Serendipity Or Fate

by Anyport

     

I know that when you look at me now it's hard to imagine me as a hard working (well reasonably), conscientious (okay that's going a tad too far), sales girl. I'm sure you're asking yourself how I could go from sales girl in the rag trade to successful businesswoman with a maid, a cook and an impressive home in the space of one year.

Well the fact is I already had the home, though I have made a few changes recently. You see Rodger inherited it. His family has owned it for three generations and luckily he's an only son so he got the house when his parents died. It's a huge sprawling place, at least it seems that way when you have to clean it. There are 5 bedrooms, three bathrooms, two studies, one of which used to be a bedroom but I converted it to my library/study. There is also a huge parlour, a dining room that seats twelve in comfort and a kitchen that could easily be used for the average restaurant.

Oh, there's also a very large attic on the third floor and therein lies a large part of my story. You see, like many such attics it contains the junk of three generations, at least it used to until…. But I'm getting ahead of myself, perhaps, as they say in the classics, I should start at the beginning. Okay, I've never actually read a classic, that said, who knows, maybe one day my story will be quoted as one.

I think I should start by introducing myself. I'm Pamela Smythe, 34 years old with blonde Farrah Fawcett type hair. I'm quite tall, 5"9" and shapely. Okay I have big tits and a relatively slim waist. I suppose I must be attractive since I often notice men turning their heads to watch me as I pass them by. And I'm sure it couldn't simply be the high heels, short skirts and tight sweaters I invariably wear.

Anyway, I'm married to Rodger as I think I mentioned. He's 36, 5'8", and in remarkable physical condition for his age. He has hardly an ounce of fat on his well-toned body, and the best arse you've ever seen. His lack of height does mean I do tend to tower over him when I wear high heels, which I nearly always do. Anyway, Rodger's an accountant and until recently he worked very long hours, much to my chagrin. I have to admit there were a few times when I suspected him of extra marital activities; in fact our present lifestyle is a direct result of those suspicions.

You see, I'd noticed on several occasions that when I walked into his study without knocking, he often hit a key on his computer in what I would describe as a panicky movement. Anyway, one night after he'd called to say he'd be late home, I decided to see exactly what he'd been up to on his computer. There was of course the usual, for an accountant that is, accountancy software, and there was nothing of particular interest in his document files, so I checked in his Internet history. Now there's something you need to know about Rodger, when it comes to accountancy and the use of such software, there's no-one better, but as far as the Internet goes, he's a complete novice so if he was thinking of covering his tracks, he would neither think of, nor be able to locate, his browsing history.

I, on the other hand, am an old hand at such things and it took no time at all to discover that my darling husband was rather fond of several sites on the net. Six in particular were much visited, so just in case he managed to get away early from his meeting, I emailed the URLs to myself and shut down his computer before heading to my study and opening the email.

I don't know what I'd expected to find, but I can assure you nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when I opened the first site. It described itself as 'The World's Premier Femdom Site' Now I'm not the most naïve person in the world, I knew basically what to expect as I clicked on the photo gallery, though the magnitude and scope of the photos surprised me somewhat. There were hapless males bound and dressed in all manner of outfits, cringing and cowering at the feet of, predominantly leather clad, Amazonian type women who beat, whipped, kicked, tortured and generally abused their helpless victims.

There was a second site with similar themes so I moved on to the third. This one proudly proclaimed that it was the number one site for 'TV/TG/ FF' on the net. I knew what the first two were, but I had no Idea what FF meant until I entered the site. As I couldn't go very far without a password, I wondered if Rodger had actually subscribed to these sites. I soon learned that FF stood for forced feminisation.

It seemed there was a whole world of kinky goings on of which my husband, unlike me, was fully aware, perhaps even involved. I'd assumed the other three sites were more of the same, and was about to close my browser, when I noticed the word 'maid' in one of the addresses. My curiosity was piqued and I opened the site. It was dedicated to the principle that all men were subservient to women and were fit only to serve as maids to their Mistresses. There were photos of men, some of whom were not exactly raving beauties, but all were clothed in maid uniforms, the styles and colours of which seemed limitless. Although I have to say some of them did make the men look quite ludicrous and I wondered if this too was part of the overall thrill the men experienced from their humiliation.

