CHRISTMAS NIGHTIE NIGHTMARE by Throne (Patreon)

CHRISTMAS NIGHTIE NIGHTMARE by Throne

I thought that my wife Dee and I had come to an understanding.  Ever since she had found out about my predilection for wearing women's lingerie, she had let me indulge in my habit, but not while she was around.  That was why it surprised me, on Christmas morning, when the last gift she gave me was a short diaphanous nightie.  I wasn't sure how to react.

"Go on, Bill," she said.  "Put it on."

"Oh, I really shouldn't.  I know how you disapprove of my dressing."

"Attitudes can change.  Strip down and get into it.  I think, with the way you keep your body shaved, it will look just darling."

"I honestly wouldn't be comfortable doing that."

"I'm not asking you," she told me, much more firmly.  "I'm telling you, Belle."

A few months before, I had confided my feminine name to her but this was the first time that she ever addressed me by it.  For a moment I was speechless, not sure how to react to her unfamiliar mood.

I said, "Okay.  I'll just go into the bedroom and..."

"No."  She cut me off in mid-sentence.  "You'll do it right here.  Or would you rather have me reveal your naughty little secret to some select people?"

"What?  No!  Don't do that."

"First of all, watch the tone of your voice.  I'm sure Belle doesn't sound like that.  Ask again, but let me hear her say it."

What was going on?  I cleared my throat and, all wispy and soft, said, "Please don't do that, Dee."

"That's better.  Now, keep talking that way until I tell you differently."  She appeared to be waiting for an answer.

"Yes, dear."

"Try on the gift I gave you."

Feeling uneasy, I got out of my undershirt and lounge pants.  There I stood, in front of the Christmas tree, naked.  She took her phone and surprised me by snapping a picture.  I brought my hands up but it was too late.  I keep myself in good shape and have an average size penis, so it wasn't that I was ashamed of anything specific.  It was only that I didn't like being naked in front of her, in the middle of the living room, under those circumstances.  I lifted the lightweight bit of sleepwear off of its bed of red tissue paper and out of the shallow box.  It was pink and had a tiny bow that would lie just below the hollow of my neck.  I slipped it over my head.  The act was familiar but I had never done it with anyone watching before.  The cherished sensations of thin material wafting down over my bare skin was exciting, despite my discomfort.  It made my cock pulse.  As the garment slid down and settled into place, my wife took another picture.

"Give me a few poses, Belle," she ordered.  "Girly ones."

My cheeks grew warm.  I bit my lips.  It didn't seem like she had decided to participate in my fantasy in a positive way.  This was something sinister.  I gripped the bottom of the nightie and held it out to the sides.  Then I turned to a quarter if the way around and bent forward, so it rode up in back.  Finally, I held my hands over my chest, as if I was hiding female breasts.  Each time, she captured another image.

"Good girl," she congratulated.  Setting the camera aside, she approached me.  "What's the matter, Belle?  Am I making you nervous?"

"Sort of.  Yes."

"Let me do something to relax you."  Her hands came up, so she could get her fingers against my nipples.  "I know you're sensitive here.  Normally I don't touch you this way because it makes you seem less manly.  But now that's the way I want it to be."  She stroked me through the barely-there material.  "Doesn't it feel good?"

There was no point in lying, especially since my breathing had accelerated.  "Yes, dear."

Her thigh went between mine and rubbed my cock.  Damn it, she was getting me hard.  When I was fully erect, she stepped back, retrieved her phone, and caught me with a hard-on sticking out against what I was wearing, visible through it.  Dee chuckled.

She told me, "That's enough photographic evidence for now.  Can I trust you to be a good girl and not try to touch my phone?  Or should I send those shots to someone for safekeeping?  Like my good friend, Jessica?"

"No.  Not her."  My voice had gotten less Belle-like.  I adjusted it back into the girlish range and said, "Please don't do that.  You know she doesn't like me."

"True.  She thinks I could have married someone better."

"She might share the pictures with someone else."

"Like Luke?"

"OMG," I shrilled.  "Not him."  I sounded like a panicky girl.

"Why not?  Because I dated him a few times back in school?"

