So how many married men haven’t slyly smelt the gusset of their wife’s silky panties and inhaled the sweet, intimate, musky fragrance of her vagina lingering there? It is a small step from doing that to slipping into her worn panties and masturbating; all care being taken not to spurt into the silk and lace. To be detected would be a disaster. You would stop yourself short of completing the pleasure.

And is that where it all stops? Maybe you would go to her lingerie draw and feel the soft silkiness and sensual lace of her bras, panties, camisoles, nighties and dress slips, with their delicate embroidery. Another drawer possesses all of your wife’s sheer tights, in shades from American tan to black and, only used by your wife on date nights and special occasions, her stockings and suspender belts, and all these too you lovingly fondle. But you dare not disturb them out of position, lest your wife discovers what you have done. The fondling has to be gentle and your touch very light. You particularly seek out the feel of the clasps and fastenings of the suspender belts which somehow hint, in the most subtle of ways, at bondage.

What sensuality must run through a woman’s body when she fastens a suspender belt around her waist and clips the straps to her stocking tops? What feelings of vulnerability to be out and about thus attired? Just a gossamer-thin piece of nylon or lace in her delicate panties to protect her vagina from a man’s urgent desire, which like as not will be provoked by a glimpse of stocking top under her slightly too short skirt or disclosed by a slightly too long kick-split in a full length dress.

A desire both flattering to her and dangerous.

How many men would not want to experience this feeling of sexual vulnerability for themselves?

How many men would not want to experience the sensuality of sliding into a silky dress slip and feel the slight pull of the spaghetti straps on their shoulders?

You then find yourself made redundant from your career, and almost simultaneously your wife is elevated and promoted in her career to the boardroom. The only woman on the board. Now your wife’s natural dominance over you has solid ground; she is the bread winner and you are a stay-at-home nothing. You are charged with the domestic chores.

“I may as well wear a servant girl’s uniform. Why have you started wearing stockings to work?”

I remember how I watched my wife as she dressed for work. I watched closely as she smoothed each of her sheer, barely-there, nylon stockings up and along her toned legs. The sensuality was palpable. I had gained an erection. I ignored it.

“Because it gives me a sense of femininity amongst all those men, and a little bit of power as well”

The stockings were black.

“How so?”

“Oh for God’s sake. They will all know I’ve stockings on. I’ll make sure of that by allowing a glimpse of stocking top now and then, and for some reason that you will understand better than I do, not a single one of those old blokes wouldn’t give me anything I asked for in return for a grope, let alone a fuck.”

She pulled up a pair of pink nylon panties with red lace edging. As flimsy as they were, the panties perfectly cupped her mound. My penis ached and throbbed.

The pink half cup bra seductively encased my wife’s pert breasts. Her nipples nestled against the padding, and the smallest hint of her raised areolae was disclosed above the line of embroidered lace. Her bra was perfectly visible through her silky, cream-coloured blouse, which seemed to cascade down her body, caressing and accentuating the shape of her pert breasts.

Just like her choice of stockings, all of this was no doubt intended to have an effect in the boardroom.

On that first day of her directorship, my wife chose to wear her brown leather skirt, and 5-inch shiny black heels. I remember vaguely wondering whether she was a director of a significant company or a prostitute. Maybe both.

My wife sat at her dressing table, as was her daily routine, to prepare the completion of her look. The red hot lips would issue invitations of seduction against the backdrop of her ash blonde hair brushed back in a ponytail, and it would mesmerise as it bobbed around her back in time with her elegant, feline movements. I knew this; I had been mesmerised by her. I still am.

How I had longed to caress and grope her. How I had needed to satisfy the urgent demands of my arousal. How clearly I understood that any such approach would be met by a stinging rebuke and, likely as not, a stinging slap to my cheeks. I knew my place, and I knew it was deserved and earned by my inadequacy as a man.

