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Message-ID: <43821asstr$1060477804@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Me" <1234miss_gennie@myway.com>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 09 Aug 2003 14:48:50 CDT
Subject: {ASSM} RePost TG: ManMaid Part 8
Date: Sat,  9 Aug 2003 21:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Man-Maid Part 8 --- July 2003


The following story is meant for a mature audience.  If you are under the
allowable age wherever you live then you are not allowed to read this. If
you are looking for a 'hot' story with lots of sex, don't bother to read any
further. This story was designed to express a favorite fantasy of mine about
how a self centered man is taught to appreciate the softer side of his
personality.  Unwillingly forced into cross dressing by his wife he...

Hi folks, sorry for the delay in continuing my story.  I am sure that most
of you have given up on ever seeing additional segments of my tale.  The
last section published nearly was the last one.  Between grad school,
unbelievable pain and hospital stays I didn't think I would ever get back to
recreational writing.  But through a lot of faith and hope, a liberal
sprinkling of Pixie dust, and very expensive arthritis drugs I am again able
to sit down and put words to "paper" ... ahhh MS Word (been so many years
since I've written on paper I don't think I remember how anymore).

As you may recall my "ladies" had been preparing me for a little trip into
the outside world. (If you don't recall go back and read the rest of the
story, please, I think it is worth reading)  My emotional state by the time
they had dressed me for my meeting was one of near total collapse.  I had
started the day thinking my wife was having a little fun at my expense, she
would teach me a lesson for the day and that would be the end of it.  I
originally did not, could not believe what she said in her note about
dressing me for the entire summer.

She had set me up well.  Making sure I had no choice but to dress as she had
specified; tight skirt and silk blouse; corset; satin slip, hose and heels.
What else could I have done? All my tools from the garage were gone.  The
sharpest kitchen utensil they left me was a tablespoon. They even removed
the emery boards from the bathroom.

My breasts, I still marvel at that one "My breasts", were jiggling around
driving me crazy.   I would turn one way and it seemed inevitable that they
would turn the other before finally catching up with the rest of me.  Hey
those things are heavy, especially if they just suddenly appear on your
chest while you sleep instead of growing slowly over time giving a person
time to adjust.

The only clothes I had available were those listed above.  Of course I could
have spent the day wearing only my... did I say "my"?  Yeah I guess I did
even though I had and still have no desire to consider it mine... chastity
belt.  A true work of art, made of steel and neoprene, covered in satin. To
the casual observer it looked as if I was wearing a pair of ladies panties.
It was not restrictive to anything but my genitals. The damn thing allowed
full freedom of motion, and even allowed me to complete my bodily functions
easily, as long as I sat down to do them, of course.

At that point I didn't see that I had a lot of choice.  I could rebel and
not get dressed. An option I did not consider very seriously because I knew
that I would be very self-conscious about my new "panties" all day.  Dirty
boxer shorts, even silk ones, were not even an option. Combine that with the
knowledge that my jiggling tits would drive me to distraction long before
the end of the day.  At which time I would have to endure a fight of cosmic
proportions when my beautiful Debbie arrived home.  A fight I had no hope of
winning, she would get upset, maybe cry, I would feel guilty for getting her
upset and give in anyway, or I could follow my wife's instructions, corral
my mountainous new chest, and find out what my wife really had in mind for
me.

So it was that I found myself sitting on the edge of my bed, in an outfit
that any freshman co-ed would look good in, waiting. My short skirt made
even shorter by sitting down.  My stocking coved legs conditioned to remain
together by my day in a hobble skirt and my fear of ridicule should anyone
glimpse my pretty petti-panties.  My beribboned ponytails flapping, hitting
my face whenever I turned my head too fast;  my dangly earrings a constant
reminder of my new position, as if the mountains on my chest and the nylon
covering my exposed thighs weren't enough.

