The Perfect Hubby

by

Sharon Masterman

 

1. Marc to Marcie

Billy was a model husband when we first got married. He did his share of the cooking and housework. He was gentle and loving in bed. And he was totally faithful.

Then things changed. He stopped cooking and doing housework -- and insisted I wait on him hand and foot. He became rough and aggressive in bed. And he started cheating on me.

Some nights he came home late, other nights he didn’t come home at all. When I accused him of cheating, he just laughed. "I’m a real man," he said, "and real men need more than one woman. If you don’t like it, get a divorce."

I was devastated. I couldn’t cope with a divorce. This was my second marriage -- and the second to go sour. Marc, my first husband, was a macho womanizer. I was hoping Billy, who was small and slender for a man, would be different.

*****

One Friday night when Billy was hitting the singles bars, I went to the mall. As I was passing Victoria’s Secret I ran into my ex-husband Marc and his new wife Julie. Julie had a broad smirk and did all the talking. Though she was good-looking, she was nearly 10 years older than Marc. I wondered what he saw in her.

As Julie spoke, I noticed that Marc was carrying a big shopping bag from Victoria’s Secret. And he was standing behind Julie rather than beside her. His eyes were lowered and he seemed to be blushing. Were his lashes really that long and dark, I wondered, or was he wearing mascara? Were his lips really that red or was he wearing lipstick? And was that Julie’s purse over his shoulder?

As I was trying to get a closer look, Julie said they still had more shopping to do. "Say goodbye to Sharon, sweetie," she said to Marc as if he were a child.

"‘Bye Sharon," he said softly, still refusing to make eye contact.

Julie’s smirk grew even broader as she gave me a knowing wink. Then she led him away.

That night I couldn’t take my mind off Marc. He would never have gone shopping with me, let alone carried an ultra-feminine Victoria’s Secret bag or my purse. Maybe Julie knew something about men that I didn’t. Next morning I phoned her.

I told Julie about my problems with Billy and asked if she had any advice. "Sure," she responded, "I know exactly what the problem is. And I can help. But not over the phone. There’s something I’ll have to show you. Can you come over at about 4:00 this afternoon? Good. I’ll see you then. Oh, and dress sexy and wear heels -- the higher the better. Don’t ask why. You’ll find out when you get here."

That afternoon I changed into black nylons, a form-fitting low-cut dress, and a pair of 5-inch spikes. I loved those shoes. They made me feel sexy and powerful. But Billy wouldn’t let me wear them. He was so much shorter than me, I towered over him in those heels. I now realize I made him feel small and childlike and threatened his masculinity when I wore them.

*****

Julie greeted me at the door. She was dressed as a vintage glamour girl -- heavy makeup, stiletto heels, bullet bra, and a tight sweater and skirt. She might be older than Marc or me, but she had a great body and knew how to dress. "Hi, Sharon," she said. "Come on in."

We seated ourselves in the living room. Then Julie called toward the kitchen. "Marcie, dear, some refreshments for our guest, please."

Marcie? I wondered. Who was Marcie? Then I heard the click-click-click of high heels. I looked up and there, much to my astonishment, was my ex-husband! He was wearing lipstick and eye shadow, earrings, a garter belt, fishnet stockings, stiletto heels, and a lacy white apron -- and nothing else. The pulsating erection lifting the front of his apron compounded his humiliation. It made it impossible for him to deny he liked dressing as a woman!

Marc -- or "Marcie" as Julie now called him -- placed a wine and cheese tray on the table before us. Then, eyes lowered, he performed a delicate little curtsey.

"Thanks, sweetie," Julie said to him. "Do you want to say something to Aunt Sharon?"

His heavy makeup could hardly hide his mortification. "I’m sorry, Sharon," he said in a soft, high-pitched, feminine tone of voice, "for being so naughty and disrespectful to you."

Then he kneeled before me and worshipfully kissed, licked, and sucked my high heels. "Mmm, mmm, mmm," he softly murmured as my sharp stiletto heel penetrated his pursed and painted lips. It was a revenge fantasy come true! I was fucking my ex-husband -- fucking his mouth -- with my high heels! He was so exquisitely vulnerable. I placed the tip of my other heel on his cock and toyed with it. Marc winced. I could cut it off if I wanted. And he knew it. What a turn on!

"Okay, sweetie," Julie said. "I think Aunt Sharon forgives you now, don’t you Sharon?"

"Yes," I said. Then, getting into the swing of things, I added, "As long as you’re a sweet little boy and do whatever mommy says."

Julie turned to me and her broad smile told her all she needed to know. Then she ordered him to the kitchen. He curtsied and was off. As he was mincing away I noticed that his bottom was bright red as if he’d recently been spanked.

"Isn’t he darling?" Julie asked as she turned towards me.

"Yes," I said, "but how did you do it?"

"It was easy. Inside every man is a boy who’s afraid of his mother. The secret to a happy marriage is bringing that little boy out of your husband and doing what his mother should have done. First you weaken his manhood. Then you impose the power relationship between mother and son onto the erotic relationship between man and woman. Marc doesn’t think of himself as my husband any more, but as my son -- my sissy son.

"I began by dressing as a glamour girl of his mother’s generation," Julie continued. "This reminded him of the women who dominated him as a young boy -- his mother, his aunts, and his teachers. They were big and strong, he was small and weak. Their outfits -- tight sweaters and skirts, pointed bras, low-cut, figure-hugging dresses, sky-high heels, heavy makeup -- also turned him on. Dressed like them, I triggered the same combination of fear and excitement he’d experienced as a child.

