Message-ID: <2772eli$9708100039@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/2772.txt>
From: "gennie :-)" <miss_gennie@hotmail.com>
Subject: TG Story:Man Maid 2/?
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <33EC7AE1.C2E36058@hotmail.com>


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 ...

Man Maid  --- Part 2 ---  July 1997
gennie TV

    Changes were happening so fast. Just short hours ago had anyone
asked me I could have told them that I was a man, all man, and nothing
but a man.  But now...

    At last I was ready to get started on my day, my new life.  So
it was with my emotions in an uproar, my body tightly encased in its
satin & lace cocoon, and my mind on hold that I minced my way out of
the bedroom to the top of the stairs.  The short trip to the stairs
helped to reinforce my earlier perceptions on the difficulty of
navigating in heels and a tight skirt, but then I was a man and not
accustomed to wearing skirts, women were biologically formed to wear
skirts, so it is easier on them. (Be careful 'gennie' thoughts like
that are a big part of why you are dressed as you are.)  But I was,
in my own small way, beginning to appreciate what Debbie had said
about the restrictions of wearing a skirt.  For no matter how
wonderfully sensuous the caress of that skirt was around my nylon
clad legs and thighs, its ability to restrict even the most basic of
movements, was a constant reminder of my limited freedom.  In spite
of the constant reminders however, the restricted breathing, the
short mincing steps, and the constant arousal of my confined manhood
my automatic actions were still intact.

    When I finally reached the stairs my feet and body started out
in exactly the same way that they had been trained to do by years of
descending stairs on two feet.  My right foot went out and down, my
body leaned forward, and my left foot started to lift and move forward.
At least that's what my mind thought they were doing.  Had it not
been for the rail I would have gone down the stairs head over high
heels.  The simple act of walking down stairs is a very much more
complex action than we generally give it credit for being. (Like tying
your shoes right? Try writing instructions for tying shoes and see if
it is not a very complex task. Almost as bad as trying to buckle thin
little ankle straps with inch long finger nails while in a corset, but
more on that later.) I was brought to the sudden realization that I
count on being able to see my feet and move my legs freely as I walk
down stairs.  With my newly enhanced chest, I could not see my feet,
and my beautiful shiny skirt would not allow me to open my legs. I
would never have guessed how much of an adjustment that would be. To
add insult to injury the design of my new shoes with the high open
instep and tiny little heel did not offer the same platform for my
foot to land on as I was used to. When coming down stairs in high
heels it is possible to have your heel land on the stair and the rest
of your foot land in mid air, very conducive to broken, ankles, legs,
arms or even a neck.  Not at all like flying down the stairs in
jogging shorts and running shoes.

 Through careful experimentation I learned that if I turned
my body somewhat to the side and slowly lowered my foot to the next
step down, I could have my toes land first for stability and not feel
like I would fall. The only problem was that because of my restricted
stride my other foot had to be right on the edge of the step above,
putting most of my weight on that tiny little heel.  I even tried
pulling the hem of the skirt up so that I would have more freedom
of motion, but it was designed in such a way that it fit my
proportions exactly and would not move up even on my slippery legs.
(It did not occur to me to take the skirt off to get down the stairs,
thank the supreme being once again.) I was however, beginning to
suspect that the fit of the skirt and blouse like the fit of the
chastity was no accident, that my 'uniform' as my wife had called it
was also custom made (so I'm a bit slow on the uptake sometimes).
After what seemed like an hour but was actually only minutes I
reached the bottom of the stairs and almost fell again. It did not
dawn on me that thick pile, heavily padded carpet, would take a whole
different set of balance and ankle muscles in order to be walked upon
in high heels. What an experience, I felt as unsure of myself as a
baby just learning to walk, not a comfortable feeling for a virile,
self sufficient, self centered, MAN. Fortunately (surprisingly,
actually) after a few seconds I learned my new balance center and
hobbled my way into the kitchen.

