember, all of it. Even those gross armpits. Obviously keep the shaggy hair. That I like.

I set my phone down and returned to the bathroom. If this was her idea of punishment, it wasn't that harsh. Besides, it wasn't as if I was a feral animal. My natural body hair was surprisingly thin. Removing it would be easy.

I unpackaged the personal groomer and quickly browsed through the instructions. They were pretty straight forward. I then read the back of the plastic bottle. Apply to the skin, wait fifteen minutes, then rinse off. Seemed simple enough.

I stripped, sat on the edge of the tub, the porcelain cold against my bare ass, and smeared the goo on my skin. I then set a timer on my phone and waited. With nothing to do, my mind wandered.

What did I secretly desire but was too afraid to ask?

Voyeurism?

Was she planning to film us having sex and post it online under a fake name? Was that my secret desire?

Not mine, but maybe hers. She'd never shied away from showing affection in public, often pulling me into a secluded stairwell or empty boardroom to fool around. It had been exhilarating, but also, I had to admit, terrifying, dreading the idea of being caught.

No... that wasn't it, I thought. Then what?

Wait, she wouldn't, would she? Certainly not a...

The timer on my phone went off, snapping me back into reality. I stood up, turned on the shower and slipped in. As the water washed away the soapy suds, I brought my hands down, gliding them over my skin, smooth like butter.

Smooth like butter...

Had the hot water not run out, I might have stood there for hours, mesmerized as I rubbed my hands over my soft skin.

I turned the shower off, leapt out, sat on the edge of the tub and picked up the personal groomer. Using its closest setting, I shaved the coarse hair, leaving my junk bare. It was odd seeing it naked, it looked... pathetic.

Maybe she was trying to humiliate me after all? Well, was I?

I looked down at my naked body, picked clean of any hair. Although my workout routine was sparse, I was still athletically lean. Gifted with natural height, my legs were long, my waist thin. If she was trying to humiliate me, she'd failed. I liked my body like this. Why bulk up and pulverize my knees under the added weight?

I checked my phone. My day job was expecting me to be online soon. I changed, grabbed a pair of PJs and a plain t-shirt, a perk of working from home, made a fresh pot of coffee, then flopped down in front of my computer. My job, dull in both description and practice, wasn't worth mentioning, but it was easy, often requiring me to send out the occasional email, or reply to a message in chat. It's only real requirement was that I was accessible, which I was during the long eight hours of the work day.

As I sat there, browsing through my phone, I heard the doorbell ring. I ignored it, having no desire to actually interact with anyone. I set my phone down, jumped into a random group chat and chimed in to appear active. Seriously, who would ring my doorbell this early in the morning? I picked up my phone.

Are you expecting a package? I asked my wife.

She didn't reply.

If she was, it was just sitting out there, waiting to be stolen.

I got up, walked to the front door and opened it. Sure enough, there was a small cardboard box on the porch. I reached down, picked it up and shook it. Something heavy rattled inside. I brought it in, and set it down on my desk. While I scrolled through my phone, my wife sent me a message.

Well, are you wearing it yet?"

Wearing it, wearing what? I asked.

Open it and find out. And I expect you to be wearing it when I get home. Rules are rules.

I picked up the package, peeled off the packing tape and tore through the cardboard. I reached inside, dipping my hand into the shipping foam. At the bottom I discovered... I discovered...

Actually, I wasn't sure what it was. I pulled it out and took a closer look. It was surprisingly heavy. There was an iron dome with several small holes that was secured to a thick ring with a lock and key hanging from it.

Oh, fuck off, I thought as I spun it around in my hand. A chastity cage? Seriously?

I reached for my phone, was about to send my wife a message all in caps, then stopped. Was she serious? Of course she was. This was all part of her cruel game. And if I refused?

I did the math again, breaking a year down by hours, minutes, seconds.

Fuck...

I jiggled the mouse, it would give me a few minutes before I went idle. I then went upstairs, sat down on the edge of our bed and examined the chastity cage. And you put it on how?

I pulled out my phone and did a quick google search. I avoided any video tutorials because, well...

I did manage to find a beginners guide and read through it, then reread it.

I grabbed a small bottle of lube from my nightstand, pulled off my pajama bottoms, sat back down on the edge of the bed and gently lubed my soft cock. Had she picked the right ring size? How would she even have known? If not, I could feign ignorance, claim I tried to put it on, but unfortunately it was too small.

I took the cage apart and brought the ring down, slipping my balls through it one at a time. I then pushed my dick, still flaccid through, and brought it to the base of my cock. The fit was tight but not uncomfortable. I then slipped the dome over my soft cock and attached it to the ring. As I did, my cock responded, sending a jolt through my body. Seriously, I wasn't getting off on this, was I?

Absolutely not, I thought. Whatever strange kink this was, I wasn't interested, it wasn't for me. I'd play along... for now.

I looked down at my cock imprisoned in the small iron cage. Small, I thought, was it small? Was she trying to humiliate me, mock me for having a small cock?

Was it?

I'd never made a comparison, nor had any complaints. Were they lying, or simply too embarrassed to tell me the truth?

No, I thought. She's fucking with me, don't let her win. I picked up the small key and secured the lock. This is all just part of her cruel game. I looked down and examined my caged cock. The ring, secured to the base, wouldn't budge, imprisoning my cock in iron. If I lost the key I was fucked, and would be forced to use a bolt cutter if I ever wanted to taste freedom again.

As I stood up, the keys tightly gripped in my hand, I caught my reflection in the mirror. Clean shaven, my body was slim, and there, where my cock should have been was a tiny metal nub.

Humiliating...

Right?

As I stood there, my phone buzzed. I reached down and picked it up. It was another message from my wife.

Well? Is it on yet? she asked.

It's on.

Good. Show me.

Show her? I thought in horror. Fuck. What choice did I have? None.

With my legs pressed tightly together, hand raised to cover my bare chest, I took a quick selfie and sent it to my wife.

A perfect fit, she wrote back with a heart emoji.

It doesn't look too... small? I asked. How did you know the correct size?

Years of hands on experience, she wrote with a winky emoji.

Promise me you'll delete that photo, I whined.

You're not in a position to make demands, pet.

How long do I have to wear this silly thing? I asked.

Till I say so. Now get back to work before anyone notices you're gone. There will be more packages arriving today. Do not open them. Is that understood?

Ok, I replied.

More packages? I thought. What else does she have planned?

I put on my pajama bottoms, went backstairs, and jiggled my mouse. My computer sprang back to life. Several messages were waiting for me. I quickly answered them, then when things quieted down, scrolled through my phone again, aware of the odd tingling sensation between my legs.

As one hour bled into another, more packages arrived, all different shapes and sizes. I left them by the door, stacked in a pile. When my wife walked through the front door, I was still at my desk, working.

"Busy day? She asked as she leaned in and whispered into my ear.

"Hilarious," I scowled, trying to ignore her.

She kissed me on the cheek, then reached down between my legs.

"Not so vicious now that you're muzzled," she teased as she rubbed my caged cock.

I tried to ignore her, my focus fixed on my computer, my cock straining against the iron cage.

"Keys please," she said as she pulled away and raised her hand.

I reached under a pile of loose paper on my desk and gave her the key.

"Naughty, pet," she said as she took it. "Both keys. I know it came with two."

Reluctantly, I reached into my pocket and gave her the second key.

"Seriously, don't lose those," I whined. "I'd hate to try and cut this stupid thing off with a bolt cutter."

"I'll tie a ribbon around them, and wear it around my wrist," she said as she pocketed them.

"Wouldn't it be easier to just leave them in a secure box in the house?"

"Where you would easily have access to them?" she snorted. "I don't think so. Don't worry, pet, you're in good hands. I take my role as your key holder very seriously."

Key holder? I thought. Why does that sound like a long commitment?

"I'm famished. Why don't you be a doll and start dinner while I change?"

She wasn't asking...

"Sure," I said and shut down my computer for the day.

As I prepared dinner my wife changed, then walked into the living room, flopped down on the couch and pulled out her phone.

"Would you be a doll and pour me a glass of wine?"

Again, she wasn't asking...

Two weeks, I thought as I poured her a glass of wine. Do I really want to put up with this for two weeks? She's going to milk every second of this, have me running around doing dumb chores. It could be worse, I thought. Much worse.

"Oh, that one's cute," she giggled as she scrolled through her phone.

"So what exactly did you buy?" I asked as I handed her the glass of wine.

"You'll find out soon enough, she said as she took it. "And no peeking. I don't want you ruining the surprise!"

Surprise? I thought nervously as I returned to the kitchen and finished preparing dinner. What suprise?

When I was done, I served it, and we sat down to eat. The conversation was light. She talked about one of the pharmaceutical trials she was working on. I followed along as best I could. Apparently she'd run into a problem but seemed confident she could solve it. When we finished, she left her plate where it was, and returned to the couch and pulled out her phone again.

So that's the game we're going to play, I thought as I cleaned up. Fine, I'll play along... for now.

When I finished cleaning up, I joined her on the couch. As I sat down, I tried to look at her phone.

"No peeking," she said, scowling as she hid it.

"Do I at least get a hint?"

"Absolutely not. You'll have to wait and see. Also, the cage stays on all day, and all night. And keep everything neat and tidy. Shave every day, please and thank you."

"You're... kidding, right?" I asked, stunned.

"Those are the rules. If you don't like them, quit. Don't worry, I won't be cruel. I'll let you out for thirty minutes in the evening to shower. I'd hate to imagine what kind of funk you'd build up if you didn't scrub your naughty bits for two weeks."

Two weeks, I thought again in horror. Two weeks spent with my cock imprisoned in this ridiculous iron cage. Did I have the strength to endure it for that long?

Two weeks...

Later that evening, she released me from my torment. I stood there waiting, expecting her to hand me the key.

"That's not how this game works, pet," she said, as if able to read my mind. "Only I get to use the key. You're forbidden from touching it."

"Oh... k," I said nervously.

"Lose the pajama bottoms."

Reluctantly, I obeyed and kicked them off.

"Adorable," she said smirking, her eyes glued to my tiny caged cock. "And look at those legs, stunning."

Was she mocking me? I looked down. As pathetic as my cock looked in the iron cage, I did have to admit my legs did look better shaven. Unfortunately useless to me, but still stunning.

