Basket Ball Player gets forced feminized by wife
I've always been a pretty good basketball player. Granted I'm
small, only five foot six inches tall, and I'm pretty frail, but
I've used that as a motivational tool. As a child I was often
picked on and bullied, so I ended up playing by myself an awful
lot. Since I could never hope to dunk or fly through the air in
a act of magnificent athleticism, I concentrated on my shot and
my dribble. Over the years, I developed quite a deadly outside
shot, and my range is fairly prolific. I like to think that when
my game is on I can drop my shot from just about anywhere on the
court during a half court set. I played a little ball in college,
and even made it up to first team my senior year, winning the
conference sixth man award for my ability to come off the bench
at crucial moments and drain a three from way out in the corner.
Still I never maintained any illusions that I could play pro ball,
my frail frame (at my heaviest, I only weigh about 120 lb.) and
short stature made sure that I would be all but forgotten at draft
time. With this in mind I used my skills for what they could get
me, an undergraduate degree in computer engineering and then enough
local fame to translate this degree into a position as a software
engineer for a state company, and a beautiful if bitchy wife who
stands about six inches taller than me. I would say the game treated
me well enough and I have always been happy with my success. My
basketball prowess is pretty much limited now to pickup games
I play at the local Y. Yes I am still routinely passed over in
picking teams, at least until people get to know me.
Along with my public prowess on the court, I have another more
secret past time I like to pursue. You see, when I was a little
boy, my step-sister use to dress me up in her clothes as a means
of punishing and humiliating me. Even after I grew and began to
play high school ball, my step-sister maintained a psychological
grip on me. Though always bigger than me, I suppose I didn't have
to go along with her demands. After all I stood up to power forwards
all the time on the court, I certainly could have stood up to
her. the fact is I didn't. She knew exactly the way to talk to
me, to embarrass me, to threaten me in a way that would make me
do what she wanted. And what she wanted were usually small things.
She made me wear a g-string panty under my gym shorts to the state
high school championship game. She said she did it so that even
if I hit the game winning shot I would still be able to feel that
string of tight nylon scraping against my hole, I would know that
I was just her little bitch.
The power of childhood conditioning is enormous. When my step-sister
died in a car accident my freshman year in college (she was drunk
at the wheel) my first reaction was to finally feel free of her
torment. But as time passed, as I was no longer "forced"
to dress as a girl by my step-sister, I found I was just as mentally
compelled to do so as if my step-sister were still alive taunting
me and threatening to expose me to the town paper with pictures
she had taken. I got an erotic charge out of dressing up, and
through collage, I began to collect different articles of female
clothing. As I grew up poor, my college dormitory was the only
safe haven I had. I often had close calls, when I would just manage
to pull a sweatshirt over my head covering up the black lacy training
bra I was wearing as my room mate entered the room.
Still I never was caught, and in my mind, my fetish was a harmless
enough diversion. On Halloweens I would often dress as a girl
and go to school parties. In these atmospheres, my deviant behavior
was viewed as normal college fun, and sometimes I could even manage
to dance with a few of the guys on my basketball team. I acted
for all I was worth like the team clown, and they were happy to
play along, thinking all the while that I was just goofing around
- joking. Little did they know ho much time I would spend styling
my shoulder length blond hair, applying eye liner just so, and
picking out the perfect dress to compliment my nearly hairless,
lithe young body, to look good for them.
I have to brag a bit, and tell you I looked good. I know, this
it is common for cross dressers to think they have pulled off
passing, when really they fool no one but themselves, but I am
a special and lucky case. As evidenced by my success on the court,
I have a strong athletic facility characterized by balance and
grace of movement. My moves to the hoop were described as balletic
by our State School's newspaper, and I must admit they are. I
have the gift of physical self awareness in that I am always conscious
of how my body fits into the space around me. I have a pretty
face, triangular in shape with high cheekbones. Because I lack
the large jaw or square head that most often screams male, I am
able to style my androgynous looking face to appear as female
as the next girl. Certainly it takes me more effort than the average
girl, but once that work is done, it is difficult to tell the
sparkle in my delicate blue eyes from those of a genuine ingenue
batting her eyelashes. When I add a practiced smile, developed
from hours of primping in front of the mirror, the illusion becomes
complete, and not even a leap of faith is required to convince
yourself that you are staring into the face of a remarkably beautiful,
if a bit unusual, girl.
