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Chapter 3: Her Girlfriend

Jennifer did nothing halfway, and that included our dip into the new lifestyle. My clothes were replaced immediately, my suits and shirts disappeared overnight. When I came home, my wardrobe was packed with pastel satin and girlish silk. Gone were my boxers, panties and garter belts and bras in their place.

It was a shock. Jennifer found me sitting on the edge of the bed, head between my knees, breathing ragged and shallow. She pulled me to her, arms around me, keeping me safe and close.

"We don't have to do this," she murmured as she stroked my hair, and I knew she meant it.

"I want to," I said as firmly as I could.

"I don't want you to do something like this just for me," she said.

"I'm not," I answered.

In the moment, I thought I was lying. I told myself I was doing it for her, for no other reason than I loved her and wanted to satisfy her however I could. That was my obligation as a partner, a husband, a man. I didn't want to put on a dress and lock myself in a tiny cage and give up control over the most intimate part of myself — who would?

The tiny voice would not be silenced.

You're excited, too. This is what you never let yourself have.

"You look really, really hot," Jennifer purred as she zipped the blue satin dress closed behind me. "I — I need you right now."

The frosted layers of the blue dress bounced around me as she turned me forcefully to face her. I wobbled in my heels, but her firm hands on my waist helped me stay standing. My stocking-covered legs, freshly shaved, brushed together and sent bolts of pleasure rocketing into my pantied cock. For an instant, I thought of the plastic cage leering at us from the dresser.

I felt vulnerable and sweet in the dress. It was tiny — the dense petticoat was barely enough to conceal my panties, and walking in the towering stilettos was enough to reveal them with every swaying step. It had a high neckline and enormous, puffy sleeves, trimmed in lace. A large ribbon was tied around my waist with a floppy bow at my back.

I had been hard in my matching panties the second I had put the petticoat on. I reminded myself I was doing this for Jennifer, that I wasn't really enjoying this. I was turned on because she was turned on.

"Shouldn't you do my make-up first?" I asked teasingly, knowing the reaction I'd get from her.

"Fuck," she said, sucking in air between her teeth. "You saying that only turns me on more."

"Once I'm as sexy as you want me to be, you can have me however you want," I continued with a grin. "Throw me onto the bed and use me. Ravish me."

I blew her a kiss. "Don't be gentle."

"I won't," she growled, and the change in her tone startled me.

What am I getting into?

She did my hair when she finished painting my face. When she finished, I looked in the mirror. I expected to see myself, and in a way I did — but softer here, more angular there. My face seemed slimmer, my eyebrows more curved. I pouted my glossy pink lips and batted my long eyelashes at Jennifer, my smoky eyeshadow giving me a sultry look that made me pause.

I look astonishing. I had no idea I could feel like this.

I bit my lip and looked up at my wife. She was staring at me with eyes, her chest heaving.

"I need you right. Fucking. Now."