A Change in Our Marriage - The Sissy Cuckold

by Sara Desmarais

  That's what I pictured, right before Sara described it.

  Me. Sissy me. French maid me. Kneeling before a man. A master. Sucking his cock.

  She was doing this to me. She put these thoughts in my head.

  "Am I wrong? Tell me, lover, tell me that you didn't fantasize about that."

  I was so confused. Six months ago, I was a straight man, albeit with some kinky fetishes. Now, I was sissified, on hormones, growing breasts, thinking about sucking cock. I...I didn't know what to say. Some piece of manhood shot through me and I replied, pathetically...

  "I'm not gay," I stammered.

  She swatted aside my comment, standing back from me, "Tell me, am I wrong. Just tell me the truth. If I'm wrong, tell me you were not thinking about sucking your master's cock."

  I didn't know what to think. I didn't know if I wanted it, really wanted it, if she was making me think I did, or if she wanted it. Or all of them.

  "Was I wrong? Or did you fantasize about sucking your master's cock? Wrong or cock? A tall, dark man, his pants unbuttoned, his thick cock, erect, in your face. Was I wrong? Just say it."

  She actually described it just how I imagined it, humiliating the hell out of me. How was this happening to me? What was she doing to me? Why...married to this beautiful woman, was I thinking about cock?

  "Your silence is deafening, Julie. I know how badly you will be dying for it in the next few weeks. Don't worry, lover. The time is not right yet. Don't worry about tonight. Soon, you will beg me to let you suck cock."

  The worst part, aside from the cock itself, was I knew she was right. I knew that soon, I would be begging for it.

  She leaned forward again. "I can't wait, either, Julie, I want to see you do it as badly as you."

  Tears welled up in my eyes. I loved this woman more than life itself.

  Sara directed me upstairs, to shower, straighten up our bedroom, get dressed. I wore my standard weekend "uniform", of course, led off by a matching set of lingerie and stockings. The rest of my "uniform" consisted of heels that were just a bit too tall, a blouse and a simple skirt. Pretty, half way functional, sexy.

  "Can't wait, Julie," Sara asked walking into the room.

  "What," I blushed, quickly moving my hands.

  Looking at me, she smiled, "Can't wait for your breasts to grow, lover?" Of course, I'd been looking at myself in the mirror, turning slightly, looking at my chest, the small but steady growth, thinking exactly that.

  "My offer still stands."

  "Offer?"

  "For breasts...um...more quickly."

  "Quickly? You...you mean...implants."

  "Of course I mean implants. C cups without waiting, really. You'd still take the hormones, for...sensitivity, up there, and the change down there," she pointed, "but you could be admiring C cups...or bigger...much sooner."

  "But what about work?"

  "That's an interesting answer, Julie, worried about what people think, not whether you have breasts. And, your answer," her eyes started to tear up, "is why I love you."

  "Sara."

  "Your answer," she continued, "means so much. You think Steve would be worried about what people at work would think about breasts on him? He'd laugh at me for more serious reasons...a man with breasts...like a pig with wings...unnatural. But love, you do want them, so you'll know who you are."

  "I...," I realized of course, how right she was.

  "Don't worry about work, lover, we will talk about that. More importantly, do you? Do you want implants?"

  "Sara," I whispered.

  "I'll make an appointment with Dr. Nelson, we can discuss it with her, love."

  "But...wait...I..."

  "Don't worry, lover, we'll talk it through with her. But I'm so happy that today, of all days, you realize this."

  Yes, this day, the day of her first real date...that I knew about anyway...I half agreed to get breast implants. Fucked up and lovely.

  "Yes, Sara, of course. But...what about this day...I mean...I'm really not even sure what you are doing," I asked her, "you are going out...with him, I mean..."

  "Him...Steve you mean...he has a name, silly."

  "Yes," I blushed, "him."

  "Steve."

  "Yes."

  "Say his name, sweetie."

  I blushed deeply, "Steve."

  "Are you going out with Steve?"

  "Are...are you going out with...with Steve?"

  "That's what you want, don't you Julie?"