The final two sites were filled with hundreds of stories about all manner of male degradation. From cross-dressing to something called cuckolding, which it seems, involves humiliating your spouse in front of another, usually well endowed, male. There were also stories on every possible aspect of forced and voluntary feminisation of men. I scanned several stories before finally closing down my computer and heading to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea and mull over what I'd discovered.

That night when he came to bed, I was still awake and contemplating the future. I watched him as he undressed and at one stage he actually asked me why I was staring. Without thinking I said I was just imagining him as a female and how pretty he'd look. He actually blushed, something he wasn't in the habit of doing, and mumbled something about 'not as pretty as you'. I smiled and thanked him for the compliment, then turned over and closed my eyes, though it was quite some time before I slept that night.

The next day being Saturday, I had to do the housework. Rodger, as he always did, went to his office to catch up with some paperwork without interruption from his staff. I was vacuuming the parlour and considering the newly discovered information about my husband of 12 years. Then I remembered that about ten years ago we'd been invited to a party with the theme tarts and vicars, and Rodger, despite my initial protests, decided we should both go as tarts. I tried to explain that that wasn't the idea, but he would have none of it and we spent, what turned out to be, a most enjoyable morning hunting through the second hand shops for suitable attire.

We had relatively little trouble finding a couple of serviceable corsets, one black, and one pink. I had any number of pairs of high-heeled shoes, this being one of my peccadilloes. Unfortunately Rodger is several sizes too large to wear any of my shoes and it took ages to finally locate a pair that fitted him and even though they were a hideous shade of green, Rodger seemed delighted with them. They had high stiletto heels 4" at least and I wasn't sure Rodger would be able to walk in them, but surprisingly he soon mastered it, to a degree, though he still stumbled occasionally.

When we arrived home he seemed happy to wear the shoes around the house to practice walking in them, in retrospect that wasn't really too surprising. I have to say we were the hit of the party, particularly Rodger who looked particularly trashy in his heavy make up and short red skirt. The see through white lace top showed off his corset to perfection, and he wore a blonde wig that made him almost unrecognisable even to his friends. In fact one of them was overheard to say how sexy the blonde was, although he pretended to have known it was Rodger all along when the truth was pointed out to him.

For my part I wore the black corset, a black skirt, which was actually too short to hide my stocking tops. I too wore a see through blouse, though mine was black lace and did nothing to hide my impressive, if I do say so myself, cleavage. Before we left the house, Rodger had surprised me with a pair of thigh high boots with spiked heels I'd tried on at one store. Although they fitted quite well, perhaps a half size too big, the zipper on one of them was broken so I reluctantly left them in the shop. It seemed Rodger had returned and bought them, his idea being to stick a wide strip of black duct tape over the zipper. Too our joint delight, it worked fine and as I said, we were the hit of the party.

When we arrived home Rodger suggested we make love while still wearing all but the skirts and tops. It was a little strange kissing someone who was wearing lipstick, but once I got used to it I have to admit it was one of the best nights I've ever had. Okay, so it took me a little while to realise it, 10 years in fact, but it finally occurred to me I could never recall a time when Rodger was more turned on than on that night.

I stopped working in mid vac, or whatever the forward push is called in vacuuming. I vaguely recalled having a discussion with Rodger about the outfits, I said we should throw them out but he insisted on keeping them, 'As a memento' I think he said and if he did keep them then I knew exactly, well approximately, where they would be - in the attic.