 Ahhhhh what a relief to have a solid floor beneath my feet.
I found that my beautiful wife had set up the coffee pot, which I
promptly turned on, and left me another note, on the kitchen table.
After all that I had been through I should have been suspicious of her
generosity but I needed my coffee and she had been nice and set it
up for me. (How was I to guess that she had put a diuretic into the
coffee grounds. I knew she wanted me to learn first hand what it was
like to wear a skirt and corset before I would be allowed to 'ask' her
to wear one, but to make me need to pee every ten minutes just to
enhance the lesson was going a bit far I thought.)  I picked up her
note and was surprised to discover that my hands were no longer
shaking and my knees didn't rattle so I began to believe that I might
possibly survive the entire day. I was beginning to adjust to my new
role and requirements and I didn't even realize it.

  "Dear gennie,
    So nice of you to finally make it downstairs.
 Have any trouble coming down the stairs? Oh no of course
 you didn't you're one of those tough I can do anything
 (wo)men, aren't you lover?  You have undoubtedly already
 started the coffee I made it special just for you, so feel
 free to drink the whole pot if you are so inclined. It's a
 new blend, let  me know what you think of it. Susan recommended
 it, she said she was certain you would love it.
  Oh by the way, while I'm thinking about it. Just in
 case you decided to cheat and come down to breakfast less
 than fully dressed... you remember how you insisted that we
 have that fancy security system installed. Do you remember
 how excited you got when the salesman suggested that we could
 put a camera inside the house in case someone got in while we
 were out, it would increase our chances of identifying a
 burglar. It was you who suggested that we could mount one
 just above the front door behind the track lighting and
 another just above the kitchen door behind the plants. They
 would have a good view of most of the downstairs and being
 hidden we could just forget about them when we were home.
 You do remember doing that don't you dear? We of course would
 only need to activate them when we were out of the house. Well
 dear I'm out of the house and guess what? Yep! You guessed it!
 Smile! You're on gennie camera. I feel obligated to inform
 you that I will review the tape this evening and if I see
 you under-dressed or there is evidence that the tape has been
 tampered with, I may just forget where I hid the keys for
 your pretty new under-panty. Maybe I should invite Karin over
 to review it with us, we can make a party out of it. Have some
 popcorn, a few beers, and lots of laughs.
  By now it is no doubt late morning, perhaps even
 close to noon, and I am certain you want to get some food and
 coffee into your slightly compressed stomach. I have left you
 a grapefruit in the refrigerator and two slices of bread for
 toast, dry no butter. For your sake I would suggest that you
 eat only half of the grapefruit, and one slice of toast and
 that you go light on the coffee, but of course the choice is
 totally up to you.
  However, before you begin to consume your health
 conscious breakfast, go to the laundry room and start a load
 of wash. That way it will be washing while you are eating. I
 have already separated the loads for you. You will find that
 the clothes that need to be washed today are yours. We have
 done some shopping for you at the  Goodwill store and
 feel you should wash the clothes before you wear them. Read
 the labels carefully dear before you try to dry anything, you
 don't want your new sweaters shrinking any do you? Some of
 them may be a little tight on your beautiful bust already
 without shrinking. Enjoy your breakfast dear. When you have
 finished breakfast you will find the vacuum in the hall closet
 and the bathroom cleaner is the under the sink in each of
 the bathrooms, be sure to remove all soap scum from the
 shower doors, and scrub the toilet, sink and tub. I thought
 about having you hang the wet clothes outside to dry but
 Karin suggested that that might be too much for you on your
 first day of womanhood, and convinced me that you should be
 allowed to use the dryer for today.
  Now remember dear, safety first. Always lift objects
 from the floor with your knees not your back. Bend your knees
 keeping your back straight and lift with your knees. Oh that's
 right! You  can't bend and lift any other way can you? Oh
 silly, silly, me! Well be sure you don't run up or down the
 stairs with your laundry, we don't want you to trip. Oh,
 haha, that's right, I forgot you're in a skirt. Makes running
 kinda hard doesn't it? Or does it? After all you're the one
 that thinks tight skirts and high heels are so wonderful that
 they should be worn all the time.  Oh don't look so unhappy
 dear, after all this was all your idea. Sorta. Why thanks
 to your sisters and I you now have a chance to enjoy wearing
 the clothes you love so much.

