Tradwife for Life

I'm disgusted. Outraged even. I can feel my blood boiling before I take a moment to compose myself. I try, and fail, to remember that the whole point of social media is drive outrage through engagement.

And yet, I just can't help myself.

Before I can stop, my thumbs are angerly tapping out a reply to this post from a so-called "tradwife"—traditional wife—influencer. Before stumbling upon this post, I had no idea that "#tradwife" was even a thing.

And yet, here was this woman, who was apparently quite popular on Insta, TikTok, Twitter, and the rest, dressed up in her finest 50's cosplay housewife dress, her perfect bouncy blonde hair in a bob cut, just above the shoulders, and makeup expertly applied, explaining to her followers how wonderful it was to be a perfect, submissive housewife.

Christ, most women—married or not—don't have the time, money, or energy to even put on makeup in the morning, let alone the rest. And it really was an appalling message, one that spits in the face of decades of sexual liberation and progress for women in the home and workplace. How many sicko incels will see this, and how many women will suffer as a result?

I ended up retweeting her "The future MAGA dipshit mouth-breathers want: the past."

I smiled to myself as I hit send. And yet, I found myself watching her video again. Damn, she was an absolute bombshell. Like, I've never really been attracted to women, but she was

gorgeous

. And she 100% pulled off that 50's style, including her large, perky breasts and perfect hourglass figure. It made the whole thing even more distasteful, promising desperate men who already lacked the emotional intelligence to have a real, committed relationship from a disingenuous TikTok hottie who will never, ever fuck them.

I got a few likes from my followers and then went back to work, staring at an Excel spreadsheet, reflecting unironically on this particular woman's progress. But hey, at least it's work.

A few minutes later I got a notification that I had a message request in my private messages. To my shock, it was this #tradwife, who apparently went by the name "Dorothy." Jesus, did she even take a 50's sounding name as a pseudonym? I couldn't help but rolling my eyes.

Tradwife_Dorothy:

Hi, sorry for sliding into your DM's lol, but I try to avoid conflict on my posts...I don't like putting that negativity out into the world! But like, I just wanted you to know that this "tradwife" movement isn't at all about "going back in time." Like, I know the 50's were like SUPER problematic in so many ways. But, I think there's some good stuff too! Like, I see how many mom's struggle to balance kids, jobs, and their home, and how their husbands, despite being "progressive" still expect so much from them! So, I try to give some advice on how to make easy to prepare, tasty meals, and look good doing it! That's all!

I paused for a moment. This was certainly not what I was expecting from her. And, as the meme goes:

Heartbreaking! Worst person you know makes a great point.

I mean, the number of "progressive men" that I dated who still expected the woman to do all the cooking and cleaning, well, it was downright depressing.

I don't know why, but I felt compelled to reply.

Zo-Zo_A_Go-Go:

Sadly you are right about most men. I just feel like, whether you intend it or not, your message is probably taken the wrong way, and to the extreme, by a certain subset of men who absolutely do not need to believe that this "tradwife" lifestyle is practical for most people.

Tradwife_Dorothy:

Oh, lol, that's where you're wrong! Like, did you actually watch my videos, not just the chopped-up clips on Twitter?

I blushed a little from embarrassment. I actually hadn't, I'd just reacted (overreacted?), just like social media wanted.

Zo-Zo_A_Go-Go:

Well, now that you mention it, I just saw the clip from Twitter, lol.

Tradwife_Dorothy:

OK, because like...I think you'll see that I really focus on the practicalities of day to day living in my longer videos.

Zo-Zo_A_Go-Go:

Lol, ok ok. But like, so you know, this definitely comes off as something worse than it actually is. Actually...I was wondering if this was really like a 50's housewife fetish or something lol.

Tradwife_Dorothy:

NO! LOL!!! I can even prove it to you...OK, so this is going to come off as super forward and maybe even sound like super sketch, but I see we live in the same city and like, you seem super interesting and opinionated...you can totally come over for dinner and see it's not that big of a deal, if you want. Then you can report it back to all your lefty friends ;-)

I felt a weird sense of excitement from her invite. Wait, no, this was sketch right? Before I could reply, she sent me a follow up message.

