Chastity Made Me A Sissy by Throne (Patreon)

Chastity Made Me A Sissy by Throne

I didn't actually cheat on my wife, Charity. One of her girlfriends, Bella, came on to me at a party. After that, she and I began an online correspondence in which she encouraged me to describe what I'd like to do to her. After three months of that, she changed her mind and confessed all to my spouse. For some reason, Charity didn't hold it against her. However, Charity wasn't feeling at all charitable toward me.

"All the stuff you wrote was just as bad as if you had really had sex with her, Swenson," my wife accused. She shook her head, making her shoulder-length blond hair move attractively. "The way you went on and on about her full figure and the way you'd like to get your hands on it.
I mean, she and I work out at the same plus-size gym. We have such similar bodies. And yet you wanted to sneak around behind my back with her."

She was fuming. I didn't think it was fair to equate my fantasizing with committing the acts I had imagined. Still, most of what we owned came from Charity's family wealth. If we divorced, the house and both cars were in her name, as were all the bank accounts. I would be left almost penniless. What was I supposed to do?

In desperation, I offered, "I'll go along with anything you want, dear, to make this right. We can go to counseling. Or I'll see a therapist. Whatever you say."

Charity rubbed her nicely rounded chin. At that moment, she was wearing a snug top and tight slacks, which showed off her zaftig figure. The thought of not having access to those curves was unnerving. I was used to sex on a regular basis. Maybe she intuited my fears and that was why she made the decision that she then revealed to me.

"When Bella first told me about what you were doing, I purchased something that will solve this problem. You can agree to put it on or I'll call my lawyer and begin divorce proceedings. The choice is yours."

I couldn't figure out what she wanted me to get into, but I agreed without asking. It turned out that she had bought one of those chastity devices, a little cage to lock onto my penis. I'm almost average size down there, so when she showed me the pink plastic container, I was startled by how small it was. My dick would be compressed into almost nothing. There was an opening through which I could urinate, though I would have to sit to do it. The trap had enough open space between its bars that I would be able to wash myself without it being removed. I went cold inside at the thought of not being able to achieve an erection. But being suddenly single and broke, with only the modest income from my office job, and payouts to my EX, based on the prenup I had foolishly signed, left me with no other option.

"Theres a plastic bottle of depilatory in the bathroom," she announced. "Follow the instructions on it to get rid of your pubic hair. Then report to me in the bedroom... naked."

It was disturbing to have to do that. After the hair was gone, my flaccid pecker appeared rather immature. In the bedroom, she had an icepack ready. I laid back on the bed and she used the cold to shrink my member even further. Then she fed my testicles through the anchor- ring, fitted the very tight enclosure into place, and locked the two sections together. The key was on a chain, which she ceremoniously put around her neck, so that the key rested at the top of her deep cleavage.

"Um..." I asked hesitantly, "... how long do I have to keep this on?"

"That's up to you. The initial period is two weeks. I'll be free to extend that for any reason I see fit. You will have no right to object

to my determinations or to negotiate about them. My word will be law. Is that understood?"

There was even more confidence in her tone than I was accustomed to. My heart dropped. I had second thoughts about the deal, yet was still without any way to fight back.

I bowed my head and mumbled, "Yes, dear."

"Fine. Now that we won't be having intercourse, that will leave added time and more energy for you. Let's channel it into you doing some housework around here."

"But we already have a cleaner."

"Not anymore we don't. I let her go. Along with that, I recommended her to one of my friends, who hired her, so she won't have any loss of income. You may start by washing the dirty dishes in the sink."

"I could just put them in the dishwasher," I pointed out.

"You could, but you won't. Doing that wouldn't teach you anything. Some manual labor will focus your mind on finding your proper place in our relationship and staying in it."

That did not sound promising. Two weeks in chastity would have been hard enough otherwise. Having to do housework would make it so much more demeaning.

"Okay," I conceded. "Just let me get dressed and..."

"No, no," she wagged a correcting finger in my face. "You can do it like that."

"But I... I..."

"All right. I have something you can wear. Let's go."

Once I was at the sink, she surprised me by producing an apron that I had never seen before. It was yellow, with a bib front. The bottom portion would barely reach beyond my male parts. I had to put the top loop over my neck. She knotted the ties behind me. I could feel them hanging down against my bare bottom. When she turned me around so she could see the results, I shuddered. Couldn't she have at least gotten
me something less feminine? But I figured it was best to let her have her moment of revenge. Maybe she would even soften her attitude before my fourteen days were up. That talk about adding time was probably just her venting some anger. It wasn't as if she might keep me in the cock- lock beyond that cut-off date.

