Lionel was waiting for me in the bedroom.

As my eyes ran over his slim young body

he flushed.
'Don't stare at me - not like that.' He whispered.
But I couldn't help myself. Lionel was perfect. The sculptured contours of his lace and
Lycra full-slip emphasised every feminine curve and swell of his lithe frame.
'Let your hair down.' I breathed.
Lionel hesitated, he was still self-conscious about the length of his hair. Having tied it
up with a white silk ribbon he was reluctant to show it in all its glory.
'Please.' I asked softly.
His raised eyebrow - a reminder that I didn't usually ask. Lionel allowed the shiny
tresses to fall about his face, to settle sensuously on his bare shoulders.
'Any regrets?' I asked as I shrugged my dress from my shoulders.
'About wearing this?' He asked - his eyes settling on my black longline bra.
I chuckled, 'About being my wife?'
Lionel shivered as my hands swept over his wide womanly hips and over the girlish
curve of his lace-covered buttocks.
'Stop asking me that.' He whispered thickly. His hands resting on my wide hips, he
caressed me through my black satin waist-slip. 'You know I love being your wife.
Why would I be dressed like this if I didn't want to please you?'
I cupped his small but perfect breast in my palm - his nipple quivered excitedly
through the lace bra-cup. Lionel opened his thighs in a sluttish invitation that thrilled
me. My hand slid down, and between his smooth thighs. We embrace and I kissed my
wife!
***
I suppose it was his shyness on our wedding night. I had been looking forward to a
healthy vigorous session with a red-blooded young man. But Lionel was terrified. Not
of me - but the whole idea of sex. Having no real idea of what to do - to me or for me
- and too focussed on 'not doing anything wrong' he couldn't do anything.
I must accept part of the blame - in all my dealings with Lionel I have taken the lead.
Being older and more experienced this was natural. Lionel, being naturally
submissive waited for me to decide what to do in most situations.
I had a choice - accept the night as a disaster and try again the next day - or deal with
it. I laid the white-faced and trembling youth on his back. Knelt astride him, and told
him what to do!
Sobbing his apologies he was pathetically eager to obey. I soon had him cupping,
caressing and kissing my breasts. Because of the situation I was able to demand a long
period in which he concentrated on my breasts and more importantly I had time to
show him exactly how he should treat them to bring me the most pleasure.
By this time Lionel was more relaxed and I was able to get a 'stiffy' going. Not
wanting to waste this I didn't get off him, instead I eased myself onto his perfectly
respectable erection. I rather enjoyed watching his face - his eyes went wide and his
mouth opened in undisguised delight.
Reminding him to continue working on my breasts and nipples I moved my lower
body to get the most out of the situation. The potential disaster had been turned into a
triumph - but I had unwittingly set the tone for all our future sexual encounters.
Of course sex is only a small, but important, part of a marriage, and, the moment we
entered our new house I set about explaining what I wanted from a husband. I started
in the kitchen. He was actually quite good, with a basic knowledge of cooking and
cleaning. I improved on this with lessons in bakery and 'serving' at the table. It was
during this early 'training' period that I introduced my husband to aprons, overalls and
gloves.
I spent the whole of one Saturday morning explaining each garment's role in his life.
'The navy-blue latex apron (quite smart with its red piping and red rayon apron
strings) is for scrubbing tables and heavy-duty cleaning.' I told him. 'There are latex
gloves to match.'
Lionel tried the rubber apron on (a full bibbed apron with a wide skirt that swept
around his hips to meet at the back for full protection) and once he was in his gloves I
showed him where his buckets and brooms were kept. A typed list - of days to do each
particular job - was pinned on the wall.
'Windows are due today,' I said, 'so your first duty is to clean every window in the
house. For the first few weeks I want to you tell me when you have completed a task
and ask for my opinion.'
Showing him the white nylon overalls I explained that for general housecleaning he
could wear any one of such overalls. 'But please ensure that you wear gloves whatever
you do. Cotton for cleaning silver-ware, nylon and lace for serving tea, latex for
kitchen and bathroom.'