I considered my compulsion to dress a harmless one as far as
compulsions go. I knew many people in our small town in trouble
with the law, or worse, because of compulsive gambling or drinking
habits. My private dressing seemed remote from the real world,
a play fantasy I enacted. The closest to reality my dressing ever
came is the phone sex calls I made to a number I found in the
back of a magazine. While on the phone with these professional
women, I would divulge my fantasy of dressing up and getting caught
by my wife. We would role play, and the phone girl would pretend
to get very upset at me, and then let the bitch in her come right
out. In my fantasy, I was humiliated in the way my sister had
trained me to be. I was called names, like slut and bitch, fairy
and cocksucker, as I was led through a story in which different
men ravished me and used me as their whore. I never thought much
of it and thought I was careful to conceal it from my wife. As
I paid all the bills in my house and worked at home, the thought
of actually being caught never really crossed my mind. I was always
the first to gather the mail, no matter what.
The subconscious is a powerful thing however. The more you play
a fantasy out in your head, the closer you come to making it happen.
If you were to ask me, "Would you like for your wife to catch
you dressing up and expose you for the closet fairy that you are?"
I would have of course answered in the negative, but the truth
is something in me that must have wanted precisely that to happen.
I left the phone bill on the counter. I have no idea why I did.
I swear it was a mistake, an accident, but Freud always said there
are no accidents. What is the most amazing about it, is that I
thought of myself as very careful all the time. I never touched
my wife's clothing, I used a stash of my own that I kept locked
in a trunk in the attic. I was always careful to call another
number after phone-sex, so if my wife ever decided to use the
radial feature of our phone all she would get was my parents house,
or the library. generally I paid the phone bill, with evidence
of the numbers I called, and the credit card bills, with evidence
of the clothing I bought, on the day they arrived, and immediately
I would throw the bills away. Why I left that particular phone
bill on the table I can never tell you, but you can be damn sure
I didn't get away with my little 'accident'.
"You little bitch." is what my wife said to me as I
walked in from the gym. I was a little startled, taken aback,
but immediately aroused. "Excuse me." I said in a tone
that I am sure sounded far less innocent than I intended. "Don't
play me for a fool, you faggot whore. I found your phone bill,
it was right here on the counter. I was looking through it innocently
enough, when I noticed all of these long distance calls to Los
Angeles. I thought to myself, gee, Alex and I don't know anyone
from Los Angeles, so I decided to call the number."
I admit, I was in shock. As I said, I never consciously intended
for her to catch me, I had not even been aware that I had left
the bill out. I was a little disturbed, but still confident that
my service wouldn't have told my wife anything about me. "So
. . . " I asked nervously, waiting to hear the damage.
"So! So!!! All you can say is so? I'll tell you so. So, I
called this number expecting to find some business partner of
yours, in my wildest delusions I was fearing some type of girlfriend.
Little did I know." "Little did you know?" My voice
was trembling now. "Little did I know that you WERE the girlfriend,
you little bitch." My wife had her arms crossed across her
breasts, pushing them up a little against the tight confines of
her yellow cashmere sweater. As I said, my wife is a full six
inches taller than me, a large, strong woman, with platinum blonde
hair, big breasts, and long, toned legs. The sight of her glaring
at me like that was frightening. She was completely in control,
and I began to feel more and more diminutive in her presence.
"They didn't tell you." I squeaked. "They did tell
me. They told me everything. I talked to a lovely woman named
Misty, you do know Misty don't you." I looked at my wife
and tried to think of a way out of the situation. Misty, as she
called herself, was my regular phone girl and I had told her my
deepest and darkest fantasies, my most intimate secrets. I thought
I could trust her of course, but how naive was that.
"Yes." I said slowly "I know Misty." My head
was down. I was staring at the black, knee high riding boots,
my wife had taken to wearing. "You better look me in the
eye when I speak to you bitch. Is that clear!" My wife said
in a flat tone, that made her all the more intimidating. I snapped
my head up and looked her in the eye. I was ashamed by the fact
that my erection was growing.
"That's better cunt. Anyway . . . " My wife's voice
was suddenly light and airy, a singsong like melody. "Anyway,
Misty and I had a long talk about you. She thought you wouldn't
mind, seeing as how your just a submissive, little, faggot whore
anyway. Besides I don't think she really cared if you would mind.
