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From: gennie TV <miss_gennie@hotmail.com>
Subject: New TG:Man Maid pt3
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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 3 ---- August 1997
gennie TV
   **********************

 I finished my second mug of coffee thankful for the time to
simply be lost in space for a short while. The familiarity of the
action of sitting down to a morning cup of coffee, cherishing the
sweet aroma, was enough to help me regain some control of my
frazzled nerves. Never have I experienced so much in a single
morning. Had someone suggested to me that my wife would femininize
me while I slept, tell me she did it for my own good and then
demand that I clean the house for her I would have called them at
best, crazy. I would never have believed she had it in her, and
then to have my sisters help her ...

 "Well 'gennie' my dear, time to get up off your pretty little
(little?) ruffled and padded ass and get to work before your wife
comes home and really gets upset with you." (I tend to talk to myself
sometimes, especially when stressed) I filled my coffee mug one last
time and decided to forgo breakfast. "Maybe I should wear a corset
more often if I could always fill up on two cups of coffee I'd really
lose some weight." I minced and swayed my way out to the living room
to start my first day as a man maid satin clad doll.

 I was so amazed at the constant sensations caused by even the
minutest movement of my body. Earlier, as I was getting dressed and
learning to navigate in skirt and heels my mind was in a fog, focusing
on the fine art of survival, but after my mini-breakdown my focus
shifted to the sexual frustration of my entrapped manhood. With every
push of the vacuum the silk of my blouse would slide against my arm,
the straps of my corset and slip would tighten against my shoulder
causing the corset to pull up on it's garter straps producing a gentle
tug of nylon against my legs, enhanced by the lace hem of my
slip rubbing against those nylons, so that my trapped member would
scream for a release that I was, for the first time in my life, unable
to give it. Pulling the machine back would reverse the process, and
I would shudder again. But that was only a part of my troubles,
vacuuming carpets in high heels is not a recommend method. In spite of
the near constant stimulation caused by my satin prison, I found that
if I allowed myself to focus on them, I could not maintain my focus on
my feet and keep my ankles straight on the plush carpet. I did discover
that if I could keep my weight on the balls of my feet my ankles would
wobble less but my calves would hurt more. Then on top of all of that,
it seemed that every move I made with my arms my "lovely" new tits
would be there to greet them, no matter how I moved my arms there they
were. I couldn't win for losing. But I couldn't give up either.

 How I was able to vacuum the carpet, wash and dry the laundry
(I did not iron, fold, nor put away any of it) and almost finish the
bathrooms before Debbie got home is beyond me. Especially since I must
have had to pee at least ten times during that whole ordeal.  The first
time the urge hit was as I was getting the vacuum from the closet,
fighting with the tangled cord (I couldn't say much it was tangled in
my golf clubs I had thrown in the closet a few days before instead of
putting them back in their bag after a trip to the driving range, a
man's right, I was late for the basketball game on the tube.) I almost
fell getting it out and felt no need to rush. I was a man and men are
quick in the bathroom, if you don't believe me just check which rest
room lines are the longest at any public event, sports, plays,
opera ... so I finished my endeavor before heading off to the bathroom,
where my automatic male reflexes once again took over.

 Stepping up to the toilet I lifted the lid and pulled
down my zipper, ahhh in my mind that is, years of training do not die
in a single day. My mind simply did not immediately accept my unique
circumstances. I almost peed in my skirt. Coming to my senses
I realized that even if I was in a position to pull down my zipper
I still had to sit. So in order to pee I would have to pull up my
skirt and slip, and pull down my panties, pantyhose, and girdle. No
problem, until I tried. The skirt was too tight to pull up, so I had
to reach behind me and undo the button and zipper, and pull the skirt
down. Hard enough without those huge melons getting in the way. I then
had no problem getting the panties down, but then came the realization
that I was wearing stockings attached to garters hanging from a very
restrictive corset, OVER the pantyhose and girdle I needed to pull
down before I could sit and pee. There was no way I could get the
pantyhose down without taking off either the corset or the stockings.
In order to remove the corset I would have to remove my BUTTON up the
back blouse, my slip, and then unzip that godawful corset zipper that
I almost didn't get zipped in the first place. I went with the
stockings removal. I could see the whole process in the bathroom
mirror and would have laughed at my contortions trying to undo those
hellacious back garters, had not the need to pee increased
dramatically by that time. Once I got the garter tabs undone I had
to get my fingers up under the corset to catch the waist band of
the pantyhose and girdle, with some twisting and turning I finally
got them down, and landed with a plop on the toilet, just in time.
Whew! What a relief. It was so wonderful being able to spread my legs
again, even if only for a short time.