She removed the key from her pocket then dropped down to her knees. The sight triggered an immediate response, sending a rush of blood to my cock. As it hardened, it fought against the iron, and failed, the pain like the howl of a wounded animal.

"Behave yourself, pet, or I'll keep you locked up," she said, scowling at me.

"Sorry," I said, the pain like a live wire. Eventually it subsided, and my wife proceeded.

"There," she said as she unlocked the dome and removed it. "Keep the ring on. Just wash around it."

"Thx," I said as I quickly darted to the bathroom. As I did, I could feel her eyes on me like a viper.

After I showered, I returned to the bedroom wearing only a towel. She ordered me to remove it so she could reattach the iron dome. Again, she dropped to her knees. I averted my eyes, swamped my brain with dull thoughts, and incredibly, I didn't go hard. When it was in place, she reached out, inserted the key, and locked it.

"There," she said as she stood up. "Don't bother changing. Sleep in the nude."

"Oh... k," I said and slipped under the covers.

Thirteen more days, I thought As I tried to get comfortable, the iron ring tightly squeezing against the base of my cock. This better be fucking worth it.

As I drifted off to sleep, I saw my wife sitting up in bed, her phone casting a ghoulish green glow, deepening the shadows of her face.

"Yes," I think I heard her say as I drifted off to sleep. "She's going to love this."

Chapter Three

It wasn't my alarm clock that woke me the following morning, it was the pain caused by my cock straining against the iron cage that imprisoned it.

... and my wife had the keys.

Groaning, I sat up. There was another note on my nightstand. I reached over, picked it up and read it.

Good morning, pet. I left a special gift for you in the top drawer of your dresser. Enjoy!

Naked, I crawled out of bed and walked to my dresser. I opened the top drawer and peered inside.

The fuck...

Where my boxers should have been were panties, stacks of neatly folded panties of various colors from snow white to bubblegum pink. Shocked, I grabbed my phone and messaged my wife.

You didn't throw out all my boxers did you? I furiously wrote.

As if anticipating my reaction, she quickly replied.

Caged, you'll need something more snug than those ratty old boxers. You're welcome btw. And keep everything shaven, please and thank you. I left you a new razer in the bathroom.

Fuck...

I walked into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped in when the water was warm. Sure enough, there was a new razer waiting for me.

... a pink razor.

Is she trying to break me? Would I? If I caved now, I'd look weak, easily swayed, pathetic. No, I thought as I picked up the pink razor. I wasn't the one being painted into a corner, it was her. She was on the hook. That's why she's trying to sabotage me, having promised me something I secretly desired but was too afraid to ask.

No chance, I thought. It would take more than some silly kink to persuade me to give up.

I built up a thick lather of soapy suds and shaved my body with the pink razor. When I was done, I turned off the shower, wrapped a towel around my waist, walked back into the bedroom and opened the top drawer of my dresser.

panties...

Plural.

As I stared down at them my heart did a quick lap. This is wrong, I thought as I reached in, dipping my hands into a sea of silk and cotton. So very, very wrong. Each pair was unique. Some were decorated with bows, others with thin layers of intricate lace. There were bikini bottoms, boy shorts... thongs.

Ok, unless she forces me, there's no way I'm wearing a fucking thong, I thought as I picked up a pair of simple briefs the color of pink cotton candy.

Well at least there's only one bow, I thought as I let my towel drop to the floor and sat down on the edge of the bed. I reached down, was about to dip my toes into them when I hesitated.

Panties...

Why do I feel like I'm about to cross an invisible line which if crossed means there's no turning back?

Ridiculous, I thought. It's just a little crossdressing. Forced, I might add. It wasn't as if I was harboring some delinquent kink, a strange sexual fixation on women's clothing. And if my wife was trying to bait me, force me to reveal some secret perversion, she'd failed. I was pure vanilla, a little bland yes, but an unwavering line of pure masculinity. As far as I was concerned panties were nothing more than a thin piece of fabric held together with a few stitches. A silky fabric, smooth like melted chocolate, colors ripe, cut into a dainty shape, totally normal.

I'm going to win this bet, I thought as I slipped on the panties. And my wife is going to be forced to do my bidding. If she isn't already, she should be terrified, I smirked as I brought the panties up, slipping them over my iron cage. Whatever reward she has planned better be pretty fucking impressive or I'll demand more, so much more. If she doesn't like it, to bad. Pay back is going to be a bitch.

In the meantime, work was expecting me to log in soon.

I put on a pair of pajama bottoms, went downstairs, made a cup of coffee, booted up my computer and logged in without a second to spare. As I took a sip, I tried to get comfortable. The cage prevented me from crossing my legs. The first few messages which popped up were all mundane, often the same variation of the same stupid question I was asked time and time again.

Go on, ask me what I'm wearing, I thought, smirking as I wrote. I fucking dare you.

As I worked, or lack of, my phone buzzed. It was a message from my wife.

Well, was I right? she asked.

About what?

Don't play games. Are you wearing them?

I let her stew for a bit, then replied.

I am.

Show me.

Fuck, I thought. Seriously? I asked.

I'm not asking, she replied.

Fine, I thought as I slipped off my pajama bottoms. If this is the game she wants to play, let's play. I brought my phone down and took a quick pic, the outline of my iron cage visible through my pink panties, and sent it to her.

Satisfied? I asked.

Yes, she replied. And stay like that for the remainder of the day. No bottoms.

??!! I replied.

Again, I'm not asking.

Fuck, I thought again. It wasn't as if she would know, or would she? Although, I wouldn't put it past her to set up several hidden cameras. It would give her the proof she needed to forfeit our game. No, I thought as I left my pajama bottoms on the floor. I'll play by the rules... for now.

And while you're at it, she wrote. Tidy up, empty the dishwasher and do some damn laundry!

I replied with a single heart emoji then went back to work. Chores. As cruel as the panties were, the chores were far worse. I performed them throughout the day, ducking away from my computer. Thankfully, all the curtains were drawn, nor was it a busy street.

Yet the packages continued to arrive...

Recovering them proved to be a challenge. After the delivery truck drove away, I opened the door just wide enough so I could slip my hand out to grab them, then quickly shut the door. As they continued to arrive throughout the day, I piled them by the door.

Although I wouldn't admit it, while caged, the panties were superior to my boxers. They were snug, keeping everything in place.

When my wife returned home I was still at my desk, having gotten comfortable with my legs uncrossed. As she snuck up from behind, and wrapped her arms around me, I pretended to ignore her, focused on work.

"Pink. I knew you'd choose pink," she said, peeking over my shoulder." They look adorable on you."

"Uh huh, thx," I muttered, still ignoring her. "Seriously though, where are my boxers? You didn't actually toss them, did you?"

"I've been on my feet all day. I'm famished. What's for dinner?" she asked.

Dinner? I thought. Since when was that my probl... oh right. Clever, I thought. Very clever.

"What would you like?" I asked.

"Surprise me," she said, gave me a kiss on the cheek, then stepped away.

I pushed my chair back, and reached down for my pajama bottoms.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked.

"Well, I just thought. Now that you're home..."

"Absolutely not. Cook without them please. I love the idea of seeing your adorable little bare ass puttering around in the kitchen. It's part of our deal. And besides. No one will see you."

Fuck, I thought. Fine, I'll play along.

"Ok," I grumbled.

When she was upstairs, I logged off, shut down for the day and went into the kitchen. From what I could scavenge, I put together a simple meal with a healthy side. When my wife returned, I had already poured her a glass of wine.

"How thoughtful," she said and gave me a quick swat on my ass.

I yelped, the shock sending a jolt through my body, and almost dropped the wooden spoon I was holding.

"I wouldn't recommend doing that while I'm close to a boiling pot of water," I teased.

She took a sip of her wine, then smiled at me like a viper. "Still enjoying your new toy?" she asked.

"It took some getting used to, but I've managed."

"No... accidents?" she asked.

Accidents? I thought. What did she mean by accidents? Ohh...

"I've managed. It just requires a few extra steps," which was true. Peeing while caged offered its own unique challenges. Unable to manually aim, it meant that I was forced to sit down on the toilet, and let the pee drain through the small holes of the iron dome. I then used toilet paper to dab. It was rather disgusting, humiliating and yet oddly... sexual. Unable to remove the cage, my wife in sole possession of the keys, I had no other choice.

"Good," she said as she walked into the living room. "I'd hate to come home to a mess. If I do, you're cleaning it up."

Seriously? I thought. That seems rather cruel to say. Even if this was a game, were there not boundaries? A safe word? Something?

I suppose one wasn't necessary. I could bow out at any time, surrender and face the grim reality of no sex for a year.

Not a chance...

While she sat on the couch, scrolling through her phone, I finished preparing dinner. When it was done, I served it. Only then did she join me at the table.

"Busy day?" I asked.

"Brutal," she said as she poked at her food. "One of the senior managers is overseeing our department all week. He's a real bulldog. I think he's a former pro football player. Big guy, buff. Built like a bulldozer. You'd like him."

"I would?" I asked, confused.

"I can't believe they went with the other team, fucking pathetic," she growled, dropped her fork and picked up her wine glass. "And after all the work we put into our project."

Her project...

She'd mentioned it several times. I still only had a vague understanding of what it was. She was in charge of some kind of drug trial. It might have been for a weight loss drug, or heart medication, I had no idea. She used a lot of corporate jargon that I didn't understand. It's not that I wasn't interested, it just felt like when she spoke about it, she was looking for a friendly ear to blow off some steam without being bogged down by stupid questions.

"I'm sorry," I said, trying to comfort her. "I know you put a lot of work into it."

"Oh it's not over yet," she grumbled. "Not by a long shot."

The way she said that made me feel uneasy, like she was planning something.

"Also, for future reference, can you use less salt, please?" she asked as she shoved her plate away.

"Of... of course," I said. "Can I make you something else?"

"No," she said as she looked away. "I'm not really that hungry anyway. I'm sorry if I'm a bit cranky. I shouldn't bring work home with me."

"It's ok," I said and pushed my plate away as well. "Tomorrow I'll have something better prepared. In the meantime, how does a big bowl of ice cream sound?"

She smiled which made me smile.

