Major Joe Fossey had been a military man all his life. “Born into the regiment,” he had informed his wife-to-be, Helen, on their first date. He had seen active service in Northern Ireland, the Balkans and Afghanistan. He had found the transition to civvy street difficult but nowhere near as difficult as it was for his wife.

Her cosy world of the military wife had been turned upside down by suddenly having her husband home and under her feet all the time. In the past, his irritating mannerisms, sayings and general behaviour had been diluted by his tours of duty, and every time he came home, there was a honeymoon period, and he was only just starting to get on her nerves by the time he was going again.

Joe had insisted their two children, George and Lucy, were shipped off to boarding school as soon as possible, since the army was paying for it, despite Helen’s protestations. So unbeknownst to Joe, Helen kept herself busy with some of the other wives. “While the men are away, the wives will play,” they giggled to each other in bed afterwards, the girlcock still coated in their combined juices. While Joe may have been the Alpha male, Helen had found herself enjoying being the one in charge, especially with the younger, more submissive wives of the lower ranks.

Now, however, he was here all the time. The children were grown up and wanted as little to do with either of them as possible, on the basis that they had been abandoned as young children into the care of prep-school masters and mistresses. So Helen, at Joe’s suggestion, began going out in the mornings. She joined the local Women’s Institute and helped out with various local charities and events.

The Women’s Institute were having their annual Garden Fete, and they always included a second-hand clothes sale. This was always very popular as there were quite a few well-off ladies in the locality who donated clothes that had been hardly worn and worth hundreds of pounds.

Joe was out for the afternoon playing golf with one of his ex-military pals, so she took the opportunity to tidy out the wardrobes and see what she could donate. As she flicked through the dresses on her side of the wardrobe, she stopped short. There was a dress there that she couldn’t remember buying. Admittedly, she had over forty dresses hanging in the wardrobe, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember this one or having ever worn it. It was certainly not something she would normally wear. The material was shiny and polyester. It was a metallic grey colour with a large flower print on it in teal and white. She looked at the label. Size 16. She had never been a size 16 in her life. She wondered fleetingly if one of the other women had left it behind but quickly dismissed the idea. She was about to stuff it unceremoniously into the black big bag for donations when she spotted a strange pair of shoes in the rack. A pair of black round toe black patent shoes with an ankle strap. She looked inside. Size 9. She looked at her own feet. Size 5.

She picked up one of Joe’s shoes from the shoe rack on his side of the wardrobe. Size 9.

She knew exactly who had bought these. She pulled open the drawers on Joe’s side. Under the piles of old t-shirts and pj bottoms, she found a box. Inside, there was lipstick, a green lace bra and matching knickers and a cheap brown wig.

She was still sitting on the bedroom floor with the ingredients of Joe’s secret life spread around her when the front door slammed, and Joe’s cheery voice announced he was home. She quickly stuffed everything back in place, straightened herself and walked downstairs. He was standing in the kitchen making a pot of tea. He held up the pot and asked if she wanted one. She nodded and began telling him about the Women’s Institute’s clothing sale. As she described how she was clearing out her wardrobe, she saw his fingers tighten around the teapot. When she mentioned the strange dress, he froze. His hand shook as he reached for the teacup.

“Is it yours, Joe?” she whispered.

He put down the teapot and placed both hands on the worktop. Without looking around, he slowly nodded.

She put her face in her hands and sighed.

“Don’t you love me any more? Am I not enough?”

“It’s not like that, “ He protested, still unable to turn around. He raised his head and looked at the kitchen tiles. “It’s nothing to do with you. It’s to do with me.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “It makes me feel good. Makes me feel whole.”

“Don’t I make you feel good?” she questioned, though she knew the answer. Their sex life was virtually non-existent. Post menopause and with Joe back and under her feet every day, the sexual attraction had worn thin.

“Do you want to be a woman?” she asked finally.

Joe shook his head.

“Is there someone else?” she asked, her mind scrabbling for answers.

“No!” Joe turned around and stared at her. “There’s no one else. I just... I just like to dress up while you are out. I...” He paused. “I’ve never even left the bedroom. It’s just...” he faltered then, letting his hands drop by his sides. “I look incredibly unattractive,” he finished lamely.

She got up then and wrapped her arms around you. “Oh, Joe,” she sighed and hugged him. He responded in kind, mirroring her actions, and for the first time in months, they held each other tight.

“Can I see her?” Helen asked. “Can I meet her?”

Joe looked unsure.

“What’s her name?” Helen whispered.

He shook his head. “Just Jo... or perhaps I could be Josephine?”

Helen nodded, then smiled reassuringly. “Why don’t you go and get dressed and I’ll wait here for her?”