 Getting re-dressed was as much of an adventure as getting it
all off was. I wanted to wear the girdle and pantyhose over the corset
but then the garters would've been inside and I would not have been
able to wear the stockings at all, and I didn't dare risk leaving
out any part of what Debbie had left for me to wear. So I learned to
tuck the pantyhose and girdle back up under the corset and finished
getting re-dressed. I found that I did not get any better with
practice, each time I needed to pee I had to go through my awkward
contortions in the limited space of the downstairs bathroom watching
myself the whole time in the wall mirror. Lusting over my new form I
found my self wondering how I would look with proper make-up, a nice
hair style and a proper manicure, I would turn sideways and admire
my ample rear and bust, or pucker my lips to see how they looked in
kissing mode with lipstick applied. However, at the same time that
part of me was fantasizing about what kind of woman I would make a
little voice inside my head kept reminding me how wrong it was for
a man want to look like a woman. I tried to convince myself that my
wife was wrong. She had to be wrong. I couldn't be a transvestite.
My father and mother, even my priest told me that men should only
dress and act like men, to do or feel other wise was wrong, perhaps
even sinful. Even if Debbie was right how could I ever overcome a
lifetime of conditioning against anything transgendered? How much
better I would have felt had I been able to jerk off while I was
there. Why did she have to find such an efficient chastity for
goodness sake? Long before she got home I had convinced myself that
I would do whatever she wanted so that I could get some relief.
After I gave her a good piece of my mind of that is, I was a man and
had to stand up for my rights. (yeah right, you bet buddy, your
rights as a man, look at your sissy self)

 I was just finishing cleaning the sink in the downstairs
bathroom when I heard a key rattle in the front door lock. I lost
my breath, my heart jumped up into my throat and started to tango
with my tonsils, and my knees rattled in time to my heart. I
couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I knew it had to be Debbie, but
what if it wasn't? What if someone got her keys somehow, maybe stole
her purse and was now going to burgle my house, what could I do? I
was helpless. I remember wondering to myself if this is how a woman
feels walking out to her car alone, late at night, and sees a man
twice her size walking towards her? I just stood there and waited,
my massive breasts heaving with each restricted breath I waited.
Within seconds, that felt like years, I heard a familiar voice sing
"Hi honey I'm home." If I had been able to expel enough air from my
lungs I would have sighed and relaxed my body, but of course the most
I was allowed was a short uggghh and the inability to relax my body
because of the corset. My prepared scream for my beautiful wife came
out as a pathetic little whimper that a puppy would have been ashamed
of. It was however, apparently enough to be heard, for when I
stepped out of the bathroom there she was, my beautiful wife Debbie
grinning from ear to ear, and standing right next to her was my
traitorous sister Karin. I must have turned seventeen shades of
red in the few seconds I stood there before them, my humiliation
greater than I could ever have imagined. I wanted to speak but
my mouth would not cooperate, I just stood there opening and
closing my mouth like the idiot I felt, with nothing coming out.

 My wife and sister were, by no means, at such a loss. Karin
was jumping up & down clapping her hands squealing with delight. My
wife stood there with her hands clasped in front of her mouth, her
eyes wide, and giggled like a little girl. I was so humiliated that
I thought I would pee in my pants...ahhh I mean skirt. Between
giggles and squeals they communicated that they wanted me to turn
and give them a fashion show "Show off that nice little ass in that
sexy skirt there baby. Yeah, mama! Look at the caboose on that
sweet thing." they chorused in unison, uggggh.

