A Secret Girl

I don’t understand how this happened; things got out of hand. I should stop it now, but I can’t; I’m no longer in control of the situation which is exhilerating. My wife treats me as if I were a girl and puts me in pretty skirts and makeup. I know, it sounds crazy but there it is.

Thankfully, it’s mostly our secret. For now. One or two of her friends know. She doesn’t want it to remain that way, she thinks it’s time to ‘come out.’ I’m not so sure. One problem is it’s not entirely my choice. The other is, I love it and she knows that.

I’m a successful businessman. My wife is a stunner: tall, slim, long blond hair and she wears tiny miniskirts and dresses that show her legs that go on for ever. She used to be a model for women's clothing catelogues and other small modelling jobs.

We have no children as we met later in life; I was too busy building a business career and she was busy in modelling. We met four years ago when I was 39 and she was 34 although she looks at least ten years younger.

She still does some modelling work, but it 's starting to dry up. Despite what they say, it's a young person's world and as soon as they see her age, they're rarely interested.

I'm more hands-off on the business, things are going well and my team at work know what they were doing. I spend more time with my wife Elisabeth. And that was the problem and the wonder of what she's doing to me.

She led me into marriage before I was aware of what was happening. It hadn’t been my plan to get married, I got swept along by her. Looking back, she was clever.

Our sex life had been amazing, although it's tailed off significantly lately in terms of penetration although she expects me to pleasure her. She put me in chastity cage so sex tends to be one way.

This change in our relationship started in earnest a couple of years into our marriage although the signs were always there. She had always been inventive in sex and an assertive lady in every way. She introduced various sex games, all of them with her as the dominant queen or mistress or some other similar scenario. I was always the submissive slave, the underling or the servant in her bedroom games.

They were as exciting as hell. Can you imagine being the sex slave to a lady like my wife?

Naturally, I enjoyed every moment of what we did. But it was a game, or so I thought. The thing is, the game leaked into our day-to-day real-life relationship. Or should I say, Elisabeth brought it out of the bedroom and into real life.

She was clever. She said didn’t want our sex life to be only in the bedroom, she wanted to expand it. The queen/slave thing evolved into her telling me she wanted me in female clothes. And gradually she kept me in those clothes. I was reluctant at first but it was exciting to dress in everything I'd learned was female and wrong according to society but not to Elisabeth.

She invented one fantasy about me being a housemaid and she put me in a little French maid’s dress so it became a reality. It was incredible but she expects me in the dress all day and to do the housework while she reads and relaxes.

I’d never done anything like this before. It was like abandoning all limits on what was normal behaviour.

She's renamed me Mandy. The problem is, she calls me this all the time: at home, in the street and with friends. My real name is Roy Manden so I tell them Mandy is a loving pet name. There is some truth in this I suppose.

She obviously got the idea of calling me Mandy from my surname: Mandy Manden, she says. She’s not discreet about it. She's even shouted it out in shops and in the street. I cringe with humiliation. I have to be honest, it’s incredibly exciting. I don’t know why.

I feel a bit odd in summer with shorts as they show off my smooth shaved legs. I tell people I have taken up running and I want to reduce drag. It’s a feeble argument, I know. Especially on top of being called Mandy by my wife. And now some of my friends.

She persuaded me to shave my body and grow my hair out on my head. Luckily, I have a full head of thick hair, albeit greying. It’s not now. It’s light brown. And she straightens it. I like the attention she gives me but it does look girly.

She's told me she wants to take it to more of a platinum blond. I hope she's joking but the fact it keeps getting lighter suggests not.

Elisabeth takes me to a female hairdresser and I have it styled like a woman’s, including being straightened. Last time, the hairdresser curled at the bottom.

I brush it into a ponytail if I have to go to the office or meet family. They all think I’m having a mid-life crisis. Thankfully they see it as a kind of hippy thing rather than feminine. So far. I tell them I'm going for a more bohemian style after years as a straight-laced businessman.