"Well... yes," I said breathily.  "He's still unhappy that I ended up marrying you."

"Um hum," she said without inflection.  "I ran into him recently and what you said is very true."

"You...?"

"Don't get your panties all in a bunch, Belle.  It was just a happy coincidence.  He invited me to have a cup of coffee at that cafe I like, and it turned into lunch."

"A lunch date?"

"It wasn't planned, so it doesn't count as a date."

"I..."  Standing there like that, with her in possession of those photos, I couldn't muster the willpower to disagree with her.   Instead, I told her, "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to make an accusation.  It's just that..."

She waved aside my attempt at further discussion.  "Let's go into the bedroom, Belle.  I want to help you complete your look.  Let's see how you are as my girlfriend, instead of my husband."

"Well..."  Again, I was incapable of standing up for myself.  "All right."

With her phone in one hand, she took my wrist in the other, to walk me into our bedroom.  Dee sat me at her vanity table, in the white, scroll-back chair.  I saw myself in the mirror, wearing an apprehensive expression, in the nightie, with my hairless chest shown off, nipples still hard.  How turned on had she gotten me?  My wife went to work with her cosmetics.  I never did that myself, always afraid there would be some circumstance in which someone needed to see me, some minor emergency.  My thinking was somewhat irrational but, when you've been hiding your private passion since your early teens, you develop those sorts of defense mechanisms.  The transformation she wrought, with foundation, eye shadow, a double set of false lashes, blush and lipstick, was startling.  Dee also tousled my hair and sprayed it with some holding product.  I experienced a dizzying sense of loss of identity.  She had brought my Belle side very much to the forefront, to the point where I seemed weightless, almost as if drugged.

She had me stand and declared, "I'm going to get some shots of you being seductive.  Lie on the bed, Belle."

Foolishly, I asked, "Do I have to?"

Her answer was a condescending stare.  I got atop the bedspread, being careful not to disarrange it.  Without being told to, I drew up my legs and wrapped my arms around them, keeping my feet in front of my crotch, hiding both my flat chest and male genitals.  I wondered how convincingly female I would be in the resulting image.  A warm flush suffused me.  Dee had gotten me into a different state of mind.  Running on automatic, I got up on my knees and put my hands behind my head.  Then I switched to being on all fours and gave the camera my best come-hither face.  I stayed the way and slowly licked my lips, tasting the lipstick.  Finally, I got up on my knees again, facing away from her, knowing that I was showing off my bottom.  Then I looked back over my shoulder, offering a sly smile.  I was contributing to the suggestive images, potentially being complicit in my own downfall.  If Jessica ever saw those pictures or, heaven forbid, Luke did, I could barely image what would follow.

"That was good," my wife opined.  "You're a natural, Belle.  Cute, with a touch of sluttiness."

That made me feel ashamed.  My dressing had never involved thinking of myself that way.  Well, cute but never trashy.

Not wanting to upset Dee, I said, "Thank you."

"Now, how about if you clean around the house?  And wash the dishes in the sink.  Put on the ruffled apron you'll find hanging in the pantry."

I wasn't familiar with that piece of protective clothing.  Had she bought it just for this occasion?  Was all this something that my wife had been planning?  I got into the very girly apron, ran the vacuum cleaner and did some straightening up, then began the dishes.  I tried to mentally sort out everything that had happened, but was in too much of a tizzy to do it.  When the dishes were all in the drainer, I went to find Dee, who was in the bathroom getting a shower.  She stepped out of the tub, naked and glistening.

"Dry me," was all she said.

Grabbing a big fluffy towel, I began to gently rub her body.  Through the towel I could feel her curves.  It excited me and I was afraid I'd get hard again.  By that point I could have used some relief from so much arousal, but knew better than to suggest anything.

She said, "I'm going to get dressed.  You can do a quick clean-up of the bathroom, before my guests arrive."

"Guests?"  I was flabbergasted.  "How soon?  I have to change back into my own clothes."