There I sat dreading my upcoming sojourn with the unknown.  My wife Debbie
had assured me that I would settle down and realize just how natural it was
for me to be dressed as I was as soon as I met the other T-gurls in the
group.  I didn't believe her.  Karin was giggling too hard to say much of
anything, adding to my dismay considerably. And Susan had said that she
would "see us there" but would not elaborate beyond that.  And why did
Debbie say "other T-gurls", was she saying that I was a T-gurl? How could
she say that about me when I was being forced to dress the way I was?
T-gurls dress that way because they want to.  I was a man I knew that
because my father made sure I knew it.  I could not "want" to wear satin and
lace...    could I?

"OK sweetie, time to go."  I looked up from my reverie to see my beautiful
wife in her favorite form fitting jeans and what appeared to be a sprayed on
leotard style crop top with cap sleeves. Gawd did she look sexy. Why
couldn't I have just been happy with her like that? No I had to whine about
how she should wear dresses and skirts. I don't think that there is a dress
made that could have made her look any more beautiful and sexy than she did
at that moment. My reaction was of course immediate and involuntary, and
very, very painful.

"Why gennie, are you lusting after little ol' me?  Oh no, that's right you
couldn't be lusting after me, because I'm not wearing a nice tight skirt to
show off my cute little ass.  Here let me help you up and you can admire
your own cute little skirted ass one more time before we go out." Debbie
said holding out her hands with a huge evil grin on her beautiful face.

I wanted to cry. Instead I mustered my courage, the whole ounce and a half
of it, and accepted her offer to help me stand.  Whew, what an experience
that was. I felt like I was on stilts.  I was under the mistaken belief that
the big clunky heels would make my new shoes easier to stand in than the
spikes I had been wearing earlier.  Because of the extra height of the heel
however, the platform only served to match the arch of my earlier footwear,
assuring that my calves and feet would still be stretched to painful
proportions.  Taking a step in them was like walking in high heeled snow
shoes (yeah I know, makes no sense to me either but that's how it felt the
first time I tried to walk in them).  The stiff platform sole would not
allow me to bend at the toes so that I had to lift my foot higher than
normal and set my foot down flat. I felt like even more of a fool than
before, impossible as that may be to believe, much to the delight of my
lovely wife and her obnoxious cohort my little sister.

"Ah gennie dear <giggling> you might find it easier to walk if you use the
curve of the shoe to help you walk."

"Gee thanks sis, you are such a help." She was right of course, not that I
would ever admit it to her.

A few minutes of walking like Frankenstein's monster I felt as if I could at
least navigate enough to get by in my "pretty" new shoes.  I may not have
been exactly graceful yet but at least I wasn't falling down every other
step.

Time to make my way down the stairs, both Debbie and Karin were standing at
the bottom of the stairs ready for my evening debut as gennie.  Their hoots
and cat calls loud enough to alert the neighbors, at least it sounded that
way to my poor embarrassed ears.  My "cute" little, and I do mean little
(when standing with arms hanging at my sides the hem of "my" skirt reached
all the way down to my wrists, almost, well maybe I exaggerate just a
little, but it was REALLY short), flirt skirt flapping against my thighs
with every step.  In the short distance from the bedroom to the bottom of
the stairs I learned that you really should be careful of what you wish for.
The entire day I had been cursing how tight and restrictive my skirt was;
how hard my heels were to walk in; how my nylon encased legs sent shivers up
my spine as they were forced to rub against each other with every step; how
embarrassed I felt whenever I was forced to squat like a sissy-girl to
retrieve something from the floor (good training according to my sister, ah
no mercy).  My new outfit certainly solved the restriction problems, at
least for my legs, but caused a whole different world of problems for my
mind (what little of it I had left).

As usual I looked to my feet as I tried to walk, but all my eyes could
perceive was red suspender straps stretched out over my enormous chest.  In
my mind as aroused as I was I could swear that I could feel the straps
pushing against my large female nipples.  Yeah, I hear ya, impossible you
say, the breasts are not even real you say s/he couldn't possibly feel
nipples that were not there.  Well dear reader all I can say is try it and
find out how strong the power of suggestion can be.  I knew they weren't
real, I really did, but the illusion was so real, watching them move up and
down in rhythm with my steps, feeling the nylon caressing my legs, my skirt
hitting my thighs, my mind was in overload, reality was an illusion.