While I cleaned up, I ordered a tub of rocky road, her favorite, from a local ice cream parlor. Thankfully when it arrived the delivery driver left it at the front door. Free from daylight I was a bit more brave, and quickly opened the door and grabbed it. If anyone was looking, all they would have seen was my t-shirt tugged down just low enough to hide my pink panties. I then prepared two bowls of ice cream. As I served it to her, I tried to peek at her phone.

"You're insufferable," she teased as she hid her phone. "I've already told you. You'll have to wait. It's only two weeks. You've survived two days so far. I'm going to make every second count."

"No hints?" I asked.

"No hints."

I sat down on the couch and joined her while she scrolled through her phone. When we finished off the ice cream we half-heartedly watched TV, unwinding from the long day. We then went upstairs to prepare for bed and she allowed me to shower. I'd tried to hide it, but the low throbbing ache of the cage was starting to take its toll on me. I was ready to be free of it, even for a few minutes.

"You can take the panties off now," my wife said as she changed for bed.

I slipped them off and obediently waited. As she kneeled down before me, I kept my eyes averted, my mind empty. Thankfully there was no reaction.

"Well behaved, pet," she said as she unlocked the small dome. "You're a quick learner."

"Thank you," I said as I quickly darted away, fighting to avoid an erection. Under the soothing hot water of the shower I strengthened my resolve. I'd survived two days, two of fourteen and struggled. If I hoped to make it till the end I still had a long way to go and no idea what challenges I faced.

"Towel," she said when I returned to the room.

Obediently, I let it drop to the floor and waited for her to lock me up again. After she did, I slipped under the covers. As I lay there, emptying my mind, I was surprised to discover that the low ache of the iron cage wasn't uncomfortable, in fact it was almost... soothing.

As I passed deeper into my subconscious, the line between reality and dream blurring, I thought I heard my wife speak. "This is going to be easier than I thought," she whispered, eyes clouded in deep shadow.

Chapter Four

Like an alarm clock, the low throbbing ache of my iron cage woke me the following morning.

"Better than a wake up call," I groaned as I stretched.

When I looked over at my night stand, there was another note. I reached down, picked it up, and read it.

I've left you another surprise. Check the second drawer of your dresser.

I crawled out of bed, pulling the sheet behind me as I walked to my dresser. Fingers tingling, heart throbbing, I opened the drawer and peered inside.

... and then slammed it shut, dropped the towel, and wrenched my phone from its charger.

Absolutely not, I furiously typed.

Fine, she replied. So we're done then?

Fuck, I thought as a calmer voice prevailed.

No.

Good, she replied. Pick out a color and show me.

Fine, I thought. I'll fucking play along.

Before I did, I performed my morning ritual and shaved using my pink razor in the shower. When I returned to the bedroom I picked out a pair of light blue panties from the top drawer of my dresser. The cut was skimpy with intricate lace and several bows. I then opened the second drawer.

I struggled to remember what they were called, having on a rare occasion bought one for my wife as a gift.

Chemise... that was what they were called. Or I suppose Chemises. Plural. How much had she spent? The credit card bill was likely astronomical, and all to win a stupid bet. She's raising the stakes, I thought as I dipped my hands into a sea of silk. From it, I pulled out a chemise that matched the colors of my panties. I then sat down, slipped on the panties and pulled on the chemise. It was tight against my frame, the straps spaghetti thin.

A picture, I thought as I picked up my phone. My wife demands I take a picture. I raised my phone and took a quick picture then checked it. My hips sprang from my thin waist. My wet hair was playful, hanging loosely above my eyes. Shaved, my skin bare, the lingerie seemed to accent the natural curves of my body, drawing imaginary lines, hinting at a bust. While still masculine, it was fading, dissipating...

Stunning, my wife wrote when I sent her the picture. I expect you to wear that all day. And don't forget to do your chores. I might be home late. Have dinner ready!

Oh... ok, I replied and started my day. I kept the curtains drawn and sat at my computer, far from prying eyes. Although I was fueled by a steady supply of coffee, powering me through out the day, I struggled to pay attention, often finding an excuse to do my chores. As I wandered around the house, I was suddenly aware of just how much I'd neglected them. The floors were dirty, a thin layer of dust coated every surface, and the bathrooms... don't get me started on the bathrooms!

Kinky game aside, it seemed only natural that the chores should fall on me. I was home all day, I could spare the time. It just made sense!

Throughout the day more packages arrived which I quickly grabbed and piled by the door.

They're getting bigger... why are they getting bigger?

Throughout the day I focused on my chores, ducking back to my computer to jiggle my mouse before I went idle. At the end of the work day, I logged off, shut down and started dinner. I chose a fairly simple recipe based on what we had in the refrigerator. If I was going to prepare anything more complicated, I'd have to make a grocery list... more chores.

After I prepared the meal I set two plates out, poured my wife a glass of wine, sat down at the dinner table and waited. She said she was going to be late, I assumed an hour.

... which quickly passed.

Then another hour. And another.

When she finally did arrive, the food was cold.

"I am sooooo sorry," she slurred as she flopped down in the seat across from me. "It looks delicious. You look... delicious!"

I veined a weak smile, my anger simmering just below a boil. From across the table I caught the faint hint of ash. She'd been smoking. She only smoked when she was at a bar.

"I hate to see a good meal go to waste but I'll be brutally honest with you," she said as she poked at it with her fork. "I don't have much of an appetite."

"Busy day?" I asked through clenched teeth.

"Nothing out of the ordinary. Honestly though, I might just call it early tonight. I'm wiped.

"Go on, I'll clean up," I said, though I knew I would anyway.

She pushed her chair back, stood up and stumbled upstairs. She'd gone to a bar, so what? It was part of the job, an opportunity to make connections in order to climb the corporate ladder. It was just... she would always share the juicy details with me, dunk on her coworkers afterwards.

It's fine, I thought as I cleared the table. Plus I was probably just antsy from being caged all day. When I was done, I joined her in the bedroom. When I walked in, she was still dressed, scrolling through her phone.

"Yes? Oh right," she said as she looked up at me. "Your shower. Hold on. By the way. I love that chemise, the color suits you,"

She oozed out of the bed and went through her pockets. "Hmm, well that's odd."

"What? I asked, my heart skipping several beats.

"I swear I... "

The keys, I thought in horror. She's lost the keys. They could have easily fallen out while she was at the bar, the sound of them hitting the floor drowned out by the dull roar of the noise, then trampled before finally being swept up at the end of the night and thrown in the trash.

How could I have been so stupid? Fine, for the sake of the dumb game she could have kept one of the keys, but the other one should have been kept somewhere safe... just in case.

As I stood there, my brain throbbed, uncertain if I should make an emergency trip to an ER or an auto shop.

"Here they are," she said. "They were just buried in my pocket."

I let out a gasp of relief, yet was oddly slightly turned on by the idea of being permanently caged.

"Lose the panties," she said as she stumbled to me.

I reached down and slipped off the panties. As she dropped down to her knees, she almost fell. The sight, lacking grace, didn't trigger an erection.

"There," she said as she unlocked me.

"Thx," I said and quickly darted into the bathroom.

After I had showered, I returned to the bedroom with a towel wrapped around my waist. My wife was passed out on the bed, still fully clothed, clutching the key.

"Hi," I said as I gently nudged her.

She mumbled something incoherent then looked up at me with confusion in her eyes. "What... what is it?"

"You have to lock me up," I said.

"Here," she said, raising the key. "Can't you just do it?"

"You have to do it. That's part of the rules, remember?"

"Right, right," she said as she dragged herself to the edge of the bed.

"Where's the ah... thingy?" she asked.

"Here," I said, as I handed her the small iron dome.

"Thx," she said, shoved my limp cock into it, pinching my fragile skin as she secured it to the base of the ring. She then inserted the pin and locked the cage.

"Ok, sleep now," she mumbled, as she quickly shed her clothes and crawled back into bed. "We both have a busy, busy day tomorrow."

I slipped under the covers and joined her. As she rolled over, turning onto her side, I swear I thought I saw her smiling like a ghoul.

Chapter Five

When I woke the following morning there was a note waiting for me on my nightstand. I reached over, picked it up and read it.

So sorry about last night, my wife wrote with several drawn hearts. Today you're getting spoiled! Trust me, you're going to love it. Open the third drawer of your dresser.

Before I did, I performed my morning ritual, jumped into the shower, grabbed the soap, built up a thick lather, and shaved my body with my pink razor. It was surprisingly easy, the hair sparse. When I was done, I returned to the bedroom and opened the third drawer of my dresser.

I should have known, I thought as I stared down into a sea of lace. Garters. Lots of them. There were also packages of nylons and several small boxes, guessing by their size, probably shoe boxes. As I stood there, my phone buzzed. Pulling myself away, I checked it. It was a message from my wife.

So, what color are you going to choose today?

I stared back down at the lingerie.

Cherry red, I replied.

A Good choice. It'll go well with a pair of black pumps.

Pumps? I asked.

Well, we can't have you running around barefoot in stockings all day, can we? It'll cause a tear! They should be in one of the shoeboxes.

There were three shoeboxes. I opened the first. Inside, cradled in tissue paper were a pair of Mary Janes. I opened the second box. Inside was a pair of... what were they called? Stilettos?

They were jet black with a glossy finish, the heels like daggers. There was no way I could walk in them. I opened the third box. Inside was a pair of black pumps with a matte finish. The stubby heels were less imposing. But were they the right size?

I picked up my phone and messaged my wife again.

How much did you spend? I asked.

She replied with a smiling emoji then continued to type.

And for the duration of our game you'll refer to me as "Mistress."

Mistress? I asked.

See you're already getting the hang of it! she replied. Oh, and go with the chocolate colored thigh highs, they'll look soooo sexy paired with the red lingerie.

Lingerie, I thought as I nervously looked back down into the open drawer. My wife has me wearing lingerie. How far is she going to push this?

Yes, I typed, then paused, my cock straining against my iron cage. Mistress.

Good, she wrote. And I want a pic. Now go get changed before you're late for work. And don't forget about your chores!

I set my phone down, and opened the top drawer of my dresser. The only option in cherry red was a thong.

Fuck...

Well, I said I was going to wear cherry red. What choice did I have?

Reluctantly I picked up the thong panties. The colour popped like a candy coating. Bows grew like weeds on the delicate lace. There was barely enough silk to cover my junk... or I suppose my cage. I opened the second drawer. The matching chemise was even skimpier. Entire sections were lobbed off, leaving the skin exposed, bare. The straps were spaghetti thin. Paired with the panties and garters, it fit like the pieces of a puzzle, the complete picture dripping with raw sexuality.