"Those are your own clothes now.  After you're done in here, you can lose the apron, dig into your sissy stash and find a nice pair of stockings to put on.  And panties, if you can come up with a good match for the nightie.  Plus, shoes.  I assume you can walk in fairly high heels."  I nodded.  "Fine.  I'll touch up your face and you'll be all ready."

"But," I whispered desperately, "you can't let anyone see me like this?"

"Why not?  It's your preferred way to dress, Belle.  I'm sure who is coming will be very pleased with what they see."

In a last-ditch attempt at gaining her sympathy, I pleaded, "Please let me have my male clothes."

"That's not going to happen.  Now do your work and don't take up any more of my time.  You can come to the bedroom when you're done."

As she left, wrapped in a big towel, I stood there sobbing.  Trying to think of a way out of my dilemma, I did a perfunctory job of cleaning.  Then I returned the apron to its place and went to the bedroom.  Dee was getting dressed in red stretch-slacks and a bulky green sweater, looking seasonal in those holiday colors.  I waited silently while she used a blow dryer on her hair.  Then she snapped her fingers and pointed to the small dresser that she had bought for my dress-up items.  I went to it and found some pale pink stockings and matching panties.  She came and plucked the panties from my hand.  Going into the drawer from which they'd come, she exchanged them for a pair that were the same color, but transparent.  When she held them out to me, all I could think of was that anyone who saw me in those would also see my lack of pubic hair, my male parts, and if they were behind me, my bottom.  By that time, the futility of arguing with her was all too obvious.  I meekly accepted the flimsy bit of lingerie.  Stepping into the panties, I worked them up my smooth legs.  Their touch made me shiver with pleasure.  Then I sat on the edge of the bed to don my stockings.  Finally, I selected a pair of shoes with two-inch spike heels and held them up for her approval.

"Those will do," she decided.

I got them on and my wife had me stroll around, to assure her that I wouldn't totter or stumble.  When she was satisfied, she directed me back to the vanity table.  This time she added darker eye shadow, and used lip liner to make my mouth really pop.  I couldn't stop staring at my image in the mirror.  At last, she told me to go and put the dishes away.  In the nightie, those shameful panties, the stockings, and heels, I walked through the house with a swish in my hips, legs shaped by the footwear, feeling out of place in my own home.  I wasn't Bill any more.  As I put the dishes into the cabinet and the dinnerware into the drawer, I was very aware of standing on heels.

Dee appeared, with her own face made-up and a sprig of plastic mistletoe behind her ear.  She inspected the room and decided it didn't need any additional cleaning at that moment, but mentioned that I would be doing more housecleaning soon, and for the foreseeable future.  She got comfortable in the living room, and stationed me at the front door, in anticipation of someone's arrival.  I was a bundle of nerves as I waited.  When the bell rang unexpectedly, my body jerked.

My wife called to me, "Open the door, girl."

I did and waiting to come in was my old nemesis, Jessica.  Her outfit was a black sweater, dark jeans, and high boots.  She eyed me up and down and laughed out loud.  I cringed.  After she entered, I silently closed the door.

"Look at you, Miss Pansy Panties.  I always said you were a poor specimen of manhood.  Now I can see that I was being too generous.  There's no manhood in you.  I'm glad Dee finally came to her senses."

My wife walked up to her and they embraced.  Dee made me turn around slowly, so her friend could see my humiliating appearance from every side.  I wanted to run away and hide.  Jessica is short and busty.  Very busty.  Not the type guys want to marry, but definitely a candidate for one-night stands and sex when they were between girlfriends.  I guess that was part of why she had a bad attitude toward me, because I wanted to be one of those guys, but couldn't muster the force of personality required to bed her.  Therefore, she lacked respect for me.  And she held it against me that I had married Dee, who was the type guys wanted to date, hoped to seduce, but understood might be too good for them.  It was complicated yet, if you thought about it, all made sense.

Jessica stepped so close to me that her thrusting bust touched the lower portion of my chest.  I'm sure it was obvious to her, how uncomfortable she was making me.  I shifted my feet but didn't dare to move away.  She patted me on the side of the face, a gesture that could have been considered friendly under other circumstances, but was more of a declaration of superiority at that moment.

