I don’t suppose there’s a woman alive who isn’t aware of the power she gains when she’s beautifully dressed and groomed. It’s· a magic that’s uniquely feminine, because the clothes worn by a woman are always in complete harmony with her body, mood, grace and charm. I have always been enthralled by the lovely impression women can create with sheer nylon, flowing silk and gleaming satin. Add to this the beauty of their hair, the scents they wear, their cosmetics and the sparkle of jewelry, and they project an image of perfection.

Lauren and I have been married for almost twelve years, but it wasn’t until recently that I began experiencing the fulfillment of my lifelong fantasy. In my eyes, Lauren is the epitome of womanhood, and when she suggested that I adopt a more feminine attitude about my own appearance, I readily agreed.

“You’re a handsome man,” she explained, “but you could be much prettier with a little work. You wear your hair too short and walk on your heels instead of your toes. You clomp around the house in clothes that don’t fit, and they’re so rough, I don’t know how you can stand them.”

I work at home. My office is in the attic of our two-story colonial in the suburbs. Lauren had entertained her Thursday afternoon bridge club that day, and I was helping clear away the card tables and chairs. I’d remarked on how nice all the ladies had looked, and that’s how our conversation had turned to the feminine attitude.

“Darling,” Lauren continued, “you could take five years off your appearance with a few minor changes. You’d feel better about yourself if you’d let the feminine side of your nature express itself.” Flashing me a dazzling smile, she added, “You’d still be the man I love, but here at home, we’d be a lot closer if you lost some of your macho aggression.” Sitting down on the living room couch, she crossed her silken legs and declared, “Since you’ve agreed to be a bit more female in your thinking, let’s start with the way you walk.”

She got me up on my toes and had me parade around the room. I was forced to admit it was more graceful than my normal stride, but after a few minutes, I needed the support of my heels. My wife recognized the problem and came up with the solution.

“Mervin,” she happily chortled, “this is going to be fun, but I think you need a pair of high heels before you’ll really be able to get into the spirit of our project. I’ll go shopping tomorrow and get a few things for you to wear.”

I was working diligently in the attic the following afternoon when Lauren called up to me from the second-story landing. She was loaded with packages, and her voice contained a note of excitement. I must admit that my heart was beating fast as I joined her in our bedroom. The packages were all laid out on the bed, and Lauren was glowing with pride. She crossed the room and started unbuttoning my shirt. “Get undressed, honey, you’re about to enter the world of female charm.”

When I was naked, she opened the first package. It contained a garter belt and lacy panties. My cock became rampant as she helped me put them on, but that was only the beginning. The second package contained nylon stockings and high-heeled, open-toed pumps. The nylons felt cool on my legs as I teetered on the heels.

Telling me to walk around and get used to them, Lauren beamed her approval as I mastered the additional height and seemed to glide across the carpeted floor. Opening the third package, she extracted a pair of long, silken trousers of a rich-looking dark brown color. Slipping them on, I began feeling feminine, but my penis was still demonstrating my virile manhood. The fourth and last package contained a delightful cream-colored blouse. It fit perfectly and seemed to caress my broad shoulders and my nipples, giving me a special thrill.

“You look lovely!” my wife exclaimed, circling me with girlish delight. “And I adore your massive hard-on.”

Pulling down my trousers and panties, I got on the bed and watched her undress. Putting me in feminine clothes had affected her as much as it had me. She was wet and ready as she climbed onto the bed and impaled herself on my cock. She fucked me with urgent need and achieved an orgasm in no time.

I experienced a real sense of sexual fulfillment as I submitted to her aggressive demands. There was no question about who was fucking who. Lauren was in complete control as she screamed, “You’re a slut with a cock and you’re mine!”

She’d never been very vocal, but now she was letting go with words I hadn’t thought she knew. She was my mistress, and I was her slave. In exhaustion, she finally collapsed on top of me and mewed like a kitten as I exploded deep inside her. It was the best sex we’d ever had, and I brought her down by rolling to my side and kissing her naked breasts. She pushed my head lower and let me feast on the pungent mix of our passion.

I’m extremely fond of oral sex, and going down on Lauren had always been a divine pleasure, but, dressed as I was, it took on a new dimension. Her mons, the lips of her vulva and the liquid vortex of her vagina suddenly filled me with pussy envy. My cock and balls made me feel inferior and unfinished. Lauren’s lovely little cunt became the most precious thing in my life. Her tender clitoris became the cherished jewel of my existence. With my head between her legs, I literally worshiped her delicate femininity.

As I feasted on her sex, I realized I was becoming addicted to the submissive sexual role. I wanted Lauren to demand my sexual subseNience and enslave me. She must have sensed what I was thinking, because she gripped my head and ground her crotch into my eager mouth as she climaxed again and again on my thrusting tongue. It was as if she were establishing her superiority by demonstrating the number of orgasms she could have, as opposed to my single ejaculation.

Later, as I held her in my arms, I confessed my desire for sexual surrender. Kissing the hard little nipples of my flat breasts, she cooed her intentions with the authority I wanted her to assume. I was told to destroy all of my masculine underwear, with the promise that I’d be supplied with beautiful lingerie to replace each item.

“Darling,” she purred, “from now on, except when we go out or entertain here at home, you’ll wear the clothes I give you. I’m going to dominate you with love and teach you how to pamper yourself by making you pamper me. You’re going to become the perfect husband by meeting my sexual needs as both a man and a woman would. You’ll be the gentle lesbian lover I’ve always wanted, but with a cock that I can fuck and suck.”

Lauren has taken great delight in teaching me how to be a woman. In a way, I suppose I have become her living doll. She loves buying pretty things for me to wear and enjoys watching me dress each morning before I dress her. She has taught me how to shave my legs and underarms and how to do my nails and fix my hair, while training me to do the same for her.

Lauren has really blossomed in her dominant role. She’s taken over the financial management of our affairs and has given me greater incentives for pleasing her. Our sexual life is now near perfect. I adore being treated as a woman. Life is grand!