Tradwife_Dorothy:

Why don't you come over for dinner tomorrow? Dinner is at 6, but feel free to come over around 5 so we can have a drink and get to know each other :) And in case you're wondering, my full name is Dorothy Ellis, and you can very easily google me!

She then sent her address. Sort of dumbfounded, and without other plans, I agreed. Hey, at least I'd get a free meal out of it.

* * * *

The next night I looked through my wardrobe completely flummoxed. What the hell was I even thinking going to "Tradwife" Dorothy's place? And, looking at my clothes, there was no way I was going to out bombshell this bombshell. I turned and looked in the mirror, weirdly disappointed by my pale skin and relatively thin frame. No, don't do this Zo! Don't let that woman get in your head! Not everyone can have a perfect hourglass figure and impossibly large and perky breasts. And yet, my B-cup breasts seemed so inadequate.

I sighed and put on my sexiest matching set of white lace bra and panties. Even if I couldn't be as sexy as her, I could at least feel sexy underneath. I looked at my dresses, but that would just be selling out at this point. I put on jeans and a button up shirt, and I left my long, wavy dark brown hair down. I might not look as traditionally sexy as her, but I was still a good-looking gal, I told myself. I gave myself a once-over one last time, and then got into my car and drove to her place.

To say that she lived in a nice neighborhood was an understatement. These were old money homes, not to be confused with the McMansions in the suburbs, and right by the lake. Her house, in particular, was gorgeous. And huge. They must be, in a word, loaded. No wonder she could afford to be a domestic goddess. As my well-loved, old Honda Accord pulled into the driveway, I was left once again feeling inadequate. They probably have couches worth more than my car, I quipped to no one in particular.

Dorothy answered the door, and god damn, she looked even better in real life. We were probably about the same height, around 5'5", but in heels she stood above me like some 50's pin-up goddess. Goddess. Damn! There's that word, again! I really need to stop using that word! She was wearing a blue and white polka dot dress—no joke—and yet it fit her curves perfectly, and it was admittedly a hot look. I guess if this is some sort of fetish, it's not the worst one in the world.

Anyway, if she looked down on my rather basic modern attire, she didn't show it. Instead it was a very warm welcome as she showed me to the spacious and modern living room and offered me a glass of white wine.

I was a bit surprised how easily we got on. She was warm and welcoming and a good listener. We laughed a little bit about our misunderstanding, though I voiced my concerns about her sending the wrong message to the wrong sort of man.

Dorothy explained that, yes, she had had some bad interactions with incel types, and that my concern was valid. But her bubbling positivity over, well, everything was infectious. I could tell that she took real pride in being a positive influence, and even showed me some chats with some horrible "men's rights activists," all of which ended with them apologizing to her and promising to reconsider their behavior! Amazing!

"You know, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar" she said, with a gentle, playful nudge.

I reflected that maybe I was just a typical "angry feminist" after all? But then again, this whole "lifestyle" or whatever was bothering me on a deeply personal level. For one, it was impractical for all but the very upper echelon of society.

"But doesn't it bother you?" I asked, circling back to our original discussion, "Not having a job or an income?"

She started laughing hysterically. "Does anyone ever get to the end of their life and wish that they had worked more?"

"No, I guess not..."

"Besides, you'd be shocked how much I'm bringing in from my various social media accounts."

"OK, but you have to admit that it's not a practical lifestyle for most women. I mean, some families are working 2-3 extra part time jobs just to make ends meet..."

"And isn't that a shame..." a deep voice said behind me. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up from his very presence. I looked over my shoulder to see her husband towering over us. He was at least 6'2", tall, undeniably handsome with dark hair with just a few flecks of grey starting to come through at the temples and piercing blue eyes.

He walked past me, leaning over to kiss his wife. This was not a normal "peck on the lips" that you'd expect from most long-term relationships, but a slow, sensual kiss. I watched on, weirdly aroused by the sight of her eyes looking up at him with pure lust and desire. It was palpable. I couldn't help but feel an erotic jolt of energy from the brief encounter.

"So, this is my husband, Steve," Dorothy beamed.

"Zoe," I said, extending my hand. He walked up to me slowly and confidently, his eyes locked on mine. Steve towered above me, standing just a little too close for comfort, taking my hand with a gentle, yet firm grip.