Well played, I thought as I sat down on the bed, and dipped my toes into the thong panties. I'd been out maneuvered, unwillingly led, any sense of control an illusion.

Fine, I thought as I slipped on the chemise. I still won't bend, my resolve is only strengthened. Fixated on the reward, I was willing to plunge to any depth, endure any humiliation. Not knowing what I secretly desired but was too afraid to ask would be a harsher punishment.

I wrapped the garters around my waist, and hooked them in the back. I then picked up the package of nylons, peeled back the tape, pulled them out, rolled them into a donut, dipped my toes in, brought them up over my buttery smooth skin, and attached them to the garters. I reached down, picked up the black pumps, and slipped them on. They were a perfect fit, my wife having calculated the correct size. I stood up and checked my reflection in the mirror.

I stared wide-eyed, unable to grasp what I was seeing. I was comfortable with my reflection, the familiar doughy, potato shape like a comfort food. It was gone! Swapped out for what I can only describe as every lewd photo I'd ever quickly scrolled past on my phone, afraid my wife might catch me drooling.

My waist was slim, impossibly slim, a rare gift. From it, my hips ballooned out and tapered off into long athletically thin legs. My chest was surprisingly flat, my diet, while chaotic, having not wrecked it.

In the cherry red lingerie every curve popped, the silk coating my skin like a thin layer of paint. I brought my hands down, gliding them over the smooth material. Triggered, my cock reacted, straining against its iron cage. I bit my lip, the pain making me squirm, riling me up. I turned around, reached down, and picked up my phone.

So, she wants a picture does she? I thought, smiling devilishly. Then let's give her a picture.

I rested my hand on my hips, tilted them, then arched my back. I raised the phone, and snapped a picture. I checked it. With my face covered, I was unrecognizable.

Enjoy, I thought as I sent it to my wife. She replied immediately.

Adorable. How are the pumps, do they fit? she asked.

They're ok.

She replied with a scowling emoji.

... Mistress.

She quickly replied with a smiling emoji and several hearts.

Now get to work before you're late, and remember to do your chores. I expect all the laundry to be folded and dinner ready when I get home!

Yes Mistress, I replied, then went downstairs.

Walking in the pumps proved to be challenging. With every step I wobbled, the shape of the shoe forcing my heel up. With the curtains drawn, I prepared a fresh pot of coffee, then sat down at my computer. As I logged in, a pop-up appeared on my screen. Without thinking, I clicked on it.

... it was a zoom call, and my camera was plugged in.

Moving at a speed close to light, I leapt forward, grabbed the camera, and yanked it out of the back of my computer. As I flopped back down in my chair, the call loaded up, my video feed absent.

Sorry, technical difficulties, I wrote, my heart ready to explode. But I can hear you.

Scrambling to put on my headphones, I listened in. The meeting was of no significance, just an excuse for one of my supervisors to appear important. When it was over, I slumped back into my chair.

To close, I thought as I pulled my headphones off. Way to close. I'd been sloppy. If I had been caught wearing lingerie during a zoom call my inbox would be flooded with emails from HR.

As I worked, more packages arrived. I piled them at the front door. They were large, the size of a pillow. More lingerie... in bulk?

I stayed close to my computer, jiggling the mouse to appear active while I did my chores. In heels it proved to be challenging, especially lugging a full laundry basket up two flights of stairs. With every stride I grew more confident, my hips swaying naturally.

When my wife arrived home, I was already preparing dinner, having picked out a formidable recipe from one of the many cookbooks that had been collecting dust.

"Wow," my wife said as she closed the front door behind her. "You look stunning."

She walked into the kitchen, wrapped her hands around my waist, gently squeezed them, then kissed my neck. "What's for dinner?"

As I playfully fought against her grasp, my cock fought a losing battle against its iron cage. "It's a surprise... Mistress," I said, the word having a strange power over me.

"And you did all your chores?" she asked.

"Yes, Mistress," I replied. "All of your laundry is neatly folded and put away."

"Good," she said as she released her grip. "And so obedient. I see more of my deliveries have arrived. You didn't peek did you?"

"No, Mistress."

She walked back into the hallway, and picked up the packages. "I'm going to go change, I'm wiped."

"Dinner will be ready in ten, Mistress."

"Good," she said and went upstairs.

When she returned her meal was waiting for her. Even though everything was ready, she stood there, her chair still tucked under the table.

"Oh," I said, as I rushed over to pull it out for her. "My apologies, Mistress."

She said nothing, and sat down. I served her a sparkling glass of white wine, then sat down, and joined her. I was the first to break the awkward silence.

"I was thinking maybe this weekend we could..."

"That reminds me, " she said, interrupting me. "I have a little surprise for you after dinner."

"A surprise?" I asked, confused.

"Yes, I'm going to give you a quick tutorial on how to apply your makeup

"M... makeup?" I squeaked.

"Naturally. Nothing to elaborate, just enough to highlight your naturally delicate features."

Delicate? I thought. Are my features delicate? In the polished surface of my wine glass, I caught my reflection. I always kept my skin shielded from the sun so it was still smooth, almost like porcelain. My nose was... well a nose, though rather small in comparison to the bulbous honkers I'd seen on some people. My lips were naturally pouty, a genetic gift passed down through the generations.

I looked down, reminded again how the lingerie had reimagined to my body. Would the makeup be similar?

"Would you like that, pet?" my wife asked, snapping me out of my thought.

"Ye... yes, Mistress," I said, unsure if I was still humouring her or if I was genuinely curious.

Stay focused, I thought. Don't let her put you off your game. She's looking for cracks in your defenses that she can use to her advantage.

"Good. Also, while we're on the topic, it's important that you not only look the part... but you act it."

"Act it?" I asked, confused.

"Yes, and again, you're to address me by my proper title," she said as she picked up her glass of wine, and took a sip.

"Yes, Mistress, sorry Mistress."

"Good. For the most part you've done a splendid job."

"Thank you, Mistress," I said, blushing.

"You should be proud of yourself. You've already lasted three days. Longer than I would have expected. But if you hope to succeed, you need to have the right... mindset."

"Mindset, Mistress?" I asked.

"Yes. I may have made a miscalculation, exposed a flaw in my plan that may give you an advantage."

An advantage, I thought, what advantage?

"You see, pet. By showing you which role I'm playing, I've revealed yours."

I stared at her, still slightly confused. What role? If she was my mistress, that made me her...

Then it hit me. Wasn't it obvious? the chores, the cooking.

"Your... servant, Mistress?"

She raised her glass of wine again, took a sip, then spoke. "Does that shock you?" she asked.

"No... Mistress."

"Good. Because honestly, I want you to succeed. I really do. But that doesn't mean I'll go easy on you. That would be unfair to you."

"Yes... Mistress," I said. "Thank you Mistress."

"You're welcome. Would you like some more guidance?" she asked.

"Yes, Mistress, please."

She finished her wine and set the glass down.

"If you hope to succeed you need to embrace your new role, throw yourself into it, live it fully. For the next two weeks every action, every thought should be devoted to that sole purpose, to serve me."

"Have I... have I been doing it wrong, Mistress?" I asked.

"No. You're learning my pet, and you're making progress."

"How... how can I improve?" I asked.

"I know it may sound like an impossible task, to anticipate my needs before I need them, but you will learn how to with experience. And remember, speak only when spoken to. Obey me without question and you will be rewarded. Do you understand?"

"I... I think so Mistress."

"Good, and moving forward. I will eat alone. Is that understood?"

"Yes... Mistress." I said, slightly embarrassed as I stood up, and picked up my plate.

"Pet, I wouldn't be that cruel," she laughed. "Tomorrow. Starting tomorrow."

"Oh," I said, then sat back down. "Thank you, Mistress."

We finished our meal in silence. I waited for her to speak, which she never did. When she was done she set her utensils down, and waited for me to remove her plate. I stood up, walked around the table, picked it up, and took it into the kitchen. As I cleaned up, she prepared my makeup tutorial in the living room.

Makeup...

First it was lingerie, now it was makeup. What was next?

As I scrubbed the plates, I struggled, still clinging to the idea that this was all just a stupid game. And it was, it was just, with my cock locked away my mind was scrambled, unable to focus. And what was odd, was how comfortable I was wearing the lingerie. It should look grotesque on me, the straps pulled tightly around my doughy body, the fabric stretched beyond recognition. But it wasn't. It was if it had snapped into place, a perfect fit.

"Ready?" my wife asked from the living room.

"Yes, Mistress," I said as I put the last dish in the drying rack.

As I joined her in the living room, I nervously looked down at the coffee table. Several small makeup bottles and palettes were spread out across it.

"I know it looks imposing, but trust me it isn't. Have a seat," she said as she patted the couch.

I obeyed and sat down beside her.

"There are several steps," she said as she reached for a small bottle. "So I'll go slow but please try to pay close attention. I don't want to repeat myself."

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

"Ok, ready?"

"Yes, Mistress."

After she applied a thin layer of foundation, she commanded me to close my eyes. I obeyed, listening as she explained each step. It was a lot to take in, but I was able to follow along. In order to get it right, she also recommended I practise by doing a few trial runs.

In addition to showering, shaving, and changing...

I did the math. If I had any hope of logging into work on time, I'd have to set my alarm clock even earlier.

"I was saving this for a special occasion, but I think the colour will suit you. It's very rare. Pucker your lips please."

I obeyed and puckered up. I heard a soft pop, then she slathered my lips with what I assumed was lipstick.

"Ok, rub them together."

I obeyed. As I rubbed them together the lipstick was oddly warm, and my lips tingled. An allergic reaction?

"I'd like you to apply this lipstick twice a day. Once at seven in the morning, and then again at three in the afternoon. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mistress," I replied.

"When are you applying your lipstick?" she asked.

"At seven in the morning, and then again at three," I replied.

"Very good. Ok, sit still."

I remained still as she tugged at my eyelashes, applying what I assumed was mascara.

"Ok, I think I'm done. Would you like to see the end result?"

"Yes, Mistress," I said as I opened my eyes.

As I blinked, aware of the weight of the mascara, my wife raised a small oval mirror. I looked into it.

Or through it...

