DOMestic Bdsm and Female Domination

The party was every bit as humiliating as I expected. I
frequently had to raise my skirt to show off my panties. Many of
the women, whom I had known for years, and were always
respectful and well-behaved, reached up under my skirt and
fondled me. I suspected my wife had suggested it.

During the course of the evening, my wife handed out many
ManTran cards to interested women. I learned later that she
would get a $100 commission for every successful referral.
Somehow those checks went for clothes for her, not to reduce the
balance I had to pay ManTran.

The party was such a success that it was repeated every other
month or so. I continued to agree, faced with the threat of
exposure to my co-workers. I learned it was better to go to the
beauty parlor in feminine clothes. The staff, of course, knew I
was a man, but I was able to fool some of the customers.

Then It happened. I opened the door at one of the parties,
curtsied, and was appalled to see my female co-workers.

"You lied to me. You said you wouldn't tell them."

"Actually, I didn't. One of my friends must have told them about
the web site, and shared the password. They called wanting to
see you dressed. I didn't see any harm in it."

I immediately kicked off the heels, and went into the bedroom. I
tore off the dress, petticoats, bra, waist cincher and hose, and
left them in a pile on the floor. I dressed in male clothing,
except I left the panties on since I didn't have any male
underwear. I tore off the hair piece, and washed off the makeup.
I stormed out through the living room full of suddenly quiet
women, and left, slamming the door as I did. I went to a bar,
where I got very drunk.

When I got home about 2 AM, my wife was already asleep. I kicked
off my shoes and collapsed on the bed with my clothes on. I
expected all hell to break loose the next morning, but she
didn't say a word. I undressed and showered. I remembered I
didn't have any male underwear, so I reluctantly put on a clean
pair of panties and finished dressing.

I left, drove to a nearby department store, and bought some male
underwear. After paying for it, I slipped into a men's room
stall and replaced the panties with my purchase. The panties
went into the waste basket.

When I got home, my wife still wasn't talking.

"This nonsense has to stop."

"Yes, dear," she replied, as she served me breakfast.

"There are going to be some changes made around here."

"Whatever you say, dear."

Feeling good about how well that went, but still somewhat hung
over, I took the morning paper to the bedroom and lay down on
the bed to read it. I soon fell asleep.

I was suddenly awakened by a sharp pain in my crotch. I looked
down and saw that the dreaded ball ring had been installed
during my nap. I was also naked.

"Get on your feet," punctuated by another jolt. I struggled to
my feet, feeling like crap. This was worse than any hangover,
and a nap usually helped me to recover. Did she drug my
breakfast?

"Since you can't seem to behave without it. I decided you will
wear the device for a while. Get up and get dressed."

I looked for my male clothing but it was nowhere in sight. She
pointed at the pile of clothes I had dropped on the floor last
night. "Hang up the dress and petticoats and put everything else
on."

I put on the bra, and waist cincher, and sat on the edge of the
bed to pull the hose on and fasten them to the garters. She
replaced the 4 inch heels with the 5 inch pair.

"Since you don't seem to like those shoes, you can try these."

She then tightened the waist cincher tighter than it had ever
been, got the super short maid's dress out of the closet, and
told me to put it on.

"Where are your panties?"

"I threw them in the trash in the department store men's room."

"Let's go get them, and you better hope they're still there."

She drove us to the store and followed me into the men's room.
Some guy was standing at the row of sinks washing his hands. He
looked up to see this 6' 5" tall creature dressed in a short
maid's dress, hose and heels, but with definitely male features,
and not much hair. He then saw my wife walk in. He rushed out in
panic without drying his hands. My wife held the door open for
him and smiled.

I frantically dug in the waist basket, and fortunately, found
the panties under a pile of wet paper towels. My wife took them,
said "Let's go. We need to get your hair done," and led me out
of the store.

She drove to the beauty parlor where we were expected. She
greeted the operators with, "We had a little rebellion last
night, and need to repair the damage."

Being Sunday morning, the place was empty. I was permitted to
stay dressed this time, but the short dress with no panties
presented a modesty problem. That amused the operators. The
manicurist painted my fingernails bright red while the hair
dresser restored my hair piece. Then my makeup was re-done.

"Those eyebrows have gotten unruly. Shall I trim then?"

"They certainly need it. I have been settling for just a trim
around the edges, so he wouldn't look too bad dressed as a man,
but I think his recent actions call for something more drastic.
I have avoided it until now, but I want them plucked."

I opened my mouth to object, and got zapped before I could say a
word. I wound up with just very thin high arches where my brows
used to be.

"We now have the ability to do permanent makeup. We tattoo the
brow ridges, and also tattoo eye liner and lip liner. It's
definitely permanent. You should consider it for him."

"I'll keep that in mind, but we're kind of rushed today. Pay the
lady, and include a generous tip, since you screwed up their
Sunday."

I obeyed.

I noticed a ManTran business card on the bulletin board on our
way out.

I didn't understand the rush until we got home and she
explained. "Since you made such a fool of yourself last night, I
decided you need an opportunity to apologize to all the women
who were here. So, they're all coming over this afternoon. You
will greet each of them at the door, curtsy, and drop to your
knees and apologize while kissing their shoes. Understand?"

"Yes", which got me zapped.

"Have you forgotten the appropriate response already?"

"No, Mistress, I mean. 'Yes, Mistress'"

So, I spent the afternoon shoe kissing and apologizing to all
the women I work with, while dressed in an unbelievably short
maid's dress. I also served drinks, and there seemed to be a
conspiracy to get me to bend over and expose my self even more.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, my wife handed me
a little blue pill and told me to take it. I said, "No", got a
jolt, argued some more, got another harder jolt, and wound up on
my knees, taking the pill. The result was predictable, my short
skirt became a tent. This, of course attracted lots of
attention.

"Is it real?"

"Let me touch it."

"I've worked with you for years, and didn't know you had such
talent."

There also were numerous attempts to solve my problem, including
the usual slaps, and application of heels to appropriate places.
One sweet, little, respectable co-worker, who had never appeared
to be at all aggressive, even immersed it in a glass full of ice
and water. It was painful, but fruitless. Nothing worked.

My wife handed out a pile of ManTran cards. An older woman who I
didn't know asked numerous questions about my stay at ManTran.
After 20 minutes of interrogation, she told me who she was, the
wife of the president of my company.

"And if you even hint to him about this, I'll see that you get
fired, and your wife will probably castrate you."

All I could do was think, "The poor man. He doesn't know what
he's in for." But, I believed her and refrained from warning
him.

When they all finally left, I was directed to get the mattress
out of the guest room and put it on the floor at the foot of our
bed. I was to resume the sleeping arrangements used at the
academy, complete with arm binder.

"Take off your dress and heels. Everything else stays on under
your nighty."

I reluctantly obeyed.