The Trophy Wife, cont.

Caressing my smooth bare thigh above the top of my stocking, Roger continued, "Yeah.  He's in New York for a conference and I ran into him at lunch.  I invited him and his wife to come out to the house for dinner on Saturday night.  I'm sure you can put something nice together, can't you?"  My stomach knotted and I felt my heart start to race, but I squeeked out, "Sure, darling."

 

Roger set his martini down and shifted me around in his lap until I was leaning back against his chest.  Spreading my thighs with on hand and sliding the other up my flank, he nuzzled at my neck, giveing me goosebumps and murmuring, "that's not a problem for you, is it Baby?  Seeing Norm again?"  As Roger's hands caressed me, I struggled to think.  "No... it's just that..."  Roger's right hand stroked the front of my satin thong as his left cupped my breast, locating a nipple beneath my bra and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.  "Ummmm... it's just that Norm doesn't know..."  "What, that you're with me now?  That we're married?", Roger asked, his voice taking on a tone that I knew very well, a tone that said, "Don't forget your place, little girl.  Don't forget that you are mine.  Don't forget that I wear the pants in this family and you wear the panties.  'Love, honor, and obey.'  That was the oath you took when I took you for my wife."  But how could I forget when he had his hands on me like this, caressing my body, rubbing my sex through my panties and making me feel so... oh, God, how could I still be ashamed of the turnh my life had taken?  How could it be wrong to surrender my life to a man who took such good care of me, who protected me, who ... who made me feel so feminine, so very very good...

 

My heard was pounding and I could feel Roger's cock stiffening against my ass.  "Well, Baby, what's the problem?  Are you ashamed of me?"  Of course, I wasn't.  How could anyone be ashamed of a Man like Roger?  No, I was ashamed of myself.  Deep down, I was ashamed that I'd let my life change so much just to satisfy Roger's desires.  But at the same time, I loved it.  I'd discovered a side of myself that enjoyed being weak and pliable.  Being the meek and submissive wife to a powerful man.  When I'm in Roger's arms, nothing in the world feels so right as to subsume my will to his.  But I dreaded seeing my old partner again.  Dreaded being reminded of the life that I'd given up.  I couldn't fing the words to explain these feelings to Roger.  Especially not when his caressing hands and nibbling lips and teeth were driving me into an incredible state of arousal.  I was quickly getting to that point where I no longer care about anything other than getting my Man inside of me.

 

"Because, you know, Julie, this little thing certainly doesn't feel ashamed."  With that, Roger slipped his hand into my panties and grasped the lsast remenant of my former life between his strong fingers.  My poor little penis, subdued by the hormones that flooded my system, weakly struggled to grow erect as my arousal grew to a fever pitch.  Though Roger's touch was bliss and though my nipples were hard enough to cut glass, my poor litle penis simply plumped up to a weak erection, useless for penetrating anything at all.  Long ago, I'd known the pleasure of making love to a woman, but those days were gone.  Now I was the woman, Roger's woman.  He'd taken my manhood from me and shown me the life that I was meant to lead.  "Ohhhh, Roger!" I gasped as he stroked me.  "No I don't think this little thing is ashamed at all.  In fact, it's telling me that you like what you've become, isn't it?"  "Roger..."  "Answer me, tell Daddy that you like being his girl.  Tell me!", he said, "Tell me you like being my girl and I'll take you upstairs, rip that dress off of you and remind you why."  How I ached for him, my anxiety forgotten, I writhed in his lap, "Yes, yes, I love being your girl, Roger, I love you, I need you...  Please take me upstairs, Roger, please give your little girl what she needs!"

 

Wasting no time, he stood, lifting me in his arms and headed for the stairs.  I kissed him over and over again, panting for what was coming.  When we reached the bedroom, he set me on my feet, kissing me hard on the lips.  I pressed myself against him, damn how I wanted this man!  We kissed, stumbling toward the bed, clumsy with desire and he pulled the strapts of my shift over my tanned shoulders, causing it to drop into a pool on the floor and revealing the pretty lingerie that I had picked out for him.  "Oh, baby, that's nice.  Did you dress up all pretty for me?"  "Yes, Roger, for you, always for you.", I murmured, my handd unknotting his tie and pulling it free.  "My little girl looks like she wants to get fucked, doesnt' she?"  "Oh, I need it Daddy,"  I said, backing toward the bed.  As my thighs struck the side of the matress, Roger grasped me around my narrow waist, tossing me easily onto the bed.  I lay there looking up at Roger while he ripped off his shirt and dropped his pants.  His cock made a tent in his boxers and he quickly stripped them off, revealing the proud manhood that I'd grown to know so well. 