Dee broke the spell by saying, "How about if Belle fetches us some drinks?  There's wine and beer, or 7-and-7s, if you trust her to mix one."

"Wine is fine.  Whatever kind you're drinking, Dee."

My wife told me, "Two white wines for us, princess.  And for you, how about... nothing."

I could have used a drink right then.

Jessica added, "And make sure to use stemmed glasses," as if I was too stupid to get it right.

Hurrying off to the kitchen, unable to keep a wiggle out of my walk, I heard my wife's girlfriend send a wolf whistle after me.  My one consolation was that there was only a single guest.  I poured their wine and took a glass in each hand.  When I returned, Jessica lectured me on proper walking and made me practice, while still carrying the drinks.  Then I had to bend over at the waist to deliver them, except that I was made to repeat the motion a half dozen times before it was declared acceptable.  At last, I was allowed to finish what should have been a simple task.

As you might guess, my trial was not over.  Dee had me recreate some of the poses I had assumed for her camera.  As if that wasn't bad enough, Jessica used her own camera, moving around to snap me from a variety of angles.  She kept up a steady barrage of insults aimed at my appearance, voice, and lack of machismo.  She was at last slowing down when the doorbell rang again.  I froze.

"Move it," Dee snapped at me.  "Don't leave them standing on the porch, whoever it is."

Wishing that at least my panties weren't see-through, I went and opened the door.  Sneering at me was my wife's EX-boyfriend, Luke.  He was short like Jessica, broad in the shoulders, and dressed in a navy-blue T-shirt and worn jeans, along with heavy work shoes.

"Look at you," he said with a laugh, making no attempt to enter.   Someone passing by might see me.  "All dressed up and no boy to kiss."

"Please come in."  I couldn't raise my voice above a whisper.  I stepped aside.  He hesitated but then passed by me.  I gratefully closed the door behind him.

"Hey, handsome," my wife said to him, crossing the room with open arms.  The embraced warmly.  She offered him a drink and he said a beer would be fine.

Dee had made me pick up a sixpack, which I now understood was for him.  I scurried away and came back to find him sitting very close to Dee on the sofa.  My hand shook as I passed the can to him.  He popped the top and took a long swallow.

"That hit the spot," he declared.  Turning his attention back to me, he went on, "I'll bet you want some guy to hit your spot, don't you, Bill?"

Jessica corrected, "He likes to be called Belle now."

"Ha!  That's good.  Belle of the ball.  Or Belle trying to get balled.  Want to sit on my lap, hot pants?"

"No thank you, Sir," I answered respectfully, praying that he wouldn't insist.

"Maybe next time.  I mean, if Dee invites me back."

"Luke," she told him, "you know you're always welcome in our house."

That stung me.  He was not someone I wanted to see at all, let alone on a regular basis.  He swiveled his upper body to face Dee and ogled her with undisguised lust.

He said, "I wish me and Jessica didn't have to get to the party so soon.  It might be more fun to stay here with you two."

"Where is it at?" Dee wanted to know.

"Out at that bar, Boston Charlie's.  It's not near anything, so no one ever bothers us, except when the Kelly boys stop in."

"Yeah," seconded Jessica.  "Always looking for a fight.  They'd like to deck us all at Boston Charlie's."

Just the thought of being in such a place disturbed me.  If I was forced to go there as Belle, it would be disastrous.

Luke finished his beer and tossed me the empty.  I was barely able to catch it.  He ordered me to take the it to our recycle can.  I did and, when I got back, he and Jessica were at the door, about to depart.  A wave of relief washed through me, but it was short-lived.  My wife went to Dee and spoke to him, sotto voce.  I couldn't hear what she said, but it made him grin.  They shared a goodbye kiss that was too intimate and went on too long.  Then he gave me a broad wink.

After they were gone, Dee said, "Luke will be back for New Year's Eve.  Right now, let's you and I have a nice quiet evening alone, in the bedroom.  I need to explain a few things to you, about what our love-lives are going to be like from now on.  You enjoy being a girl so much that maybe acting like my lesbian lover will appeal to you, too.  If it doesn't... too bad."