  Did I? Oh, I did, in the worst way. And didn't too.

  "Yes, Sara, I...I want you to go out with him."

  "Silly, of course I'm going out with him tonight."

  "And...and are you...," I paused, hesitated, stammered...

  "Am I going to...?"

  "You know, Sara."

  "Am I going to fuck him, you mean?"

  I nodded.

  "Is that what you want, Julie? Truly want?"

  That is the yin and yang of a cuckold's mind, isn't it? That's what we want and what we fear. The overwhelming thrill of knowing your wife is fucking another man. The terrible humiliation of the thought sending sexual frustration and excitement rushing through your body. The horrible jealousy, of course, of the situation, the shame, the revulsion, the disgust, mixed together. Pushing and prodding. Did I want her to fuck him? How disgusting. How thrilling.

  "Yes...yes, Sara...I...I do...I...I want you to...to fuck him," I said, for once anticipating her thoughts, knowing I had to say it.

  "Of course you do, lover," she said, moving her hand to my face, tenderly touching me, almost comforting me.

  "So...what are your plans, then?"

  "Well, love, after lunch I'm going to take a nice bath and relax. At three, Jamie from my salon is coming over to do my hair and nails and makeup. Kind of like prom night...or a wedding day," she laughed. "Steve is picking me up at six, and then, I don't know, I'll be home...later," she smiled.

  Just a few hours until she started getting ready. For her date. With Steve. I realized how sore I was. My little cock was going to be swollen all day, I realized, in pain, in my cage, on edge.

  After lunch, Sara went upstairs while I cleaned up the kitchen and sat at the table, flipping through the newspaper, trying to distract myself, pass time, who knows.

  "Baby, will you do something for me, please," Sara asked me, coming back into the kitchen. I looked up, startled, not having heard her come back down stairs.

  "What?"

  "Well, I want you to help me out a little today, you know, getting ready for this evening," she said.

  "Oh?"

  "Yes. Your little contribution to my happiness tonight."

  I shifted uncomfortably at that thought. Her happiness. Sure. Of course.

  "What do you want, Sara?"

  "Nothing too much, Julie, just a little help, a little participation to make you feel a part of this special day. Pitch in a little, so later, I can say that without your help I'd never have looked so pretty for my man tonight."

  Ouch.

  "Can you just go run the bath for me, please? I think it would be a nice gesture."

  Sure it would be. And when her stud was running his hand all over her smooth, clean, sweet skin, she can imagine the help of her sissy, cuckold husband making her that pretty. Another thought crossed my mind, mingled with the first. Both dominant wife and submissive husband will have contributed to the pleasure of the stud, then. Almost a joint effort to make this man happy in his night with the wife. Another way for the sissy to acquiesce to what was going on. Running her bath was more than just a gesture. It was another way for her to put me in my place, both exciting and humiliating, serving the mistress of the house. Or even the master, since she served both roles.

  "Oh, there is something on the bed for you love, before you start my bath," she called as I left the kitchen.

  Puzzled, I walked up the stairs, down the hall, to our bedroom, to Mistress' lair. Opening the door, I thought, "Oh, she didn't!"

  Bu
t she did. Sara did. Sara always did. The expected and unexpected.

  Set out on the bed, with obvious loving care, from my loving, devious, dominant, tender, sweet wife was a satin French maid's uniform with what can only be described as "all the trimmings" that go with that.

  Honestly, is there any deeper embodiment of a sissy's fantasy than the French maid? Any at all?

  I saw a lavender card atop the uniform, signed simply, "To my Handmaiden, With Eternal Love, Sara."

  I almost wept, overcome with love for my wife. How did I get so lucky to deserve her?

  I looked through the ensemble Sara had assembled for me, the lingerie, shoes, uniform, cap, apron, makeup, all of it, filled with honest to goodness sissy excitement as I undressed and mentally prepared to become my wife's handmaiden, her maid, her cuckold.