Charity left me to do my work. I muttered to myself while I donned rubber gloves and washed everything. After it was all in the drainer, she returned long enough to inform me that I needed to towel-dry each piece and put them away.

Without thinking, I snapped, "You need to be reasonable about this."

Her plump face tightened into a mask of disapproval. "I'll be reasonable. I'm only going to add two days to your time locked. That seems reasonable, doesn't it?"

I opened my mouth but caught myself before I could do more harm. "Yes, dear. You're right. I apologize."

After that, she allowed me to shed the apron and put on a belted robe.

Unfortunately, the robe was a short one of hers, fuzzy and pink. I tied it securely and had the good sense not to grouse. We ate a light dinner and watched some TV, with her selecting all the shows. After that, she declared that it was time for bed. In the bedroom, she ordered me to take off my single piece of clothing.

For explanation, she advised, "You can snuggle up against me, under the covers, to stay warm."

Under different circumstances, that would have sounded fine. Now, with my manhood imprisoned, there was no way it could lead to a happy ending. Rather than try to debate it, since that avenue had already been blocked, I went along with it. Charity undressed in front of me. As
her glorious contours were fully revealed, I was practically panting. She slipped into a transparent nightie that reached only to the middle
of her thighs. After giving me a good look at her, she stretched out on the bed, facing the wall. I got in behind her and pressed my body against hers. Once I pulled the covers over us, it was sufficiently warm. It was also maddeningly arousing. My confined cock attempted to get hard, which was impossible. My scrotum tightened up. There was tingling in my nipples. I determined that I would not allow my suffering to show. She wiggled her sumptuous sitter against my crotch and I almost lost my resolve. I awoke more than once during the long night.

In the morning, I was very aware of my unemptied balls. That put me on edge. Charity was going to spend time reviewing some of her many investments, while I was at work. When I was about to change out of her robe, that she had put me back into before breakfast, my wife intervened.

"I have something for you to wear under your office clothes, dear," she said mildly.

"Um... okay," I responded cautiously.

"Here you go," she said, holding up a pair of powder blue panties that should have been worn by a sexy teen. As if she was being helpful, she added, "They're very thin, so your chastity will be visible through them."

That pulled my trigger. I burst out with, "You can't do this to me. It's not right. I'm not going to..."

Her icy stare silenced me. I had stepped over the line again. In a level voice she said, "Let's just round your sentence up to three weeks." When I must have seemed like I was going to try to get another few words in, she offered, "Or we can just make if a full month."

So quietly that I could barely hear it myself, I told her, "That won't be necessary, Charity. I spoke out of turn. I shouldn't have done that. I'm so sorry."

"Not as sorry you'll be after all that time with no access to your little pecker." She put her hands on her broad hips and challenged me with her expression.

This time I didn't take the bait. I accepted the filmy bit of lingerie and stepped into it, then pulled it up my legs, which were quivering slightly. After I had gotten the panties adjusted, she smiled and nodded. I hurriedly got into the rest of my clothes. At the door, she pulled me against her, so that the big bust I desired so much was pressed against my chest. My penis throbbed in response. I turned to leave and she gave me a pat on the rump.

"See you after work," she called, like a loving wife seeing her spouse off to his job, with nothing unusual going on between them.

All day at the office, I was aware of those panties and the chastity. The intimate garment kept riding up between my buttocks. I was fearful that, if I tugged at it, everyone around me would know my shameful secret. I could almost hear guys like Joe Muster and Frank Norton laughing and cracking wise. They would brand me as a panty wearing pantywaist, dominated by his big wife. Somehow, they might even learn about me being involuntarily chaste. Maybe that would be uncovered in

the men's room. I pictured it occurring when the door to a bathroom stall swung open and I was seen with the panties pushed partway down, but not far enough that they would be visible under that door. There, between my legs, the pink plastic restrainer would be shown off for amused eyes to see.

I shook my head. Those runaway imaginings were too much. None of that was going to take place. I would endure my two weeks of enforced celibacy — or rather, three weeks, I corrected — and then the madness would be over. That incident with Bella would be put in the past, where it belonged, forgotten, and life would proceed along its old familiar paths. After all, for as long as I went without sex, my wife would have to, as well. She shared my healthy appetite for bedroom activity, although she didn't appear to get as much out of our couplings as I did.

