Prologue 2

"Have you ever once considered a different approach?"

One of the first things I noticed when I met my wife was her ability to be brutally blunt during our most personal moments. What surprised me even more was my own endless fascination with her equal ability to make me love it, and this evening appeared to be no different. "How is it you are so damn coy about what you want in our bedroom?" she demanded. "Why do you always feel you need to rely on your typically vague, oblique hints to prompt me into giving you what you want?"

Her finger lightly traced a circle around my puckered rosebud, then grazed my perineum, leaving my body shivering in its wake as we lay together in the gathering midsummer twilight. "I think you already know," I quietly answered.

"I know I'm aware of what it is you think you want" was her reply. "You've certainly dropped enough hints about it over the last few years. What I don't know is how badly you really want it. Do you want it badly enough to risk the humiliation of asking me directly even when you're almost certain it can only lead to me ridiculing you? Quite frankly, if you are not prepared to risk ruin for what you want, there's no way you can honestly say you wanted it that badly. If you are really serious, shouldn't you just ask for it?"

The sudden silence in the room became oppressive as I struggled with my limited options to form an acceptable answer. "I want you to make me your girl," I finally heard myself answer in an almost-inaudible whisper. "I want to be forced to be your girl. I want to be forced to wear women's clothes, and I want to be fucked long and hard while I'm wearing them. I want to be fucked like a woman. I want to be fucked like I was your woman."

This sudden outburst, surprisingly candid by my standards, startled even me. The words were the stuff of my secret dreams, but I now heard them running insanely around the room, screaming at the top of their lungs. They rattling loudly in the silence of our quiet bedroom and felt them exploding in the air. They terrified me; I could only guess how it all sounded to her. What the hell had I just done? Only after what seemed like hours did they slowly begin to fade away like tarnished spangles, and I heard a familiar voice, slow and measured, confident as ever, whispering in my ear.

"I can do that."

I tried to look away from it in shame and embarrassment, but my wife cupped my face in her hands and looked at me full on. "I can make all your dreams come true, dear heart. But if you want them to happen, they're going to happen on my terms, not yours, and you'll just have to trust me with this. This is going to require a complete change in our relationship. Not just for you, but for both of us. You understand that - right?'

"Yes," I whispered back, the eagerness of puppy-like excitement suddenly on full display.

"I'm not sure you do," she said calmly. "If you now expect me to treat you as a woman in our marriage - even if only once - that forces me to question my own sexuality. I love you for being you, dear one; I always have. You have often been an amazing and innovative lover when the spirit moves you. But if you ask me to undo my life to give you this, I can guarantee you that we will never ever revisit the way things once were between us. I can't live like that, never knowing from day to day who's up and who's down. I don't ever want to fuck you again in this bed if I have to be endlessly unsure as to whether you're enthusiastically plowing me like a real man or fantasizing that you're the woman. We've been married for 15 years, and you should know how I am by now. I need to know where this is going. If we go forward with this, we are playing by my rules. If you accept, you are going to become - within the bounds of our home, at least - my full-time female lover. In the bedroom you will follow my each and every lead, and you will do it without question."

With this, you brought yourself up to an elbow in an attempt to better read my expression in the dim light. "Can you do that? Do you agree to live by my rules? Because if you don't think you can, we're are going to forget this conversation ever happened. So think carefully now before you answer - please take your time. Ask yourself: 'Is this what I really want?'"

I didn't want to wait any longer. Taking a deep breath, I then proceeded to race through my answer. "Yes," I insisted. "Yes, it is. Each night when I go to bed, I dream of this . . . I dream of being pantied by you. I dream of being forced to do things I don't think I could ever do on my own. Do I want this? God, yes! I want . . . no, I NEED IT! I need you to use me as your private fuck toy. Desperately, unequivocally, totally, I need you to take charge of my body, and I want you to fuck me in every way a girl can get fucked."

Following this second outburst, silence again took over the room until her voice switched to that louder, more matter-of-fact tone knew so well. "All right then," I heard her say, "here's some of what you can expect over the next several days. Right now, we're going to the bathroom where you will stand naked on a towel in the middle of the room. While you are there, you will be forbidden to speak because your words in this matter have reached the end of their usefulness. There is no debate. You will stand there in a state of total submission to me, naked and silent until I tell you to speak.

"First, I will take the electric clippers and remove all the hair from your body from the neck on down. After your body hair has been shorn to stubble and we both see your masculinity scattered worthlessly across the towel, I am drawing you a hot, scented bath. Using my pink woman's razor, I will then carefully shave your legs, arms and body. It's going to be long, slow and extremely thorough. You will move only at my command; you will raise both arms while I shave your arm pits . . ."

I thought of the pink razor I'd seen a thousand times in the bathroom, and the very mention of it being used to clear a smooth path across my lathered skin left me light headed. She took a firm hold of my balls and rock-hard root, and I moaned deeply. "I am shaving this bare, too," she said. "I am going to lather your cock and balls and run that pink razor over them again and again until you think they've disappeared. I'm shaving every bit of hair from your crotch, dear, until your twitching little clitty and your hungry, tight man pussy become feminine smooth."