Lionel was a hard-working and conscientious man and a quick worker. We quickly
settled into a routine as my husband enthusiastically embraced his new life. Of course
he wasn't perfect - what man is? And it was only my constant watchfulness and gentle
scolding that kept him on track in terms of learning new skills. Ironing was difficult
for him at first. He found my old-fashioned long-line bras and my lace-trimmed
blouses awkward at first. I spent many hours standing behind him, holding his wrists
to show how to press, how to turn the iron etc.
It was during one of these training sessions that we had our first out-of-the-bedroom
sex. Being sexually conservative I had never even fantasised about such encounters.
If, during those first few weeks of our marriage, I wanted him in that way - and I very
often did - I would merely lead him to our bedroom. In fact the first time I did this we
had what I might term our first disagreement. He'd protested that he was 'too busy'.
And, when I insisted, when I undressed him and laid him on the bed, Lionel had
became sullen and unresponsive. Although he obeyed all of my instructions it soon
became clear he wasn't 'involved'.
Hot with anger I sat astride him and whispered, 'We don't leave this bed until you
squeal with delight!'
'You can't just 'take' me'. He muttered. 'Sex is supposed to be a mutual experience.'
I slapped him. Slapped him several times in fact. We eventually made love - but
another invisible line had been crossed. And the next time I took his hand and walked
him to our bedroom in the middle of the day - Lionel meekly and girlishly accepted
the inevitable.
But doing it in the kitchen? That was strange - at least to me. I'd scolded him about
creasing the strap of one of my bras. I stood behind him to explain how it should be
done. Perhaps it was the closeness of my body, my large breasts touching his back,
my thighs moving against his buttocks, or even the subject matter - my pretty lace and
satin bra, that caused his excitement. All I know is this - at some point I sensed his
need. He was holding the cup of the bra in one hand, and the silky-smooth bra strap in
the other. Lionel goes kind of limp and still when he is aroused. And at that precise
moment he turned to putty in my embrace. I took my hands from his wrists and began
caressing him through his thin nylon overall. Lionel became perfectly still. I was dry-
mouthed with a need for him that transcended all other thoughts. I surrendered to a
hot surging lust as I slid my palms all over him. I shoved the skirt upwards and
fumbled with his belt buckle. As I turned him easily in my arms I whispered huskily,
'Next time no pants OK?'
He smiled and raised his face to mine. I kissed him and raised him off the floor. I
shoved him against the wall and took him inside me. I humped him like a bitch on
heat. And he moaned and squirmed encouraging me with every move of his lithe
young body. It was crude, sweaty and almost brutal sex. And incredibly satisfying.
It was also embarrassing - the moment it was over I fled to the bathroom - telling
myself I would never do that again.
The following day I watched open-mouthed as my husband set up his ironing board in
front of me. He was wearing a pale-blue nylon coverall that clung to his slim frame
and emphasised all his natural curves. And he wasn't wearing pants! Bare-legged,
wearing white rubber boots on his feet, he looked sensational.
Lionel was pink in the face as I stared at him from the couch.
'You told me 'no pant's.' He whispered faintly.
I could hardly speak. 'Come here!' I managed to croak.
'I've a pile of ironing to do....' He complained but I heard the excitement in his voice.
My eyes glared. 'Come.'
He sauntered towards me, his long shapely legs slim and graceful on those three-inch
heeled boots, the pretty blue hem of his coverall gently caressing his upper thighs.
I pulled him onto my lap and we kissed. I held him in place with my left arm - and
slid my free hand under his 'skirt'! Lionel was not only naked - he was erect!
Easing him backwards onto the couch I mounted him. His body responded with a
naked greed that shocked me. But it was good healthy sex that delighted us both. And
afterwards, instead of fleeing to my bathroom. I held him in my arms and told him
how pretty he was.
Lionel blushed. But I could tell he was pleased.
So - my life was good. I had an obedient and passive husband who washed, cooked
and cleaned for me. And a fantastic lover who was always ready and eager to please!
What went wrong? Why did I need to feminize him?
