HELPLESS HUSBANDS

HELPLESS HUSBANDS

WENDELL IS NOW WENDY

Wendell was upset. His wife Talia had dressed him in an especially girly
outfit. Perched atop his head was a yellow cap with a short brim in the
front. His upper body was covered -- sort of -- by a clinging apricot
top with spaghetti straps. It ended several inches above his belly
button. Below that was a pair of red mini-shorts that rode low on his
hips and invaded the cleft of his bottom. His smooth shaved legs were
uncovered and on his feet he wore open-toed pink sandals with two-inch
block heels. It was bad enough she made him dress up, but couldn't she
at least let him have something like a plain sweater and slacks? Of
course she couldn't. Talia wanted him to look the way he did because she
wanted her date, Mack, to be the only real man in the house.

She called from their upstairs bedroom, "Wendy, come here. Right this
minute." Taking careful steps, which that footwear forced him to do, he
hurried to go to her. Wendell was aware of how his walk became feminine,
his slender hips rolling, and how his legs were reshaped, made less
masculine, when he had on those sandals. It added to his unhappy state
but what could he do. She had decided six months ago that, because he
was a dud in bed, and because he was always fussing about one thing or
another, she would have to take control of him. The best way to do that,
Talia had declared, would be to take him out of male clothing, to deflate
his manly ego. He wanted to stand up to her but had never been a
forceful person. Besides, he was desperate to get back into her good
graces so he could have another chance at proving himself as a lover.
The eternal optimist.

It had started slowly, with panties under male clothing. Then there were
unisex outfits. Wendell had not liked it but went along to keep the
peace. When he tried to negotiate some kind of agreement about their sex
life, she pointed out that his dick was embarrassingly small, he didn't
know how to use it, and everything was always over in a few minutes.
That was when she suggested (thought the idea wasn't open to debate) that
he should start using his mouth on her snatch. It was something he
didn't want to think about, let alone try, but she was insistent.
Wendell gave in almost immediately and that evening he got his first
taste, figuratively and literally, of oral sex. Talia loved it and
decided he would be performing for her on a regular basis. Also, because
she felt that keeping him horny would make him better at it, she revoked
all his rights to have intercourse.

He was thinking about all that as he went to her. When he got there,
however, his mind was taken over by what he saw. Talia was standing at
her dresser with her back to him, naked. His wife's long red hair was up
in a **** atop her head, baring her smooth neck. Her broad pink-white
back made him lick his lips. But it was her wide round bottom that made
him feel weak. He was obsessed with her sitter, how large and sexy it
was. Her legs were full and shapely as well. His little dick twitched
as he ogled her up and down. She turned halfway, giving him a side view
of one DDD breast, which added to his yearning. She smirked at him and
commented, "I can't wait for Mack to see you looking so pretty."

He wrung his hands and pleaded, "Please, if I could just... get rid of
the hat?" "No," she responded, intentionally mistaking his meaning. "I
know you want to show off your hair now that it's getting longer, but I
don't have time to style it." He could only hang his head in defeat.
She snapped at him, "Posture, Wendy. Please get my top off the bed." He
handed it to her shakily. Wasn't she going to put on a bra under it?
Obviously not, he realized as she tugged it down over her heavy breasts.
She adjusted them to her satisfaction, remarking that she knew Mack would
love the way they looked, "Especially how my nipples poke out against the
fabric. You know, Wendy, you should make sure I'm nice and turned on for
him. Get down on your knees and give my peach a few kisses. You've
gotten SO good at that." He shuddered but did as she instructed. She
moved her feet well apart. As his lips touched her mound she sighed and
he moaned. Talia smiled at how much control she was asserting over him.

After he had brought her to the verge of orgasm she kicked him onto his
back. With him staring up at her, she stuffed her overweight lower half
into tight stretch pants, then stepped into red shoes with tall
stilettos. Wendell had to stand and watch while she made up her roundish
face, applying enough cosmetics to give herself a slightly trampy look.
He hated when she did that. Well, he wouldn't have minded if it was to
turn on him. But she did it strictly for Mack, who got a kick out of
having her look sluttish. And act the same way, which she was happy to
do for the big man. After her face was done and she had let down her
hair, which fell to the middle of her back, she went to work on her
husband's features. Talia started by darkening his eyebrows, which she
had previously thinned and shaped. Then she used shadow on his eyelids
and liner around his eyes. She also thickened his lashes with liquid
mascara. A bit of blush went onto his cheeks. Finally came his mouth.
She carefully outlined his lips and then used bright scarlet lipstick to
fill in the bowed shape she had made. Over the already eye-catching
color she put a coating of gloss. Poor Wendell looked wildly girlish.
But with his hair untouched, and his chest flat, plus the slight bump in
the crotch of his panties, it was plain that he was a guy.