The side of your finger made comic sideways swipes through my pubic hair, and I felt faint. "From this moment on just seeing your body naked will conjure up the most vivid memory of your life. You are going to replay this evening over and over again in your mind whenever you have pause to wonder who you are and how you got here. I want you to always remember that it was your wife and your wife alone who took a pink woman's razor, scraped away your masculinity and threw it into the trash. I want you to also be reminded that after she witnessed your final humiliation as a man, it was also your wife who chose to keep you forever as her submissive girl. Whatever fate befalls us in the future, dear one, it will be your responsibility to maintain a smooth, soft, feminine body which will not only delight and tantalize me each evening but will also serve as a reminder of this very moment in our life together. Each time you refresh your smoothness will be reminded that, in the end, it was you, dear heart - you and you alone - who chose to live out the rest of our lives together as my girl."

Her words rang in my ears from far down a long, dark, time-stained tunnel. I felt my entire previous existence falling away to nothingness, and my mind wobbled on its axis. All this from those four words: "I can do that." I heard those four simple words thunder in my head, over and over, and as she unfolded her plans for my new life, I found myself unable to focus. That which I had once prepared to abandon as totally unlikely was becoming reality faster than I could have ever imagined. Again, did I want all this? Did I really? God yes, I did!

My run-away brain yielded once again to that matter-of-fact voice which somehow had become both comforting and confidence-inspiring for me. "After your bath, I'm patting you dry with a soft, warm towel and then I'm moisturizing your skin. Plan on getting used to that, by the way, because skin moisturizer and hair conditioner are on your dance card for the rest of your life. After I decide that your skin appears to have a chance to someday take on a soft, feminine glow, I will hold open a pair of lacy panties for you. When you step into them and experience the feeling of them gliding up your shaved legs for the first time, you will know your life heading in an entirely new direction. Tonight you're stepping into a pair of my panties; tonight you're falling asleep in one of my nighties. Tomorrow, however, you will burn all your male underwear and buy your own women's things. From this point on, my woman wears only female undergarments, is that completely understood?"

I nodded, instantly thankful that the darkness probably hid much of my over-flowing excitement. All things considered, it might seem strange to worry that I might appear idiotic at such a time, but my wife's opinion of me never seemed more important than it did right then.

"I'm trusting you to shop for yourself tomorrow," she continued on. "I fully expect you to experience some humiliation from shopping alone, but you'll just have to deal with it. Eventually you will also be buying bras, camis, stockings, garter belts, slips, skirts - I might even want to see you in some pretty dresses - so you better get used to feeling humiliation. Tomorrow, though, you only need to buy two dozen pair of panties in various styles and colors plus a half-dozen nightdresses. The appearance is strictly your choice, but this will be your first opportunity to show me you are the submissive member of this marriage; your choices should always consider your lover. That, should you have already forgotten, is me. If you like, you have my permission to buy a few cotton panties for yard work and such, but the majority of your purchases tomorrow should be nylon or silk. I expect them to be very feminine, too - I expect pastel shades, lace, ruffles, bows, especially in your nighties - but maybe you should just stick with full-cut granny panties until you get a feel for what works for you. You'll still wear male clothes to work, of course, but you ALWAYS-ALWAYS-ALWAYS will be wearing panties next to smooth, well-moisturized skin to remind you 24-7 of your exact place in our relationship.

"As far as the workplace or any other public location is concerned, what you wear on top is strictly up to you, sweetheart, but when you are at home - when you are alone with me! - I will be the one who chooses how my little sissy dresses . . ."

"Little sissy!" Hearing the words for the first time once again raised doubts in my mind. I have wanted this so badly - now even more than I ever thought I did - but I never prepared for the shock of hearing that word applied to me. Even here she obviously anticipated my reaction because immediately her arms wrapped tightly around me, and she nuzzled my ear. "You ARE a sissy, you know," she said, her voice once again dropping to a soothing whisper. "But you are MY SISSY! Don't ever forget that. You belong to me, only to me, and I'm not sharing. I've always known you were submissive; knowing you're also a sissy is just icing on the cake. I have always accepted you for what you are, you know that, and the femininity you display in our home and next to your skin can never change that.

"I think it's time you accepted it as well, don't you?" she ask, pausing to allow its message to sink into my overloaded brain.

The return of her forceful tone provided me with a reminder of my new reality: "Remember, dear heart, you asked for this. I am only giving you what you said you wanted. I am also giving you a new sissy name, by the way. When those lace panties finally slide up those delicious, freshly shaved legs this evening, and you first feel silk embracing your moist little clitty and your invitingly smooth virgin pussy, your name becomes "Roni." I might even have it embroidered on some of your new clothes . . ."

Even in the dim light of our bedroom, she could sense I was still at war with myself over her latest revelations. Dropping her voice back down to a sexy whisper, she purred into my ear: "They are just words, you know; you can break their spell over you by simply acknowledging them. Just repeat after me: 'My name is Roni; I'm a sissy.'"

Crossing this final threshold brought tears of joy to my eyes, and I buried my wet face deeply into her breasts. "My name is Roni," I heard myself admit between sobs. "I only want to be your pretty little sissy. I want to be fucked by you."

Hearing that, her roving fingers once again began their play on my butt cheeks. A startled gasp erupted as one finger suddenly penetrated my virgin ass, and a dark moan reached out from somewhere deep in my soul as her exploring digit began to massage my prostate.

"Good girl, Roni!" she exclaimed as my prostate began leaking pre-cum. I still remember her delighted laughter and that marvelous, matter-of-fact voice. "We're going to have such fun, aren't we? Now what say we go to the bathroom and begin separating my little sissy girl from all of her nasty male hair?

"We've a lot of work to do tonight before you're ready to climb into those lace panties!"