"Pleased" he said, keeping his eyes locked on mine, as my neck craned back. The simple handshake seemed to drag on for a few moments too long before Dorothy interrupted with a clearing of her throat. She told him to go relax for a bit after his long and busy day and that she'd call for him when dinner was ready.

"You should go with her," Steve said in a confident, assured tone.

I nodded, feeling unusually compliant and...submissive? As followed her into the kitchen, my brain full of strange thoughts and feelings. This was not what I expected! And what was up with that handshake? Was it a dominance thing? If it was...did I like it?

Dorothy had a pot roast already going in the oven and asked me to help prepare the salad (thankfully she didn't ask for more, I'm absolutely useless in the kitchen). It was an amazing feast that she had prepared!

We had another glass of wine as the roast and garlic bread finished cooking, and then she called for Steve to join us at the dinner table.

"Would you like to lead us in prayer?" Steve said as we sat down. My face must've gone white.

"Umm...I'm not...well, not really religious..." I stammered, feeling suddenly embarrassed about my atheism, which was also unusual for me. Usually I was proud, eager even, to discuss religion (or lack thereof).

Dorothy jumped in, saying it was OK, before leading us in prayer. I awkwardly folded my hands together and bowed my head, doing my best religious person impression.

The food was divine, but what else is to be expected from a Goddess? She offered me another glass of wine, but this time I abstained.

"I'm driving...I better not," I said.

Toward the end of dinner I started feeling a little strange. Distracted? No. Warm? Yes, warm. And...fuzzy? A little...out of body? Yes, something like that.

"Zoe, are you OK, dear?" Dorothy asked sweetly.

"Huh?" I blushed for a moment, snapping back to attention, "Oh...umm...yes...I...I think I'm not used to the wine...it's umm...stronger than usual?"

I watched as Dorothy and Steve exchange a knowing glance. She simply nodded and took my hand.

"Silly me, I didn't even give you a tour of the house" she said, pulling me out of the chair. I followed her easily, feeling as if I was floating in the breeze. "I find some after dinner activity helps, don't you?"

I nodded again, following her around the spacious house as she pointed out various rooms. She dragged me into yet another bedroom, with yet another king-sized bed.

"It's a beautiful house" I said dreamily.

"Yes, thankfully my husband is very successful. He works in pharmaceuticals..." she said the last part with a twinkle in her eye.

"Oh..." I said distantly, my cloudy brain not putting two and two together.

"Yes...and he's working on some exciting things at the moment...for instance..." she stepped closer to me, still in her heels, still looking down at me, this time in a rather intimidating manner, "I bet you're feeling pretty warm...fuzzy...horny, even, right now? And very open to suggestions..."

I gasped as I looked up at her, time seeming to stand still.

"I...you..."

She just smiled and leaned in, coming in for a kiss. I gasped again, and weakly tried pulling away, but then gave in, letting her kiss me, and returning her kisses with a quickly growing passion as she leaned me back onto the bed.

"Wait..." I said dreamily, watching her pull away her polka dot dress, revealing some sexy vintage white lace bra and panties. Holy hell, this woman...I tried to compose myself, leaning up on my elbows, "Did you...d-drug me?"

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it," she said, running a finger down my cheek.

"OK..." I said, my concerns running away, like sand through my fingers, impossible to grasp.

She started climbing onto the bed, eyes locked on mine. There was still something wrong here.

"Wait...I...I've never...with...a woman..." I struggled against the concoction that was now coursing through my veins.

"But you've always wanted to be..."

Like magic, her simple words transformed my reality. Of course I wanted this.

"But..." I mumbled, trying desperately to grasp onto something, some thought or concern that simply was no longer there.

She ignored my weak protests, straddling me and shutting me up with more passionate kisses. I felt her fingers unbuttoning my shirt, and quickly thereafter unclasping my bra.

My mind tried to keep up with the events that were rapidly unfolding. Was I actually about to have sex with a woman? With

this

woman? She then lowered her head and started licking, sucking, and even lightly biting my nipples.