Had it been a mirror I would have seen my tired, yet familiar old reflection staring back at me, the lines around my eyes slowly deepening with age, skin weathered.

That wasn't what I saw. The mirror was like a portal I was looking through. On the other side, staring back at me was a girl, a girl with pouty red lips painted strawberry red, her eyes glazed with pink eyeshadow that sparkled, and sweeping gorgeous eyelashes.

As I stared, my eyes welled up with tears.

"That good?" my wife asked.

"I'm so sorry, Mistress," I said as I carefully wiped them away, avoiding smearing my new makeup. "I just wasn't expecting..."

"Would you like to take it a step further?"

"Further?" I asked.

She reached down and picked up a pair of scissors. "Although by no means a professional, I've been known to dabble. When I was in university, it was an easy way to save a few bucks."

"You want to cut... my hair?" I asked, shocked.

"Nothing to elaborate, just a quick trim. Something to suit your new look. Would you like me to, pet?"

By the rules of the game, she didn't have to ask, yet she had. Maybe she was taking pity on me, having thrown so much at me. I looked again in the mirror, curious to know what I might look like with a different hairstyle. My throat tight, unable to speak, I simply nodded.

"Wonderful," she said, as she stood up. "I'll be right back."

She returned with a towel, instructed me to sit on the edge of the coffee table and wrapped it around my shoulders. "Ok, close your eyes, and remain still."

I obeyed as she began to cut, the hair drifting past my cheeks. She moved quickly, the scissors darting around me like an angry wasp. How much was she taking off?

"I always thought you'd look cute with bangs."

"B... bangs?" I squeaked.

"Nothing to worry about. If you don't like it, we can always rush you down to a local barbershop, and have them salvage it."

"Oh... ok," I said nervously.

She continued to cut. When she was done, she stepped back. "There, ready for the big reveal?"

"Please, Mistress" I said politely as I opened my eyes.

She raised the mirror. My messy hair had been tamed, lobbed off, and was now shoulder length. My bangs were a ruler straight line that hung just above my sculpted eyebrows.

"That bad?" she asked as my eyes welled up with tears again.

"No... it's just. I... I don't know what it is. I'm sorry, Mistress," I whimpered.

"Well, just ask yourself a simple question, pet. Do you like it?"

I looked again at my reflection, struggling to find the right words, if they even existed. Instead, I listened to my gut.

"Yes..." I replied.

"Good. Because you're stuck with it for the time being. At least for the remaining two weeks."

"Oh... ok," I said, still slightly confused.

"Hold still," she said as she picked up her phone. "I want to take a quick picture."

I didn't ask why, and remained still.

"There," she said as she snapped a photo. "Honestly, you look so adorable with bangs. I love them."

"Really?" I asked, blushing.

"Absolutely. It suits you"

"Thank you, Mistress," I said, smiling.

"You're welcome. For the rest of the night, why don't you focus on your chores. Is there any laundry that needs to be done?"

"Only what has accumulated since this morning, Mistress," I replied.

"Well, there's no time like the present."

"Yes, Mistress," I said, stood up, and went to retrieve the dirty laundry.

"But before you do, fetch me another glass of wine."

"Yes, Mistress," I said, then went to the kitchen, poured a glass of wine, and brought it to her before performing my chores.

While I worked, she remained on the couch, casually sipping her wine while she scrolled through her phone. When I was folding laundry in our bedroom, she joined me.

"Tomorrow's a busy day," she said as she casually pulled off her shirt, her breasts springing free.

"Oh?" I asked as I averted my eyes.

She kicked off her pajama bottoms, and walked past me to her dresser, bare except for a tiny pair of black thong panties.

"I won't ruin the surprise, but trust me, you're going to love it," she said, peering over her shoulder.

"Yes, Mistress, thank you Mistress," I replied.

"Look," she said, raising her hand. "I've kept them safe and sound."

Tied around her wrist with a red ribbon were the keys to my chastity cage. As I stared at her naked body, my cock failed to respond. I wasn't the only one to notice.

"And so well behaved," she said as she moved towards me, taking slow, seductive strides, then brought her hand down and gently stroked my thigh, following the hem of my stockings.

She leaned in and whispered in my ear. "May I?" she asked.

"Please, Mistress" I whispered, begged.

She dropped down to her knees. Surprisingly, again my cock didn't react.

"So very well behaved," she said, smiling as she reached up and gently traced the lines of my caged cock. "I should have put you in a cage sooner."

"Ye... yes," Mistress.

She looked up at me. "What's it like?" she asked.

"What... what's what like, Mistress?"

"To be caged," she said as she looked down at the bulge in my panties. "To have your cock locked away, its keys not in your possession.

"If I'm being honest, Mistress, at first it was a bit uncomfortable."

"Is it too tight?" She asked as she gently rubbed it.

"No, Mistress. There's plenty of room," I said, my heart racing.

"Good, because I'm going to have you go down a size, go smaller."

"Smaller?" I asked, nervously.

As she stared at my cage, the lines of her face changed, coiling like a viper.

"Yes. I want to see if I can reduce the size of your pathetic cock until it's nothing more than a tiny nub. After all, according to the rules of the game I'm free to do whatever I want. Does that upset you?"

"No... no, Mistress," I muttered.

"Then say it," she hissed as she tightened her grip around my caged cock.

"I want you to put me in a smaller cage, the smallest you can find, my pathetic cock..." I gasped, biting my lip, the pain exquisite, "reduced to a tiny nub."

"Good," she said, tugged my panties down, took the key off her wrist, and unlocked me. "I've already placed the order. It arrives tomorrow."

"Thank you, Mistress."

"Have a quick shower, and come to bed," she said as she stood up.

"Yes, Mistress," I said, walked into the bathroom, and showered.

When I returned my wife locked me up again, then crawled into bed. As I lay there, unable to sleep, my mind wandered. Smaller, I thought. How much smaller?

Chapter Six

When I woke up the next morning I was surprised to discover my wife was still there.

"Running late?" I asked, as she walked into the bedroom.

"No. And I've waited over half an hour for you to wake up."

"I... I'm so sorry, Mistress."

She turned, checked her lipstick in the mirror, then spoke. "Shower, change and apply your makeup. I've left everything you'll need out. You have twenty minutes."

"Yes... yes, Mistress," I stammered as I crawled out of bed.

As she left the room, I quickly darted into the bathroom, showered, and shaved with my pink razor. I returned to the bedroom with a towel wrapped around my waist, opened the top drawer of my dresser, and chose a pair of snow white panties. I then opened the second drawer. There wasn't a matching chemise but there was a... bra. A push-up bra, supported by thick padding and an intricate web of wires. From the third drawer I grabbed a pair of white garters and matching thigh-high stockings. I sat down on the edge of the bed and quickly changed, aware of every passing second.

I walked over to the vanity, sat down, and rummaged through the makeup, scrambling to remember the correct order. Surprisingly, it came naturally. I applied the foundation first, then went to work, applying eyeshadow and mascara, every flick like the stroke of a paint brush. The final touch was the lipstick. I picked up the silver tube shaped like a bullet. No labels? I thought as I spun it in my hand. Didn't my wife say it was rare?

You're overthinking it, I thought as I slathered it on my lips. Again it tingled. Seriously, did I have an allergy?

I picked up a brush and straightened my bangs. I then checked my reflection in the mirror. The lingerie hugged every curve of my body. My makeup was flawless and the push-up bra gave me a hint of cleavage.

"Stunning, you've already got the hang of it," my wife said when she returned.

Blushing, I spoke. "Thank you, Mistress."

"Love the lingerie," she said as she walked over to my dresser and opened the third drawer. "You know what will go with it?

"Wha... what, Mistress?" I asked.

"Stilettos," she said as she pulled out one of the shoeboxes. "I think you're ready."

"Yes, Mistress," I said nervously.

She walked to me, and handed me the shoebox. I opened it. Inside, cradled in tissue paper was a pair of jet black stilettos. As I pulled them out, I noticed a set of small locks attached to the straps.

"Part of the fun," she said, smiling slyly. "Try them on. Let's see if they fit."

"Ye... yes, Mistress," I said as I unbuckled them, and removed the lock. I then brought them down, dipped my foot in, and buckled them up.

"Well?" my wife asked.

"A perfect fit, Mistress," I replied.

"Good. The conversion was pretty straight forward. It's too bad they didn't have them in my size. I would have bought a pair. Ok, stand up."

I stood up, wobbling as I fought to maintain my balance.

"Try walking in them," my wife said.

I took several steps, blindly prodding at the floor with the dagger like heels. Although difficult, my steps clumsy, I managed.

"With practice, you'll get used to them," my wife said. "Sit on the edge of the bed."

"Yes, Mistress," I said as I stumbled to the bed and sat down.

She walked to me, picked up the small locks, leaned down, locked the buckles, then stood up.

"I have a gift for you," she said as she turned and walked to her dresser. "Stand up, turn around, and close your eyes, and no peeking."

I obeyed, stood up, closed my eyes, and turned around. I heard her rummage through her dresser drawer, then walk back to me. She raised her hand, wrapped something around my neck, and fastened it in the back. As she stepped away, something jingled. Curious, I reached up to touch it.

"Don't," she said, interrupting me. "If you haven't already guessed, it's a collar. Your collar. As my servant, you're to wear it at all times, and are forbidden from touching it. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mistress," I replied. A servant? I thought, or a slave?

"Good. Are you ready for your next surprise?" she asked as she sat down on the bed.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Excited?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Ok. Go to your closet."

The closet? I thought nervously as I walked over to it. Why my closet? Before opening it, I peered over my shoulder, and looked at my wife.

"Go on," she said, smiling like a ghoul. "Open it."

I turned, opened the closet, and gasped. All of my clothing had been removed, in its place was... I turned around, and stared at my wife wide-eyed in disbelief.

"Impressive, no?" she asked. "And yes very, very expensive. They're tailored to your exact measurements, which, I might say, was difficult to acquire without raising suspicion. So what do you think? Which is your favorite?"

"Fa.. favorite?" I asked as I turned back to stare into the abyss that was my closet. French maids uniforms. She'd bought me several French maid's uniforms, all in different styles, and made of different materials.

"I..." I said, still shocked.

"There are seven in total, one for each day of the week."

"Oh... " I replied, still stunned, unable to grasp what I was seeing.

