A Wife's Indulgence

from the home of WannbeGinger

(5)

 

Less than 36 hours since the indulgence began, I find myself in a quandary or a dilemma. After a wonderful weekend of love and sex and fantasy, I am facing my husband over the dressing table in our bedroom. At home. Protected. Together. Loving. Sharing. He has his hair styled rather like my own. He has deep red lipstick on his face. He is wearing my peach satin dressing gown and he is waiting for me to put eyeshadow on his eyelids. He wants me to do so. He has discovered that these things make him feel sexy – as if he needed to feel more sexy!. We have enjoyed wonderful sex for hours and hours, drifting in and out of male/female and just a suggestion of female/female lovemaking. He's been girly…. increasingly so. There's joy in my mind because I have loved every minute of the last two thousand (for that's all it is….) and I have no idea where the next 2000 will take us. The quandary is whether that has all taken place too fast. At this rate, who knows where we might end up. And I'm not sure I know if I want to go there. Well, I'm not sue I want to go so fast. So, like him feeling regrets yesterday, now I'm concerned...

"You'll have to hold very steady, honey." I told him, knowing that he would flinch when the eyeshadow first was applied. Having anything put near the eye provokes a natural reaction; one that girls learn very quickly to master when first they try using make-up.

"Yes, I know. I haven't tried that for years but I can remember. In fact, it was the mascara that gave the most trouble as I remember……"

The tiny brush was easily loaded with eyeshadow from the little palette in my hand. I chose the deep purple for the lower area on his upper eyelids. Its impact was immediate. His eyes seem to come alive. I swept the colour upward to the edge of the lids, meeting his eyebrows and giving a sultry tone to his face. Then I changed to the lighter purple and swept that across the fold in his eyelid that's deep in the crease above the lashes. Finally, a sweep of the much lighter, frosted shadow completed the look – a vampish aura descended about his face.

"You look really, really sexy, my love." I murmured "… but the look is incomplete without the mascara you said you've used ……. Did you ever use eyeliner? I have some superb quick-drying liquid liner, if you'll let me try it on you."

I noticed that his hands were no longer in his lap. They were stroking the arms that were contained in the dressing gown's satin folds. Moving to stand behind him again, I slipped my hands back to his shoulders and stroked him through the material whilst looking in his eyes in the mirror. I looked in his eyes, seeking approval to proceed. "Mascara and liner, or just the mascara tonight?"

One of his hands moved slowly towards his legs and stroked against his thigh. Soon, he had his cock in his hands, covered only in satin. He stroked more and quietly said "Just the mascara, please." So, I turned back to face him with the mascara wand in my hand and as I began he gently wanked himself, the pleasure being all-consuming. Looking back, I could have felt excluded from this pleasure but my own pussy was so wet still, I could hardly complain. I spread the wand across the lashes that were relatively thin. It would need a serious amount of product to make his lashes look really as vampish as the eye colour demanded. Maybe one day, he should try false lashes, I wondered.

By now, I realized that his face looked distinctly more feminine than my own. He had more than enough make-up on and his hair that surrounded the image I was creating just make the picture hard to comprehend. After all, he was a relatively ordinary guy – not "pretty" as some guys are – he just seemed to take to the look naturally and, whilst still a guy in make-up and hair – he was still a guy ……100%. His wank ended in a quite quiet (for him) orgasm and his cum made a tasty indulgence for me as I surrounded his cock with my still-lippy lips.

Later, (how much later?), he looked in the mirror and whispered

"You're soooooo clever! You've made me look what I am certainly not… and you've made me feel very sexy about it. It shouldn't be this easy. In really like the feeling…… Is it good for you… tell me…. Is it ok??"

His eyes flashed and he shook his head lightly, making his curls bounce in a very feminine way.

What the hell? This was role-play and much of sex is based on being something that you're not. Who was I to arbitrate on what is and what isn't acceptable. I had been pushing this forward. There was no doubt of that. Was it ok with me… of course it was. He's my husband and we're in this together, I mused.

"Will you sleep this way?" I enquired. "Would you like to wake up this way? remember, I have to work tomorrow and you have a day at home. So you could stay this way for a little longer if you wish." That was the case – I had to wake early to be away from the home for most of the day. He, on the other hand, could stay as he was and lounge around the house if he wanted.

"You could have a nice long bath and freshen yourself up for when I get home."

"I'd like to sleep this way, it's so comfortable. Let's see about tomorrow when it comes."