I switched off the cleaner and raced up the stairs. For the next hour I searched through boxes and old suitcases in vain. I was about to quit when my eyes fell on the, in my opinion, hideous dressing table at the back of the room. It was all ornate carvings and big drawer handles and had been in the family, in this attic in fact, for many, many years. The top drawers contained nothing much of interest apart from a couple of my old dresses that I was sure I'd thrown out years ago. I checked the drawers without success, until I opened the bottom one. Inside was a large brown paper parcel, which I tore open quickly. As I'd hoped there were the 2 corsets in all their glory together with the skirts and tops. And still in the drawer, laid out carefully on an old blanket were the boots. I picked one up and to my delight, not only had they been polished, several times I would imagine from the condition they were in, but the zipper was no longer broken.

I couldn't resist, as I've already mentioned I do have a small passion for footwear, and I kicked my slippers off and slid my foot into the first of the boots. I was wearing shorts so I had no trouble pulling them up my legs, and to my surprise the zipper slid easily up my leg. It seemed Rodger had not only polished the boots, but maintained them too, even to padding the toes with fresh cotton balls to ensure they fitted snugly. I walked around in them for a while as a plan formed in my mind then I quickly stripped them from my legs and gathered the corsets and stockings in my arms before racing down the stairs with my treasures.

It was almost 3.00 o'clock by the time Rodger arrived home. He came straight up to the bedroom as was his routine, and began stripping off his clothes to take a shower. I was sitting at the dressing table pretending to finish my nails. In fact I'd done them an hour earlier. I was wearing my long dressing gown so he couldn't see that I had the black corset on under it, nor, since my legs were under the dresser, could he see I was wearing black stockings.

As he turned towards the bathroom I called casually, "Don't get dressed when you finish showering, I have a surprise for you."

He frowned at me then grunted an okay and left the room. As soon as I heard the bathroom door close, I raced into one of the spare bedrooms where everything was laid out ready for me. I had already applied foundation to my face, so it took little time to paint my lips with a bright red lipstick and colour my eyelids blue. I pencilled in the lines to the corner a la Cleopatra and gave my lashes an extra heavy coat to give me a dark mysterious look.

I heard Rodger leaving the bathroom as I picked up the first of the boots and slid it over my leg. He called out to me and I said I'd be there in a second. Pulling on the other boot I admired myself in the mirror and smiled, I looked every bit as sexy and powerful as those so-called dominatices he enjoyed looking at so much. Walking confidently into the bedroom I stopped inside the door to allow Rodger to drink in the full vision before him.

He was drying his hair and stopped in mid rub, his mouth falling open in amazement.

"I was looking through some stuff in the attic and look what I found. Do you remember this outfit?" We both knew the answer to that question, but I decided to keep the masquerade going.

"I wore it to a fancy dress party years ago, I decided to try it on to see if it still fit, what do you think?"

I did a slow pirouette for maximum impact and by the time I was facing him again he was almost panting with excitement.

"Of course I remember it," He gasped, "You looked, errm look fantastic."

"Well thank you Rodger, as I recall you looked pretty sensational yourself that night. By the way, I was certain the zipper was broken on one of these boots, but they both seem fine."

"Ah that, I ermm, well actually, I fixed it, it seemed a waste to throw the boots away for the sake of a zipper, so I replaced it."

"Well I have to say you did a great job, I can't tell which boot was broken. Anyway I decided it would be fun to dress up in the outfit again and take a couple of photographs, you know, something to look back on in our dotage." Now came the crucial moment, "And don't worry, I haven't forgotten you."

I took the pink corset from the top drawer of the dressing table where I'd hidden it and held it out, together with the black stockings and a pink satin pair of my own panties for Rodger to take. He hesitated before taking the garments from my hands.

"Oh no, I forgot, when you dressed up last time we had to shave your legs first. Don't you remember, all that hair poking through the stockings looked ridiculous"

I took the clothes from his hands and smiled inwardly as I saw the look of disappointment on his face. I laid them on the bed and took his hand in mine.

"Come on, it'll only take a few minutes."

I'd actually expected at least a token resistance from Rodger, but he followed meekly. I pretended not to notice his erection as it swayed from side to side as he walked.