What does it matter what you do and don't mind anyway. Does it
matter matter what you mind Alex?" She asked.
"I suppose it doesn't." I answered almost in a whisper."You
suppose it doesn't do you. Well you got that one right at least.
No, I suppose it doesn't matter what you mind and what you don't.
You have a lot of work to do to make this up to me you know. Imagine
my embarrassment. here I am thinking I married a man. A man to
care for me, to bring home the money, to make love to me. Sure
you are just a pathetic little weakling. Sure you are an embarrassment
of a man, particularly next to me, but still you were always my
embarrassment of a man. Even if you were pathetic in bed, you
always made nice big friends at the gym for me to fuck. Oh you
might as well know, I've been fucking your whole basketball team
- you're a running joke - didn't you know? But that's nothing
to concern you, you'll be much more embarrassed before I get through
with you. The point is, imagine what a position you put me in
when I found out that MY little pathetic excuse for a husband
was actually some other woman's bitch. That you called some STRANGER,
half way across the country and humiliated yourself in that way
to her. What would people think if they found out? What would
they think of ME. They could think that I couldn't control you.
What do you think of that?"
I couldn't speak. It was too much information. The fact that my
wife had found out about my cross dressing fantasies, the fact
that she knew I dreamed of acting like a little slutty girl, about
being fucked by men, the fact that I was a cuckold, that she was
having sex with my 'friends' from the basketball team. I just
stared at her in shock. "So you have nothing to say for yourself."
She said authoritatively. "So you are, as I expected, nothing
but a little, panty-slut. Is that it?" I found some courage,
from where I have no idea.
"I really think you're making too big a deal out of this.
So I have some strange fantasies, so I called a phone sex line
to play them out. I mean is that the worst thing in the . . .
." I stopped speaking when my wife slapped me hard across
the face. "You had better learn to treat me with more respect.
You are not the one who sets the rules around here, do you understand?"
I nodded weakly.
"You are right about you having strange fantasies, but you
are dead wrong in thinking you can just get away with it. Your
friend Misty was nice enough to record a few of your conversations
for me." My wife retrieved a small tape recorder from her
purse. "Care to hear how you sound when you play your fairy,
cocksucker games?" She, of course, did not wait for a response
from me. Instead she pressed the play button and I heard my own
voice, the practiced effeminate voice I had mastered. I remembered
the conversation, it had only been a few weeks before. I had outlined
a new fantasy to Misty. It was centered around me being caught
by wife. I stood uncomfortably as I heard Misty mimic the voice
of a shocked and surprised lover on discovering her man dressed
in her panties and stockings. She forced me to admit what I was.
"I am a little panty bitch. I am a little cocksucking whore."
I heard my metallic voice called from the cassette player. My
wife shut the tape off.
"Strait from the faggot's mouth." She said. "Now
obviously, I have more of these, and I have every intention of
sending them to your employers, your friends, even your parents
if you do not do precisely what I say. But I don't think I even
need that threat, because from that last tape I understand this
is exactly what you wanted to have happen all along. You wanted
to get caught, didn't you. You wanted me to make you into the
little faggot, slut you only dreamed of being. I always wondered
about you. How you pretended that you needed to shave your legs
to play basketball. I accepted that, but I thought it was a little
odd how you needed to shave your armpits too. Well Alex, you're
in luck! I think this game will be fun, don't you. Now take off
I was shocked by the request. I thought she had every intention
of walking out on me. Even when the tape was playing I figured
that she would only use it to blackmail me for my money. I had
no idea the situation would progress so rapidly. I stripped my
clothes off without question, hoping in the back of my mind that
she was playing a game with me, that maybe she enjoyed this fantasy
too and had just decided to role play a little to get us both
really turned on. When I removed my shorts, my erect penis sprang
out at attention."And I wasn't wrong about either, you bitch.