For the rest of the afternoon, I treated myself to admiring young female coworkers. That made me feel consoled. By the time I returned home, I had convinced myself that what lay ahead would simply be a matter of endurance. I was almost feeling good about my prospects. Then I walked through the door and got a rude surprise.

Charity said, "I saw Bella at the gym this afternoon. She's still feeling violated by the way that you stalked her, and how you made all those indecent proposals."

That wasn't the way I remembered it. In my mind, the communication had been clearly mutual, with both of us interested in what I had to say. Then it struck me that Bella had set it into motion but not actively participated. She even sent me some lukewarm messages, that could be taken as an attempt to back away from my fevered thoughts. Holy crud! Now that I was able to see it with a new perspective, it would be easy for the whole back-and-forth to be mistaken for how Charity viewed it.

I wanted to know, "What did she say?"

"I told her what I've done about it so far." "Including...?"
"Locking you? Yes."
"And...?"
"She's pleased with the steps I've taken." "Great," I responded with relief.

"But she feels it's not enough. She thinks more should be done, not only on her behalf, but also for me to gain some closure after the way you jeopardized our marriage."

That sounded like divorce talk again. I felt cornered. "Um... did she suggest anything specific?"

"Yes." She let me sweat before she went on. "She approves of how I'm

emasculating you. We both agree that toxic machismo is at the root of your problem. With that in mind, she encouraged me to go further with feminizing you."

"But you didn't want to?" I said hopefully.

"Quite the opposite. It's the best thing for you. That's why, on the way home, I made a few stops and got items that will help to drive home the new mindset you need. Undress, Swenson."

I wanted to do something before this went any further, but concerns over having my sentence extended again halted me. Maybe I could at least go into the bedroom to strip. That wasn't going to happen. Charity stayed where she was, blocking my path. I ran my eyes over her enticing

figure. My hands itched with the need to touch her. Instead of doing that, I loosened my tie, unbuttoned my shirt, and stripped to the waist. Then the shoes and trousers came off. I sat on the floor, gazing up at her, to remove my socks. In only the hated panties, I got to my feet. She eyed the lingerie significantly. I was reminded of what she had mentioned before, that my cock-lock was visible through it. With a sigh and sagging shoulders, I watched her turn and start toward the bedroom. Her wide protruding bottom rolled, like a lure to draw me forward. In the bedroom, I saw what she had laid out on top of the bedspread. My mouth dropped open.

"Don't act so shaken up, darling," she told me. "After you get past the worst of your male aggression, it will seem natural to wear pretties like these. Who knows? You might even learn to enjoy it."

What was waiting for me to don was a cut-off camisole top, a half-slip with a lace hem, stockings, and slippers. Everything was in shades of yellow. I cringed at what awaited me. From behind, Charity put her hands on my shoulders.

She whispered into my ear, "Relax, Swenson." Almost as if it was an afterthought, she went on, "Oh, and it would be silly to keep calling you by a male name. Bella had a terrific alternative. She thinks you should now be Swish. Isn't that a brilliant choice?"

My stomach lurched. This was going much too far. I reviewed everything that had taken place already, and all the reasons I had allowed it. Did
I want to end up as a single guy, without even enough money to start a new life, let alone any new relationships? I moaned and picked up the brief slip.

Charity said, "Before you get into your new goodies, Swish, let's use some more of that hair remover. I can't have you dressed in such girly fashions, with hair on your chest or legs or anywhere. That would be ridiculous. Let's go. Back to the bathroom. You can stand in the

shower and apply the stuff. After it's had time to work, a nice cold shower will clean it off. Being smooth all over will be a constant reminder that you're trying to avoid being a caveman type, and help you to control your savage urges. Right?"

Caveman type? Savage urges? "Yes, dear," I said weakly.

Once the creamy substance had been generously applied, allowed to do its job, and then washed away under the chilly spray, I was given a big fluffy towel to dry myself. My wife mentioned that she had gotten perfumed body wash and shampoo for me to use in the future.

"There's also a more appropriate deodorant. For right now, let me spritz you with some perfume I found that should be just perfect. It's lavender, which I think could be your signature scent. Or maybe I'll find something even more flowery."