 

I shifted backwards on the bed, reaching back onto my nightstand for the "his and hers" K.Y. that I kept there, as Roger spread my legs and crawled onto the bed between them.  Roger leaned over me, his weight on my chest as he kissed me, hard.  As his tongue parted my lips, I returned the kiss, my arms wrapping around his strong back and my smooth, stockinged legs wrapping around his.  I felt his cock rubbing against my belly and knew that he'd have that monster inside of me before long.  And not a moment too soon from my perspective!  Roger broke the kiss, kneeling between my legs, his rampant cock pulsing with life and heat, and grasped the my thong in his hands.  As he began to tug my panties off, I lifted my ass to help him get the off as quickly as possible.  Roger flung them across the room where they ended up draped across the arm of a chair.  Roger took the "hers" lube in his hand and said, "take off your bra, I want to see those tits I gave you."  As I slipped off my bra, Roger put my stockinged legs on his shoulders and squirted some lube onto his fingers.  He reached down between my legs and began to sperad the lube between my hairless cheeks and around my rosebud.  "Do you want me?" he asked.  "Yes", I said, taking the "his" lub into my hand and reaching up to his stiff member.  "What do you want, my little pussy?", he asked, as his lubed finger dipped into my ass, spreading lube inside of me.  Taking his cock into my hand and drizzling a line of lube down its length, I replied "This.  I want this thing inside of me!"  Roger looked down at me, his voice thick with lust, and said, "You want my cock, little girl?  Is that what you want?"  "Yes."  "Do you want to get fucked little girl?  Do you want Daddy to fuck you with his hard cock?"  Yes, please Daddy!" I begged.  "Then say it.  Show me what a good little girl you are.  Beg for my cock.  Beg me to fuck that sweet little ass!"

 

I began sliding my hand up and down his slick shaft as he caressed my stocking-clad legs and smacked my smooth ass, and I begged him to take me, "Please, Daddy, please fuck em.  I need your cock so bad.  Please fuck my little pussy.  Please give me that cock!"  My voice was tinged with desparation as I simultaneously tugged his cock toward my ass and shifted my hips toward him.  I felt the head of his cock slide between the cheeks of my ass and nudge against my rosebud.  I needed it in me, God how I needed it.  I needed my man to take me and remind me why I'd surrendered my life to him.  I needed him to make me feel like the woman that he'd made me into.  "Please Roger, please Daddy, your little girl needs it so bad!"  "O.k., you sweet litte bitch, Daddy's going to give it to you," Roger said as he began pressing forward with his hips, his strong hands on my thighs barring all possibility of escape from what was coming.  But I didn't want to escape.  Where once I would have struggled like mad to keep a man from putting his cock into me, from fucking me, now I was desperate for it.  I'd come to crave being taken, hearing my man groan in pleasure as he sank balls deep into my belly.  Now Roger's cock pressed harder against my greedy little rosebud and began to spread my tender flesh apart as it eased itself inside of me.  I groaned as my ass streched to allow his entry and then I felt the "pop" as he flared head of his prick forced its way past my sphincter and into my tender boi-pussy.  He thrust harder as his cock overcame my body's feeble resistance and his manhood surged deep into my loins, spreading me, stretching me, my ass spasming around the thick shaft of his penis and my red painted lips panting in a gasp as the raw emotion of being taken overcame me yet again.

 

Each time Roger fucked me, I was reminded anew of what he'd done to me.  Each time his manhood thrust into my warm, receptive body, seeking its release, I was reminded that he'd conquered me utterly.  And each time he withdrew from that first stroke, I was reminded that I'd grown to love, to need, the terrible pleasure of being used by my man, my husband.  This time was no different.  As Roger pulled his cock back, I groaned again, reaching up to pull him down to me, my smooth, silk-stockinged legs sliding around his waist as he kissed m, thrusting his tonge past my lips as he thrust his glorious cock back into my body.  "Fuck me, Roger.  Oh please fuck me hard.", I gasped as I clung to him, my hands grasping his muscular back.  "You love this, don't you Julie?  You love being my little bitch."  "Oh yes, Roger.  I love it, I love you!" 