See how turned on you are by your humiliation. You probably think
I'm going to let you fuck me now, that I am playing some sort
Well this is no game, and it will be a cold winter's night in
hell, before that pathetic little cock of yours ever touches this
pussy again. But I must admit I am enjoying this too. I have a
little idea. An idea that will get you all pretty like you need
to be, while letting me get off at the same time." My wife
reached into a shopping bag and pulled out the two pieces of a
tiny, little, white bikini. "You know Alex, fuck bitches
like you need to get a sexy tan for their men in the summer. Put
I didn't hesitate, I am ashamed to admit. The sight of that bikini
got me so turned on. It has always been a fantasy of mine to be
able to wear and fill out a hot sexy bikini bathing suit. I stepped
into the bikini bottom's; a tiny triangle of white fabric held
together by a string around the waist and another string that
ran up the ass. They could hardly contain my cock, and I looked
for all purposes like the joke I was. Still the feel of the thong
ticking my little, pink asshole raised my excitement. My wife
tapped her foot impatiently, and I took this as a sign to put
on the top. The top was barely more concealing than the bottom,
consisting this time of two triangles of white gauzy material,
each with a string that were meant to be tied above my head and
two others to be tied behind my back. When I was done, I felt
like a Christmas present, what with all the bows and loose pieces
of bikini string hanging from my hips, neck and back. "Oh
don't you look good, almost like the perfect little whore, except
for that pathetic excuses for a penis poking out where it shouldn't.
We'll have to do something about that." My wife said reaching
for my cock. I was ecstatic. My wife was just playing a game with
me, I thought. How sweet she was to indulge my fantasies like
How wrong I was.
My wife grabbed my cock through the fabric of the bikini bottom
and brutally wrenched it downward between my legs. The pain and
the shock of her action was enough to erase any arousal I had
been experiencing, and I felt my erection shrivel. "You will
keep this pathetic thing hidden from sight, between the cheeks
of your little faggot ass." she said. I almost cried. I had
been so excited, so hopeful. The thought of my powerful wife bringing
me to a climax as I stood in front of her humiliated in a white
bikini had been almost too much to bear. I was terribly disappointed,
and also afraid of what was to come next. She looked at me and
laughed. "You thought I was going to play with that pathetic
excuse of a cock of yours? I'm afraid that is not going to happen.
No, I am afraid that you have lost the privilege of sex with me.
I always saw it as a burden, a simple obligation of marriage.
I am relieved I won't have to endure having sex with you anymore.
But don't think I am done with you. I will still use you for my
amusement, but first I have to get you ready." She motioned
to the sliding glass door that led out to the pool. "Outside
with you, we are going to get you nice and tanned."
I was nervous. I had hired a neighborhood boy, Jack, to clean
the pool once a week. He was a local misfit, always in trouble
with the law while in high school. Now nineteen, he was trying
to put his life into some type of order and did odd jobs for families
in our neighborhood. Still the powerful air of a hoodlum surrounded
him. He was strikingly handsome, tall and muscular, with tattoos
on his shoulders and sandy blonde hair. He had a faint scar that
ran under one eye, the cause of which was the source of much speculation
at the gym. Yes, he played ball at the gym. Though weak on finesse
skills, he played ferocious defense and could be counted on to
take down any smaller player like myself that made the mistake
of trying to drive to hoop on him. I remembered that he would
be arriving to clean the pool sometime that afternoon. "Oh
darling I can't." I whimpered to my wife. "Darling!?!"
She asked incredulously. "You refer to me as darling? I'm
afraid I am not anything close to your darling anymore. Don't
be a fool to underestimate my resolve to expose you if you do
not do exactly what it is that I ask of you." My wife held
the tape recorder in one hand and snapped a picture of me pathetically
standing in a white thong bikini, with a hand held camera in the
other. "Out to the pool with you, bitch."
I reluctantly walked out to patio, for once happy about the city
regulation that had required me to place a fence around the pool.
I was hidden from the view of the neighbors, and in the back of
my head I hoped that Jack would some how revert to his old irresponsible
ways and not show up to clean the pool as planned.
My wife laid me out on a reclining pool chair and ordered me to
spread baby oil over my body so that I would tan quicker and darker.
I lay like that in the hot sun, my body greased, the sun beating
down on my skin, tanning me except for the small, girlish triangles
the bikini hid from view. At one point I tried to roll onto my
side to avoid the embarrassing tan lines, and my wife slapped
me sharply on the exposed cheek of my ass.