She sprayed me here and there. The smell was very off-putting. Back by the bed, I got into the barely-there slip. Then came that top, which was satiny and teased my nipples. I sat on the side of the bed, to be coached on the right way to put on stockings. They had elastic tops which made them stay up by themselves. The slippers each had a bow on the top. She took my hand and walked me, like I was helpless to do it on my own. In front of her closet, she opened the door. There was a panel mirror mounted on the inside. Usually, that was for her to check herself before going out. Now it presented me with a startling view of my unmanly new self.

"You know," Charity considered, "just a touch of make-up will finish this picture the right way."

She didn't even bother to ask me for my input, as if we had passed the point where that mattered. I stood there passively, as she applied blush to my cheeks and yellow eye shadow, the latter complementing the hues of my humiliating outfit. AT least the lipstick wasn't that color.

It was magenta, which created a dramatic contrast. Seeing myself that way, with my male persona so compromised, I had a sinking feeling. The brief slip covered my chastity but I was achingly aware that it was still there. My balls hurt. Maybe I shouldn't have ogled those girls
at the office. Charity reached up under the camisole top, found my nipples with her fingertips, and teased them. I gasped and pushed out my chest, as if demanding more. I couldn't believe how sensitive I was there. The sensations must be heightened from being in chastity. She leaned closer to blow into my ear.

Charity whispered lustfully, "If your dick wasn't locked up, we could have a lot of fun right now. And it wouldn't be under lock and key if you hadn't gone after my good friend Bella. Since you already have three weeks to go until I can release you, something will have to done about my needs." Her fingers were still moving busily. "You're going to have to use your mouth down there, Swish, between my legs. I know you've never done that before, and are turned off just thinking about it, but I can't come up with another solution."

I whined, "I don't want to," sounding like a petulant child.

"Do you want to have an additional week tacked onto your time away from sex? Hmmm? Do you?"

"No." My voice was strained.

"Then you had better show me that you can be a good little chastity slave, hadn't you, Swish?"

"Yes." That final sibilant was stretched out.

She rotated me in place. I moved toward the bed on uncooperative legs. She slipped out of her yoga pants, which she had worn to the gym, and sat on the side of the bed, knees spread.

Charity said solicitously, "I hope you don't mind, but I haven't showered since my workout. Things might taste kind of... sweaty... down below. This will be a good start to getting you accustomed to doing your duty no matter what the condition of my pussy is. On your knees, Swish. Here's your chance to demonstrate how cooperative you can be, and how eager you are to end your lock-up in 21 days, instead of after an entire month."

I sank to my knees in slow motion. In the past, what I was about to do would have been unthinkable. My male ego would have prevented it. In my thinking, real men didn't eat quiche or pussy. I had to temporarily erase the latter belief. Easing forward, I got a whiff of my wife's perspiration and, more significantly, her female furrow. I'd always been kind of a clean-freak about her personal hygiene in that region. As I stuck out my tongue, I said goodbye to those old rules. Lapping her from the bottom of her groove to the top, I get my first taste of
it. She helpfully hinted that I should suck on her clitoris. It was prominent and slippery. I sucked gently, afraid of hurting the receptive nub.

"That's a good Swish," she cooed. "Pay lots of attention to that pearl, darling. Don't be shy about putting your tongue inside my slit. See how deep you can get it in there." She chuckled, then gasped as I must have activated some erogenous hotspot. "So good," she said, exhaling the words. "Take your time. There's no need to rush. Let's see how many times you can make me finish." After making some sounds of pleasure, she finished with, "Too bad I can't do the same for you. Not for at least three... long... weeks."

Beyond that point, she couldn't form words, instead expressing herself with purrs, yelps and sounds from deep in her throat. All of that culminated in some wild cries as she was seized by a finale that made her wide pelvis jerk repeatedly.

Once she had settled back down, instead of being done, she stated

breathily, "I want at least two more of those. They'll take longer to get to, now that I've had the first. But we have as much time as you need. Do a poor job and it might cost you a few more days of having your joystick in solitary confinement."

Suffice it to say that, by the time she'd had enough, my jaws were sore and my self-image had been taken down several notches. I also felt an odd need to keep satisfying her, perhaps believing it would aid me in finding my freedom from that pink plastic prison. Chastity had put my mind into a state of constant confusion.