She made him brush her hair for five minutes before declaring herself
ready for her lover, adding, "I want to make him hungry for me, Wendy. I
want him to think about eating me up. Of course, he'll be doing it above
my waist. I reserve all the eating below there for YOU, my sweet sissy."
He whined, "Please, Talia, I don't want him to see me like this. You
know how he laughs at me and makes cruel jokes." "Of course I know. And
he knows how much it turns me on when he acts tough and in control like
that. The more he does it, the hotter I get. And the hotter I get, the
more fun it is for him when we hit the sheets." Wendell's shoulders
sagged as he admitted, "You're right. It's just that I don't want..."
He realized that he was simply going to make his previous complaint with
different words, so he shut up. When Talia got mad at him she wasn't
nice. She reminded him about his posture again, making him stand
straight. Then she decided to make his body language match his
appearance more closely.

"Wendy," she said with a smirk, "put your hands on your hips. That's
cute. Now stick out your butt. And walk around but put one foot right
in front of the other every time you take a step. Ohhh, that looks even
sexier than usual." She was still chuckling at his humiliation when
there was a loud knock at the front door. Mack had his own key but he
loved to make Wendell let him in. The harried husband went as fast as
he could on those two-inch heels. He got to the door, tried to compose
himself, and opened it. There stood Mack, looking down on him and
sneering. He had on a leather jacket and jeans, along with motorcycle
boots. Mack shook his head and marveled, "I didn't think you could look
any faggier, but you do. What a lame fruit." Wendell cringed and
invited him in, walking ahead of him and aware of Mack watching his
swishing gait.

Talia had gone to the bedroom. As soon as the lovers were together,
Talia and Mack threw their arms around each other and locked lips. He
ran his hands down her back to that generous protruding bottom. The
moment they stepped away from each other, she snapped at Wendell, "Get
Mack a beer, you stupid geek. Look at you, dressed up like the queen of
Gay Town. I have absolutely no respect for you." He whispered, "Yes,
Dear," and scurried away, still hampered by his footwear but remembering
to maintain his sissyish walk. When he returned the couple were
undressing each other. He stood by silently, seeing his wife's
stupendous curves uncovered. Mack finally grabbed his beer and popped
the top to take a long swallow. He told Talia, "Your wimpy, ass-wagging,
limp-wristed husband is a total waste. You make him get tarted up like a
pansy hooker looking for rough trade and he just lets you. And now he's
going to have to stand there and watch me bang you until you holler."
"Yeah," she agreed. "He's a complete failure at being a man."

Wendell ran his hands nervously over his thighs and licked his lips,
tasting the cheap cosmetics she had put on his mouth. She glared at him
and said, "What? Do you have something to say... Wendy?" He took a deep
breath and pleaded, "Please, don't make me watch. I can't stand it." "I
know, peanut-dick. That's why I keep you in the bedroom while a real man
takes care of me. Because you CAN'T stand it. I hope you cry. That
always gives me an extra good climax. Are you going to cry for me,
Wendy? Squeeze out some tears?" Her trembling husband sniffled and told
her, "I can't help it, Talia. Please. Just let me leave the room."
Talia laughed cruelly and assured him, "No way. That is NOT going to
happen. Now reach under your cute top and play with your girly nipples,
Wendy. Let's see if you can get a hard on while you watch Mack and his
monster cock make me happy." Wendell did as he was told. He felt a
tingle in his crotch as he stimulated himself. This was a new an
particularly insulting humiliation. His wife never seemed to run out of
fresh ideas to disgrace him. And he guessed she never would.

******

CHAN'S WAY (inspired by the Art of Nimrod)

Carl's new Mother-in-Law insisted he call her Mistress Chan. A few days
after he married her lovely daughter, Lotus, she moved in and took over,
while the new bride went to stay with a girlfriend. Now the older woman
was shouting at him to come upstairs. He was in the basement, standing
at a workbench, with several pairs of her boots in front of him,
cleaning, polishing and buffing their sleek leather surfaces. Carl
stepped away from his labors. Moving was not easy. She had dressed him
in especially restrictive garments.