One day, Elisabeth introduced me to chastity cages. She said wearing them would increase my sexual energy. The idea of having my ejaculation and penis controlled was intoxicating. Something so personal and intimate controlled by my wife. I accepted it.

The problem is, she has the key to my chastity cage. She won't let me out when I want a release. She said that's part of the fun and it is, she was right as usual. However, I have become frustrated, but I'm locked and trapped. Oddly enough, this is incredible. Don't ask me to explain.

I think Elisabeth loves me more these days as she treats me with more gentleness and kindness. Unless I disobey her and then she gets unhappy. OK, she gets angry. When I do what she tells me, my life is wonderful so I try to do that.

At home, she makes me dress as a woman all the time. Skirts and dresses only. Elisabeth won’t allow me to wear male clothing or even women's trousers around the house. If we go out and I change back to male top clothes, she makes me remove them by the front door when we get back.

I don’t have any male underwear, she threw it all away some time ago. I have just a couple of shirts, one suit, male shoes and some jeans in case I need to go out or into the office. She disposed of the rest a long time ago and replaced it with female clothing and she makes me practise to walk in heels.

It’s not that there aren’t benefits to being feminine. There are, otherwise I might push back a little. But I don't as I get to wear beautiful clothes, I smell nice and I feel much more at ease with life. I don't have the old responsibilities of a striving male.

But I feel things have got out of control and I’m being swept along by an increasingly enthusiastic wife and my weakness for enjoying my newfound femininity even if I prefer to keep it hidden for the world for now.

So where is this all going? It’s hard to say as Elisabeth is vague on her ultimate plans and introduces my changes gradually.

I think she's moving things up a level though. She’s had my ears pierced recently. I didn’t know it was her plan until we got to the beauty parlour. She had my nails done too, mercifully only shaped and a light ivory varnish applied. She says she wants my nails longer and red in the future and this is only a first step so some of her plans are being revealed.

She has reduced the size of my chastity cage. She says it's to reduce the size of my penis so it looks cuter and more feminine. She measures it once a week; it’s the only time I’m released from the cage, so it’s better than nothing.

I’ve been losing a lot of weight lately since she put me on a diet. I guess it’s not a bad thing. I look good, but increasingly feminine. I’m losing muscle size. There is one thing she wants much bigger is my chest. She bought me a vacuum pump and this has helped a little. I have to pump my breasts once a day and keep them inflated for two hours.

She’s disappointed with the progress though. They are growing too slowly and she's not sure the pump will take my breasts where she'd like them. She likes the idea of implant surgery but I've resisted so far. Let's see.

I told her I wasn't sure about the idea of having small female boobs. She laughed and told me I was being selfish. She said I wasn’t thinking of her, about what she wanted.

She added that most husbands would be grateful to have a wife who helped them to improve as she has for me. Why am I being so difficult with her, she asks me? All she asks for me is to have real-looking female breasts. She'd never force me to do anything but she can be persuasive.

Why am I being difficult I ask myself? On the one hand, it doesn't seem right to dress me up as a girl; to call me Mandy; to want to give me tits. On the other hand, I should relax and let her do everything she wants as I love it.

Hoswever, it's daunting as she’s talking now about it being time to dress as a woman outside the home. She wants to throw away my last suit and shirts. She says I shouldn’t be living as a man outside the home and a girl inside. I have to choose one or the other. I can’t keep switching. She says. Maybe she has a point.

She says the choice should be girl full-time and that it’s not only about what I want, but what she wants too. We are in a marriage and her views have to be taken into account. I mustn’t be so selfish.

She is my wife and something this important is a joint decision. She says I should be living full time as a girl. She says it’s time, the choice I need to make once I realise what’s best for me. She has already decided. She’s waiting for me to understand and accept and agree to it.

The fact of the matter is, he always gets what she wants and I'm happy with that. She wants me to be her girl, a girl called Mandy. She doesn’t want me to be a secret girl any longer.

THE END