Over the next ten days, our life together went on that way. Charity had

a steady supply of new additions to my femme wardrobe. Why was she obtaining so much, if I was not going to be in them much longer? There were belly shirts, leggings, ankle socks, and several berets, those last because she took special pleasure in putting them on me. I got scheduled for proper hair removal treatments, which she explained would eliminate the need for me to use the depilatory. That seemed strange, as I was nearing the end of my sentence. She even had my face done, so I wouldn't have to shave. The woman who did it also thinned my eyebrows. I especially didn't like that last procedure, because the results were noticeable. It was the sort of thing that people didn't fully register but I saw them looking at my face and wondering what had changed.

My mindset was also altered during that period. I came to be more dependent on my wife. My sense of wanting to please her intensified. She offered me plenty of sexual arousal while I was dressed in feminine attire. It made me associate the two happenings with each other. I gradually acquired a less masculine gait, mannerisms, and way of speaking. Charity's approval became central to my sense of self-worth.

One day she appeared at the office where I worked. Mr. Fenton, who runs everything, welcomed her into his private office. After about an hour,

she emerged, smoothing back her long blond hair. He followed and walked her out of our workspace.

When I got home, I had to strip down, as usual. She had me get into a pair of girl's pajamas, ones with short sleeves top and bottom. There was a pattern of rainbows and smiling pink clouds all over them. They came with oversized fuzzy slippers. I had to sit on the floor at her feet while she gave me an update.

"I had a lovely conversation with your handsome boss," she began. "I loved listening to his voice. He speaks with such authority. And his hands are so strong."

"How do you know that?" I demanded. "About his hands?"

"Because we shook hands, Swish. You didn't see it because it didn't happen until he closed the door. His office is closed off like that so he can have absolute privacy."

I was agitated and wanted to know, "Why were you in there so long?"

She looked down her nose at me. "We had a lot to discuss. I wanted to know how you've been doing lately, since I found out about how horrid you were to Bella. I was concerned that your guilt might be affecting your work."

Why was it that each time she brought up my interactions with her girlfriend, the terms used to describe what I had done got worse? "I still don't understand why it took so long."

"We covered other topics, that you don't need to know about right now."

"What were you doing with him?" I said sharply, my temper getting the better of me.

"Swish! I'm insulted that you would think anything improper took place. Obviously, you have jealousy issues, along with all your other testosterone-driven problems. That tells me that you need more time with the reeducation I'm trying to give you. As of this moment, your sentence has been extended by one more week."

I was struck dumb. Seven added days? By then my poor balls felt like

they had swollen considerably, even though I knew that wasn't true. I choked on heightened emotions. It shouldn't have taken her almost an hour to have a simple chat. And why did she refer to him being handsome and having strong hands? I sat there and sniffled. She patted me patronizingly on the head and even ruffled my hair, which was overdue for a trim.

Charity decided, "Just the additional time in chastity might not be enough after your jealous snit. I was hoping to avoid this, Swish, but I'm afraid I'll have to spank you."

For one frozen moment I let that sink in. What I wanted to tell her was that I was an adult and was not going to be spanked. What I said instead was, "I'm sorry. I was out of line. I'll try to control myself better from now on."

"And about the spanking?"
"You should do whatever you think is necessary."

"Good girl," she said. That choice of pronoun stung but I rationalized that she had used it only because of her mood of the moment.

"We'll go to the kitchen for your punishment. I think it would be best to use one of those chairs."

"Yes, Ma'am," I said without thinking. My new role was taking over. The hope of not becoming submerged in it had suffered a hard blow when

she determined to add that extra week.

In the kitchen, she sat her well-upholstered rear end on a chair. "Pull your jammies down in back, Swish, and put yourself over my lap."

I nodded. Baring my bottom was somehow more demeaning than stripping to
the skin. I put myself across her heavy but shapely thighs. They were warm and, in their softness, somehow comforting. I gritted my teeth as she raised her hand and brought it down swiftly. Despite knowing what was coming, I let out a loud squeal and kicked my feet. My hands gripped the legs of the chair. Before I could catch my breath, she delivered another five swats. I couldn't stay still or keep silent. My nose began to run. I fought back tears. Another half dozen smacks pushed me over the edge. All at once I was bawling. She paused. I might have regained some semblance of self-control, but just as I was getting close to that, she rapid-fired six more on my upturned buns. I was reduced to a blubbering wreck. Several more flurries landed on my unprotected cheeks and my fit of squalling only worsened. After seeing and hearing me like that, how would Charity ever be able to respect me, once my sentence was completed?