 

Roger knew just how to angle his thrusts so that his cock rubbed gainst my prostate with each thrust, driving me mad with pleasure.  Before my education at Roger's hands, I never, never, would have believed that my p-spot could give me far more pleasure than my dinky ever did.  How wrong I was.  My clit (I really can't think of it as a penis when I'm getting fucked.  It's just too ridiculous!), swollen and trapped between our bodies, soon began to leak as it rubbed against Roger's hard abs, adding to my pleasure.  Roger stared into my eyes as he took me and waves of submission and need overcame me under his penetrating gaze.  The pleasure I felt was so different from anyting I had experienced in my former life.  As a man, I had been in control.  I had been the one with the cock, the one who decided how fast to thrust, how deep, how hard.  And being a man, I always came.  Now that I'm a girl, things are different.  I love, I carave, my husband's hard cock.  The pleasure I feel is far more intense and lasting, yet orgasm can sometimes be elusive.  Sometimes the torture is absolutely exquisite as Roger's pounding cock drives me to the brink of orgasm and keeps me there, my clitty leaking like a sieve but never coming, until Roger, with his usual roar of triumph, spills his seed into me and leaves me aching with want.  Fortunately, my skilled hands and mouth can alomost always encourage him to have another go.

 

This time, I needed for Roger to make me come, and I was close already.  "Oh God, Roger, please make me come, please let me come, Daddy!"  I squeeled, squeezing his cock with my boi-pussy and making hism groan in response.  Roger raised himself up on one arm and grinned down at me as he continued to thrust himself into me.  "So, my little girl needs to come, huh?  Why should I let you come when you're ashamed to let people know that you're my wife?"  I'd forgotten our earlier conversation in the haze of pleasure and I was terrified that Roger would punish my lack of enthusiasm for having Norm visit by leaving me wanting.  My voice breathy and thick with desire and need, I moaned "Oh no, Roger, please let me come, I need it so bad.  I'll be such a good little girl for you!  You'll be so proud of me, I'll show you what a good wife I can be.  Please make me come with your beautiful cock!"  "O.k, baby, you can come.  Do it now, come for me, come for Daddy.  Show me what a good girl you are, cum on my hard cock.  Cum as my cock fucks your little pussy!", Roger said, twisting one of my nipples in his free hand and rapidly hammering my p-spot with his cock.  I spasmed in glorious ecstasy as his words invaded my mind and his cock invaded my body, my clitty leaking its watery load as pleasure overwhelmed me.

The Trophy Wife, part 2

As I let my mind dwell on that lovely interlude, my hands moved, seemingly with a mind of their own, one to pinch a stiff nipple and roll it between my fingers and the other to caress the slightly swollen nubbin between my thighs.  Shaking my head to clear it,  I snapped back to the present and continued my shower.  Oc course, I diddnt' have to shave my legs because Roger likes me waxed and, since the early days of our relationship, I've kept myself smooth and hairless below the neck except for a cute little patch of sandy blonde curls .  I talked to Roger about laser hair removal a couple of years ago, but he things that a little pain is good for me now and again.  I guess he's right, because each time that Jessie at the salon rips away the few hairs that have the nerve to keep growing back, it reminds me that I'm making a sacrifice to stay pretty for my man.  I don't mind really, because it really does feel divine when Roger runs his strong hands over my smooth skin. 

After my shower, I wrapped my shoulder length hair in a towel and went to my dressing room to get ready for the evening.  We didn't have plans to go out anywhere special, but Roger likes me to be dressed well when he gets home.  He told me once, "Julie, what's the point in having a trophy wife if she doesn't look pretty enough to be put up on a pedestal?"  Well, I didn't have an answer for him, but it pleases him when I dress up, and I certainly like the way it makes him look at me.  And I don't mind telling you that sometimes those pretty outfits of mine don't stay on very long after Roger gets home! 

As I thought about what to wear, I preened in the full length mirror, enjoying how I looked wearing nothing but my wedding ring.  I'm fairly tall at 5'7", and it would be false modesty to say that I'm not proud of how I look naked.  Tennis and yoga keep me fit and slender, and I'm lucky enough that I take a nice tan without too much time spent by the pool.  My hips may be a bit  boyish, but Roger tells me that my ass is "spankably plump", while my waist is slender and my tummy is perfectly flat.  My breasts are firm and high if slightly smaller than the generous b-cup that I'd like to have.  Still, the right bra works wonders on my cleavage, ans when Roger sees me in a corset... lookout! 