"Go on, pick one out. I'll help you put it on."

I reached in, and pulled one out. It was coal black, made of soft cotton with big puffy shoulders with frilly white lace, and a crisp snow white collar. I spun it around. An apron wrapped around the waist, and was tied in the back with a big bow. The dress zipped up in the back, and was secured by a small lock with a key hanging from it.

Another lock... seriously?

"There are also accessories. Most are interchangeable. I put them all in a plastic bin at the bottom of your closet. You can pick and choose what you like."

How thoughtful, I thought.

"Go on. Try it on."

"Ye... yes, Mistress," I said as I removed the lock."

"I'll take that," she said, raising her open palm.

"Yes, Mistress," I said, and gave her the lock.

I unzipped the back, brought it down, stepped into it, brought it up over my lingerie, and slipped my arms through the puffy shoulders. I reached back, struggling to find the zipper.

"May I?" she asked..

"Please, Mistress."

I turned around. She stood up, walked to me, zipped me up, then secured the lock. "There, all locked up for the day. Yet another key to add to my collection."

"Thank you, Mistress," I said nervously.

"Don't forget your apron," she said.

"Yes, Mistress," I said, and stumbled back to the closet. As I reached down, and opened the plastic container, the short skirt of my new uniform rode up, exposing my bare ass. Should I care? No. She'd seen me in lingerie, yet I felt exposed. Unable to rummage through the bin while covering myself, I ignored the rising humiliation. Accessories, I thought. What other accessories did I need?

Oh... I thought as I discovered a headband with frilly white lace. I also grabbed a pair of matching white cufflinks with silver buttons.

"Come here, and I'll tie your apron," my wife said.

"Yes, Mistress," I said and returned to her.

"Turn around."

I obeyed and turned around.

"I should be home around five," she said as she wrapped the apron around my waist, and tied it with a bow. "Have dinner prepared when I arrive. I'm craving... hmmm chicken linguine tonight."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Wash and fold the laundry, and do the bathroom. Give it your undivided attention. Scrub the floors, bathtub. I want to see that toilet sparkle!"

"Yes, Mistress," I replied.

"And remember to refresh your lipstick at three pm. I expect those lips to be cherry red when I get home."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Add your accessories. Let's have a look at you. Do a quick twirl."

I donned my headband like a beauty pageant's tiara, and placed the cufflinks on each wrist, then slowly spun around, shuffling in my stiletto heels.

"Adorable. Is the uniform comfortable? Did I pick the right size?"

"Yes, Mistress," I said as I ran my hands down the side of my new uniform. It was tight against my skin.

"Come here, and have a look at yourself in the vanity."

I walked over to the vanity, and stared at my reflection in the mirror. With my hair cut, under a thin layer of makeup, wearing a French maid's uniform I was a vision of raw kink, a lewd drawing brought to life.

"You look fantastic. My perfect little French maid."

"Thank you, Mistress."

"I'm running late," she said as she looked down at her phone, then turned to go. " Remember to do your chores!"

"Yes, Mistress," I said.

When she was gone, I leaned in, and looked at what was engraved on the silver tag dangling from my new collar. There was a single word.

Sissy...

Chapter Seven

With my phone tucked into my apron I carried the laundry down two flights of stairs in my stilettos, every step potentially my last. Between loads, I swung by my work computer, jiggled my mouse, and quickly replied to any messages I'd missed, many of which had been waiting for over an hour. I half-heartedly replied to them, promised to prioritize their requests, apologized, saying I was swamped, which I suppose wasn't a lie. I was swamped, just not by work.

As I continued to clean, I was aware of just how filthy our house actually was. The floors needed to be washed, and there was a thin layer of dust coating every surface. Also, when was the last time the bedding had been changed?

First the bathroom...

I filled an apple red mop bucket with water, added soap, and carried it up the stairs, again, difficult in stilettos. As I stood in the doorway, I stared into the bathroom. When was the last time I'd cleaned it, if ever, and where should I start?

After a quick google search, I started by wiping down all the surfaces with a damp cloth. I then cleaned the sink using the cleaning products I was surprised to discover in the cabinet below it. When I was done, I moved onto the tub which proved to be... a challenge.

Unable to balance in my stilettos I was forced to drop down to my knees. After I soaked the surface with soap, I scrubbed. As I leaned in to reach the bottom, the hem of my short skirt rode up to expose my ass. If my wife could see me she would cackle, amused by the sight of her husband, dressed like a French maid, on all fours, scrubbing the bathroom tub.

Two weeks, I thought. It's only for two weeks. After which she'll be forced to concede, do something I've always secretly wanted to do, but was too afraid to ask. All the lingerie, the chastity cage, locked stilettos, and the French maid's uniforms, it was all in an attempt to break me. Clearly she was terrified. I hadn't snapped. I was winning.

With the tub cleaned, that left only... the toilet. Humiliating, I thought as I wiped it down with a damp cloth, forced again to drop down onto my knees to reach the base.

Humiliating... yet somehow not. I didn't know why, but on my knees, nose almost pressed against the porcelain bowl, once again my cock stirred in its iron cage. Good lord, why! What strange kink had I released? Was it the humiliation? Or was I secretly getting off on the idea of cleaning a toilet dressed as a French maid? Absurd, I thought. Totally absurd.

As I wrestled with the idea, I heard the doorbell ring. I ignored it, and continued to scrub. It rang again.

"Fuck off," I growled as I used a toilet brush to scrubbed inside the toilet bowl. "Can't you see I'm working?"

My phone rang. I reached down, and pulled it out of my apron. It was a message from my wife.

Your new gift has arrived. It requires a signature. Go sign for it.

I stared at the words, wide-eyed in horror. The doorbell rang again. Would they wait any longer? Unlikely.

Unable to change, locked in my French maids uniform, I shoved my phone back into my apron, and rushed downstairs, almost tripping over my stilettos as I lunged for the front door. My heart beating like a drum, I flung it open. Standing on the porch, his back turned to me, was a delivery driver holding a tablet.

"Oh good, you're home," he said as he slowly turned. Can I get your signature plea..." He froze, tablet extended, and stared up at me, stunned.

I simply smiled, unable or unwilling to speak, and quickly signed the tablet. He looked at it, back at me, the tablet, then at me, caught in an endless cycle.

"The package," I squeaked, finally breaking the silence.

"Oh, right, sorry," he said, his cheeks cherry red.

He handed me a small package, and turned, half stumbling as he walked down the driveway. The transaction completed, I quickly shut the door, fell against it, and closed my eyes. I wanted to scream, yet my voice failed me.

I stumbled back to my work computer, set the package down and jingled my mouse. There were dozens of messages waiting for me. As I read through them, my phone buzzed again. I reached into my apron, pulled it out, and read it. It was another message from my wife.

One of the keys for your cage is in the drawer of my nightstand. Enjoy your new toy, pet. I expect you to be wearing it when I get home!

I looked at the package, then at my computer. It wasn't even a contest. Grabbing the package, I went upstairs, and set it down on the bed. I then opened my wife's dresser. Sure enough, one of the keys to my chastity cage was inside with a red ribbon tied in a bow. I picked it up, sat down on the bed, lifted the skirt of my French maid's uniform, pulled my caged cock out of my panties, and slipped the key into the lock. Freed, I removed the small iron cage. My limp cock hung free, and looked... did it look smaller?

Nonsense, I thought as I removed the iron ring. I then picked up the package, tore through the tape, opened it, reached inside the packing foam, and pulled out my new cage.

"Fuck," I whispered as I examined it.

It was smaller than my other cage. A lot smaller. I did a quick comparison. The dome was microscopic, barely a nub. The ring was smaller too.

She can't be serious, I thought in horror. There's no way I can fit through that ring. Or could I? Difficult, yes but maybe not impossible.

I slowly eased the ring on, feeding one testie at a time. When they were through, I shoved my limp cock underneath, and pulled it through the ring. Although tight around the base of my cock, it wasn't uncomfortable. I then picked up the small dome, placed it over my limp dick, and attached it to the ring.

Too easy, I thought as I secured the lock. I looked down. Imprisoned in the micro cage, my limp cock had been reduced to a small nub.

Pathetic...

As I stared at it, my phone buzzed. It was another message from my wife.

Well? Don't keep me waiting. I'm dying to see it!

Yes, Mistress, I replied, reluctantly.

With my panties tucked under the iron nub and my skirt raised, I took a quick picture, and sent it to her.

It's so tiny! she wrote back with a laughing emoji. Be thankful I don't force you to post that on social media. Imagine what your family would think!

Yes, Mistress, I replied. Thank you Mistress.

She replied with three heart emojis. Quick slacking, she wrote. It's almost three. Don't forget to touch up your makeup, and after you've done that, finish your chores!

Yes, Mistress, I replied, and sat down at the vanity. My makeup was intact. The foundation held and my eyeshadow hadn't faded. It was really only my lipstick which needed some light touching up. I picked up the small silver tube, removed the cap, then slathered it on my lips. The colour was vibrant, glistening like oil. As I rubbed my lips together, they tingled, sending a shiver that spread throughout my body.

It's probably nothing, I thought as I stood up. If I actually did have an allergic reaction, I'd look like a bloated fish by now.

I tucked my phone back into my apron, returned to the bathroom, and mopped the floors. When I was done, I stumbled downstairs, and flopped down into my computer chair. I jiggled my mouse, and my computer sprang to life. There was a message from my department supervisor. I stared at it wide-eyed in disbelief. I checked the time, it had been sent over an hour ago. They never messaged me, never. As I read it, a wave of panic rolled over me. They wanted to speak with me... now.

As I replied, stumbling over my words, a pop-up appeared on my computer screen.

Please turn on your camera, and accept, they wrote.

Stricken with fear, unable to think straight, I obeyed, plugged in my camera, and slumped back in my chair. Sitting there, in plain view, wearing my ridiculous French maid's uniform, I joined a call with my supervisor, the department manager and the head of HR.

If they reacted to what I was wearing, I never saw it in their stoney expressions. They spoke slowly, mechanically, using corporate jargon. Stunned, humiliated, I listened as they explained to me that, having been unavailable and failed to perform my duties, I was being terminated, effective immediately.

Fired? I thought. How could I possibly be fired? I'd slacked off for one, two, maybe three hours. The way they spoke, it was as if I'd missed entire days. Nonsense.