She gave me an icepack. I had to stand in the corner of the living room, with my face turned away from her, and hold it against my sore backside. My wife watched TV. When something funny was on the screen she laughed easily, despite me being so near, with blazing nether cheeks. I broke out in self-pitying sobs from time to time but she didn't act bothered by them.

After that ignoble defeat, I tried again to build myself back up. At work, Mr. Fenton took me aside and confided that I was being given a lighter workload. He understood that I was having personal issues, after his productive talk with my wife, who he described as charming. My jealousy rose to the surface again, but I was even less inclined to say anything to him than I was to speak to Charity about it, since that

severe spanking.

My status as an involuntary celibate didn't change. My wife referred to me as her 'cute incel'. The need for relief continued to warp my thinking. My desire to keep Charity happy had become pathological. I strove to improve the oral sex, which had become frequent.

Then she threw me another curve, when she announced, "I called that helpful Mr. Fenton to thank him about lightening your obligations at work. Can you believe that he asked me out for dinner, so we can consider what else he might do to make our lives better?"

"Dinner? You mean he's taking you out to some restaurant?"

"Well, Swish, we're not going to a fast-food drive-through. Of course, to a restaurant. And then maybe somewhere for drinks."

"OMG," I blurted. "He's taking you to his place?"

"His penthouse atop the Marlton Arms? Why would you think we're going there for our nightcap?"

"I mean... I thought... Ever since you came to the office..."

"Oh my. You're still a Jealous Jenny. That's just earned you two more days in lockdown." She pointed to my crotch, which at that moment was clothed in a thong, underneath bright red hotpants.

"NOOOO."

"Plus, one more for the crime of aggravated assault... on my ears, with that whining."

I clutched the front of my orange tank top with both hands, my lips quivering and knees knocking. Charity sent an air kiss in my direction,

taking no chance that her lips might accidentally touch mine. There was a stab of pain from my neglected testicles. She playfully moved my hands aside and toyed with my nipples through the negligable material of the top, doing it until I was writhing from unmet needs. When she finally let go, I slumped from the abrupt cessation of tension.

"Don't worry," she continued. "I won't leave you home alone. Someone will be with you to keep an eye on your behavior."

"You mean I'll get to dress like normal?"

"What you're wearing now is your new normal. You'll be in full pansy couture when your sitter arrives."

"You can't let some teenage girl see me like this."

"It won't be any gum chewing adolescent. I wouldn't do that to you. Give me some credit for compassion. After I detailed your progress, she feels secure enough to be around you."

"She...? Who are you...?"

"I mean Bella, naturally. It will be heathy for you to see her again, under regulated conditions. And she'll benefit from seeing you in your improved state, and interacting with you."

"I'll be stuck here with her? And you'll be out with Mr. Fenton, doing who-knows-what?"

"That tone is not appreciated. What you're implying isn't, either. That will be a two- or three-day add-on to your incel incarceration. I'll let Bella decide how many days exactly."

Suddenly, I was sniffling and sobbing and making a spectacle of myself. Wouldn't you know that Charity took advantage of my fragile state and

captured several images of my breakdown with her phone? She pushed some
buttons and I suspected she was transmitting the incriminating photos. If she was, were they going to Bella, Mr. Fenton, or both of them?

The evening that I had begun to think of as Charity's date night arrived. She put me in opera-length gloves, a waist cincher, stockings, and pumps with two-inch heels, which was all the height I could manage after only a short time of practice. All of that was in black. That ensemble left me terribly exposed, including my humiliating chastity and bare bottom. Bella arrived. She had on a jumpsuit that it fit like a second skin. There was a zipper down the front, with a big pull-ring at its top. The hugging covering was lime green, which I though went well with her auburn hair. Her feet were in cute suede booties. It took me
a minute before I realized that I had automatically done a fashion check on her. Being kept in girly clothes at home was having an ever- deepening effect on me.

"Well, look at you," she said cheerily, on seeing me in my mortifying state. "I love the contrast between your pale complexion and those dark clothes, what little there is of them."

I couldn't stop gawking at the way her stupendous contours were shown off. She struck a model's pose, head cocked to the side, hands held slightly away from her body, feet together, expression neutral. I understood that she understood that I was staring.

When I averted my eyes, she said, "Your turn, Miss Swish. Let me see you in that same pose."