Jealousy. As the years went by my hips and buttocks became larger, my hair became
greyer, my breasts sagged lower - and my youthful husband became less enthusiastic
about sex.
We were out shopping one day when I saw his eyes follow a pretty woman his own
age. My face grew hit with anger and jealousy. I wanted to hit him! I caught sight of
my own reflection in a show-window. And groaned! How could I possibly compete
with those your girls?
That night I began to plot - it was a vague unfocussed process at first. I watched him
serve my dinner. Lionel was wearing white cotton lace wrist gloves, and a smart navy-
blue overall that came to mid thigh.
I was pleased. There was something so - domesticated - about the scene. As he was
taking my plate away I told him how pretty he looked. Lionel ignored the compliment
merely asking if I wanted coffee.
'No - pour me a glass of wine.' I instructed, 'Have you ironed my longline?'
He frowned. 'No, I thought you were wearing the strapless bra - I've washed your
white dress.'
I pretended to be irritated. 'No - that's for tomorrow night. I'll be wearing black and I'll
need the longline and the panty-girdle.'
Lionel apologised.
'Serve my coffee and iron them in here.' I told him.
Our eyes met. He usually works in the kitchen. 'I want to watch.' I added by way of
explanation. 'And I've told you many many times - no pants when you wear the
overall.'
His face went a bright pink. It had been several months since we'd had sex outside of
our bed. And indeed weeks since he had even wanted me in the marriage bed. I stared
at him, boldly challenging him to refuse.
Ten minutes later I was sipping a glass of cold wine as my trembling husband set up
his ironing board in front of me. The air was thick with sexual tension - Lionel was
naked under his thigh-length blue overall. He was wearing a pair of black court shoes
with a three-inch heel and they helped shape his gorgeous hairless legs and thighs.
My heart was racing and I felt my face grow warm. Lionel wouldn't look at me. My
eyes devoured him!
He placed my black longline bra on the ironing board. It was not what you'd call sexy
- but it always affected Lionel. It's shiny satin bra-straps and its shaped lace and satin
cups he handled with trembling fingers and shaking hands.
'You're doing it all wrong.' I lied. 'Bring it to me - let me see.'
He swallowed hard and walked unsteadily towards me on those long girlish legs. He
held the black spandex and lace bra by its slippery-smooth shoulder straps for me to
inspect. It was perfect - nobody could iron as well as Lionel.
Ignoring the bra I said, 'I can see right through that skirt.'
Lionel looked down in confusion. It was true - the sheer nylon was practically
transparent. I pointed to his washing basket. 'Is there a black half slip in there?'
Lionel was flustered. He picked up one of my black satin slips.
'Put it on.' I said. 'You can't walk around like that.'
I saw his mind working. A pasty smile of fear was etched on his face. 'It, it won't fit.'
He muttered eventually.
I laughed inside - he hadn't had the nerve to refuse - and instead told me what was
clearly obvious. Few of my things would fit his slim young body.
'The white satin apron.' I suggested, 'wear that. At least you'll be decent.'
Lionel hesitated. He'd only worn the satin apron once. I sensed he didn't approve of
the wide almost wrap-around skirt, the frilled bib and the long apron strings edged
with lace. 'It's just for special occasions---' I'd explained when he made a face. 'In my
day afternoon tea was formal. If you serve me tea in the conservatory this will be
perfect. There are gloves to match.'
Since then I'd never seen him wear it.
'Well? What are you waiting for?'
Lionel sighed. But he'd been obeying me for too many tears. Minutes later he was
standing before me in his beautiful satin and lace apron. Set against the background of
his dark blue overall it was a stunning sight. He looked for all the world like a ladies
maid. It was at that exact moment I made my decision. If my husband wore skirts all
of the time. If he never left the house. My marriage would be safe.
'That's better.' I said looking up at his red face. 'I'll get you a few waist slips tomorrow
in your size. Now. Finish your ironing.'
For a split second I thought he was going to say something. But then he simply
shrugged and returned to his ironing table.
Later, after approving his work I told him to pour us both a drink. 'Then sit by me -
we need to talk.'