"Its time for you to turn over anyway, I wouldn't want that
cute little ass of your to stay pale." I was ordered to rub
oil on the cheeks of my ass. My wife then forced me to get on
my knees and stick my ass cheeks in the air, while pressing my
face down against the chair. So the effect of this position was
that my back arched and my legs spread a little, forcing my ass
in the air so that sun struck it directly. I stayed like that
for what seemed like a long time, completely submissive, while
my lotioned ass tanned in the sun. My wife took a few more pictures
of me like that, and then went to the house to fix herself a drink."If
you have moved a muscle while I'm away, these pictures and the
tapes will go out to every last person you have ever known."
It wasn't very long afterwards that Jack arrived. I heard the
latch on the gate jiggle, and fought the urge to run to the house
and cover myself. I did not know which was worse, to be discovered
by Jack in this humiliating position, or to move and risk the
possibility that my wife would make good on her threat. I figured
that Jack was, after all, only one person, and only a boy at that.
I could deny it if I had to, and pretend as though Jack had made
the whole thing up. "What the fuck. " I heard Jack say
in his young, thick, masculine drawl. "Mr. Ross, what is
going on here? Is this a bad time, should I come back later?"
A sweet kid, I thought, despite his reputation. He had probably
seen far worse things while growing up.
"Yes, Jack, this is a therapeutic process I have to endure
for an old sports injury." I lied, my face pressed to the
chair, my ass still sticking up like a sissy, slut. "It's
very embarrassing, I hope this could just stay between the two
of us. Tell you what, it must have been an inconvenience for you
to come all the way over here. I'll pay you for today, and just
come back next week." I was not deluding myself that he would
believe me, but if I could get rid of him quickly I might have
a chance to buy him off later. I would double the amount I usually
paid him, and the two of us could have a heart to heart talk about
it when I was dressed more appropriately.
"Therapeutic process!" My wife cackled from behind me,
sliding the door to the house behind her. " The only therapy
this faggot needs is the kind that would convince him of his proper
role in life. Jack, do you know what his proper role is, do you
know what my pathetic little excuse for a husband really is?"
"N . . no Mrs. Ross." Jack answered.
"My husband is a little, sissy, faggot slut, and the only
thing he likes better than sticking his girly ass in the air,
is having it filled by a nice, big, hard cock. Isn't that right
Alex?" She demanded of me. I said nothing.
"Isn't that right!" She said, slapping my ass and taking
"Yes." I replied, almost in a whisper. Jack was giggling
"Tell the nice young man what you are. Say it!"
"I am a little, sissy, faggot, slut." I said, humiliated,
but utterly aroused.
"That's right you whore. Jack, see his little cock, see how
hard he is getting? Bitch, what's your favorite thing to play
with?" I knew what my answer was supposed to be and from
my wife's tone, there was no way I could avoid saying it.
"My favorite thing to play with is a big, hard, cock."
"You see Jack. You see what a little faggot he is. He's practically
begging you to fuck him like a whore, aren't you slut? Go, on,
beg Jack. Tell Jack how bad you want his cock." The funny
thing about the situation was that I really did want Jack's cock.
I was so enormously aroused, laid out like that, my ass in the
air, the sun burning bikini tan lines onto my body, my wife humiliating
me, and this big, strong man witnessing the whole event.
"Jack . . I . . . " "Oh don't pretend you're shy.
You're not shy on the telephone are you." My wife retrieved
her tape recorder and played a conversation of mine from a few
months ago, a conversation I had had as Jack had cleaned the pool
outside. I could hear my voice begging Misty to let me suck Jack,
to have him use me like a whore, and fuck me like a girl.
"You see Jack, didn't I tell you he was a little faggot whore.
I bet you never knew all that time you played ball with him at
the gym that he was just secretly hoping to fall to his knees
and suck on that nice, long, hard cock of yours, did you? Come
on over here, Jack, stand next to me for a second and just look
at this little slut." Jack walked over to my wife and she
laced her arms around his neck. She made me turn over and lay
on my back, so that Jack could take in the sight of me in my feminine
"Mrs. Ross. I don't know what game you and your husband play,
but I'm no faggot, and this whole scene is making me a little
uncomfortable. I think I better go." Jack said, trying to
pull away from her. She did something then that I had never seen
her do before. She kissed him long and passionately on the mouth,
letting her hand fall to caress the growing bulge in his shorts.
I of course had never seen my wife kiss another man intimately
like that, and the sight of her doing it only added to my humiliation.