       See you latter my little gennie,
         loves & hugs
           Debbie

 PS: Be careful you don't wait too long when you feel the
 urge to pee. Remember you will have to be able to sit. No
 more of that nasty gag-me-with-a-spoon action of whip it
 out, let it leak, shake it  off, and shove it back for
 you, no ma'am. Be sure to wipe carefully when you are done
 too. Enjoy your coffee.
       D."

 What does she think I am a little girl? I mean boy. She did
say earlier that I was acting like a spoiled little girl, but what
does that have to do with instructions on how to use the toilet? And
what was that bit about what I should have for breakfast? I am a
grown man (looking down though I did have some doubts) and I will
have what I want for breakfast. Grapefruit, umph I don't even like
grapefruit. I felt though that I should follow her advice on getting
the laundry started, I didn't want to give her any excuses to increase
her revenge on me. I had no idea what she would do if I was not done
when she got home and I had no desire to find out. I was almost afraid
to look in the laundry room. With what I had been through so far I was
not sure I could stand anymore. But she did say that she had bought
me some clothes at Goodwill. The thought occurred to me that maybe,
just maybe there were some pants or maybe some shorts, in those piles.
Yes! I'll bet she bought me at least one pair of pants even if they are
women's it would be better than this skirt. (Yes, the skirt was
beautiful, it felt wonderful, and I loved it's caress <even though I
refused to admit any of that even to myself>, but I couldn't walk, I
couldn't sit, and if I stood very long my ankles would wobble.)  That's
it! I rationalized, this is her way of letting me off the hook at
least a little. She must have bought me at least one pair of pants.

 Now excited I minced as quickly (which was actually quite
slowly) as I could out to the laundry room, my ass swaying like a
palm tree in a hurricane, my tits bouncing like Michael's basketballs,
I didn't care. I again thanked the supreme being for having the laundry
room on the same level as the house, even though it was in the garage.
As I walked past my car I instinctively tried to put my hand into my
pocket to be sure I had my keys. All my hand found of course was a
smooth tight satin plane that even if it had had a pocket, it would
have been incapable of holding keys let alone my hand in it's limited
confines. That's when the realization that I had not seen my keys hit
me like a wall. I had not to that point thought about my keys or my
wallet with all of my identification. They are the kind of thing a
person takes for granted, s/he assumes that certain items, like keys,
wallets, toothbrushes, (at least my toothbrush was where I had left it)
will be where s/he left them when they went to bed. In my case that
was in my jeans which were no where to be found (I know I looked).  A
wave of complete helplessness suddenly engulfed me. I felt so small
and vulnerable, just like the little girl my wife said I had been
acting like. I realized that while I hadn't brought it to the surface
I was confident that in case of emergency, I could, if I absolutely
had too, get into my car and drive away. I now knew that even if I
could get into my car, and somehow get it started, I had no money,
no credit cards, no identification of any kind. If I went somewhere
and was stopped I had no way to prove who I was and no reasonable
explanation of why I was dressed as I was. I had this awful vision
of me standing before the judge in all my confined and translucent
glory saying "yes your honor I am your 14 year old daughter's
teacher". (No matter what, the risk was just too great!)

 Then suddenly, without warning the flood gates opened, the
emotions that I had been fighting so hard to maintain control of for
so long released themselves in an explosion that would have rivaled
that of Mt. St. Helen’s. Years of repressed emotion, fear, desires,
cravings, started pouring forth into my consciousness, and once begun
I was helpless to stop or even slow them. With my carefully crafted
safety net removed I found myself starting to cry. I tried to stop
(men don't cry), but the harder I tried the harder I cried. My body
tried to take in deep breaths to aid my crying, but the most my corset
would allow my diaphragm to pull into my lungs were short sobbing type
breaths, my enhanced chest heaving, threatening to break through the
thin silk covering of my blouse. Vivid images of my father's
chastisements and humiliations filled my mind. Visions of my childhood,
memories of how I had felt while dressed in Susan's and Karin's clothes,

how right it had felt to wear a dress, came flashing through. My
attitudes towards my sisters, mother, and wife, and how I must have
hurt them all came rushing at me, I tried to hide, but with my wall
of safety gone there was nowhere for me. I was again without choice,
I faced those emotions and I cried. I could not remember ever having
had such a tremendous release of so many emotions at one time. I
couldn't move, I just stood there next to my car and cried for what
must have been close to an hour.