Reluctantly, I tried to duplicate the stance she had just abandoned. That provoked laughter from both women. Then it was Charity's turn to show off for her friend. My wife had on an electric blue dress that clung to her everywhere that clinging was good. Her golden hair was pulled into a bun at the back of her head. From seeing both females

together, I was on the verge of drooling. I longed to have Charity fiddle with my nipples. I wanted to be allowed to serve her in bed. By then, when I had sex on the brain, those were what I thought of instead of penetration and ejaculation. Being teased, visually and physically, along with giving my wife oral orgasms, had become the twin focuses of my redirected libido. I had also lost track of how much time was left before unlocking was due. It was almost as if that day of liberation didn't matter anymore.

We heard a car pull up out front. Bella told me, "Go on, Swish. Peek out around the curtain and see if it's Prince Charming, come to whisk away your wife to the palace, or at least to the Palais Ristorante."

Caught up in a frenzy of conflicting moods, I scampered over to the front window and pulled aside the drapes, ever so slightly. I was like some gushy gossip girl, eager for the latest naughty news. It belatedly registered that what I would find out was if my eligible and engaging boss was out there, about to enjoy my wife's company — and maybe more. A sleek car had pulled up to the curb. From it stepped Mr. Fenton, in a perfectly fitted sport coat and slacks that were casual yet stylish yet informal yet obviously expensive. His super-expensive wristwatch glinted in the light from the nearest streetlamp. I let the window covering fall back into place and cowered where I stood. What if he came inside? What if he saw me, in all my shame and ingloriousness? I went into a deep squat, pulling the drapes over me and leaning on the wall behind them, shivering.

Thankfully, he remained on the front porch, where Charity joined him. They strolled down the front walk, arms linked. I longingly watched her pulvinate posterior vanish as he held the car door for her. Then I emerged from my improvised hiding place.

"All done playing Peeping Thomasina?" Bella asked with a smirk. "Yes, Ma'am." I used that term of respect without having to think

first. My voice remained noticeably high-pitched.

"Good girl. Now put yourself where I can see you better and spin around so I can get another good look and have another good laugh."

I did. And she did. I knew I must be blushing. It was still disturbing for me to be seen by Charity, so you can imagine how much harder it was to be looked at by Bella.

"I brought you a gift," she said, patting her copious shoulder bag.

"What is it?" I was curious to find out, with some small part of me hoping it was something pretty to wear. I wished I could reverse my descent into sissy sisterhood.

Bella rummaged around in the bag and came out with a narrow box. From it she took two pieces of jewelry.

"These are the old screw-on type of earrings," she noted. "A custom pair that I had modified just for you, Swish."

"Thank you, Ma'am. I'm sorry for the terrible way I acted before."

"Maybe by the end of tonight I'll be able to forgive you." That raised my hopes. "Though you'd still have an awful lot of retraining to do, before you're ready to be around unprotected females again." That dashed them.

What could I say except, "Of course. I understand."

As I stood still, she put the first earring on me. When she screwed it tight, I found out that the protective plate had been removed and the bar underneath filed to a point. I jabbed into my tender earlobe until
I was close to crying out. When she let go, I realized that whatever was dangling from my ear was much heavier than a normal ornament. It

dragged down uncomfortablly. I flinched and there was a faint tinkling. I had been belled, like the cat in that story. The second earring was just as bad. She had me shimmy around the room, my earring bells ringing merrily.

"Now, Swish," she said, "I want to see you do some of your housework. That would make me feel much less threatened by your toxic masculinity."

"I... I..." I blew out my breath between pursed lips. "Yes, Ma'am," I chirped.

"Charity told me she left some new cleaning equipment for you in the hall closet."

What I found there was a very small plastic bucket, in which were a toothbrush, a small square of kitchen sponge, and a container of some mild cleanser. Scrubbing any section of floor would take much longer than it should, with those undersized tools and that less effectual product. Bella directed me to the bathroom, with my earrings jingling. I took everything out of the bucket, put in some warm water and a sprinkle of cleanser, dipped in the inadequate brush, and got down on all fours to begin working around the base of the toilet. Bella sat imperiously on the closed lid, her large sturdy calves very near to me, her booties in my field of vision on either side. It was unsettling but weirdly erotic. My body sent out signals demanding relief. In spite of myself, I moaned.

"What's the matter, Swishy?" she asked with poorly acted innocence. "Is something distracting you? If you don't want to see my legs and shoes, I can fix that."