So I was left with that thought. How wonderful it would be; me, here, cooking and cleaning and my wife getting her pussy filled by a real man. His hard penis, pounding at her fuck hole, with her flimsy panties pulled to one side, and afterwards she might have provocatively left her cum-soiled panties on the boardroom table for another director to find. He would have instinctively recognised the panties as her invitation. Next time would be his turn. Office politics demanded it. My wife’s need for an orgasm, which I couldn’t give her, also demanded it.

On her return home, she said, “So you want to be my servant girl, do you?”

“You heard me then. I didn’t think you were listening.”

“Were you serious?”

A moment to hesitate. Make her choose.

“Would do you want me to be?”

“You might as well be a servant girl for all the good you are otherwise. Yes. I will get you everything you need. You call me madam from now on. I will choose a name for you which pleases me. I will have men friends here, staying over sometimes. You understand that?”

“Yes, madam.”

“You don’t mind?”

“No, madam.”

“You really didn’t think that I knew all about you and your fetishes and wanting to be a girl, did you?”

“Madam?”

“For fuck's sake, all those times you put my panties on from the laundry basket, and played with yourself, and then going through my lingerie. Yes, that’s right, I have cameras hidden all around. I never trusted you. I saw all those visits you made to feminisation sites online, and your little cozy chats on the, what is it now, oh yes, the M2F forum thing when you told them all about me, you, and your fantasies to be a girl. Yes, I have total surveillance of your pc. And then to top it all, your snide servant girl comment this morning, when I had such a big day in front of me. Well, that was the last straw. Now I will be the domineering cow you described to your friends and I will humiliate you. Go upstairs and rid yourself of all body hair, and I mean all. I will inspect you in one hour.”

These words, which I recall now with the same horror as when I first heard them, were instantly seared into my memory, with no possibility of my ever banishing from my mind the tone of my wife’s utter contempt or the intended hurt. Had I hurt her as badly from anything I had done? I wonder about this now as I did then.

I stood in shock, and I physically trembled. I was close to tears. Too much too soon. I turned and went upstairs to shave my chest, my armpits, my pubes and my legs and then I waited; naked, and shame or no I had an erection. Such as it was. A new journey in my life was about to start.

“Good, let me tidy up some areas you missed. Is your swollen little penis hurting you? Or is it just a clit? It’s difficult to be sure. Do you want to have sex?”

“Yes madam; thank you madam.”

“Not a chance, Chloe, no, but from now on you will sleep in the spare room, and for tonight you can wear these panties of mine and you can borrow one of my nighties. The powder blue one. You keep them on until your new things arrive in the morning. When the delivery gets here, you answer the door wearing only the panties and nightie. Now get them on and come downstairs. You don’t masturbate unless I give you permission, and if you do I will punish you by using my horse whip on your backside, understand? I won’t be made a fool of.”

The next day I set about my household duties by laying out my wife’s clothes for the day and, at her instruction, helping her to shower and dress. My penis was solid. Soaping her body down, including the inside of her pussy entrance, and then drying her, putting her bra on her (underwired, half cup, black, lacy and slightly padded) and matching panties, stockings and suspenders, and then her dress, I then watched while she applied her makeup.

“Learn; you’ll be doing this later for yourself.”

I then made her breakfast and she left for her office with final instructions ringing in my ear.

“Hand wash my lingerie and once dry, fold everything nicely, do the ironing, hoover and clean the house, prepare tonight’s meal and when your parcels arrive, turn yourself into my slutty house maid for when I get back. Don’t touch your clit or else.”

Covered in embarrassment, I answered the door in my wife’s nightie and received the packages. I remember thinking that like as not I could be arrested.

“Jesus, what are you?”

I burned bright red. Still, the vulnerability of standing there in just the flimsiness of my nightie was powerfully erotic, and my tiny cock had stiffened to its best, but inadequate, erection.

I remember imagining what it might feel like if some random male, finding me dressed like that, penetrated and fucked me, and in stimulating my prostate, made me orgasm. I remember feeling dizzy at the prospect.