"Then you should slip out of the dressing gown and use the nightgown that matches it, you know. Girls feel better in nice nighties. I was as encouraging as I could possibly be.

The following morning, as I dressed for work, he woke later than I did and was sleepy still as I returned from the bathroom. I opened my wardrobe, wondering what to wear. Standing in my bra and panties, I hummed gently as I decided. There were plenty of dresses and suits to choose from.

"I think a boyish look would suit you today." He said. "In fact, as I've enjoyed your things quite so much, I think you should try a shirt and tie from my wardrobe. Then you'd be conscious all the time of what I'm wearing if I stay like this at home."

"Whoa!, that's unexpected!" I said. Now he was moving things forward. Last night's thoughts came flooding back….. . At this rate, who knows where we might end up. And I'm not sure I know if I want to go there. Well, I'm not sue I want to go so fast. So, like him feeling regrets yesterday, now I'm concerned...

But the thought wasn't at all irrational. Maybe I was just in "work mode". "Okay, good idea."

In fact, the day turned out very well indeed. We spoke on the phone several times and I leant that he was indeed enjoying a day lunging around the house. He had a bath soon after I left and set about restoring his make-up. Surely, he should have taken it off by now? But then, if he took it all off, he couldn't put fresh colours in place the way I had done last evening. The impact would be lost, he said, and he wanted to hold on to it.

I didn't know until I got home, feeling great after a day I had made some bold decisions at work, that whilst I had been in work mode… he had been in "wank mode".

When I entered the house, all seemed quiet. I called out "I'm home!"

Whilst downstairs was quiet and orderly, I wasn't prepared for the scene I encountered on climbing the stairs. It was mayhem, like there had been a burglary. The bed wasn't made, there were clothes everywhere…. my clothes, not his clothes. It wasn't a pretty sight to a tidy-minded girl like me, to tell the truth. What had been going on?!

He appeared at the bathroom door. He had been crying, if he was not still doing so. His make-up was ruined and streaks of black mascara lined his cheeks. His hands were covered in purple eyeshadow, where he had rubbed his eyes no doubt. There were mascara stains on the nightie that he was still wearing. His hair was dishevelled, not anything like the pretty style in which I had left it this morning.

He confessed that his morning went downhill from a luxury start where he felt really good about the way he looked. He had wanked, he admitted, and he had wanked again some time later. The whole morning was taken up with self-indulgence. The clothes that were spread around the room had been held up in front of him, dress by dress, as he imagined wearing them. He admitted, as if racked by guilt. The wanking left him almost exhausted. He said his bollocks ached. (Too much information!) Then the doubts had set in; his mind back in the guilt of the previous morning.

Next, he took a bath but found that his make-up began to lose its completeness. His skin had sweated and his contentment was replaced by concern for "what we had done". He wanted to remove the make-up but couldn't find the creams to do that.

His cock had risen again and he saw that there was more to this than he knew….. His sexual drive had been hi-jacked, he said, by his looking "this way".

"Well, not the way you look now." I argued, as he looked a complete mess.

"Did you wear any of my dresses?" I asked, kind-of feeling violated…… "Without my permission." I thought to add, but didn't. This had been a "together thing" An indulgence for both of us last night and the night before. Not now. In fact, Yes, I was finding myself angry at him…

Tears welled up in his eyes as he realized what I was thinking. He had to justify himself.

"No, please…. darling… It wasn't like that…… No, I didn't – you should be able to tell. I'm telling the truth. I'm sorry I made a mess but I haven't…….. worn…. any of them…."

"Well, it doesn't seem that you've taken much care…. and look at yourself… Look in the mirror You look like Elizabeth Bloody Taylor in a hysterical fit!" I rounded on him, unwittingly.

Oh, shit! This was all going wrong…. It had been wonderful – for both of us – last night, and even this morning. Now we were on the verge of an outright fight….. Too fast… that was the trouble. I knew it! If only we hadn't gone so far…. so soon if you want to say….. But he shouldn't have done this, especially with my clothes!

"Deep down, I want you to enjoy yourself, darling." I said, falteringly, "…..but I'm not so sure, at all, about you doing this alone. It was my mistake…. I even suggested it…. I didn't think you'd stay dressed all day… sill less end up in such a state. For goodness' sake, go and have a bath again. The cleansing products are all beside my bathroom vanitory."

He looked at me in an apologetic sideways look, and turned his back without a word.

