By Ailey
My wife and my mistress have caught me in a perfect trap. I used to think that corset training couldn¹t really be a serious thing. It was a fantasy. In real life men weren¹t turned into Victorian maids. Sure I¹d heard of men enjoying the French maid scene. But to seriously have to consider the sheer invisibility of a Victorian domestic as my destiny lies at such loggerheads to how I see myself. Yet it is happening even if only in my dreams. I¹m still in denial however irrefutable the facts. Somehow my wife managed to switch situations on me so it was not me who was leaving her but she who was leaving me. I would stay with her but we would no longer be husband and wife was her reaction to my plea. Whilst she was out of the house living her daily life I would clean and vacuum and prepare dinner. I didn¹t like living that way since I was used to being active. I made beds and polished the silverware. I would try to talk to my wife when she returned home but I could tell that she wasn¹t listening to me. I went to my room and to my surprise found that the entire contents of my wardrobe had been thrown out and had been replaced with the wardrobe of a maid.
There would be no free time in my life. I didn¹t want to be a maid but my wife told me that she was completely aware of the sissy maid sites I looked at on the internet and had downloaded my files. She threatened to show the files to my friends if I didn¹t get undressed. She had me by the balls. So I undressed. And then she did the worst thing possible. She picked up my clothes and completely ignoring me, she walked out the door. The next morning there was a knock on the door. My wife came in and sat herself on my bed. She had grown tired of me. She was adamant that since I had bought transexual material into the home it meant that I must really desire to be a woman. I tried to argue that most of the time I felt heterosexual and besides, she was so busy that a guy had to get relief some way. I¹d tried telling her that I wasn¹t really interested in any other woman I knew even if I had to admit that smallest flames still burnt and existed as visions of being a good boyfriend in and out of bed. Because most of the time she lived overseas I hardly ever got to see my wife so it seemed reasonable to set up new scenes in my paltry fantasy life which because of my desire to remain chaste for my wife meant that for me a sex life meant wanking until it meant nothing. Something in the transexual magazines reminded me of her yet offered another fantasy space altogether. She made it clear that she thought I was a pretty dirty slut. I don¹t know why but I was feeling especially vulnerable. I reached down and started masturbating.
I really don¹t know how i got to here from there. There¹s this sense that though my wife takes no part in my training that this is the form of training she thinks appropriate. i have no idea if She holds other men in the same situation but think She probably does. What is undeniable is that my defences are falling away as i realize that She has areas of Her life that are none of my business anymore. i know that i have options but there is always the reality that like it or not it is now instinctual to shop purely for women¹s clothes even though i still feel like a heterosexual man. It¹s almost as if the hardest part of my circumstances is what turns me on the most and the being forced to become a woman that was a favourite fantasy has been forced onto me to the extent that i know changes are happening and all i have to do is be cute. i¹ve given up worrying. And I¹m good at making myself cute and I don¹t do it just for her either. I do it for myself. I feel like a teenage girl sometimes when I think of all the great clothes to wear. I think back to when I met her and of how I asked her to marry me and how she never got back to me with an answer. It was a silly mistake. I thought the answer was going to be yes and as I waited for it and the more unlikely such an answer became and the more humiliating my days became the more I would reason with myself that submission was the key. Of course. So I gave into my desire for kink to discover that I was myself the Mistress that separated me from my girlfriend. I can pretend that my wife isn¹t home and stomp around the house like a slackish rebellious teenager hoping that she¹ll be back soon. I try to imagine having a sex life but because all of my thoughts centre on her I often return to the submissive state since I have trouble believing that one day we might actually make a couple. I thinkI am training myself to cope with rejection. I guess I thought that if I learnt to express myself it would help a strong woman grow even more amazing and I dug into myself hoping to find a version of Ophelia and the person I instead encountered was a stereotypical sissy maid and not a very good one at that.
My father¹s a bit odd. I just caught him listening in to the answering machine messages that had recorded over when I told him that there were no messages for him. He just seemed to like listening to the sound of my voice in conversation and I was paranoid because I’d just had a joint. I live with my parents though I should have moved out years ago. One day a few years ago my mother found a copy of a drag video under the chair in the television room. I was very embarrassed and said to her something like “if I didn¹t have the writing… it doesn¹t matter because it¹s not what I really want.” She just said, “who¹s to say what¹s normal?”That was that. Nothing of that nature has ever happened again although I do do minimal drag now and then and perouse magazines that offer real life stories of enslaved heterosexual men who are shaped around a penis that is rapidly losing its power. These changes feel all internal and not altogether unpleasant. It¹s quite fun to no longer want to be placed in a penis restraint and to just accept that if it happens it happens. Life¹s pretty much like that lately since my girlfriend rang me a few weeks ago and said that she¹d like to marry me if I would only loosen up a bit and relax and tell her a bit more about myself but I am afraid to since the more I submit to her the greater the possibility that she won¹t let me write anymore nor live the kind of life I¹d imagined which is quite different to this