I steered him into the shower and took down the hand held showerhead and began wetting his legs. 15 minutes later I had removed not only the hair from his legs, but his chest, stomach, arms and underarms, in fact all the hair below his neck except his crotch. He'd accepted it silently, though he did groan slightly when he realised I intended to shave his arms and underarms. It was only when I rinsed him off with cold water that he finally protested, though it was more a yelp of shock than an actual protest. And guess what, it's true what they say about cold showers, they really do take the erection away, at least partially.

After towelling himself dry again, he followed me into the bedroom and we began the dressing process. The pink panties did little to hide his manhood; in fact by the time I pulled them to the top of his thighs, he was once again sporting an impressive hard on. I passed the corset round his waist and began lacing it up at the back. I have no idea how far I managed to pull him in, but I doubt I could have tightened it any more than I did and poor Rodger was gasping for breath, though to his credit he never once complained. I slid the stockings up his legs and attached them to the garters, then I decided it might be wise to wait until we were down stairs to put his shoes on, after all I didn't want him falling down stairs did I?

While he was stepping into the shoes, I went into my study for my camera; on the way out I saw my reflection in the mirror. I really did look impressive, and then I had an idea. Hoping I didn't look or sound as nervous as I felt, I began setting up the camera on the tripod and spoke to Rodger without looking at him.

"I was thinking, this outfit would look great with a whip or something." I kept silent for a moment then added, "I know, while I finish this you can go out to the garden shed and bring in one of those canes you use for the roses."

"Okay, but I'll have to go up and get my dressing gown first, you never know who's looking over the fence."

"Don't be ridiculous." I spun around to face him, hands on hips and legs akimbo. "Just get out there and bring me a cane, NOW! And, if you aren't back in exactly one minute I'll use the damned thing on you for real!"

Rodger looked horrified, for one awful second I was sure he was about to yell back at me, then, under my sustained glare, he backed off and looked down at his feet before heading for the back door and the shed. I quickly finished setting up the camera; my hands were actually trembling with excitement, and then repositioned myself in my former stance. Rodger hurried into the room then stooped in his tracks as he saw me. Somewhat nervously, he handed me the cane, then stepped back before I had the chance to use it on him.

"Okay," I said pretending not to notice his reaction. "If you lay over the back of that lounge chair, I'll stand to one side with the cane on your arse."

I set the camera and moved to the pose tapping him gently as I did so.

We took several more shots from different positions and angles then I commented on the whiteness of his backside.

"You know, I do believe if I did use this on you, it would make a great photograph, I'll bet it would really show up bright red against your white skin. Just lay over the lounge again."

Before he had time to react I gave him a couple of firm strokes with the cane, not hard, but enough to leave a mark.

"Oww, what was that for?" He protested, though I noticed he didn't try to get up.

"I told you earlier, you had one minute to get the cane and you didn't, so now you're paying the consequences."

I gave him 4 more strokes, perhaps a little harder than I'd intended, but I had been right about the welts, they shone out like red beacons against his white flesh. I took several shots of his tattooed bum then put the camera aside.

Reaching round under him I stroked his rock hard manhood and purred, "I'm going up to the bedroom now, perhaps you'd care to join me."

To say our lovemaking eclipsed that memorable night 10 years ago, would be an understatement. Rodger spent half an hour pleasing and tormenting me with his tongue and hands, I soon lost count of my orgasms, not that I was particularly keeping score; I had other things on my mind. Eventually Rodger collapsed beside me on the bed, the tight corset finally taking its toll. I took this as my cue to take over; straddling his body I quickly impaled myself on his erection. Our simultaneous climax took only a few moments, but what moments they were, we both collapsed on the bed afterwards in exhaustion.

Unlike Rodger, I only needed a few minutes to recover, and I undressed and showered, purposely leaving him to sleep. At 6.30pm I finally woke him.

"Come on Rodger," I urged, "Have you forgotten? We're going to Cheryl and Adam's for dinner. Hurry we're supposed to be there by seven."

"But I can't, I have to get out of these clothes and take a shower."