He had on a snug leather dress that covered him from the high collar that
chafed at his neck, all the way down to the tight hem that hugged his
ankles. It featured a corset waist, which she had tightened until he
felt like he was being cut in half. The interior of the garment was
rough and unfinished, so that it rubbed his bare skin uncomfortably. He
was hot and could feel droplets of sweat running down the middle of his
back and between his bottom cheeks. Worse, she had made him wear high
heels that were two sizes too small, which pinched his feet painfully.

But he had to respond when she called. The cruel woman had beaten his
backside with a bamboo cane before she put him into the dress. He
certainly didn't want to incur another punishment like that. Or
something worse. So Carl, taking tiny steps, with the dress rubbing
against his already irritated flesh, moved toward the steps. There was a
small round hole cut into the front of the dress, through which his
flaccid penis protruded. He couldn't even call out to tell her he was on
his way, because she had stuffed a ball gag into his mouth, one big
enough to keep his jaws jacked wide apart. He took each step carefully,
every movement costing him the maximum effort. At the same time, the
tall collar prevented him from looking down to see where his feet were.
She hollered again, saying, "Hurry up, useless slug. Move lazy ass
faster." His breath hissed from his nostrils and he moaned behind the
gag.

When he was at last a few steps from the top, he came into sight of the
mirror she had made him mount on the inside of the basement door.
Confronting him was his plump reddened face, eyes wide from exertion,
perspiration sheening his features. His hair had been shaved off, the
job done personally by his Mother-in-Law. She had left a tassel on top,
which had been dyed bright yellow and was now pulled up and held that way
by two little red bows, one above the other. If that didn't make him
look foolish and unmanly enough, she had also applied generous amounts of
cosmetics. His eyes were lined by black, the lids tinted blue. His
eyebrows had been shaved and replaced by high arches painted on his
forehead. There were bright pink circles of rouge on his cheeks. Most
upsetting to him, she had drawn a large cupid's bow around his mouth and
filled it in with garishly bright magenta lipstick, which was then
covered with a coating of shiny clear gloss.

He continued on, tottering slightly on the heels, his calves sore from
the strain they caused. At last he reached her. She was lounging in the
recliner that had formerly been his exclusively. Now he wasn't even
allowed to lean on it. Mistress Chan was a matronly figure, her hair
piled high and held in place with some stiff preparation. She wore make-
up only a bit more subtle than his own. Her busty upper body was tightly
encased in a faux-leopard blouse, below which her waist was clutched by a
wide, black leather belt. Below that, her flaring hips and full thighs
were squeezed into a red leather skirt that ended above her knees. He
couldn't keep from looking hungrily at her calves, covered by smoky
stockings, and her feet, shod in crimson heels that he had buffed early
that morning while she was still asleep. As he gazed at her his exposed
member began to harden. He couldn't help it. Because his bride had
denied him sex and his Mother-in-Law had denied him any chance to gain
relief, he was acutely in need. His prick continued to rise until it was
at full stiffness.

She eyed it disapprovingly and said, "Filthy pig. It is not bad enough
that you lust for daughter, but now you crave mother." He wanted to deny
her words but could not. His interest in Chan had been growing daily.
She pantomimed spitting at his crotch, even making a disgusted sound
effect. He cringed. She set her jaw and gave him a threatening look.
He realized belatedly what she wanted, and began to bow, going as low as
the dress would permit. After a half dozen uncomfortable efforts he
stopped and waited to learn why she had summoned him. Chan rose from the
chair and stood close enough for him to inhale the strong inexpensive
scent she wore. The haughty woman said, "My friends are coming. You
will serve us tea and cookies. You will show great respect." She went
to the sofa and picked up something that was lying there. It was a
small, frilly white apron, which she promptly tied around his waist, all
the while muttering darkly. Then she took a little lace cap that had
been alongside it and fitted it on his shaved head. It stayed in place
and was low enough that the embarrassing length of hair still showed
above it.