With glass in hand my husband seated himself beside me. I saw him tug at the hem of
his short skirt. His knees he clamped together like a frightened virgin.
I slipped my arm about his neat girlish waist. My fingers playing idly with his apron
strings. Lionel stiffened at my touch.
'What did you want to talk about?' He asked softly.
I placed my free hand on his bare knee. He cringed, and the hand holding his
wineglass shook noticeably. I was so angry I wanted to strike out at him.
'Sex.' I announced. 'The difference in our age is beginning to affect you.'
He dropped his eyes. 'I've been a bit tired-----'
I chuckled. 'Stop pretending darling - we both know you can't even get an erection!'
My husband squirmed. I think he would have got up but with his glass in hand and
my arm about his waist he was effectively trapped.
'I don't blame you.' I whispered. And he looked up. 'But you can't simply abandon
your marital duties. I'm willing to compromise - but I need to know you're willing to
try.'
He frowned. 'Compromise?'
I slid my hand in between his locked knees forcing them apart. My hand and fingers
snaked under his skirt. Lionel gasped aloud as I grabbed his limp penis in my fist.
'If this doesn't work - you can use your tongue instead.' I breathed.
His eyes went wide. Still holding his flaccid penis I waited.
'I don't know how-----' He said.
'Are you willing to learn?' I asked.
Our eyes locked.
'Of course.' He told me eventually. His voice small and cowed. But then he surprised
me.
'I'm sorry.' He added. 'I've not been a very good husband.'
I was quite shocked. The note of sincerity in his voice was reassuring.
'Would you rather be my wife?' I asked. I don't know where the question came from. I
certainly never planned to say any such thing. In fact for a long moment I wasn't
really sure I had said it. Until he whispered.
'Is that what you want?'
It was an unreal moment. There I was, sitting with my arm around my aproned and
skirted husband, with my fist around his penis, talking about his being my 'wife'!!!
I met his question head-on. 'You work like a housewife.' I started, 'in bed I've always
treated you like a woman.'
Lionel blushed to the roots of his hair but I continued relentlessly, 'and you wear skirts
and heels. In many respects you have been my wife for years. In fact - its only when
you try too hard to be a man, a husband, you are unsuccessful. Wouldn't you find it
easier in bed---?'
He blinked. 'How----?'
'A wife doesn't have to provide an erection on demand.' I said.
I saw him trying to work out a reasonable reply. Placing my finger over his soft girlish
red lips I said. 'Don't say anything. Just promise me you'll think about it seriously.'
As I took my finger from his lips he muttered. 'I promise.'
'Why don't you kneel?' I said as I took his wineglass from his fingers.
'Kneel?' He gasped.
'You said you'd use you tongue.' I whispered hoarsely. 'I'm going to teach you how to
do it properly.'
Lionel shook his head in bewilderment. A lot had happened in those few traumatic
minutes. He sighed as he lowered himself to his knees at my feet.
Opened my thighs and tugging my skirts upward I said. 'Kiss both my knees - gently
at first, and then kiss them again with a little heat-----'
Lionel's first hesitant oral sex was intensely satisfying - his awkwardness and
inexperience actually enhanced the excitement. I experienced a number of rolling
orgasms that rocked my whole body before I allowed him to get up.
The next afternoon I returned home with his new waist slips. Lionel was wearing a
candy-pink overall, white court shoes and no pants. He accepted the filmy underwear
without comment.
'Take them upstairs.' I said. 'Wear the pink one and put the rest in your drawer.'
He returned five minutes later wearing the tight satin half-slip under his pink overall
skirt. I was holding his satin apron and he remained still as I hooked its halter neck
over his head, and tied the apron strings tightly about his waist.
'Did you think about it?' I asked as I patted his rump and returned to my seat.
Lionel stared down at me. His fingers played with his frilly apron skirt.
'There's nothing to think about.' He said.
I raised an eyebrow. But he continued, 'you've already done it.'
I tapped my fingers over the arm of my chair. 'You think because you do the
housework and wear a skirt you're my wife?'
He shrugged. 'Look at me? I'm certainly not your husband.' He retorted.
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