"Don't worry, Jack." My wife cooed into his ear. "I
would never waste a man like you on a pathetic little excuse like
this faggot here. No Jack, I want you all to myself." and
with that she reached her hand down and began to massage Jack's
cock through his shorts. Jack gave her a quizzical smile, but
he got the picture quickly enough and placed his hand on my wife's
"That's right Jack, I'm going to treat you real good, just
like the man you are while this sissy slut watches." My wife
said falling to her knees. She pulled Jack's shorts to his ankles
exposing his penis, grabbing it in her hand she held the half
full member in front of my face, tantalizingly close to my lips.
"This is what you really want, isn't it Alex?" I could
only nod, as I watched her touch the flesh of another man, easing
the skin of Jack's cock back and forth above my face.
"That's right you whore, you want to suck this cock, don't
you, you want to be a little cock sucking bitch." Jack was
fully erect now, and from the look on his face, he was growing
more and more aroused. He closed his eyes and started muttering.
"Yes, that feels good. C'mon baby, suck it." he said.
My wife held his cock only a half inch from my mouth and gave
me a look. I knew what she expected. I opened my mouth and let
her ease the long, fleshy shaft between my lips. I could taste
the salty tang of Jack's pre-cum, and my mouth felt full as the
mushroom shaped head pressed into my tongue. Jack opened his eyes
and saw that it was me sucking him. He hesitated for a second,
but then smiled.
"That's a good bitch, suck that cock good, you faggot whore.
If I'm gonna get sucked by a sissy like you, you better do it
right." My wife squealed with pleasure as Jack began to ram
his hard penis into my mouth. I thought I would gag, and yet the
pleasure was intense. I was totally subservient, dressed only
in a little white bikini, completely emasculated in front of my
wife no less (actually by my wife) and yet I was loving it. Seeing
my hard cock, my wife got into the action.
"You little, fairy, slut! I thought I would be forcing you,
I thought it would take me weeks to break you to this point, and
here you are eagerly sucking cock like a high school tramp. You
fucking bitch, you little whore. Where did a pathetic little faggot
like you ever get off marrying a woman like me. Suck that cock
you fucking whore, suck it good, like the little slut you are."
Jack was grabbing me by the hair and pulling my head back, stretching
my neck and fucking my mouth with hard heavy strokes. I felt the
friction of his shaft pass over my wet lips and the fullness of
his banging into my throat. I thought I would gag when I felt
Jack begin to tense and thrust harder.
"Oh, come on his face, baby, come all over that little faggot
face for me." My wife implored, and Jack pulled his cock
from between my lips, grabbed my hand and forced me to stroke
him. "Beg me for it you little bitch." he said. I couldn't
control myself, I was totally overwhelmed. "Oh please Jack,
please, come on face, come on me like I was a little girl, use
me like a whore."
"Here it comes you faggot cocksucker, open wide." He
grunted. I opened my mouth and felt the first jets of hot come
shoot onto my face. It was warm and sticky and made me feel like
the whore I had become. Jack came on me and rubbed the big head
of his cock all over my cum drenched lips and face. I felt a surge
inside of me, and uncontrollable urging, and I began to shoot
spontaneously into my bikini bottoms. Jack looked down at me.
"You're a good little cocksucker, Mr. Ross, I never would
have known." "Oh Jack, don't play coy, you must have
suspected that my pathetic little husband was really a fairy cocksucker."
My wife said. "And look, he soiled his little bikini."
She lifted one of the bikini's bra cups, exposing a pearly patch
of white that contrasted sharply with my tanned, hairless chest.
"No matter though. She's just about done anyway." My
"Alex, go into the house and clean you panties, then prepare
Jack and me a dinner. We'll be upstairs, and I expect the house
to be tidy and dinner to be on the table when we're through. Oh,
and another thing. I want you to shave that little pussy of yours.
Don't think for a second that I'm done with you."
With that, my wife grabbed Jack's softening penis with her hand
and led him inside. I did as I was told, washing my bikini bottoms
in the sink, and then, for lack of a better idea, putting them
back on so I would have something to wear while I cooked dinner.
As I prepared the first of many dinners to come, I listened to
the shrieks of pleasure my wife was making as she fucked another
man upstairs. I tried to imagine what my life was to become, but
my imagination could not do justice to the reality that followed.