"Oh god..." I moaned. I couldn't believe how horny I was getting. Wait...what was that she said about her husband? All critical thinking went out the window as she squeezed my breasts with one hand, the other hand now working to unbutton my pants. Her words "don't worry your pretty little head" echoed in my brain, making it impossible to think about anything that could possibly be wrong.

I couldn't believe how much I wanted this...wanted her. Of course I always wanted to have sex with a woman, and what a woman to first have sex with! I looked down at her, still in her bra and panties. Fuck she's so sexy. Even if I wanted to back out of this, a silly thought on its own, how could I in this state? I felt her soft, full breasts press into my body as she kissed and played with mine; I felt like I was in heaven. She then kissed down my body, hooking her fingers under my jeans and panties, removing both in one fell swoop.

Dorothy started kissing her way back up my legs, which were already parting in anticipation. It didn't take too long for her to make her way up to my eager and needy pussy, which was soaked with pure arousal and desire. I thought I'd come instantly, but she kept me on the edge, begging for more.

"Oh, you'll get more than you ever asked for..." I was too far gone to put any of these pieces together. I should've known I was in trouble, but my body was alive and on fire like it had never been before.

As she continued eating my pussy, I vaguely became aware of being watched. I looked up and saw Steve enjoying the show. This should've bothered me...I knew this all should've bothered me. "Don't worry your pretty little head" once again rang in my ears. Yes, there was nothing to worry about. In fact, it was even a little arousing, putting on a show for him.

I watched Steve casually walk up behind his wife, slowly and confidently getting undressed. He dropped his boxers and a huge, bulging cock popped to attention. His eyes were again staring right into mine as he slid Dorothy's panties to the side and pushed inside her. I felt her moan into my pussy as she continued licking.

She started kissing back up my body, fingers continuing to expertly tease me right on the edge of ecstasy. She drew eye level with me and started grinding her pussy into mine as he fucked her. I could feel his balls slapping my pussy. Oh my god, this felt amazing.

Before I knew it, he pulled out of her and then pushed his cock against my opening. My eyes went wide. Something deep inside of me knew there was something wrong.

"Shhh...just give in and let go..." she whispered in his ear as I accepted him into me. "Doesn't it feel good, our juices all mixing together?"

"It feels soooo good..." I moaned, trapped under her, feeling him push all the way inside of me.

"Are you on birth control?" Dorothy asked sweetly, but the question caused me to briefly tense up.

"N-no...wait..." I said, a sudden panic rising quickly inside of me.

"Shhhh...it's OK...don't worry about it...everything will be OK."

I relaxed again as she kissed me, her words of reassurance echoing in my head, washing away any fears or doubts. What was there to even worry about? All critical thinking just floated away as I gave in to the intense pleasure.

I felt her start to get up and turn around. She straddled my head and ordered me to eat her pussy as Steve fucked me. I eagerly complied, my hands reaching up to grab her hips, pulling her wet pussy into my face as I heard her start to kiss her husband.

"You can't come in her...if she gets pregnant we can't sell her..." I overheard her saying to her husband. I knew that should've bothered me, but once again I just heard her voice in my head telling me everything would be OK.

I heard Steve groan, "I don't know...I really like this one...maybe we can keep her...?"

"Another one? Steeeeve..." she playfully slapped him and kissed him some more.

"Another one?" I asked between licks, or rather, mindlessly repeated.

"Shhh, don't worry sweety" she cooed as I went back to eating her pussy with delight.

I felt Steve's movements start to become harder, faster, more erratic. Dorothy's moans turned me on like crazy, as I felt my own orgasm building, so, so close to the edge.

"Ohhh god...S-steve..." I heard her moan, "you...you can come in her...if you want..."

I moaned in delight. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to give myself completely to Steve, and to give myself to Dorothy, whose delicious pussy was everything to me right then. I ached for him to fill me, and a moment later, with one last thrust, I felt his body shudder as he came inside me. Feeling him erupting inside me put me over the edge, my pussy gripping his cock, squeezing the last precious drops out of him. I thrashed and moaned and licked and pulled Dorothy's wet pussy into my face, in absolute heaven.

I collapsed onto the bed, completely spent. Dorothy gently climbed off of me, reached into a bedside drawer and pulled out a strange device. I watched, absentmindedly as she strapped the little black box around my ankle, and locked it.