  The lingerie was as fine as she'd ever provided for me to wear. I felt the padding of the black satin bra as l fastened it around my chest. The tight padding of the demi bra tugged and pulled just right, arranging my small but growing A cup breasts into the illusion of C cup swells. I think I knew at that instant that I had to have breasts like that all the time, by the hormones, if need be, or implants if I must. The matching full cut panties did their own lifting and tucking, and I felt my ass move ever so slightly upward, taut. They did not hide my chastity cage by any means, but I knew that without it, my little cock would be totally hidden from view. They were tight, severe.

  The garter belt, the first eight strap garter I'd ever seen, let alone wear, set high on my waist down to my hips, and pulled in my stomach, creating an artificial, but manageable hourglass figure on my lithe body. Natural black silk stockings were all that should be attached to something so heavenly, and of course Sara had thought the same.

  The uniform came with a short but practical set of petticoats that fit nicely around my tucked waist. When I slipped on the dress, and smoothed it over my petticoats, I shuddered at the sexual feeling that ran through me.

  The "trimmings" included a satin apron -- pity the maid who did any heavy cleaning in this uniform -- a little cap, a choker type necklace, and fingerless gloves. When I stepped into the black heels, I swear I felt as feminine, as submissive, as inadequate as a man as I'd ever felt.

  I thought about makeup for a minute, somehow knew exactly what to do. As feminine as I could, of course. Blush, the lipstick, all slightly exaggerated, especially the eye makeup.

  Yes, Sara knew exactly what she was doing to me and I loved it deeply. I looked into the mirror, breathless, truly breathless at the leggy blonde, cleavage showing, the maid, the sissy.

  Walking into the bathroom, I could not help but feel my chest leading me forward, my ass outward, my legs going on and on. I suppose the true hired help is not to be seen, but this maid would certainly draw attention.

  I also realized how Sara again drew me deeper into the web of her infidelity. Her date with Steve was never to be just about her, but also, and even more importantly, to be about me. I was a full participant in this, a willing participant, not just agreeing, but actively helping my wife cuckold me. She continued to use my submission, my desire for feminization and even humiliation, to excite me and make me wish for more. My inadequacies as a man were only one part, constantly reinforced, desired, used for the ultimate goal of our mutual pleasure.

  Looking at myself in the mirror, the very vision of a sissy, the makeup, the overdone eyes, my natural cleavage exposed, my legs on display, forced to walk in a truly feminine manner, I knew my role in my marriage now. Yes, it was a role I craved, however humiliating it may be. It was a role I wanted as much as Sara wanted, for this was about us, really, not Steve. He had a role to play, but Sara and I were the true lovers.

  I ran the water for my love, for her bath, adding my favorite scented oil to the water, careful not to spill any on my uniform, of course. Inhaling the scent, I savored it, the memories of nights with Sara, breathing in this scent off her smooth skin. Tonight it would be another man taking my place, in a literal and figurative sense. It would be his nose running along Sara's taught stomach, up to her breasts, or down to her loins, the smell leading the way. It would be he, another, nuzzling her neck, licking and kissing. It would be that man where I'd been before, on top of Sara, grunting.

  Watching the water flow into the oversized tub, breathing Sara's perfumed water, I knew it would be a real man intertwined with her tonight, thrusting into her, sweating on her, leaving his own scent on her, his own...his cum...inside her.

  I couldn't stand the thought. Truthfully, the anticipation was perhaps too much for my mind to bear. The possession of Sara. By Steve. By any man. Would it stop with just him?

  "Oh, mon ami," Sara said from behind me in a French accent while I was lost in thought.

  "Oui, Madame," I asked, turning toward her, eyes downcast, curtseying slightly.

  "Simply adorable, Julie," she gasped.

  "Merci, Madame," I blushed.

  "You are amazing, love, amazing. And I'd be honored to have you serve me this afternoon, my handmaiden, while I got ready for this evening, oui?"

  "Oui, Madame," I answered her, fully committed to submitting to her forever.

  "Yes, yes," she said. "Please then." She indicated for me to undress her for her bath, which I gently did, tenderly, carefully, grateful just to be in the room with her, thrilled to be serving my unfaithful wife.