 I of course did my best, but my best just wasn't good
enough... My heel caught in the carpet tilting me off balance and
sending me straight to the floor. But true to form for the day I
couldn't just fall, oh no, not me. On my way to the floor I had to
reach out and try to stop my fall and in the process caught the corner
of the table cloth, which in turn upset the vase in the center of the
table spilling water over the edge, so that it could run off and land
square in the center of my face. Between belly wrenching peals of
laughter the love of my life did manage to ask if I was OK; if I hurt
anything more than my tattered pride.  My sister had to sit down she
was laughing so hard.

 What a scene that must have been. A grown man (wo-man) dressed
in silk and satin, big white bow in her, I mean his hair, sprawled out
on the floor (as least as sprawled as my (my?) skirt would allow, water
dripping off the edge of the table into his/her face, wanting nothing
more in the world than to find a hole to crawl into, being fussed over
by two women that could barely breathe because they were laughing so
hard at their pseudo-male's predicament.

 When they had finally settled down enough to breathe normally
they did at least offer to help me up off the floor. What a fool I
felt. There I was, me, an adult male, dressed in the loveliest prison
of satin and silk, hobbled by a tight skirt and high heels, dripping
water from my face onto my artificially enhanced chest, sexually
arroused by the slightest movement, and totally unable to do a thing
about it. The two women standing before me, appraising me as they would
a new dress on a shopping trip, in total control of my life, and
enjoying every humiliating minute of it.

 It was my sister that spoke first. "Oh gennie you look so
wonderful, I never would have believed that you could look so good.
Such curves, and you did such a great job on your eyebrows, I'm so
impressed big brother, <giggle> I mean big, (and oh yes they are big
aren't they), sister."

 "gennie, my love, I am so happy you decided to follow my
instructions so well. Did you get all the cleaning done dear? Have
any trouble with your pretty skirt? I must say it does show off your
cute little (well maybe not so little) rounded ass very nicely. That
should make any inconvenience worthwhile, isn't that right dear? Have
any trouble with the toilet? Did you remember to sit like a good
little girl always does? <giggle> Isn't so much nicer to sit like a
proper lady than that nasty whip it out and pee everywhere but in the
toilet routine that those nasty men, yes like you used to be, do?"

 The more my wife taunted me the more angry I became. I was
a man, and what's more I was the man of this, my house. I was not
some whimppy pervert that wanted to be a woman. I was born male and
males are meant to rule the world, not wear skirts and clean house.
I pursed my lips, and set my fists on my hips with my arms akimbo,
and attempted to look mean. I don't think it worked. Karen giggled
harder and Debbie just smiled.

 "Oh gennie, don't look so glum. You look as though you
haven't enjoyed your first day of femininity. Or is it my questions?
Are they embarrassing you? Well dear think back on all the times you
have taunted me and your sisters about our status as females. As if
our only purpose in life is to please a man. Your belief that just
because we are women we should wear restrictive, revealing,
embarrassing clothes, so that you can sit back and gawk at us as
we bounce our tits and wiggle our asses, is more than just
disgusting it's insane. By the end of the summer gennie my love,
you will have had a full spectrum of experience in the life of
a well endowed, sexily clad, woman. Our goal is not to punish or
embarrass you, although those are very favorable side effects, our
goal, your sisters and myself, is to educate you. As I said in my
note to you earlier, we know you are a transvestite and we are going
to help you realize it as well."

 My reply was not as forceful as I had intended, but hey I
was under tremendous stress at the time. My toes hurt from the
pointed shoes they were pressed into, my calves hurt from the
unnatural stress placed on them by those spike heels, my encased cock
screamed for release, and my ankles wobbled more than ever because I
could not look down and see my feet, only tits.