Her solution was to plant her ankles on my shoulders. I whimpered and kept on working, sponging up excess water and squeezing it back into the bucket. It was a fool's job, not unlike that guy in mythology who was tasked with pushing a rock up the hill, only to have it roll back down

every time. She let me suffer pangs of humiliation and the slings and arrows of conflicting states of mind. I didn't want to be in feminine garb, reduced to a menial, overseen by a woman, and yet my thinking had been changed enough that some part of me craved it. That part was growing.

After letting me slave away like that for a while, Bella called a halt

to my lavatory ordeal. I was permitted to leave my supplies in the bathtub and follow her to the den. She told me to stand still and ran her hands over my exposed flesh, along with tugging on my chastity cage and pulling downward on those cruel customized earrings. She flicked my nipples. Next, she wetted her fingers in her mouth and used them to tantalize those twin erogenous zones. Soon, I was overcome by the need for sexual contact, and I wasn't too particular about what form it took by then. From the way Charity had perverted my sex drive, I was salivating for a taste of her pussy. But she wasn't there. That was when Bella had me hook a finger through the ring under her neck and lower the zipper, all the way to the center of her femininity. A few strands of dark pubic hair were visible below her convex belly. She withdrew her arms from the single piece of clothing and shucked it off her upper body. I had to untie her low boots, which I did with unsteady fingers. She let me pull them off and then tug the legs of her single- piece out of the way. On my knees, I worshipfully gazed up at her naked curvaceous magnificence. She spread her feet well apart and looked down at me, past the swelling of her bust.

Bella said, "I hear from your wife that you've become an expert at playing the pink harmonica. Eating the female taco. Munching the carpet."

She sat on the leather recliner that had once been the seat I was proud

to occupy. Now I was no longer allowed on it, like a puppy who has to stay off the good furniture. The heavy woman pushed her hips forward until my target was within easy access. I inched forward on my knees and put my head between her fleshy upper legs. I was nose-to-labia with

her moist cleft.
"Go on," she coaxed. "It's not going to lick itself."

I got busy, slurping and sucking. She became even wetter than my wife did. I had to swallow her fluids repeatedly. My face was pressed to her pubes as my tongue took a deep dive. All the conditioning that had taken hold of my mind previously was raised to a higher level. I was unable to stop. The bizarre outfit I had been made to wear was now something I didn't want to remove. My smooth skin was a badge of honor. I had noticed that the eliminated hair was making no effort to grow back and that no longer bothered me. Unexpectedly, Bella skyrocketed into a noisy orgasm. Her powerful thighs slammed into the sides of my head. I stayed where I was like a suckerfish. I didn't back off until she had experienced a wet and wild climax that left her breathing hard. I was
so proud of myself.

She said, "Let's try for a few more of those, spread out over the next several hours. In between them, I'll tease you to the edge of madness and you'll love me for it. Won't you, Swish?"

"I will. I absolutely will." And I meant it.

Charity returned after midnight. The car pulled up but she didn't reach the front door until ten minutes later. Were they sharing a goodnight kiss or two in the front seat? She came into the house with a sated expression on her face. Had she gone all the way with my boss? Were her panties in her bag? Was this the beginning of an affair? If it was, how would I feel about it? Did anyone care how I felt about anything? I was in a tizzy, my head full of cascading questions. A Reichenbach Falls of them.

That was a month ago. Since then, whenever it appears that my time in chastity is near an end, an additional week or ten days are added, for one reason or another. Sometimes it seems like there's no reason. At

work, my duties have been reduced again. Mr. Fenton says I'm sort of a glorified receptionist and phone call fielder now, which is good because I have problems concentrating on anything trickier. My mind is always at home, with Charity and Bella. I see a lot of my wife's friend,

because Charity goes out several times a week with Mr. Fenton, to get updates on my progress at work, and Bella stays with me. That makes sense. When Charity comes home, she's almost always ready for some of my oral TLC. I noticed at first that she tastes different down there, and is kind of creamy. She pointed out that it's because of all the rich food she eats when the boss takes her out to dinner. That makes sense, too. I have strong feelings for Bella. She likes to kid around that Chastity will divorce me, so she can become Mrs. Fenton, and I can marry Bella and be her fulltime plaything. Sometimes Bella calls me her pusillanimous pet. She has such a wicked sense of humor.

Here's one last funny incident. The other night Charity showed me the prettiest baby doll nightie online. It has a big pussy bow in front and comes with matching panties. What she wanted to know was, if I had a choice between finally being out of chastity or getting that darling sleepwear as a gift, which would I choose. She's giving me a week to decide.

What do you think my answer should be?