Descending the stairs was much easier without the hobble skirt, but I still
had to take one step at a time turning my foot sideways to keep my entire
foot on the step.  The rigid platform sole attached to each foot made it
nearly impossible to know where my foot had landed, and the last thing I
wanted was to go tumbling down the stairs, my white lacey topped thigh highs
flashing as my nearly non-existent skirt flapped up, showing my lace
encrusted panties, giving my sister something more to laugh at. The thought
that I might have been hurt if I fell never even entered my befogged mind.
As it was I had to listen to Karin's taunts to hurry and how pretty my
panties were when she looked up under my skirt, exactly as I had done to her
years before.  Was she enjoying my situation just a little too much?

Once at the bottom of the stairs Karin felt it necessary to fuss with my
hair and ribbons, and to double check my makeup before commanding me to head
out to Debbie's car so we could leave.  Debbie just stood back and smiled as
my "little" sister delivered her commands to the cute "little co-ed" in the
short skirt.

Other than the constant embarrassment caused by seeing the cute little bow
amongst the lace of my stocking tops; or the constant reminder that I was
sitting on a sun heated vinyl car seat in a too short skirt; or that it
seemed very unnatural for me to sit with my knees locked together for
modesty; the trip to the meeting site was uneventful.

I don't really know what I was expecting.  I do know I was not expecting to
be driven to my sister Susan's home.  Debbie parked the car and she and
Karin got out and waited for me to do the same. I of course just sat there
refusing (unable?) to move.

"Come on sweetie! Time to go! Get off your sweet little panty clad ass and
into the building."

"But this is Susan's house! What if someone sees me like this? What if I'm
recognized?  Please let's just go home, I promise to do what ever you want."
I whined.

My wife just glared at me.  "gennie dear, of course someone will see you
like that. That's the whole point of this outing. (excuse the pun) As for
anyone recognizing you, I wouldn't even recognize you if I didn't know.
People see what they expect to see.  I can assure you that people will see
your cute outfit and big tits and look no further, in their eyes you are
just another pretty girl visiting someone's home.  Of course with those nice
firm tits and long legs topped by that tight little ass you might have to
fight off some of the guys."

"Gee honey you certainly know how to encourage a body don't cha?"  My
sarcasm was of course wasted on her but it did make me feel as if I had at
least a little control over my life.

Succumbing to the inevitable I gracefully exited the vehicle and followed my
beautiful wife and ornery sister into the building.  What? You don't believe
the graceful part? I didn't think you would, but it was worth a try.  I
guess I should have said I kind of stumbled/fell out of the car in a move
that would have made a hippopotamus look graceful by comparison.  I found
that it is impossible to lift yourself out of a car while trying to hold
down a skirt to hide your panties and not trip over your clunky shoes while
your wife and sister just watch your antics with big evil grins on their
faces. So the end result was that I gave a wonderful show of my panties as I
tripped over my own big feet getting out of the car.  By that time I was too
frustrated to be embarrassed.

"Ah excuse me, ladies. Could one of you please explain to me why we are at
Susan's?  Oh, no wait!  I know!! Y'all were just teasing me. You wanted to
make me think that I was going to face a bunch of strangers dressed like a
sissy-sue-sue. I must admit you both had me going there for a while.  I
really believed your story about a support group meeting. Ha why would I
need to attend a support group for transvestites and transsexuals?  I'm not
a transvestite. I'm only dressed like this because I was forced to be.  I
mean it's not like I feel a need to dress this way (at least not that I
would admit to), and I certainly don't enjoy it (much). "I felt so relieved
that we were only visiting my sister that I almost forgot all the stress of
my hectic day.

My ladies just looked at me and shook their heads in disbelief. "You know
gennie, Susan said that denial is a powerful emotion but I never realized
just how powerful until now. Karin dear, would like to explain to our little
girl why we are at your sister's house."