After my reverie in the shower, I was feeling a bit naughty, so I decided that a garter belt and stockings were in order.  I took a wispy little black garter belt from my lingerie chest and buckled it around my waist, sliding it around to line up the straps.  Then, taking out a pair of seamed stilk stockings, I sat down at my vanity to slip them on.  Jess had given me a mani-pedi just that morning, so I knew that the cute pink polish on my toes was flawless.  As I slipped the stockings up my smooth legs, I felt goosebumps break out on my arms.  The feeling of stockings slipping up (or down!) my long shapely legs never fails to give me a thrill.  The feel of silk on bare legs is so nice, that I can't understand why more men don't start shaving all over.  Of course, I'd never expect a man like Roger to do something as silly as shaving his legs, and, after all, when his hairy legs brush against my smooth ones in bed it does make me feel delightfully feminine. 

Standing, I snapped the garter straps to my stockings and checked to make sure that the seams were straight.  Walking back to the lingerie chest, I felt the straps tugging at my stockings and thought about what a uniquely feminine sensation that was.  No matter how I'm dressed, when I'm wearing a garterbelt and stockings, each step reminds me that I'm wearing something sexy for my husband.  Before I met Roger I never wore garter belts, but now I can't imagine life without them! 

I slipped on a black thong and a matching demi-bra that does an admirable job of showcasing my assets, then set about picing out a dress.  I ended up settling on a black shift that  just covered my stocking tops and with a neckline that revealed enough of my decolletage to be interesting without going overboard.  After drying and brushing my hair, I put on just a hint of make-up, finishing with a yummy wet-look lipstick.  I slipped into my dress and a nice pair of heels and went back downstairs.  Roger's kind enough to let me have a maid three days a week, but he says a little housework is good for me, so I always make sure that the house is presentable before he comes home.  

I walked through the downstairs, my heels clicking on the hardwood floors, and gave the place a once over.  Everything lookded alright, so I stepped into the butler's pantry to check the bar.  You see, we have this little retro ritual almost every evening.  When Roger comes home, I greet him at the door with a kiss and then I bring his favorite martini to him in his study.  I'll sit on his lap in his easy chair while he tells me about his day at work.  Some times it leads to other things, but mostly its just our little ritual to end the day and start the evening.   

I checked the clock again, 5:45, Roger would be home at any minute!  I put a martini glass in the freezer, poured myself a little glass of wine, and sat down to wait.  A few minutes later, I heard Roger's car pull into the drive.  I went to the door and there he was..  Roger is quite a man, and I love to drink in the sight of him.  His 6'3" height and 210lbs of muscle make me feel like a little wisp of nothing when I'm in his arms.  "Oh Roger, darling, welcome home!" I said, putting my arms around his neck and offering my lips for a kiss.  Roger wrapped me in a bear hug, lifting my feet off the floor and kissing me thoroughly.  "Hey, baby.  How's my little girl doing?"  "Oh, I'm fine, darling.  How was your day?"  "Not bad sugarbum, how about a martini?"  "Of course, darling, I'll bring it to your study." 

We sat in th study, me sitting on Roger's lap and leaning back with my head resting on his shoulder; Roger with a martini in one hand and the other arm wrapped around my waist, with his hand resting on my thigh just where my garter belt met my stocking.  As he talked, Roger absently slid his hand under the edge of my shift and toyed with my garter clip.  " I ran into Norm Cheng today..." he said, and I briefly stiffened in his lap.  "Oh really?" I said with deliberate nonchalance. Norm and I had run a business together in California until Roger and his company "acquired" us in a merger/takeover.  That's how Roger and I met.  He'd been in charge of the takeover team and we'd been thrown together a good bit during the process.  Roger is the kind of man who gets what he wants and he took a shine to me.  I guess you could say that he "acquired" me along with my company.  I'd retired from business after the buyout was complete and my life had really changed after I became involved with Roger.  Consequently, I hadn't seen Norm since I moved to Connecticut with Roger.  Nor had always been the frontman in our business, while I'd worked mostly in the background.  He was still very active in the industrly, so I wasn't sure what he'd think about my new role as a housewife.   

To be continued...

