Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, CrossDressing, Wimp Husband, DomSub, FemaleDom, Humiliation, .
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A young woman with a good job is funding her wimp husband's PhD studies. He is lazy and unappreciative. On discovering that at his university there is a Sissy Club where the members are taught how to do housework, she decides to enrol him. However, he has to be a sissy.
Paying for Pat to return to university and finish the Masters in botany he'd stupidly abandoned, then do his PhD, was not a problem. I'd been promoted again, and with the salary and bonuses I was getting now I would hardly notice his fees and his expenses.
What I did have a problem with was his attitude. Like that morning, when he had mumbled, 'What do you mean you'll be working and I won't? Studying and doing research is working.'
He'd still been in bed, of course. I was sitting at the dressing-table getting ready to hurry off to my office. I glanced at him in the mirror, caught his eye, raised my eyebrows.
'All I asked was that you prepare my breakfast for me and, after I leave, tidy up a bit. It's not as though you've actually started at the university again yet.'
'I'm sorry. I did mean to get your breakfast, only it was so nice and warm in bed and – well, you know. Would you have got up if you didn't have to?'
I declined to answer that.
'Anyway, I'm not much good at that sort of thing, you know that.'
It was true he had no aptitude for housework. If he could drop and break something, he did. If he tidied things away, they would never be found again. He burnt toast, boiled eggs rock hard –
'We should get a maid, ' he said, brightly.
'And pay her with what? Oh, you mean instead of paying for you to go back to university?'
'Whoops! Sorry! I just meant – '
I wasn't interested. I hurried off to my waiting car, ignoring the kiss he blew after me.
When I came home that evening, he was out. Better. I needed some peace and quiet, and a drink, before I started in the kitchen.
On the table in the sitting-room were two letters from the university. He had opened them but, by the look of it, found nothing of interest.
I glanced through them, then sat down to my drink with a booklet describing the various clubs, societies, circles, groups and student organisations recognised by their Students' Union.
He wasn't interested in anything much. There were a couple linked to his subject that he might join: the University Botanical Garden group; the Rainforest Exploration and Conservation Society – he was hardly the intrepid type but he might manage to attend their meetings; the Fens Study Group ... I skimmed through the rest. Idly, amused, I read the information about one called the Sissy Club – then sat up with a jolt. They taught the sissies housework.
For more information, there was a phone number and an email address.
Pat wasn't a sissy, well not obviously so – I mean no one would snigger and mutter "Look at that sissy over there!" (I would never have married him if he had been) – but if he could learn housework by attending their meetings and pretending to be a sissy then – wow! I was all for it.
I phoned the number in the booklet and got a man who sounded anything but a sissy. He asked me what my relationship with the sissy was. I said I was his wife, and added that I was funding his studies.
'Perfect, ' he said, and went on – his voice sounding now much happier and more relaxed – to say that if I would give him my email address he would send me all the details immediately.
I asked him his name. 'I like to know who I am giving my email address to, ' I explained.
Ma'am? 'OK, Henry. Have you got a pen?' I told him the address, thanked him, and turned on my laptop.
The first thing I noticed when I opened the email was that Pat wouldn't be able to learn only housework. Even with "Basic" enrolment, he would still have to be far more involved in the club than that.
"Basic" was actually:
Enrolment under a sissy name, with a basic minimum attendance of two evenings per week and one Saturday per month (days and dates to be fixed by the Club, not the sissy). Learning basic housework skills, including, but not limited to, cleaning the house, making the beds and doing the bedrooms, doing the washing and ironing, cleaning the bathrooms and toilets, doing all the kitchen chores apart from cooking, which, like gardening, is a special skill and not taught at "Basic" level. Wearing their sissy uniform and makeup at all times in the Club. The uniform is supplied by the Club, but sissies have to take them home with them and keep them spotlessly clean. Sissies are also expected to wear high heels (3" minimum) and large dangly earrings; these are not supplied by the Club. All sissies must keep their whole bodies completely depilated at all times. The only hair permitted is head hair, and that should be left to grow.
I smiled to myself, wondering what exactly the sissy uniform consisted of, and how he would react to the news that he had to keep his body shaved all over and wear makeup and high heels. Just the thought of it made my nipples swell up and I felt myself wiggling and getting wet. This was going to be fun.
Hold on! I could find a sissy uniform on the internet.
Oh, look at that! French sissy maid. Sweet sissy maid. And that! Sexy sissy maid! Any of those uniforms would humiliate him beyond bearing – and beyond recovery once he got used to it. And he would have to bring his home with him. I could make him wear it in the house, too. Not all the time, of course, but some of the time – most of the time, once he started doing all the housework. All the time, in fact.
He wouldn't need men's clothes any more. Yes, he would, when he went out. Well, perhaps he could go to the local shops in sissy-maid uniform, but for university? Would the other students know he was a member of the sissy club?
I was getting carried away.
But I needed to know, to plan.
I phoned the Club again. 'Henry? This is Deanna Bellingham.'
'I'm sorry to trouble you again – '
'No trouble, ma'am. Please, go ahead. What is it you wish to know?'
'I was wondering whether the other students following the same courses as a sissy – and the lecturers – whether they know he is a sissy. I mean, does he wear his sissy uniform in public?'
'The uniform, no, not normally. Some do wear makeup and earrings and so on, make it obvious they are sissies. Others wear a special T-shirt we sell which says I'M A MEMBER OF THE SISSY CLUB, or simply SISSY CLUB.'
I laughed. I liked that.
'And others keep it secret, some of them right the way through,.'
'You do, of course, ma'am.'
'Well, if he has a mother or a sister or something – or a dominant male, a father or brother, for instance – you can consult them.'
'But not him. The sissy himself, I mean.'
'No, of course not. The sissy does what he's told. Absolute obedience is inculcated into them from the very first day.'
'I see. I like that.' This Henry intrigued me. Was I getting this information straight from the horse's mouth? 'Are you a sissy, Henry?'
'Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry if I didn't make that clear.'
'Make it clear? You didn't even hint at it.'
'No, ma'am. I'm sorry.'
'And why do you say "them" when you speak of sissies, rather than "us"?'
'No reason, ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am.'
'You were just being silly.'
I loved this. But what a discovery! 'Then perhaps you would stop being silly for a moment and tell me how to get started – save me having to read all this bumph.'
'Of course, ma'am. Is – is this sissy recognised to be a sissy? I mean does everyone know he's a sissy, and treat him as one?'
'No. No, I wouldn't say that.'
'Then the first thing you have to do is work through the Preliminary Sissy Test to see whether he is in fact a sissy.'
'Oh, no! You mean if he doesn't pass it, he can't enrol in the sissy club?'
'Not immediately, no. They only accept sissies.'
'What do you mean, "not immediately"?'
'You would have to enrol him at a sissification centre – '
'You mean he can be made into a sissy? Turned into one – even if he's not one by nature?'
'And how long would that take?'
'They do two-week sessions. That's usually quite enough for a borderline case. Someone a bit more macho would need a month – two sessions. A real alpha male would need three, or even four – that's eight weeks.'
'But after that he'd be a real sissy?'
'Oh, yes. They can turn a great hairy muscle-bound wife-beating brute into a slender little cry-baby who wouldn't say boo to a sparrow let alone a goose.'
'Is that what happened to you?'
'No, ma'am. I've always been a sissy. I was in the sissy club at my school before I ever came to university.'
'You had a sissy club at your school? Oh, I like that. Well, I've got things to do, I can't spend all evening listening to your nonsense.'
'No, ma'am. I'm sorry.'
'I'll get back to you later.'
'Yes, ma'am, I'll be waiting.'