The bath water began to run. The steam indicated that the water would be punishingly hot. The vanitory drawer slammed shut. He had found the cleansing creams. Now he was resentful. What did he expect!?

I sat on the side of the bed, close to tears. A wife who had indulged herself…. and her husband…. in something she couldn't control. What was I to do? Apologize? – well, no……. I'd tried that a moment ago and it didn't ring true. We had decided on this track…. we had gone along with eachother. We found ourselves in the mess we'd suddenly found ourselves in.

The best way would be to fuck ourselves out of it….. Lots of people can't do that; they harbour grudges that mean sex suffers. Luckily, we weren't like that…. We usually could "fuck ourselves back to normal" in times of trouble. And this seemed to be one… and this seemed the best solution….. But I still had my concerns. I was disappointed we had reached this. I enjoyed everything we had done. As he had. Now he was all guilt-laden, I had to make him comfortable… if we weren't to lose what we had begun.

I stayed on the bed, his shirt and tie feeling somehow reassuring to me. I had worn his clothes all day… well, some of them. I had felt close to him. He had worn my nightclothes. Hopefully, he would have felt close to me, before becoming overwhelmed. Hopefully he would have had me in his mind as he wanked. I certainly thought of him many time in my own little world when I was giving myself pleasure. My thoughts surrounded how much I had fancied him as a 'her' last night – well, almost a 'her'…… He/she looked lovely then, not as she had done a moment ago before we separated. Then again, I still fancied him as 'him'. A fuck as "he and she" would be the best way to calm things down.

Would we ever get back to "he/she and she"? I hoped so.

But not in a rush! I had to put the brakes on.

He seemed to have done that to himself in any case.

A fuck. That's what we needed.

When he emerged from the bathroom, his skin was almost red all over. The heat of the bath had been intense. Steam wallowed out from the doorway behind him. His hair no longer in soft curls, but rather slicked back behind his ears. Wrapped in just a single bath sheet, almost from shoulder to toe, he stood there…

"Soooooo sorry! I messed up, big time, didn't I?

It was early evening and I was tired from the day's work. I needed a drink.

"Two martinis??" I said.

"Not half!!" He replied.

We had often used the suggestion of a Martini as double-meaning for a fuck, after we had the Martini!

"Just ice and a slice? Don't get dressed. Just stay as you are, my honey." I implored him. "Just dry your skin and powder everywhere. That'll make you feel good. And then we can talk over a drink, downstairs."

He smiled. He was recovering his equilibrium from the pre-bath skirmish. Anger had subsided.

He followed me down the stairs after a few minutes. Whilst I had poured the two Martinis, which were big ones, he had clearly spent time brushing and arranging his hair. He had parted it centrally from forehead to crown, just as I had set it last night. He had drawn a comb through the rest to leave waves left and right. He had really tried to create an impression -and it was noticed.

"Your hair looks nice." I complemented but said nothing more. We touched glasses and said "Cheers" before sipping the nectar. As it was the first alcohol of the day, it really hit the spot. We sat together on a warm sofa in the living room.

"How was your day at work?" He enquired, just as a "wife" would do to a "husband" – there was a curious role reversal at play here, without any conscious action on either part. I had been at work. He/she had been at home. A fuck on that basis wouldn't work to restore the balance between us. This rapport was for tomorrow, or later. Today was for him to be him and me to be her.

"Work's not for now." I reached under his towel and felt for his cock. It was small and subsided – presumably from all the wanking of the daytime. "The Fucker's for now." He said, admitting that he wasn't ready. "I'll get it." And he ran up the stairs, two at a time!

The rest of the evening, we played all over the house. Fucking on the sofa, on the floor, in bed and even on the stairs. Exhausted, we retired to be… this time to sleep, at gone midnight.

My concerns of early evening time were allayed for now but I faced a choice – probably in the morning. I expected to find a changed man. But changed in what way. Would he be the dominant, or rather male, one? Or would he be girly again? What did he expect of me? To push back, or for me to be fucked as she by he/him?

In a single day, I had gone from almost a "lesbian wife" when we woke up, to mildly cross-dressing in his clothes, to an offended "wife of a closet CD", to a happy-to-be fucked-by-hubby type of wife. Which of these was I happiest to be? I really didn't know – but as the story will unfold, I will find out.

As I drifted off to sleep, I ran my hands through my hair on the pillow. My silky red hair. Maybe it was time for a change?

 

Chapter 6 follows……………………………..

  

  

  

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