"Don't be ridiculous, you haven't time for all that, just quickly sponge down your privates and use plenty of deodorant under your arms. You can pull your clothes over the top of the corset, no one will know, apart from us that is. I think it'll be rather sexy." I smiled and kissed him gently. "I'm already feeling wet just thinking about what we'll do when we get home."

I knew Rodger wanted to protest further, but a combination of submissiveness and anticipation won out and he did as I suggested.

We arrived at our friends about 10 minutes late and made our apologies. Cheryl introduced us to another couple Amy and Dave, and we spent a few minutes chatting before going through to dinner. Poor Rodger could hardly bend in the corset, and he really struggled to take his seat.

"Are you okay Rodger, you seem to be in some pain." Cheryl observed.

"Don't worry," I laughed, "He wouldn't do as he was told earlier, and I had to cane his arse for him."

The reaction was far from what I'd expected. Rodger of course blushed, but Cheryl and Adam gave each other a nervous look, and Amy actually nodded knowingly. Was I the only one in the bloody room who wasn't some sort of kinky freak?

I quickly added, "No seriously, the poor baby's hurt his back, in fact I think it might be best if we race off right after dinner, if that's okay with you Cheryl, I want to get Rodger into bed as soon as possible."

This only made Rodger blush all the more, but the others made understanding noises and turned their attention to the food.

We left right after dinner and nearly broke all records racing home. We ran straight up the stairs stripping off the outer clothes as we went. The lovemaking was a reprise of the afternoon session and once again Rodger fell asleep almost immediately. Since I had no corset to remove, I was happy to drift off with Rodger in my arms.

The following morning Rodger asked me to help him untie the corset. I dismissed his request offhandedly and told him, in what I hoped was an assertive tone, that I would decide when he removed it, not him.

"Oh by the way, because I spent so much time getting your little surprise ready yesterday, I didn't have time to finish the cleaning, so if you could start with the vacuuming in the parlour I'll go to my study and check into buying you a few more outfits."

Rodger didn't move, he simply stared at me open mouthed, obviously toying with the idea of protesting.

Before he could speak I looked up and asked, "Was there something else you wanted?"

"No, it's just…" He began meekly.

"Good, then get on with it, and don't forget your shoes." I pointed to the awful green shoes still lying on the bedroom floor where they'd been dropped the day before.

Defeated, Rodger climbed into the shoes and headed off down the stairs. I finished dressing and headed to the kitchen to make some tea before going to my study to research the outfits.

I learned only 2 things in an hour of surfing the net. One was that it was almost impossible to find shoes in larger men's sizes, well not without paying through the nose at least. The other was that for some reason maid uniforms were only available in the outrageous styles and colours I'd seen on the sites Rodger visited.

There was no lovemaking that night, Rodger was far too exhausted after I'd made him clean the whole house from top to bottom, except for the attic of course, that would keep until next week.

The following day, with the help of several contacts in the industry, I was able to track down a supply of shoes, albeit in limited styles and colours. The only drawback was that I needed to buy at least 6 pairs at a time. I had more luck with the uniforms. One of my clients actually made uniforms for people in service and it was simply a matter of coming up with a few standard sizes. He would happily supply me with all I needed complete with aprons, hats and gloves. He even went as far as suggesting he make them with elasticised waists to help with the sizing.

I was slightly nervous about suggesting that the hem lines could be considerably shorter than standard, but he offered no comment other than to say he always thought it was a pity to hide great legs under all that material.

Luckily an old school friend, who actually worked in the corset industry, eased the area where I would normally have had problems. She put me in touch with an Asian lady who was happy to make as many or as few corsets as I needed, and what's more she could supply in the colour and style of my choice, within one week of ordering and at a cost considerably lower than any other makers.

The following week I made it clear to Rodger that he wouldn't be working on Saturday, as I had some tasks for him at home.

On Saturday morning I woke him early and told him to shower and shave and be back in the bedroom in 10 minutes. "Oh and don't forget to shave your arms and legs." I added.

To his credit he was back within 12 minutes but I pretended not to notice as I pointed to the clothing I'd laid out on the bed beside me.

