Oh!” She exclaimed, opening her eye’s as wide as they would go. “Your even harder then you were! Hearing what I have planned excited you!” She laughed for a moment. “Then I shouldn’t have any trouble at all turning you into my little sissy slave-girl should I?” She teased.

I was actually a little frightened as I nodded my agreement. “Yes Karen.” I said as she stared down at me. She took a deep breath, then sat up. She gently and cautiously slipped her hand under my dress, then moved it up onto my tummy. “I should make you wear a bra full time as well!” She said teasingly, as she slipped her hand under the lacy elastic waistband of my panties. I asked God for a bike, but I know God doesn't work that way. So I stole a bike and asked for forgiveness. Fiction Writing | Blog Writing | Creative Writing | Essay Writing | Letter Writing | Poetry Writing | Technical Writing | Story Writing Now you little sissy bitch!” She said folding her arms under her breasts. “Who’s the boss around here?” She asked. I blinked a couple of times then softly replied that she was. She nodded as a big smile appeared on her face. “That’s right you little sissy c*nt! And since your now my wife! You will do everything a faithful little wife should do for her husband! Understand?” She asked loudly. I nodded.As my wife I expect you to be wearing feminine girls panties from now on!” She said, adding. “All the time just like a real girl!” She smiled at me. “And whenever your home I expect you to be dressed like a sissy in a dress or skirt and blouse and a bra and panties and a slip, nylons and high heels!” She said, her stern voice not leaving any room for discussion.

My wife of five years moved her lips close to one of my ears. “You know!” She said, breaking the silence that had been enveloping us for the last couple of minutes. “I guess I have to agree with you. Satin and lace do make a person feel sexy and feminine!” She teased. We stand watching. Taking it all in. It was hard not to feel like a voyeur. But people weren’t bothered. It was not only because of how I was dressed, but also how being dressed this way was making me feel. I was embarrassed that I kind of liked the way the feminine clothes felt to wear. The guilt combined with the shame didn’t leave me any other choice but to submissively do as she said.

I didn’t even see it coming, but I sure felt it when her open hand landed against the side of my face. “That’s not the correct way to answer me bitch!” She yelled. “Yes I understand!” I blurted out as I rubbed my cheek. Without saying another word she twisted me so her knee’s were pinning my arms down under them.

That next morning during breakfast the husband looked at his wife, obviously hungover, and asked, "So... what time did you get in last night?" A girl came over to them then. She looked barely old enough to drive but had a poise that made her seem far older. Without a word, she slipped out of her shirt, discarded her bra, and peeled down her shorts and panties. She kissed the boy, and with one hand slowly slipped him out of the rubber milkmaid. They came in a geyser of cum, milk, and vaginal juice. Rebecca felt herself utterly emptied out, released. The human part of her surrendered utterly to the rubber, to the thing, to the doll that she had become. The boy collapsed against her, spent. The girl, still half inside her, wriggled in afterglow. Relating to the image on the right, the below measurements have been taken from the mittens laid flat, (while the latex is ‘unstretched’). Latex mittens will comfortably stretch approx. 6-10cm* to fit, so your own bicep measurements should be approx 6-10cm larger than the measurements below. Example: A bicep with measurement 28cm, would best suit our size Small/Medium.She was aware of only one even vaguely uncomfortable sensation: a dull ache in her chest. She looked down and realized her breasts had swelled considerably. They felt heavy. She longed to be touched. Then bearded man placed his hand on one swollen globe and squeezed the nipple. Fire shot through her, and she found release as the nipple began steadily spurting milk, which the man caught in his glass. He released her nipple when the glass was full, raised his hand as if to toast her, and drank. She watched herself disappear into his mouth, watched his Adam’s apple work to gulp her down, and she wriggled in satisfaction. It was then that she realized what she had become. Some hybrid of person and catsuit and cow, a kind of rubber milkmaid in some cutting-edge bar. Her vision was inordinately clear, if somewhat warped at the edges. She was in some sort of club or lounge. People in dark clothes sat all around, holding each other, taking softly, drinking. Please, what are you doing to me?" she asked frantically. "Who are you? Why am I all tied up?" Fear bubbled through every vein in her body. "Why won’t I need my license anymore?" she whispered, as tears began to stream down her face. "Are you going to kill me?"

With the right mindset, it is perfectly feasible to accommodate a fetish within a marriage, but if you stay with him your life is likely to follow a very different path to the one that you might have anticipated. With all that flogging go on, it’s good to see TG are prepared for every eventuality. Then I spot his assless chaps. So, after some difficulty, I removed the dust from the long sleeve rubber shirt and slid it over my head. I struggled to get my arms into the sleeves, trying to slide the rubber over my skin. There was resistance, but I finally got them through. Now all I had to do was pull the rest of the rubber down over my torso. Easy, right? Her exact words are ‘vanilla gateway’ and I can’t help but feel the ‘vanilla’ is aimed at me. I turn my Primary School-style latex swimming shorts towards the bar. Rebecca continued crying, but Meeks’ words echoed inside her. Was this what she wanted? Was this really the logical conclusion to her fantasies? Her sense humanity railed against what the doctor was saying, but some dark part of her could not help but listen, and craved more…I ran my hands along my rubbered torso, noticing the strange half-second delay between my touch and my reaction to how cold my hands were.