Any questions? They asked.

"N... no," I said in a daze, possibly the only words I spoke during the entire ordeal.

When the meeting ended I sat there, wrestling with my emotions. Sorrow prevailed. I'd just been fired, my entire life thrown into upheaval. What now? I'd have to dust off my resume, hunt for a new job. In the competitive market, it would be almost impossible.

As I sat there, mooping, I noticed the time. My wife would be home soon, and I still had to prepare dinner. I logged off my computer for the last time. I'd have to return their hardware. Would my wife further humiliate me by having me wear one of my French maid's uniforms when I did?

By then it wouldn't even come as a shock. Rumors of my bizarre attire were probably already circulating through the company. That would spread, reach other companies. I wouldn't be able to sit down for a single job interview without the interviewer bursting out into laughter. I was toast.

... and so is my chicken linguine if I don't pay attention, I thought as I stared down at the boiling pot of water on the stove, having stumbled into the kitchen like a zombie, my mind scrambled as I prepared dinner. How was I going to explain this to my wife?

As if scripted, she arrived home.

"Smells delicious, I'm famished," she said as she walked into the kitchen.

"Thank you, Mistress. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes."

"Excellent."

I was expecting her to give me a kiss or a hug. She didn't.

"Busy day?" she asked.

"Yes, Mistress," I replied, trying to subdue my quivering voice.

"And you finished all your chores?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Good," she replied.

"Mistress, I..." I said, my throat tightening, unable to form the words. "I..."

"Yes?" she asked.

"I was..." As I added the linguine to the boiling water, there was a knock at the door.

"Oh, that'll be Daniel. Answer it, won't you? I'm going to change quickly."

Daniel, I thought in horror. Who's Daniel?

"Ye... yes, Mistress," I squeaked.

As my wife went upstairs, I nervously walked to the front door. She hadn't mentioned anything about a guest. Was this part of her insidious plan to humiliate me? Would it work?

And had I prepared enough food...

Humiliated, stricken with fear, I approached the door, reached out with a trembling hand, and opened it. There standing in the doorway was a man, not just a man, but the man, a monument to the male ego, rugged, model handsome. If he was a businessman, business was good.

"Hu.. hello," I squeaked.

"Hello," he said, looking up at me, his expression unwavering. Did he not realize he was staring at a crossdresser?

"Unless my GPS is glitchy, I believe I'm in the right place."

"You are," I replied. "The mistress will be down momentarily. May I take your coat?"

"Mistress?" he said with a sly smile. "Please."

He stepped into the house, took off his coat, and handed it to me. I took it from him, and hung it up.

"Would you like a drink?" I asked.

"Scotch, neat, please," he replied.

"Make yourself comfortable in the living room, and I'll bring it to you."

He walked into the living room as I ducked into the kitchen. Scotch, I thought. Do we even have scotch?

There were several bottles of alcohol on the top shelf against the wall. I reached up, and searched through them. One was scotch. I brought it down, blew the dust off, then checked the cabinets, searching for an appropriate glass, ideally not one with a cartoon character. I grabbed one that looked about right, poured scotch into it, and brought it to him. As I did, my wife walked into the room wearing a tight gray pencil skirt, and a white blouse. Several of the buttons were undone, her snow white bra visible underneath.

"I'll have one too."

"Ye... yes, Mistress," I said.

As I darted into the kitchen, I listened in on their conversation.

"I hope you brought an appetite. My maid is a marvel in the kitchen, a real natural."

"I'm looking forward to it," he said as he took a drink.

I brought my wife her drink. She took it without looking up at me. I then turned, and returned to the kitchen. As I finished preparing the meal, I peeked into the living room. They were both seated on the couch. My wife was slowly inching her way closer to him. As she spoke, she playfully touched his arm. It was just a gentle graze, and yet. Wait, she wasn't... she wasn't flirting with him, was she?

As I cut the chicken into thin strips, a sudden wave of uneasiness rolled over me, and I wobbled in my heels. I felt a gnawing pain in the pit of my stomach. It grew, worming its way through my body, rising up... up, until.

I reached up, clutched my push-up bra through my French maid's uniform. The padding was thick, impossibly thick, yet it was almost as if I had... I had.

Impossible.

I gently squeezed, and bit my lip as a surge of pleasure rolled over me.

The fuck, I thought as I released my grip. Something was seriously effing off, but until my wife released me from my French maid's uniform, there was no way of knowing.

It's nothing, I tried to convince myself. I'm just nervous. My wife, having realized she's losing our game, has brought in reinforcements. It's a dirty trick, but I won't fall for it. I'll put on a fake smile, and play along. I'm going to win this stupid game. I'm going to get my reward.

"Dinner is ready, Mistress," I said, my voice trembling, as if out of tune.

My wife raised her hand. Daniel took it, and escorted her into the dining room. He then pulled her chair out, and waited for her to sit down before taking his seat.

"Wine, Mistress?" I asked.

She raised her glass, eyes still glued on Daniel. I then turned my attention to him. "Wine, sir?"

"Please," he said, raising his glass. I walked over to him. While I filled it, I looked down at my chest. There was no mistaking it... it was getting bigger. I glanced up at Daniel. He didn't appear to have noticed, his gaze locked on my wife.

"If this is all to butter me up, I'm sorry, my decision is final."

"I wouldn't insult you with petty games. Nor waste your valuable time."

I returned to the kitchen, and brought out the chicken linguine.

"Sadly, that can not be said of everyone," my wife said as I set the plate down in front of her.

"Oh?" Daniel asked.

I served Daniel his meal, then stumbled back to the kitchen. The room wobbled, its lines pulled free like loose threads. As I picked up the parmesan grater, I continued to listen in on their conversation

"I'm well aware of the optics," my wife said. "I wouldn't dream of accusing a rival development team of something unprofessional... unless I had proof."

"And you have proof?" he asked.

"I do. I can prove to you that they lied about their trials, that they hid a fatal flaw."

"If true, that's a serious accusation. And why would they do that? We're on the verge of mass production. The permits are approved."

I walked back into the room, desperately trying to hide my drunken strides, but drunk on what?

"That's easy. Money," my wife said. "The bonus awarded to the winning team is enough alone to justify the deception. Plus, once it's moved up the corporate ladder, they can sabotage the data and vein ignorance. After all, it was you who signed off on it. It's now your responsibility."

"Parmesan?" I asked my wife, as I tried to determine which of her three spinning plates was the correct one.

She nodded, ignoring me, her gaze fixed on Daniel. I grated the cheese, the sound like a jet engine.

"That's fine," she said without looking down at her plate.

"And what exactly have they hidden?" Daniel asked.

As I stumbled around the table it seemed to stretch out, extending to a distant horizon. The floor below me was a slithering serpent, its scales glittering like diamonds. With every stride, my chest bounced, fighting like a feral animal to free itself from my push-up bra.

"A fatal flaw that appeared during the final trial, which, had it been intended, would have been an incredible leap in pharmaceuticals. It took some digging, but I was able to recover the original documents. It caused a side effect, unprecedented, undreamed of, the patients literally turning into...

Wobbling, I approached Daniel, my trembling hand clutching the cheese grater as I spoke. "Parmas..."

There was a loud bang as something heavy hit the floor. I looked down. There in the shattered tile was my iron chastity cage, buried in the floor like a cannonball, intact, and still locked. As I stared at it in horror, my wife stood up, and spoke as she walked around the table.

"The trial participants' accounts were incredible, unbelievable. Swelling causing severe misalignments in body tissue, noticeably in the chest area... "

Confused, I stared down past my ample chest at my chastity cage on the floor. How had it fallen off? It was impossible. The ring was anchored to the base of my cock, unable to budge. Then... then how?

As I stared down at it, my wife continued to speak.

"That alone would have opened the company to an avalanche of litigation. What happened next would have buried us."

Daniel looked at me, then at my wife.

"What happened next?" he asked.

"It's easier if I just show you," she said, reached into her cleavage, and pulled out a key. "Before I do though, I must come clean. This isn't my servant."

"She's not?" Daniel asked.

I peered over my shoulder, terrified, begging her not to reveal the terrible truth.

"No, he's my husband."

"She's... he's your husband?" Daniel asked, stunned. "Why's he dressed like that?"

"I won't bore you with the details of our kinky game. Suffice to say, he was a willing participant, eager to play along, and indulge in a kink he's secretly refused to admit to... but I knew, I've always known."

I stared at her in horror. She shifted her focus to me then whispered.

"And it was painfully obvious. You were just unwilling to admit it to yourself."

She looked back at Daniel. "Yet it's just a game. At the end of the day, he's still my husband, still a man... that was until."

She reached up and unlocked the lock at the base of my French maid's uniform.

"Unbeknownst to him, he's been secretly taking the other teams formula."

I have? I thought in horror. How?

The lipstick... it was the lipstick. The strange tingling sensation, the strict schedule. It explained its strange shape, why it appeared to be unbranded. How could she? And even though I had, I'd only taken it a few times. How could it possibly...

She removed the lock, and unzipped my French maid's uniform.

"Here's your proof."

As my French maid's uniform fell to the floor, I looked down, staring into a deep well of cleavage. My cleavage. My breasts. They were a pale milky color, and they were huge, the push-up bra struggling to hold them up. As I stared wide-eyed in horror at them, I was unable to scream, my voice escaping me.

"Incredible," Daniel whispered, staring at me, stunned.

My eyes darted down, my cheeks burning bright red.

"Had it just been some swelling in the chest, they might have been able to fix their formula. Unfortunately that proved impossible when they discovered what it did to their...

I heard her speak the word, yet refused to process it. It couldn't be true, it just couldn't be. Reluctantly, I stared down past my ample breasts. My frilly white panties were flat against my body. There was no bulge.

My wife walked around me, then stood behind Daniel's chair. I looked up at her through tear soaked eyes.

"Go on, show us."

"I..." I whimpered. "I..."

"I'm not asking."

"Ye... yes, Mistress."

I reached down, slipped my fingers into my panties, and brought them down to the hem of my thigh-high stockings. I stared down in horror. My cock was gone, leaving what to the naked eye looked like a clean shaven pussy.

"Have I proven my point?" my wife said as she leaned down, and whispered into Daniel's ear.

"You've gone to extraordinary measures," he said, still shocked. "Really though, to your own husband?"