The Trophy Wife

The day had slipped by, as they tend to do, when I looked up at the kitchen clock and realized that it was time for me to start getting ready for my husband to get home.  It was already 4:30 and here I was still in the white tennis dress that I'd worn to my afternoon lesson at the club.  Roger would be home around 5:45, so I put down the copy of Cosmopolitan that I'd been leafing through (50 Ways to Light His Fire!) and went upstairs to make myself pretty for him.

 

Our shower is large enough to fit two comfortably, and as I luxuriated in the spray and steam, I let my mind wander back to the last time that it had.  Just last week I'd been taking my morning shower when Roger, who'd been up since dawn getting ready for an important business meeting, slipped into the shower with me.  He grabbed me by my hips and turned me around to face him, kissing me hard on the lips and pulling my body close to his.  As his tongue parted my lips, I returned his kiss and let my soft, smooth body melt against his hard, hairy one.  Roger's hands drifted down to my ass and squeezed as he broke the kiss.  "Damn, you are one sexy bitch!", he growled, looking into my eyes.  I felt my face flush as my nipples stiffened against his hairy chest.  "Roger, what's gotten into you this morning?," I asked, as my hands drifted up to caress his muscular flanks.  "I've been working on the PharmTech merger and just thinking about how I was going to screw those bastards made me think about how much I'd rather screw my gorgeous wife."  The look of lust in his eyes was quite flattering, as was the proof of his statement that I felt hardening against my soapy belly.  I reached down and grasped my husband's member, amazed by its throbbing heat as it grew to its full (and impressive!) length in my hand...

Conflict

My deepest and most erotic fantasies revolve around my desire to expose myself as a sissy and to be accepted for it.  As with many others like me, my fantasies often involve being "forced" to admit what I am, or being "made to like it."  For the most part, I enjoy the thought of a woman feminizing me, a la Saragirl's "A Change in Our Marriage" series.  (Which, by the way, is one of the most erotic pieces of fiction I've ever read.)  But sometimes, my fantasies touch a darker, deeper place where I recognize that only a Man can show me what a sissy I really am.

Along those lines, I'm working on a story called "The Trophy Wife."  It incorporates some of the thoughts that I expressed in my last captioned pic, but explores them at greater length and in a more overtly "sissy" context.  I plan on submitting it to Fictionmania.tv as soon as it's done.  I'll post the link here as well.

Sometimes a picture just makes me think...

I love the idea of being a wife.  Of having a strong man to take care of me and devoting my life to taking care of him.  I fully realize that the women of the Fifties weren't the cringing submissives that caricatures sometimes portray, but the caricature of Fifties life is fertile ground for some of my fantasies.

The Fifties

I love Mad Men.  Both the men and women on the show have such a sense of style and some of the outfits are really yum.

Captioned Pictures

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Taken

     I was reading Saragirl's blog the other day and I saw a really scrumptious picture that she posted, along with her thoughts on being "taken."  What a word that is!  Just seeing it on the page gives me butterflies in my tummy and a very unladylike bulge in my panties.

     "Taken,"  mmm, it just has a punch, a potency that words like fucked, screwed, dominated, seduced, etc. just don't have.  It's all those things rolled up into one.  What does it say about me that that word affects me so powerfully?  What does it say about the sissy mindset in general?  I don't just want to be fucked by a woman (or a man for that matter), I want to be taken, to be possessed, to be made entirely hers (or his).

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The tug of the strap...

I have to say that, at least to me, the most powerfully feminine garment I've ever had the  (delightfully wicked) pleasure to wear is a garter belt and stockings.  I can slip on the prettiest, laciest bra, or a soft satin thong, but nothing compares to sliding a pair of stockings up freshly shaven legs and buckling them to the wisp of lace that circles my waist.

On work days, I love to dress up like a man.   To put on my disguise, my power suit, tie, freshly shined shoes, and walk out into the world.  And underneath, my secret.  With each step throughout the day, I feel the tug of the straps holding up my stockings.  Each exquisite tug a reminder of what I really am.  Reminding me that I can pretend to be a man, but in the end I'm a sissy girl who likes to wear pretty things.  That feeling, that tug of the strap, binds me to femininity and submission.

     Hello to anyone who finds this little blog.  I'm taking this on principally for my own benefit, for the therapeutic value of putting my thoughts and feelings out there into the aether, but I hope that that visitors will find something of interest here from time to time.

      I am, at heart, a sissy.  It feels good to write that, even if no one ever reads it.  I am soft, not hard.  I am pink, not blue.  I am bottom, not top.  My life isn't lived this way in the open, but that's who I am.