I definitely hadn't anticipated his reaction. As I watched him his limp penis began to grow and within a matter of seconds it was standing at attention.

"My, my, I didn't realise you felt that way about satin." I pointed to his erection with my foot.

The corset was in red satin, the uniform in black, and the panties I'd bought were also black satin.

"Well don't just stand there staring, get dressed. You have a lot of work to do today."

He pulled the panties on quickly and tried hard, but with little success, to hide his bulging manhood. Then he pulled the stockings up his legs. I had to help him with the corset and I was delighted to see it was a very good fit on him. I didn't lace it quite as tightly as I had the previous week, because, as I'd said, he had a lot of work to do and it would be hard enough without the added problem of an overly tight corset.

The dress was a perfect fit, aided as it was by the elasticised waist. I helped him with his wig, the blonde one again though I was close to finding a supplier for those too. The whole thing was finished off with a white hat and apron then I sat him down at the dressing table and began his make up.

"I expect you to practice this and before too long you should be able to put it on without my help." I informed him, as I applied foundation to his face.

"Yes Mistress." He replied quietly.

The title, unsolicited though it was, gave me an incredible thrill. As much as I enjoyed it, I succeeded in maintaining my composure and simply continued what I was doing as though nothing unusual had happened.

I decided he needed false eyelashes and also that when he'd finished his work I'd be working on his eyebrows to pluck them and give them shape.

I coated his lashes with mascara and coloured his eyelids green. I used a pale pink almost white lipstick, which gave him a really tarty look.

When I'd finished his makeup I presented him with the shoes I'd bought, black patent leather with three-inch spike heels and an ankle strap. I pulled them onto his feet and fastened the strap. They were slightly big, but cotton wool balls in the toes soon fixed that, then I declared him ready and led him over to the full-length mirror to look at his reflection. I swear if I hadn't insisted, he'd have been happy to stand in front of that mirror for the rest of the day.

"Okay, I want you to spend the rest of the day, or however long it takes, cleaning the attic, I think I might have a use for that room soon and I want it cleared."

To my surprise Rodger looked as though he was about to protest and before he could speak I added, "Unless you'd prefer to go out to the garden shed and bring me a cane first."

"No Mistress Pamela, I'm going right away."

I smiled smugly, not only at the speed with which he climbed the stairs, but also with the fact that he'd accepted his position so easily and was already calling me Mistress as a matter of course. I could get used to that, in fact I very quickly did.

Over the next few weeks I put out a few feelers, Cheryl was invaluable when it came to knowing people who might need the 'unique' clothing I could provide. With the help and advice of my accountant, Rodger in his male clothes, I started selling clothes. At first it was done by word of mouth, but then I came up with the idea of selling them via the party plan.

Initially Rodger and Adam, yes that Adam, were models and I was amazed at just how many outfits I sold. I was soon branching out with all manner of marital aids and articles to assist ladies in the 'education' of their husbands. By the time I'd run my fourth party, I could no longer handle the demand and I had to sign Cheryl as an agent. From there it just exploded and now, a year on I have a national company with a turnover of over 5 million a year and growing.

You might be surprised to hear, dear reader, that the cleaning of the attic was the making of my business, not, as I'd originally intended, as a storeroom, but by providing me with enough capital to stock my agents. It turned out that the ugly dressing table was actually worth a few dollars. The real prize however turned out to be an old landscape painting, which was actually worth fifteen thousand. A most fortunate find. Oh, and speaking of fortunate finds, about a month after I started the parties one of the guests was a quiet spoken and quite distinguished gentleman. After the party he offered his services as a live-in cook. All he asked was food and board, and that he be permitted to wear a uniform.

I'm still amazed that he can work in the kitchen in those 6" heels. And he must be sweltering in the tight rubber corset he insists on wearing under his starched white dress. On the plus side he's a brilliant cook and what's more, he has a friend who would like a job as a downstairs maid. Life's pretty good on the whole for everyone concerned.

   

THE END.

  

  

  

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