"Then, whenever he got out of line -- whenever he tried to be masculine -- I punished him. Sometimes I’d take him over my knee for a bare-bottomed spanking. He didn’t resist. He was afraid. He saw me as strong and powerful and himself as weak and dependent. Other times I’d give blister his bottom with my hairbrush and make him stand in the corner. Sometimes I’d press my nails into his manhood and threaten to cut it off. He’d cry -- really cry -- and promise to be good. Then I trained him to do housework.

"Have you ever taken a man over your knee and blistered his ass with a hairbrush, Sharon? Believe me, there’s nothing like it to give a woman a sense of power and control -- to reduce a man to tears and make him promise to do everything she says. What a rush! You should have seen Marc the first time I did it to him. At first he was desperately trying to retain his masculine pride -- doing everything he could to keep from showing that it hurt. But this only made me hit him harder. Finally his ass got redder and redder and I broke his masculinity. First he began to whimper and sob. Then the tears began to flow and he began blubbering apologies and promising to do whatever I wanted. What a turn on! Turning a man into a whimpering, sobbing little boy who will do anything you say. It was so exciting I actually came!

"Like every macho womanizer, deep down Marc was insecure about his masculinity. So I confirmed his doubts. In bed told him his little nubbin didn’t measure up to other men I’d known. They were bigger, stronger, and longer-lasting. This made him so anxious his performance became worse. Once, he was so nervous he couldn’t even get it up. He broke into tears and sobbed. I savored his humiliation. I drew him to my bosom and comforted him. ‘It’s okay, sweetie,’ I said, ‘You don’t have to be a man for mommy. You can be my lover boy. We’ll kiss and cuddle like mother and son -- and you can learn to make love and satisfy me like a girl. I lead, you follow; I’m aggressive; you’re passive; I’m the top, you’re the bottom; you come when I tell you to; not before, not after.’

"The next day, hairbrush in hand, I took him to my closet and encouraged him to play dress up. He didn’t object. In fact he was quite relieved. Dressed as a girl, he wouldn’t have to measure up as a man. I helped him into bras, garter belts, nylons, and heels. Then I kissed and caressed him and told him how pretty he looked. He felt safe and secure, sexy and exciting, as my roaming hands intimately found their way into his lacy bra and panties. And he never got over it.

"Now he identifies sexual excitement with the more feminine side of his personality. Nothing pleases him more than dressing and serving as my maid -- brushing my hair, polishing my nails, and helping me in and out of my high heels. Then, as a reward, I draw him to my bosom and feel him up as if he were a girl. You should hear him moan and sigh like a virgin as I stimulate his sensitive nipples, stroke his stocking-sheathed thighs, and fondle his little panty-clad clitty-cock."

"As for our marriage, it’s become increasingly traditional. I’m in charge and Marcie’s the traditional wife -- a male/wife homemaker who cooks and cleans, washes and irons, and does everything to make me happy, including remaining faithful while putting up with my infidelities. I’ve become a big believer in the traditional marriage -- only it’s the male, not the female, who’s the wife. Every married woman, including you, ought to have such a wife -- a male/wife! And a couple of hot studs on the side.

"No one man can satisfy a woman’s needs. She needs a sissy male/wife to satisfy her domestic and maternal needs. And she needs macho studs -- guys who are big and strong and good in bed -- to satisfy her sexual needs. Guys who are good at one are no good at the other. And a girl needs both."

Julie called for Marc again. I could hardly contain my giggles as the ex-macho man girlishly minced into the living room and performed a delicate curtsey. "Marcie, darling," Julie said, "bring Auntie Sharon the books and magazines on the shelf over there."

He did as he was told and I began looking through them. The magazine, WhAP!, contained articles and stories with titles like, "Training the Obedient Husband," "Mother, May I?" "Matriarchy in Matrimony," "When Husbands Misbehave," and so on. The books included titles like Rearing a Husband, A Charm School for Sissy Maids, and The Training and Education of a Husband. "Take them home," Julie said. "Study them. They’ve got lots of plans and tips for transforming any macho man into a sweet little momma’s boy. Believe me, once you turn your husband into a sissy -- and experience the submissive love and devotion you can get from an adoring boy in a man’s body -- you won’t go back to normal men, at least not for marriage. Like me, you may want to date other guys for romance and excitement, but there’s no better husband than one who dresses and acts like a male/wife. In six months Billy can become as docile as Marcie."

As Julie was speaking, Marc -- I mean, "Marcie"-- stood off to the side awaiting her orders. She turned to him. "Okay, dear," she said. "Now draw my bath. Mommy’s got a date tonight with a real hunk! I’ll want you to do my nails and dress me. And you’ll have to sleep in the guest room, sweetheart -- in case I get lucky!"

Marcie curtsied and left the room. Julie then turned to me and gave me an encouraging hug. "Do it, Sharon," she said. "See how sweet a husband can be. Turn Billy into ‘Billie Jean’. Spank him! Bring out the submissive little boy inside! The fact that he’s womanizing shows that deep down he’s really insecure about his masculinity. Take advantage of it. Confirm his fears. Convince him he lacks the size, strength, and stamina to satisfy you as a man. Then turn him into submissive male/wife. Train him to dress and serve as your maid! I’ll be happy to help. Do it! It’ll save your marriage!"

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Sharon Masterman. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.