"You can cover yourself now," my wife said.

"Tha... thank you, Mistress," I said as I brought my panties back up.

"He should thank me. I'm about to fulfill his secret desire, one he's been too afraid to ask."

"His secret desire?" Daniel asked.

"It's part of the game we've been playing. The rules are simple. If he could endure two weeks of my punishments, I would grant him his deepest darkest desire, one he was too afraid to ask. Tonight marks the end of those two weeks."

Two weeks? I thought, confused. It hasn't been two weeks. It's been days, four... no wait, three to be precise. Hadn't it?

As if able to read my mind, she spoke, smiling slyly. "One of the other odd side effects reported is a lapse of time. Patients describe it like one day bleeding into another, weeks often feeling like days, hours like minutes."

One day bleeding into another...

I thought back, remembering the strange events of that morning. "Pick one," my wife said as I stood in front of my open closet, staring at my French maid's uniforms. I'd chosen the soft cotton one.

I replayed the same memory again. "Which one are you going to wear today?" my wife asked as I stood in front of my open closet, staring at my French maid's uniforms. I chose the satin one.

Impossible, I thought, then looked down. The French maid's uniform crumbled up at my feet was made of thick black vinyl.

"He's upheld his end of the bargain, now I intend to uphold mine."

"And his secret desire?" Daniel asked.

My wife leaned in, and whispered into his ear.

"Oh," he said, smiling like a viper, then looked up at me. "I see. And is he... she, obedient?"

"She'll behave. Give it a try."

Daniel looked up at me, and spoke in a very clear, commanding voice. "Remove your bra."

Without hesitating, I raised my hands, reached behind my back, undid my push-up bra, and let it fall to the floor. My new breasts sprang free, bounced once then settled.

"Touch them," he demanded.

I raised my hands to touch them, swirling my fingers around my nipples then squeezed softly. It sent a jolt through my body. Breasts, I thought as I closed my eyes, savoring the sensation. My breasts, and they are real, hardwired in, and surprisingly sensitive. I opened my eyes, looked up at Daniel, and bit my lip.

"Stunning," he whispered.

My wife stood up, walked to me, reached out, and flicked the tag of my collar.

"legally, he's still mine, but I'm willing to share." She then brushed my hair aside, and whispered into my ear. "Are you excited?"

"Mistress, I... I," I said confused.

She reached down, and slipped her hand into my panties. I let out a gentle whimper as she explored my new raw sex.

"You are excited," she teased as she pulled out her hand, her fingers soaking wet.

"Mistress... I."

"You have no idea how much I'm going to enjoy watching this," she said softly. "You'll finally understand how much of a chore it is."

"A chore, Mistress," I asked, confused.

"All that unnecessary sucking, and the unpleasant sticky finish. It's far too salty for my liking."

"Salty, Mistress?" I asked.

"Yes. it's what you've always secretly wanted to do, but were too afraid to ask. Why, I can't imagine. If you'd just been honest with yourself, asked me, I wouldn't have minded. In fact, I would have encouraged it. It would have been fun, scrolling through the profiles looking for just the right size."

"Size?" I asked. "Size of what?"

"Seriously, do I really have to spell it out for you? "Why, your first cock of course. You're a cocksucker. Or... will be."

I looked over at Daniel. He was smiling at me like a ghoul.

"Go on," my wife said. "He's waiting."

"Ye... yes, Mistress," I said nervously, and slowly walked to him. As I did, Daniel stood up.

"Down on your knees," he ordered when I reached him.

Unable to disobey, my body programmed against my will, I slowly dropped down to my knees, looked up at him, and waited obediently.

"Good girl," he said, then looked up at my wife. "Is it her first time?"

"It is," my wife replied. "So, Is it true?"

"Is what true?" he asked.

"You know how the secretary pool likes to gossip. One claims to have had first hand experience, said you're hung like a horse."

He laughed, looked down, and gently stroked my chin. I closed my eyes and purred. "You've trained her well," he said, smiling devilishly.

"It was surprisingly easy."

"Will she swallow?" he asked.

"If that's what you want."

"Good, because a good girl swallows. Well, what are you waiting for?" he asked staring down at me.

He wasn't asking...

My hands trembling, I reached up, and unzipped his pants. Breaking free of his boxers, his cock sprang free. It was massive, A phallic salute to the envy of every man who prided themselves on the inches they claimed to be, yet rarely achieved.

"The rumors are true," my wife said, gasping.

As I stared at his massive cock, the thin barricade I'd cobbled together to hold up what remained of my masculinity crumbled. All that remained was the... the...

Sissy...

I could try and convince myself it was all my wife's doing but that was a lie. She was right. She knew me better than I knew myself, having peered into the murky depths of my subconscious.

I was a sissy.

And why, why hide it from myself? Was it cowardice? Fear? The fragile belief that if I followed a set path, my entire life simply painted by numbers, I'd lead a safe life?

I'd denied myself, the mystery of what I secretly desired plaguing my thoughts. I'd buried it deep, deep enough that I'd almost forgotten all about it. But it remained there, slowly poisoning the root of my soul. Now, as it broke through the surface like a weed, I embraced it, my secret desire, one I'd been too afraid to ask... to be... to be a cocksucker. To be his cocksucker.

As I looked up into his calm pale blue eyes there was no hesitation, no doubt. I opened my mouth, leaned forward, swirled my tongue around the tip of his hard cock, and tasted him. His musk was athletic, clean. My lips tightly wrapped around his shaft, I plunged forward, and struggled to reach his base. It was impossible, yet with each pump, I got closer until finally I reached it. I looked up at him, waiting for his approval before continuing to suck.

"She's a natural," he grunted as he reached back, and grasped the back of my hair, guiding me into a steady rhythm.

As I sucked his hard cock, I heard my wife sit down, and pour herself another glass of wine.

"I'm not surprised. I always thought he'd make a good cocksucker," she said, then took a sip. "He was useless at just about everything else."

He returned his attention back to me, tightly gripping my hair. Powerless, I was his now, his obedient sex toy.

"That's it..." he grunted as he forced his cock deep into my throat, my jaw aching, pried wide as I greedily took it. "Take every inch."

He looked back up at my wife, never breaking his cycle. "The pharmaceutical mishap, is it anatomically correct?"

"Shockingly precise considering it was a random mutation."

"Fuckable?" he asked.

"We may have to schedule more trials but yes, I believe so."

"No time," he said as he pulled his cock from my trembling lips. I reached forward, trying to take it again, but he denied me.

"Stand," he grunted.

I pulled myself off the floor, knees weak, my panties soaking wet, sweat glistening on my massive tits.

"Turn around, and lose the panties.

I obeyed, reached down, and slipped off my panties, letting them fall to the floor, then turned around.

"Place your hands on the table."

My heart ready to burst, I planted my hands on the table. It was low enough that it forced me to balance on my heels, causing me to raise my ass.

Daniel looked over at my wife. "I'm going to break in your husband. Any objections?"

"Break him... her. After the faulty formula is finished with him, I doubt there will be much left of my husband."

"Is it permanent?" he asked as he approached me, eying my bare ass.

"Unknown. We may have to do more research"

"No need," he said, as he grabbed my juicy hips. "I like to draw my own conclusions."

Digging his hands into my side, he tightened his grip. In anticipation, I spread my legs.

"Good girl," he said as he pressed his body against mine, his hard cock slipping between my cheeks, and sank into my wet pussy. I gasped, as he slammed me against the table, my thighs bouncing off the dense wood. Bent over, pounded from behind, my head turned, I saw my wife seated on the table, eating from the plate of chicken linguine held in her hands. With every thrust of his hard cock the table shook causing everything to bounce. The wine bottle tipped over, rolled to the edge of the table, fell off and shattered on the floor. Unphased, he continued to fuck me hard.

"She's tight," he said through clenched teeth.

"If you keep that up, she won't be," my wife said, smiling devilishly at me as she took a bite, her own body shaking with every thrust.

"I'm just working her in. Is she any use to you now?"

"As a maid, yes. As a husband, no. I think we can all agree she's done playing that failed role. Don't worry, I'll keep her on. If she misbehaves, maybe I'll invest in a decent strap-on to keep her in line."

My mind, prey to my new dark desires whipped up a frenzy of images, my wife wearing a thick plastic strap-on, having me practise my blowjob technique, or forcing me down on all fours, training me to take a massive cock. Would I misbehave, object? Unlikely.

With one final thrust, he cam, emptying his salty seed deep within my body. Spent, my entire body pulverized, I collapsed to the floor, his sticky seed dripping from me onto the tiles.

"Stunning," he said as he fell back into his chair, his cock still rock hard, fixed upright, ready.

Through labored gasps I looked up as my wife leapt off the table, walked to him, and began to stroke it.

"Leave her to clean up," she said, leaned in, and kissed him. "I want you to fuck me on his bed."

Possessed by a new energy he did, leaving me to resume my duties as her obedient maid, and clean up the mess they left behind.

Epilogue

As I followed the trail, gathering my mistress's discarded lingerie, I paused to listen as she howled, locked in the throws of passion. Even after a year, the intensity hadn't diminished, her sessions with Daniel intense, passionate.

Nor were they when he chose me...

He often arrived unannounced, said nothing. Sometimes he fucked me. Sometimes he simply let me suck his cock, emptying his salty cum into my eager mouth, watching as I held it open, showing him before swallowing, devouring every drop. Sometimes he took us both, taunting us as we pined for his affection, fighting to savor his massive cock, pouting when it wasn't ours to suck or, when he was feeling particularly mean, picking a favorite, and denying the other. It was the game we played, both of us eagerly anticipating it. While we waited, we fell into our regular routine. My lack of employment meant nothing to my mistress. She never asked, seemed not to care. She'd advanced up the corporate ladder, and was happy to support me in my new role as her personal maid. Although I'd fussed when she'd forced me from our bed, saying it was inappropriate as her servant, I'd obeyed. Besides, she of course was right. I had no place there, no longer her... her. What had I been?

It didn't matter. All that mattered was that she'd given me what I'd secretly desired but was too afraid to ask. Yes... to suck cock. Oh how I enjoyed that! Yes, that was part of it, but it was something else, so much more. As her obedient maid, anticipating her every need before she needed them, she'd given me exactly what I always wanted but was too afraid to ask... purpose.

The End