Carl was horrified that other women were going to see him that way. He
felt burning shame whenever he was dressed in feminine outfits, which was
frequently. Chan made him do housework every day, always presiding over
him with some instrument of discipline. Now she took one of her riding
crops from a hook on the wall and brandished it menacingly. She smacked
his posterior and, though the leather absorbed some of the force, his
buttocks were so tender from their recent caning that he still flinched
and grimaced. She smiled as she herded him toward the kitchen. When
they got there he had to take a three-tiered serving plate from a low
cabinet, the effort of bending down making him struggle for breath. Then
he had to reach into a tall cabinet to get the box of cookies. As he
began to arrange them on the tiers, under Chan's critical inspection, she
casually lit a cigarette and inserted it into a long ebony holder. She
disrespectfully blew smoke into his face.

When the cookies were all in place, he made tea and put cups onto a
serving tray. Chan huffed disapprovingly at his efforts. No matter what
he did, she invariably found fault. But there wasn't much time, so she
didn't inflict any added punishment. After the preparations were done
she had him don leather gloves that buttoned to the sleeves of his dress.
They were stiff and made it hard for him to flex his fingers. The
doorbell rang and she barked at him to answer it. "Move, mindless cow."
He did his best, the dress continuing to torment him. Waiting
impatiently outside the door were three of Chan's friends, all from her
homeland, all looking much like her. They wore flashy outfits and cheap
showy jewelry. Carl had to bow to each one as they sneered and flung
insults while passing by. He followed them wordlessly, in abject
humiliation. To have them look at him, dressed the way he was, robbed of
all power, but with that ******** erection on display, was the depths of
degradation for him. He blinked back tears of disgrace as they seated
themselves around the den. Chan snapped her fingers and told him, "Bring
cookies, useless lump of fat." He bowed again as he backed out of the
room, afraid that he would lose his balance.

As he returned with the cookies they were chatting, and ignored him like
he wasn't even there. He went from one to the next, offering the snacks,
which they took and set on paper napkins atop their thick thighs. His
penis twitched as he moved to each of them. After that he had to perform
the same way with the tea, pushing the pot and tray of cups on a wheeled
cart. The women clucked at his slowness, even though it was the fault of
his shoes, that constricting dress, and especially the hampering gloves.
At last it was done and he moved the cart and himself to an inconspicuous
spot in the corner. They gabbed for a while and then one of them
declared, "Your slave-maid smells like sweat. I have something to fix
that." Chan snarled at Carl, "Hai! Go to her, stinking one." With
trepidation he put himself in front of the woman indicated. She rummaged
in her oversized fashion bag and came out with a spray bottle of perfume.
She made him bend low so she could apply it. It was pineapple scented,
overbearingly strong, and she used it liberally, so that he ended up
reeking of the fruity stuff. Now he felt even less like a man. They
laughed at him and made jokes in their own language, which he didn't
understand a word of. His legs started trembling.

Another of the women declared that she had a 'gift' for him too. It
proved to be a nose ring, which she clipped shut with a half in each
nostril, it's points jabbing into his septum. He groaned behind his ball
gag and tried not to let his pain show too much, lest his weakness
inspire them to punish him. The last woman grinned devilishly as she
announced that she also had something to give him. It was a small bell
on a fine chain, which she attached to the ring in his nose. The bell
hung just below his chin and tinkled whenever he moved. Chan made him
hobble around, cleaning up crumbs with a tiny brush and dustpan she
provided. He was absolutely humiliated to have to perform that way, like
the lowest menial, while being seen by those females. His discomfort was
constant, so that each time he took a step or bent down he grunted,
groaned, sniffled and inhaled noisily through his nose. Poor Carl wasn't
given a moment's rest and the women spat insults at him the entire time.
"Hopeless wretch." "Feeble insect."

Three hours later the afternoon drew to a close. On shaky legs, Carl
went and opened the door for the visitors, bowing low as each one
departed. His shame had not abated. If anything, it had increased. He
felt utterly broken and feared that he would never recover even a portion
of his lost self-image. Chan sneered at him and announced, "Perhaps now
you will be acceptable to my daughter. If not, there will be many more
gatherings like this one. Understand, useless-piece of offal?" He
nodded, desperate not to incite her wrath. She went on, "She will return
soon. Two weeks. Maybe three." That long? Being feminized and
demeaned the whole time? He didn't know how he would endure it. Carl
would have to do exactly as his Mother-in-Law said or suffer further
indignities and punishments. That was Chan's way.