 "OK 'girls' (a bad choice of words as I quickly discovered)
you've had your fun, now get me out of these clothes and that torture
device around my waist. I've done what you've asked of me, or rather
demanded, and have learned my lesson. I admit that it takes a
different set of motions to navigate, that a person must be more
aware of his, ahh.. her actions prior to taking them, such as descending

or ascending stairs, or sitting down in a chair, or walking even. I
can now say that I have experienced life in a skirt and I will be
more understanding and tolerant when Debbie says she does not want to
wear a tight skirt. And I am sorry for asking her to wear tight skirts
that show off her 'nice little ass' (even if she should), she has a
nice ass and should be proud to show it." I certainly succeed in
digging myself an even deeper hole with my (I thought innocent)
statements.

 Both Karin and Debbie replied in unison, almost as if they
had practiced. "GIRLS!!  UNDERSTANDING!! TOLERANT!! WHO THE HELL DO
YOU THINK YOU ARE! GOD's GIFT TO HUMANITY?!"

 "Whoa, I only meant..."

 "We know what you meant brother dear, and we don't appreciate
it. We have barely begun to dent that awful condescending attitude
you have toward us. By the time we are done with you, you will truly
'understand' what it means to be an equal, and how women are treated as
anything but. Any doubts I had about what we are doing to you, any
worries I had about your reactions, have now been erased. I want my
sweet, caring, considerate brother back, and I am now convinced that
the only way to do that is to force you to look inside and release the
human inside you. The 'gennie' that you have suppressed for so long is
now being released, and if we get a little revenge and you experience
a little discomfort in the process, so be it. It will help you to
never forget what you have done to us for so long."

 "I agree totally with what Karin just said dear. You have
not learned much of anything yet. I brought Karin home with me so
that she could fix your hair and do your make-up for you before we
attend your support group meeting tonight."

 "What do you mean, 'support group meeting'? I'm not going
anywhere dressed like this. Karin doesn't need to fix my hair, it's
fine the way it is. What Karin needs to do is go and get my clothes
so that I can change back into something decent, while you give me
the key to that godawful thing you locked around my waist. Now!" I
wanted to stomp my foot for emphasis but I couldn't raise my knee
high enough in that skirt.

 They looked at each other and just grinned, as if I had once
again reacted exactly as they had expected. It was my wife that spoke
first. "Yes love you are exactly right, you are not going anywhere
dressed as you currently are. 'Decent' clothes as you call them are
in the shopping bags in the back seat of my car. You'll need to go out
and get them. Although I doubt they will be what you had in mind.  As
for the key to that 'godawful device' around your waist, there is no
key (I gasped, and went white, Debbie's grin just got bigger knowing I
was misunderstanding what she was saying) your training corset has a
front zipper, so that you can get it on and off easily. We do have a
nice heavy corset that you will just absolutely love, and that one
has a lock on it for our convenience for when you have misbehaved,
but that will come later."

 The look of horror on my face must have really delighted her,
for she again started to laugh and went on. "OH! I'm sorry, you meant
the key to your chastity device. Well dear by all means here." She
dangled a key in her outstretched hand waiting for me to take it.

 So I excitedly grabbed the key only to notice that it had a
logo of some sort stamped into it, and it was much too large to fit
the lock on my chastity. "What's this?" I asked. Such an intelligent
question deserves an equally intelligent response, and my lovely wife
just loves to have such opportunities to get even with me.

 "Why it's a key dear. Haven't you ever seen a key before?"
How could anyone so diabolical, respond with such an innocent
expression on her face?

 Karin elaborated. "gennie dear, it's a key to a safety
deposit box here in the city. You hold in your hand the key to your
freedom, all you have to do is figure out where the box is and whose
name it is in. The box is setup so that you have full access, under
your real name, looking like you do now, anytime you wish. In case of
emergency, you become pregnant or something, both Debbie and I have
each have keys. Debbie, may decide to use hers when she wants to use
what's locked away in there, I of course, don't care if you ever get
loose. So I would suggest, sisterbrother dear that you go out of your
way to keep us happy.

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 :-)


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