  I stood by the tub and watched Sara carefully bathe, working her scented bath soap gently over her body. Oh, how I longed to do that myself. When she worked over her breasts, she watched me out of the corner of her eye, as I shifted uncomfortably from heel to heel. I'd never known a bath could be such an erotic experience, and wished that I was free of the chastity cage and the pressure it caused even my little cock, swollen as it was.

  After she rinsed the scented soap from her body she stood and said, "towel" in a command. I took that to mean for me to dry her, and did so as she stepped out of the tub.

  Bending down carefully in the heels, I started with her legs, gently drying Sara's body, shuddering with erotic lust as I did so. I paused ever so slightly at her breasts, working the towel over them with my hands several time more than really necessary, and felt dizzy as I did so.

  "Watch yourself, Julie," Sara said, rebuking me, "lest you find yourself quickened along with a lashing.

  "I'm sorry, Mistress," I said without thinking, realizing how natural it felt to be scolded for touching my wife's breasts. That was certainly not my place, of course.

  After completion of my task, Sara led me to the bedroom. "Sara, are we going to..."

  "Julie," she cut me off, "please don't forget your place. A maid waits until her mistress speaks to her before speaking, no?"

  "Yes, Ma'am." I must remember my role and place, especially this afternoon. A role, it was.

  "Better. Over there, please," Sara said, pointing to the wall across from her dressing table. I walked toward the wall. "In front of the hook, turn around, my love."

  I was in front of a hook in the wall from which we occasionally hung plants. Sara had something in her hand, some sort of clip, and just smiled at the puzzled look on my face. She reached behind my head, her naked breasts brushed against my chest, and took a grip on my collar. I realized what she was doing as she clipped the collar to the clip to the hook in the wall, binding me standing up, back to the wall, like a piece of art or furniture.

  "Need I bind your hands or gag you, Julie," she asked, "or will you be a good maid?"

  She had some simple tasks to do in the bedroom, applying lotion to herself, towel drying her hair, and I stood there, at her beck and call, teetering on my heels, held in place by a simple hook, to the wall, watching silently, helplessly, and hungrily at my incredible wife.

  "That's a nice station for you, love, my maid, at my beck and call, silently waiting mistress' command."

  I shifted, carefully heel to heel.

  "You know, I just realized, it gives my maid a nice view of the bed and what
ever her mistress may be doing there."

  And whoever she may be doing it with, I thought, close to shaking, my stomach was turning so heavily. Was there some future plan in my wife's pretty little head? I'd already seen her do that once, at the club, fucking Steve while I sat quietly next to them. Could it happen again in the future? Standing helplessly while she took a man to bed right in front of me. Even if it never happened, the image was planted in me, and no matter where she was or what she was doing, I'd be haunted and teased by it.

  Sara put a heavy terry robe on before coming to me again and releasing me. "You know, I like that. I may need some more of these hooks installed throughout the house," she laughed.

  I followed Sara down stairs, walking behind her, eyes downcast, feeling as submissive, defeated and excited as a "girl" could.

  Sara relaxed for a little more than an hours, resting, I presumed for the activities of later that evening. What was a sissy maid to do? Any rest? Nothing to do, but wait patiently for Mistress to be ready for her.

  "Julie, my love, Jamie from the Salon will be here any minute to do my hair and nails."

  I nodded, unsure what the response she expected from this statement, but soon to find out as the door bell rang, announcing the arrival of a visitor, I presume Jamie.

  "Shall I go upstairs, Mistress," I asked, taking a step back towards the stairs.

  "Upstairs? Heavens no, maid, go let Jamie in."

  "Let her in?" My heart leaped to my throat? She couldn't be serious, could she? Could she? How the hell couldn't she be? Exposure to her stylist is exactly something Sara would do in a situation like this, and I should have realized it much earlier today.

  "Her," Sara laughed, throwing my mind off kilter. "Why do you presume Jamie is a woman? Jamie? James? Silly girl, hurry off," Sara scolded when the door rang again.

  I knew better than question that tone again, and face flushed, walked quickly to the front door. Looking straight at my shoes, I opened the door to let Jamie into our house.