When I caught my hubby prancing around in one of my best party dresses, nylons, heels, bra and panties he actually convinced me it was just a harmless pastime, something he liked to do “sometimes.”
However after he convinced me it was harmless “sometimes” turned, eventually, into every damn time I came home. And frankly it disgusted me, especially when he tried using my makeup.
Looking at him I thought he was pathetic. He wasn’t a man to me anymore, and, despite how he dressed up, he wasn’t a woman. I decided that he was a whimpering sissy. So, one day I told him that if he wanted to “dress up” that was fine with me, as long as I picked out what he was to wear. Naively he couldn’t believe how understanding I was. Until he saw his new wardrobe.
“You aren’t a man, and you aren’t a woman. What you are is a fucking sissy, and that’s how you’re going to dress. Specifically I think you’ll look perfect as an over-sexed, sissy schoolgirl. Fortunately I ran across a catalog from Centurian just loaded with sissy outfits and schoolgirl uniforms. But first you need a few additions,” I said.
“You’re going to love these,” I said as I glued huge, melon-seized tits on him, and I think he actually did. Until, with a smirk, I told him that they were glued on permanently.
Then to ensure that he got absolutely no pleasure dressed as a sissy I locked his penis in a tight chastity sheath also from Centurians.
Once I got him dressed I said, “I can’t wait to take you out in public and see what people think of you.” And I was sure he’d cause quite a few double-takes and disapproving stares. While he wore a traditional schoolgirl’s blouse it was sheer, everyone was going to see his tits and nipples. The plaid skirt was ridiculously short. No more sexy nylons and high heels for sissy. What he wore were the most adorable, turn-down anklets, ruffled with red trim. And the most girlish of shoes; shiny, patent, Mary Janes.
He begged and pleaded, then flatly refused to be taken out in public as he was. He knew, looking in the mirror, the humiliating ridicule he would suffer.
I expected it would take a little convincing. So I yanked him over my knees, pulled his skirt up and panties and down, and gave him the spanking of his life. I soon had him screaming, sobbing, kicking his Mary Jane feet, and begging me to stop, like the wimp he is he meekly walked in front of me down the street, crying all the way.
“You’re just going to love the uniform you’re to wear tomorrow, you’ll look just like an over-sexed schoolgirl,” I laughed.