The packages were wonderful. Silky nylon and lace lingerie, a wig, makeup, heels, outer-wear of blouses and skirts and a couple of slinky dresses, and, best of all, silicone boobs with inbuilt areolae and pink nipples which would harden if stimulated by touch, or even if it was just cold. Body glue to fix them to my chest, so I could be braless if I chose. I was so happy in that moment. There was a traditional maids outfit for when I was on duty, and after showering and moisturising my body, I slipped into some of the lingerie; a beautiful silky bra size 34B to perfectly encase my new boobs, matching panties, suspender belt and black stockings. I slid into an all in one satin teddy and then my uniform and heels.

I spent as long as I could on my makeup and my wig. I felt convinced my wife had come round to the idea of me as her girlfriend. Perhaps, I speculated to myself, the anger was in role play and all would be well.

“Well there she is, my slut maid Chloe. You’ll use the wig until your own hair is long enough to be styled. I’ve ordered some hormone tablets which will have lots of other benefits as well as growing your breast tissue; your hips will widen and your hair will grow finer.”

“Thank you, madam.”

“We’ll see about how grateful you are, because you are mine and I control you. All your male clothes are to be thrown out and when on duty in the house you wear your maids uniform and when you go out you wear other clothes but I will approve your outfit, especially if you’re with me. I will control your sex life. The only orgasms you have will be when and how I allow them. You have to put up with me having men friends. I will bring them home to have a meal, which you will prepare and serve, and if I choose I will sleep with them. You will do all household chores. Everything. Understand?”

“Yes, madam.”

“And on Saturday I have invited all my fellow directors here for drinks and nibbles to celebrate my promotion. You will do the catering, canopies etc, and you will serve us. You will be humiliated. I will make sure of it.”

Later that evening, when I had gone to my room, off duty, I was lying on my bed in just my nightie; short, silky salmon pink nylon, with frilly lace and delicate cups for my boobs, when my madam walked in. She was naked.

“Right, slut, lie on your back and don’t speak.”

Madam straddled my head lowered her open lipped vagina onto my face. If I hadn’t been fully hard before, I was now, and she proceeded to rub her labia over and along my face, while I tried to push my tongue into her and to lick her clit. The aroma of her cunt was intense, as was the intimacy. She tasted of pure desire. Madam came suddenly, long and very loud. My penis was twitching and tenting my nightie. I just shot my cum without even a touch, so much excitement had built up.

“Pathetic, you are useless. You always were.”

That was the last time there was any sex between us.

I will never forget the events of that Saturday night. I dressed for my duties. All lace, silky nylon and a pair of sheer black stockings under my silky maids uniform, it was cheap and tasteless maybe, but it felt sexy on me. I slipped into my high heels. The look was slutty and my makeup added to it. I applied hot red lipstick. My perfume, liberally applied, was Chanel’s Gabrielle. I was both incredibly nervous, scared witless even, and incredibly turned on.

I then dressed my lady.

A skin-tight, white, stretchy dress, no underwear, and her nipples very prominent against the tight thin material enveloping her. Seductive makeup and perfume by Victoria Beckham.

“You serve the drinks and the canopies, you only speak when spoken to, you call me madam and directors sir, understand?”

“Yes, madam.”

The big moment; all the directors arrived with their egos fully engaged and each seemed prepared to be met by the weirdo husband wannabe woman, and all had a quip ready to hand.

“Ah, so you’re the inadequate husband. Your wife was so amusing when she told us about you.”

“Your wife is gorgeous and so brainy. Very odd you chucking her away like this. Can’t think why she still lets you be in her life, even as what you are.”

“I guess you probably make a better woman than you did a man, from what I hear anyway.”

“Are you gay? Suppose you must be.”

Drinks made their tongues sharper and more spiteful. I remained sober and with my cheeks burning red and my eyes very teary in anticipation of more and worse humiliation to come; I wandered around topping up glasses while trying to be invisible.

“Gentlemen, if I could just grab your attention, may I say a few words to thank you all for being here today and helping me to celebrate your kindness in promoting to the board. I will not let you down. I feel I need to explain 'it' standing over there, looking very stupid. I wanted him here today so it didn’t become a secret I needed to keep from you. I will serve the board with openness and loyalty, unlike my husband here who proved deceptive and has shown no loyalty whatsoever.