 When I was finally able to catch my breath and compose myself
somewhat, I realized that my feet, ankles, and calves were very sore. I
no longer cared whether Debbie had left me any pants in the laundry
room or not, I needed to get my weight off of those shoes, fast. My
only focus was to get the clothes into the washer, and get back to
the kitchen so that I could have my coffee and attempt to settle my
thoughts. Avoiding another look at my car I made my way into the
cramped confines of the laundry room. On the floor alongside the
washer were three piles of clothes. One consisted of what looked liked
lingerie by the pound, another that looked like a cross between an
aerobic teacher and ballerina’s wardrobe, and the third consisted of
blouses, sweaters, skirts and dresses. The piles were marked with a
1, 2, & 3 in addition to what wash cycle and temperature setting each
should be washed in. "I can handle this, no problem." I started to
bend over to retrieve the clothes from the floor and was quickly
returned to reality. Bending at the waist was just not to be allowed.
I instead followed my wife's instructions and bent my knees and kept
my back straight and found that I could not pick up the clothes that
way (from straight on) either. Between my tits getting in the way and
a tendency to feel as if I would fall on my face, I just could not
proceed in that manner. So gathering my tattered pride, I stood, made
a quarter turn and squatted again. This time I was able to retrieve
clothes from the floor with my right hand and hang them over my left
arm for placement into the washer. I actually felt a surge of pride
at my accomplishment when I started the washer. Isn't it amazing how
the mind adapts? Just a few short hours ago I was a strong willed,
self absorbed male that would have cringed at the thought washing
clothes, now feeling a sense of pride because I was able to get some
clothes into a washing machine and get it running. By this time
however my body was screaming COFFEE! I WANT COFFEE!!
I WANT COFFEE NOW!!!  I NEED COFFEE NOW!!!!

 I somehow make my way back into the kitchen, the smell of the
coffee drawing me closer...closer until I am finally at the pot, mug in
hand pouring that life sustaining nectar into it, raising it slowly,
savoring that wondrous perfume, taking that first invigorating sip,
my body shudders its thanks for at least that small sip of normalcy.
Pulling the mug down from my frosted lips I note the fine detail of
the imprint my lipstick has left on the edge of the mug. I look down
at my hand and note how much nicer fingers look when properly polished.
I look down to see if my toes look as good and meet with a lavender
vision of satin and lace, barely covered by the sheerest of silk, my
feet forgotten in the dream of my obscured vision being a reality. I
could almost feel the ache in my nipples as they increased in size
and hardness, in lust for the vision my eyes now beheld. I sigh, and
think; "Poor old Dad would turn over in his grave if he even
suspected the thoughts I was just having." But there must be
something wrong with me to feel this way. I am fantasizing about
what it would be like to have real tits, I want my hands properly
manicured, I feel right, if even a bit trapped in a skirt and heels.
I must be crazy or gay. Oh Debbie... Karin... Susan... what have
you done to me? So much to process. No matter how hard I try to
imagine it sex with a man does not interest me, my vision of sex is
still with me in the male role with Debbie, but I'm the one in the
frilly nightgown. During these ruminations, without even realizing
I had done it, I have poured myself another cup of coffee and sat
down at the table to drink it. How did I do that? I sat down without
thinking! Without realizing that I had done it! Was I becoming that
accustomed to sitting in satin already? I sipped my coffee in silence
looking for answers. Answers that I feared would cause even more
questions.

Obviously I must continue, what started out as a friendly e-mail to a
friend has now taken on a life of its own. Molly, this all your
fault.   ;-)

Readers:
Am I on the right track? Am I keeping the spirit of the story intact?
Thank you once again for the wonderful messages of support, I get
very pink warm fuzzies from positive e-mail. (negative e-mail I feed
to the dogs, big ferocious 10 pound ones)

miss_gennie@hotmail.com

Love,
gennie :-)

-- 
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |
| Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
\ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/>    .../assm/faq.html> /