Joe nodded and made his way upstairs. He removed the lingerie, dress, shoes and wig from the wardrobe and quickly stripped. He looked at Josephine’s clothes laid out on the bed. He reached forward and lifted the flimsy silk and lace knickers. He sat on the bed and slipped one foot, then the other, into them and stood up. He shimmied his hips as he pulled them up around his waist. He cupped and rearranged his balls and flaccid penis inside the fabric. His cock started to stiffen, cocooned in the silk. It felt so good. He sighed as his fingers ran over the lace detailing on the gusset. He traced the little bow in the middle of the waistband.

Sitting down again, he reached for the stockings. They were black holdups with a band of lace detailing at the top. He slid his foot in and began to pull it up. This was always a struggle for Joe. Each time, he cursed and wondered how women did it so easily and elegantly. Finally, after a lot of tugging and squirming on the bed, he had the two stockings on.

Wiping a thin sheen of perspiration from his brow, he put his arms through the bra and reached behind. Again, the struggle was real. Finally, he got the bra fastened and placed a rolled-up pair of socks in each cup. He clasped both breasts and squeezed and massaged them until he felt the socks were in the right position. Next, he pulled the dress over his head and ran his hands down it to smooth out the creases.

Taking the wig, he turned it the right way around and placed it on his head, easily covering the short back and sides military haircut he still chose on his fortnightly trips to the barbers. He reached for one of Helen’s hairbrushes from the dressing table and brushed it to remove the crumbled clumps that had formed whilst hidden in the box. Finally, sitting at Helen’s dressing table, he carefully applied a layer of lipstick to his thin lips.

When he was finished, he stood and, taking a deep breath, opened the bedroom door, and Josephone left the bedroom for the first time.

Helen stood as he entered the kitchen. She put her hand over her mouth, whether in shock or to stifle a laugh, he wasn’t sure. He blushed beetroot red and stood, almost as if to attention, waiting for his wife to say something.

She slowly walked around him, as if checking him out from every angle. She pressed herself against him. He could feel her breasts on his back and her hot breath on his neck when she pulled the long brown hair away from his ear.

“I can teach you to do your makeup better,” she whispered. “I’ll make you the woman you are meant to be.” She ran her fingers down her chest and down, over the hardening bulge in his knickers. “Would you like that, Josephine. Would you like me to take charge?”

He nodded and whispered, “Yes.”

She took him by the hand and led him back down the corridor to the bedroom. She told him to sit on the stool while she busied herself with her makeup bag. She wiped off the slutty bright red lipstick and started afresh. She talked him through it as she applied the base coat of foundation, layering it on to cover the marks of twenty years in the military. She plucked and smoothed his eyebrows and applied a pale blue eyeshadow and curled the eyelash brush through his lashes to make them fuller and darker. His pale blue eyes gazed up at her like some little puppy as she added blush to contour his cheeks. She used a pale pink lipstick that suited his skin tone better, then lined the lips with her lip pencil to make them fuller. She brushed and brushed the wig, then, using a pair of scissors, snipped away some of the loose strands and neatened it up.

She stepped back and let him look in the mirror.

“Thank you.” He flushed as he looked at the attractive middle-aged woman in the mirror.

“You make such a good girl, Josephine,” Helen whispered as she took his hand and guided him to his feet. She leant in close and brushed her lips against his mouth. He kissed her back, tentatively at first, then with increasing passion. They stood, wrapped in each other's arms as they kissed. Tongues swirled and darted playfully. Helen pressed herself against Joe, grinding her crotch into him.

“I want you, Josephine,” she whispered. “I want to take you.”

“Anything,” Joe panted, deliriously happy.

“You’re such a good girl,” she whispered, trailing her fingers down his back and up, under the dress. She squeezed Joe’s arse through his knickers, kneading his arse cheeks as she ground against his swollen cock.

She guided him back until the back of his calves touched the side of the bed. He slowly lowered himself down, his lips never leaving his wife’s mouth. Her hands pawed and squeezed at his chest, mauling the sock-filled bra through the dress. The dress rode up his thighs, exposing the stocking top which Helen admired through muffled murmurs of delight. Her fingers caressed his thigh, caressing the thin strip of thigh between stocking top and knicker elastic.

Helen had bondage straps tied to the bedposts and had used them frequently with her assorted lovers whilst Joe was away. Rather than having to remember to hide them every time he came home, she’d merely persuaded him into tying her up one night. He had not been overly enthusiastic about their use, preferring Helen to be mobile and able to be positioned however he wanted. But it meant they were always readily available, should the need ever arise.

