Sissy's Revenge
Keywords: Revenge, Sissy's,
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"Ok, My last post received quite a bit of negative responses because my protagonist was a total wimp and let his wife walk all over him. Well in this one, in the end, stands up for himself.
Warning: this story contains all the elements of cuckolding save one and feminization of males. If you have a problem with either of those, then quit reading here. Skip right to the end and tell me I'm a crappy writer and I write trash and shouldn't waste the bandwidth.
Synopsis:
OK, there are lots of stories on the web about guys who's wives decide that they'd rather have a girlfriend than a husband and secretly feed him hormones as they seduce him into being their sissies. These dopes seem to be totally ignorant and unable to figure out there's something wrong. But, what if the sissy is just a little smarter than the average sissy and what if he's just a little stronger willed then the average sissy and what if he checks things out with his doctor? What then? Read and find out. "
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Prolog:
My Doctor found out about my cross-dressing. It wasn't like I had intended to tell her, but it was sort of hard not to, given the sequence of events. I had been trying to start my own online business while working full time at a 9-5. That meant 40 + hours there and 60+ at home. Needless to say, I hardly had time had time to sleep, let alone eat properly. Usually my diet consisted of as many raw calories I could stuff in while still working a keyboard and mouse to do research and cut deals with suppliers. Whatever I ate, was washed down with gallons of coffee and any other caffeine drink I could find, augmented by caffeine supplements. Can you say 'No Doze?' Or maybe, 'Wired?'
You could ask, just why was I so determined to get this business off the ground? Easy, have you've every looked at specialty shops that cater to cross-dressers. The prices are outrageous and the offerings are so garish that it makes you want to puke. I mean who needs six-inch platform heels when you're already on the tall side for a woman? Those kind of shoes would put me at over 6' 3". Now there's a woman who'd get noticed. My theory on dressing as a woman is simple. You want to look like a woman. Just your average house wife. It's a lot easier to pass if you don't stand out. I was determined to provide clothes for cross-dressers at the same prices as women buy them.
Well anyway, Lucille, my new wife, insisted I go to the doctor about my run down condition. Since I had given her my symptoms over the phone, the doctor drew some blood as soon as I came in. Her nurse took it somewhere. She then took the usual readings, blood pressure and pulse, listened to my heart and lungs. We talked about what I was doing. She'd ask a question, I'd answer, she'd nod and make a note. Just as I was sure we were done, the nurse brought in some paper work.
The doctor looked it over and said, "Just as I thought, with your eating habits. You have a vitamin deficiency and I'd guess you also have a sleep deficit." She turned to the nurse. "Prepare multi shot while I write a prescription." She went on to lecture me about taking better care of myself. She gave me a list of vitamins I should take and quantities. Then, as the nurse returned with a syringe, said, "OK, turn around and drop your pants. We'll get you started right."
Oops. I never considered I'd have to do anything like that. I had my red panties with black lace on. My face burned as I did as I was told. I tried to hook my panties with my thumbs to pull them down at the same times, but the doctor noticed my efforts.
"No need to pull your underwear down, you just hold your shirt out of the way. I'll take care of the underwear."
Well, she is a doctor and the Hippocratic oath forbade her from telling anyone about what she found out in the process of ministering to me. "Umm, nice," she said and plunged the hypo home.
Red faced, I pulled up my pants, "Look Doc, ah, I..."
"Don't worry about it, I see that kind of thing all the time. You'd be surprised just who, if I could tell you. Your secret is safe here," she smiled.
When Lucille heard my diagnosis, she took charge of my diet, and seeing to it I got the right supplements. She sold pharmaceuticals and could get what I needed practically free and in the latest forms.
It's up and running.
OK, so I did all the work, the money should be rolling in anytime now. Three weeks went by and I didn't get one nibble. It occurred to me that I had to promote the web site. I went through another round long days and nearly wiped out everything I had in reserve, but the business finally began to get customers. It didn't pay its way, but I was able to defray the cost. The good thing was that the hours necessary to keep it running was considerably less then the hours needed to get it going, which allowed me to work enough overtime to pay for the lack of income and keep us from going broke. I tracked the business and it showed a steady climb. Not fast, but steady. I figured if I could hold on for three years, I could reach break even. And hold on I did then for another year, I poured all the profit right back in and promoted the site, added to the line and changed the look just a little and made it attractive to plus sized women as well as cross-dressers.
