Chapter 1: Changed

Okay, I admit it: I’m a lot happier now. Which just proves that I’m not a real man at all. My name is Gianna and I deserve to be treated like the domestic servant and sex slave I’ve become.

I used to be John, husband and father, a respected member of the community, and a successful business consultant. When I lost my job at age 58, I got pretty depressed and quickly lost confidence in my ability to find employment. Fortunately, my wife Cathy was up for a promotion, so I offered to take over the domestic duties that she had mostly done, giving her the ability to take on the additional responsibility, and we avoided suffering too much financially. Our daughter Emma had just started college and was living on campus, so it was only the two of us to take care of.

I noticed the change in Cathy right away. Her new position as director of HR gave her a lot more authority, which not only made her happier, but also more confident and assertive. I found it exciting; it was wonderful to see her blossoming in a way. that made her more attractive than ever.

Cathy had always been pretty, but now, at age 49, she had filled out and become sexy in a different way. Her slim, lithe figure of old had become softer, fuller, and curvier. She still turned heads, despite her conservative demeanor and attire, but not as the hot chick she had once been; now she was a total MILF.

I had changed too, of course, and was now pretty soft myself. As our sex life had waned over the previous decade, I had chalked it up to the normal aging process. But since becoming unemployed, I had begun to feel distinctly less confident in my masculinity. And now I saw Cathy as being virtually out of reach, which her rebuffs of my occasional feeble advances seemed to confirm. I was convinced that I didn’t have what it took to satisfy a woman like her. I resorted to masturbation as my only sexual outlet, fantasizing about Cathy lustily taking a “real” man to bed.

She had, years before, told me some of her fantasies, like being seduced by an older man and being fucked by black men. Now, I imagined, this was a real possibility - she had the looks for it after all - and it made me hard to picture it in my mind as I stroked myself to orgasm.

Things changed quite a lot over the next two years. As I became more and more addicted to masturbating, my fantasies got more extreme. I was now jacking off to stories of cuckoldry, sissification, and submissive gay sex, and imagining Cathy as a dominating “hot wife.”

The other change was in my self-image. After thinking of myself as simply inadequate as a man, both sexually and as a breadwinner, I realized I had become quite competent in my domestic role. I began to enjoy my chores, which had a real positive effect, noticeably improving my mental health (although that may be debatable in light of how things unfolded). What I mean is, I had been pretty depressed at fist, but I had developed a kind of feminine persona that I adopted as I went about my daily tasks and that helped me get over the blues. It made me absurdly happy to think of myself as a maid; I pretended I was a young woman employed as our domestic servant. And it dovetailed nicely with my masturbatory fantasies, which I would usually indulge in as a reward for completing each day’s chores, and were increasingly not just about Cathy being fucked by big-dicked virile men, but also of myself as another object of their manly lust.

As soon as Cathy left for work in the morning, I would take off my pants and put on an old apron I had found in the broom closet. I would tease my cock, keeping it hard much of the time as I cleaned the house, did the washing, or worked in the kitchen. On laundry days, I enjoyed handling Cathy’s dirty clothes; they smelled like her. Soon I started wearing her panties. They made me feel more feminine and helped with my housemaid fantasy. It was exciting to go grocery shopping wearing a pair of her soiled panties under my jeans. I wondered what people would think if they knew. Especially the men; there were some nice guys who stocked shelves or worked in the meat department. I started to have fantasies about going into the stock room with them to suck their cocks. I dreamed of becoming known to them as a sissy cocksucker for anyone to use.

It was around this time that I discovered the Large Penis Support Group website. I drooled over members’ photos of their huge cocks and started to dream of learning how to take them down my throat. I bought a big, long dildo and practiced with it. Soon I was able to stuff its full length into my mouth and fuck my throat with it. Not only did I learn to suppress my gag reflex, but I also found it extremely pleasurable to feel the head slipping in and out of my esophagus. I even posted a short video of myself throating myself with it. And I started chatting with some of the owners of the cocks that attracted me most. That’s how I met Rex.

Rex had posted several pics of himself showing off his amazingly big, gorgeous cock. He looked like he was about my age - turned out to be two years younger - but he was taller and more muscular, with a rugged, outdoorsy look. Best of all was his beautiful cock that made me weak in the knees whether it was hard or soft. Even flaccid, he bragged it was over 7 inches long.

When we video-chatted, he made me show him my panties and I loved the way he ordered my around, making me masturbate while I stared at his throbbing erection. He made me beg him to let me suck him off and I got so excited that I came really fast. He told me to catch my cum in my hand and then he made me eat it.

“You love the taste of cum, don’t you, you fucking sissy fag,” he said as I deliriously tasted cum for the first time, reveling in submissive ecstasy. “You wish it was my cum,” he added, reading my mind. It was true. I wanted with all my being to be his personal cum dump and I told him so. From then on, I ate my cum every time I masturbated, dreaming of the day I would taste another man’s cum.

It was on our next chat a few days later that we discovered we lived only a few miles apart. We exchanged phone numbers and set up a meeting at a nearby McDonald’s. Under my jeans I wore a dirty pair of Cathy’s panties. They were becoming damp as I waited impatiently for Rex in a booth with my hard cock dripping.

Seemingly out of nowhere, he suddenly appeared and sat down beside me on the bench, bumping me roughly aside as he made room for himself. I felt his body heat; his muscular arm and leg pressed against my noticeably softer and smaller limbs. I blushed. I smelled his aftershave and his masculine musk. I was near to trembling with excitement. I spilled some of my coffee, making a little puddle on the table.

I glanced at his face - he looked good, clean-shaven, but with the slight shadow of a full, rough beard - and then quickly lowered my eyes; the powerful gaze of his piercing brown eyes made me feel vulnerable. “Thank you for coming,” I said feebly, needing to break the tension.