"I would love to Debbie dear.  gennie, we are here because some of Susan's
clients complained that they needed a regular meeting place where they could
gather and feel safe. Not group therapy mind you but much rather group
support.  They explained that they needed a safe place where they could come
dressed as males and change into their female personas after they arrived.
You see dear not everyone has family as understanding of their needs as you
have. Many men in this group are not able to shave their legs and chest
without raising a lot of uncomfortable, possibly relationship damaging
questions. Then of course there is the minor problem a earning a living, few
employers would understand why Big Jim showed up this morning with his ears
pierced and his eyebrows plucked.  And many are not so fortunate as you are
to be small and bodily hair challenged. No matter how much they wish they
could, there is little chance that they would make convincing women on a
part time basis. Susan knows how painful it is for her people to keep their
feelings hidden and how important it is for them to be accepted by someone
who understands how they feel. So twice each month she opens her house to a
small support group for TV's and TS's, what has now become your support
group."

"And remember dear" chimed in my lovely wife "the people at this meeting are
NOT fags, nor perverts, nor any other derogatory term that may pop into your
sometimes empty little head. They are the same as you. They are not crazy
because of their needs, and feelings.  You my dear are one of the lucky ones
in that you make a pretty girl, or a lovely woman, and you have the support
of your family. Not everyone in this group is so lucky, but they are all
people with loves and fears, needs and wants the same as you or anyone else.
So for tonight at least bear in mind what you tell your students about how
God in her infinite wisdom gave us each two ears and one mouth so that we
may listen twice as much as we talk."

I was flabbergasted.  My carefully contrived denial of my situation came
crashing down around my beribboned pony tails in one fell swoop.  I suddenly
realized that I was on a public sidewalk, in a neighborhood where my face
was well known, being lectured by my wife and sister while I absently played
with the hem of my skirt trying to somehow make it grow longer.  Returning
to the car would do me no good Debbie had locked the doors and set the alarm
as soon as I was out. I couldn't just stand there on the sidewalk looking
like a dork. And I was scared senseless about the prospect of meeting and
having to interact with strangers who would know me for what I really was, a
man in a flirty skirt and saddle shoes. I wanted to run and hide but I could
hardly walk and besides where could I run to? I knew I would have to enter
the house, I just didn't know how I was going to get my feet to cooperate
long enough to get me there.

It was about that time that Susan came out of the house to greet us.  I had
always respected my sister enough that she could get me to do almost
anything she asked.  Maybe that was what made her such a successful
psychologist, her ability to make a person feel at ease and get them to
follow her lead.

"gennie! Welcome! I'm so happy you could make it! Come on inside the others
will be here soon. Deb, Karin, any problems with rebellion from our little
sister?"

"Hi Suzie, nothing we couldn't handle. S/he does seem a little self
conscious of her skirt, and seems to have some trouble learning how to
navigate her new shoes, but we can work on that tomorrow at my salon, right
gennie dear?"

All I could do was blush.

The ladies all had to hug each other before we could continue inside. What
is it about women and hugs it was as though they hadn't seen each other in
years instead of hours. I of course was included in the hug-a-thon as well.
Maybe it was just a ploy to keep me standing on the street that much longer.
It was getting late, the sun was beginning to set, and the air was cooling.
I almost believe that they actually somehow set up my next humiliation, for
just at the right time a breeze came up and hit me. It was just exactly
strong enough so that it would blow my unsuspecting skirt straight up
exposing my panties and giving me the indescribable experience of a cool
breeze on my nyloned thighs.  I was so startled by the event that I let out
a squeal just like I believed an air headed girl my apparent age would do.
I jumped and flailed my hands trying to hold down the unruly skirt in both
the front and back at the same time, I didn't succeed.

"Oh gennie, I tried to warn you that that short flouncey skirt might be a
little too much for your first outing.  You've done nothing but complain
about how hard it is to sit in and now you can't even control it in a little
wind burst.  I'll bet next you try to sit down without smoothing the back of
your pretty skirt as you go to sit down. I guess we will just have to have
more training sessions in proper ladylike behavior."  My wife explained
between giggles.

Training sessions? What more could these diabolical ladies come up with? I
wanted to argue that it was she that made me wear this skirt, that it was
not my idea to wear such a short skirt, but realized that they would somehow
turn my words around on me and I would lose anyway. So I instead just
groaned and hurried into the safety of my sister's home.

Miss_gennie@myway.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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