Helen kissed him once more, then rolled him onto his front, sliding her hands over his ass and telling him how good he looked. She knew she’d have to be quick in case he decided he didn’t want to be tied up, but it was her chance.

The sight of him dressed as a woman had repulsed her. She couldn’t help it. She had known for ages that she didn’t fancy him any more. She’d realised she was a lesbian. She’d been staying with him out of habit, for the sake of the children. But now, she knew it was time to leave him. But first, she’d treat him like he treated her.

With his face buried into the pillows, Helen straddled his back. She leant down and kissed his ear. “You want to be a good girl, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “I want to be your good girl.”

She reached over to grab the left hand strap. Before Joe was aware of what she was doing, she’d cuffed the left wrist and was reaching for the right.

“What are you doing?” Joe queried as she cuffed the second strap to his right wrist. While he wasn’t stretched tight, he couldn’t reposition himself or move off the bed and was forced to remain face down on the bed.

Helen climbed off him.

“I’ve been a naughty girl while you’ve been away, Joe.”

She pulled her toybox out from one of the drawers under the bed and searched for the strap-on girlcock. While telling him about her various lovers, she stepped into the leather harness and pulled the straps tight. The thick purple cock sprang to attention.

“Tell me, Joe. Are you a virgin? Or has someone already taken your nice tight hole?”

She ran a finger along his arse crack, pressing on his puckered star through the knicker fabric. Joe struggled; he tugged on the straps, then lashed out with a foot. Helen smiled as she dodged it, then reached forward and pulled his knickers down his thighs.

“Let me go, Helen,” he barked. “Fucking untie me.”

“No, Joe. I’m leaving you. But first, I’m going to treat you the way you’ve always treated women.” She grinned. “Though at least I’m using lube.”

She smiled when she saw him watching. She squeezed some anal glide onto the shaft of her girlcock. Positioning herself behind him, she spread his arse cheeks.

“You’ll need to get waxed,” she told him. “If you’re going to be Josephine, you’ll need to start grooming yourself properly.”

She scooped some lube off the girlcock and massaged it into his arsehole with the tip of her finger.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, Joe?” she whispered.

He squirmed, confused. “Yes,” he admitted.

“Good girl. Tell me you want it, Josephine.”

She positioned the head of her girlcock against his arsehole, slowly dragging the tip along his crack. “Beg me to take your arse like a good girl.”

“Please,” he whimpered.

“Please what?”

"Please, Helen. Fuck my arse.”

Grabbing his hips, she pulled him towards her as she forced herself into him. He threw his head up and howled. Helen smirked as she pulled her hips back, letting the girlcock slide almost fully out of him before forcing herself forward, slamming it back into his stretched rectum.

She leant back, pulling on his hips and telling him to lift his ass up off the mattress. “Face down, ass up, isn’t that right, Josephine?”

He meekly complied and she buggered him harder, deeper and faster. His cock was rock hard and bouncing up and down with every thrust. Helen reached around and squeezed his balls.

“Mmm, you’re so full.”

Joe was moaning continuously. His face was buried in the pillows, staring straight ahead as his wife thrust her girlcock in and out of his ravaged arsehole. It felt so good. The head of her cock rubbed along his prostate. He felt the urge to pee but daren’t not, for fear of what Helen might do if he did. She ran her fingers along his shaft, wanking his cock, sliding his foreskin back and forth over the head as she moved the girlcock inside him.

He whimpered and moaned. A warmth was spreading inside his body as she took him. He felt the orgasm start to build inside him. He knew he was going to cum while his wife fucked him, but this didn’t feel like a normal orgasm. It seemed to come from deeper inside him. He was vaguely aware of his wife telling him what a good little fucktoy she was, and then the wave hit. It smashed into his groin. Wave after wave crashed over the rest of his body. His skin felt on fire, as if he could feel every hair follicle on his scalp.

She didn’t stop. She kept going and he felt a pressure building again. He groaned and his cock pulsed. Volley after volley of semen shot out of his cock and splattered the sheets beneath him. He must have blacked out momentarily as the next thing he remembered was kneeling, quivering, gasping for air and aware of an emptiness in his ass. Helen was climbing off the bed and unfastening her harness.

She ran her fingers down his spine, and he cried out. Everything felt super sensitive. He knelt there, unable and unwilling to move as Helen gathered some clothes and essentials into a suitcase.

“You can keep the house,” she informed him. “It’s got too many bad memories.”

She only untied one wrist when she had the car loaded with her things.

“Goodbye, Josephine," she told him and closed the bedroom door behind her.

Joe continued to kneel there, wallowing in the experience he’d just endured.

Next time, he wondered, would it be a real cock?