"Even though my so-called husband could only ever manage 3 inches of length and a pipe cleaner's width, even when he was at his very best and maximum, and consequently never gave me adequate penetration and never gave me an orgasm, still I stood by him.

"Now we know why. He isn’t a real man; he’s a sissy called Chloe. Look at him, utterly pathetic, neither a man nor a woman.

"So why don’t I divorce him? Why do I put up with him hanging around in stockings? Because, gentlemen, having caught him out, and in so doing displaying the sort of ingenuity and initiative which I bring to the board, I realised he would benefit financially from a divorce and I would have to him pay out, and I won’t do that. By keeping him as my maid I get all my household chores done for free. He is on duty and call 24/7. I control his every breath. He won’t leave me because his hormone treatment would instantly stop and no longer could he look forward to having real tits. This clinical analysis of situations I bring to you.

"I also offer the board my body. I recognise that sex is an essential to good health, equally as much as eating and drinking. Let us be honest with each other. I have been deprived of sex and now wish for excess of it. If you are struggling to get a deal over the line, then tell me and I will date and fuck your customer, man or woman, and seal it. Work is stressful and sex is a release. If any of you need to have a release, then use my body anytime and in any way you please. A grope or full sexual intercourse. In the office, an hotel or here, I am yours to play with. I am honest, open, loyal and hardworking. I am discreet.

"To be clear, I am very open-minded and I have 3 holes and each is available. Rest assured, I always have some lube in my handbag if anal is your choice. I will give you what your wife or girlfriend won’t.

"I have fantasies like everyone and I would love to help you with yours. No boundaries. I suppose top of my list of things to experience would be a gang bang and wet messy sex with all my holes being used.

"This is my thank you, and if anyone cares to make out with me, or grope me, in my husband’s presence here tonight, then please don’t hesitate. More drinks, Chloe.”

Well fuelled on alcohol, my wife received all the attention she desired, as she moved around the room. I stood and witnessed her bottom being groped, and one of them started nuzzling her neck right in front of me and then kissed her mouth which turned into a passionate, desire-fuelled, open-mouthed, French kiss. I watched my wife put his hand on one of her breasts and he groped her there quite openly, while they embraced.

When he broke off, he said loudly enough for me to hear, “Let’s get rid of the crowd and go to bed; I really want to fuck you right now.”

They didn’t close the bedroom door. I could have seen them fuck, if I had chosen to, and anyway the air was heavy with the scent and sound of the fury of their shared lust. My arousal defeated any tiredness I felt, but I had no use for either. I was to wait in case madam or sir wanted anything. I waited, feeling my cuckold’s horns growing, along with this new ritual of humiliation.

I got a glimpse of this man groping my wife’s boobs, sucking and licking her nipples, while sliding his fully erect manhood deep into her vagina. Each one of his strokes inside my wife’s cunt had created a distance between me and that which once had been exclusively mine. My wife’s moaning, and her crying out in the ecstasy of the moment of her climax, was as eloquent a goodbye as any. This man, with a little caressing, and lovemaking, was ready to repeat, where I would once have slept.

At what point did this lover start to concoct an excuse to explain his absence from the marital bed until such a late hour? Perhaps only on the journey home. She would believe him, and future visits to his director colleague would have been more planned so as to fit in with this gentleman’s domestics.

“Chloe, you’re still up,” my wife said in a tone of fake surprise. “Well, this was a success and next we will entertain a few of our oldest friends and acquaintances, and I will have a date for the evening. Don’t worry, none of them ever liked you one little bit anyway, and they will love seeing your degradation. Oh dear, I seem to be almost swimming in cum. Can you see it running down my leg?”

The sight of my so recently estranged wife leaking another man’s ejaculate from her cunt was hugely erotic.

“Madam, may I relieve myself tonight?”

“Masturbate you mean? Well, now..."