Then at the end for the fourth year, the business took off like gangbusters. Two straight quarters of profit. By the third quarter, it brought in more than I made at the old 9-5. It was then that at the end of the year, it had made enough pay back all that I had invested, except my time. It was taking three to four hours a night to process all the orders.
The business is as simple in operation as it was difficult in setting up. I have suppliers that will drop-ship to my customers. They order, I forward orders to the appropriate supplier and pocket the difference. No inventory I sell for other people. Well, with the business showing a solid profit, I was ready to quit the 9-5, so I went to Lucille. I showed her the books from day one. She was a bit upset at first that I would risk the amount of money that went into the start-up but in the end, she was OK with it. But she wanted me to wait another year to quit. So for a year, I did double duty.
Oh, by the way, like most cross-dressers I made the mistake of not telling my wife about my little hobby. You know, I actually thought it would go away when I was married. I mean why would I need it? It was mostly a sex thing right? No, I found out it was much more then that. But I digress. In the fifth year of my business, I finally quit my job and went full-time as a work from home entrepreneur. It was great. I achieved every cross-dressers dream. I worked dressed. Lucille and I would get up and we'd have breakfast. She'd head out for work, while I stayed home. Before doing the breakfast dishes, I'd become Lynn, my alter ego. I'd spend the morning processing my orders and the afternoon looking for ways to improve my service. About an hour before Lucille was due to come home, I'd shower and become Ron again. It was great.
I had a perfect existence, even if my marriage had its share of problems. Oh don't get me wrong, my wife was great and I loved her more then life itself. But the secrecy and long hours at the computer in the first years of our marriage didn't lend itself to relationship building. Combine that with the fact that after about five years, marriages leave that honeymoon stage and begin their settle in process. Well, since our relationship was still shallow, we had it a bit rocky. I think she began to resent my mistress... that is my computer. I spent more time with it then I did with her. We tried to concentrate on quality time. You know do really fun things when we both took time off. Well, let me tell you, quality is good, but without quantity, you never get a deeper relationship then high school kids. I tried to make it up by giving her things, you know all the things that women say they want. The one thing I didn't give her was me. That, I gave the business!
Then one day disaster struck. It was two in the afternoon and I had just finished processing the overnight orders and was fixing lunch. I had a smoothie going in the blender. When it was done, I poured it into the waiting glass. When I turned around, I froze. There was my wife staring at my white turtleneck and gray box pleated skirt. Our eyes locked.
Finally she asked, "Ron, why in God's name are you dressed like that?"
"Lucille, you're home early."
What followed was a painful explanation of my 'hobby'. I told her about what I found out via the Internet. She said now she understood why I wanted an Internet business selling women's plus size clothing. In the end, her reaction was less then I'd have hoped for. As a matter of fact, it seamed to put cold water on our already cooling relationship. We hardly spoke for the next month. I even gave up my dressing while I worked. I was afraid that anytime, she would announce that she couldn't stand being married to a pervert and demand a divorce.
You can imagine my surprise and trepidation when over breakfast one Saturday she asked, "What do you call yourself?"
"What? I don't know what you mean, I'm Ron, like I've always been."
"You can't be Ron when you work, not the way you dress."
"Oh, well, I've given that up."
"You shouldn't you know. I finally took your advice and started using my computer to get online and research your problem. I understand that you "trans-people" have a... ah, oh yeah, a femme name. What do you call yourself?"
"Oh, ah, Lynn."
"OK Lynn, I've thought about it. Since you say you can't help yourself and that you have to play dress up, I've decided that it's OK with me if you do, providing you do it by my rules."
I was relieved. This meant that she was going to at least try to live with it. I knew the drill from my online friends. "Don't ever let me see you, don't ever let the neighbors or my friends, etc. find out." All those things most wives demand.
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Keywords: Revenge, Sissy's,