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Win By Double Digits 0. Win or Single Digit Loss Win By Double Digits I don't think Stephie could have found a more feminine apron if she'd asked a designer to help her. This thing had lace and frills and a flowery pattern and everything. I laughed nervously to myself when I tied on the apron. With my bare legs sticking out below the apron, the effect was the same as me wearing a frilly white dress. A few days after our "argument" about my diminishing clothing stock, Stephanie came home with a proposition.

Actually, it was more of a statement than a proposition, but she presented it to me as an option. If you learn how to do my hair and nails, then I don't need to go there anymore and we can save that money.

If there's any left after our bills, I'll buy you some new clothes. How does that sound honey? Would a man make his wife support him?! I ran from the room crying. With all the stress on me, and the constant feeling of guilt wearing down my will, I'd become much more emotionally sensitive these days. Whenever Stephanie criticized my cooking or cleaning, it really hurt my feelings.

I can't really explain it, but it hurt that I tried my best and she didn't care. Of course, Stephanie helped me feel submissive. All day every day I performed humiliating tasks for her benefit. I always cleaned her underwear and nylons. I always hung up her clothes. Once a week I cleaned and polished her shoe collection. These duties always reminded me who was the boss.

And as if that were not enough, when Stephanie came home, she continued her inspections; making me stand at attention in my sissy shorts and outgrown tee shirts while she inspected my work, towering over me in her high heels and business suits.

She'd also told me not to call her "Stephie" anymore; from now on I was to call her "Stephanie. As I lay crying on the bed, Stephanie came in. Honestly, you've become such a sissy! Now wipe your eyes, get my make up kit and meet me in the kitchen. The rest of the night, Stephanie showed me how to do her nails. She began the training by working on my nails. As my nails became fire engine red one by one, she taught me about colors and cuticles and base coats and other things I never knew, or wanted to know, about.

Soon my fingers dried and she moved on to my toes. When those too became bright red, she made me put what I'd learned into practice on her fingers. I learned quickly, but not quickly enough. I made two mistakes and would pay for each. You're lucky that I have time tonight to let you correct these mistakes.

On work nights, I won't have that time. From now on, I want you to practice on your own nails twice a day. Then you will replace that color with a new color. When they've dried, I want you to use the Polaroid to take a picture of your work - fingers and toes.

Then, in the afternoon, you will replace that color with a new color as well. Take a Polaroid of that one as well. You must go through each color once before repeating a color. When I come home, I will inspect your nails and collect the Polaroids.

Then, after dinner, you can fix my nails for the next day. The next day I did as she asked. It felt strange when I first saw my fingers bright red, but it felt even stranger as I made each of my finger tips silver. When everything had dried, I took the Polaroids and then started on my chores. I had to work extra hard to finish in time to repaint my nails before Stephanie got home.

Stephanie was good for her word, she collected the Polaroids and inspected my fingers and toes with a magnifying glass. After that, she inspected the house and then we ate dinner. In the evening she made me redo her nails. We repeated these events every day. Soon they became normal. At first I hated the idea of painting my nails.

I felt humiliated and embarrassed. But after awhile, it just seemed like one more duty. It even became relaxing because I could just sit and watch TV or read my sports magazines as I worked. Soon it even seemed natural to have "Rose", "Honey" or "Mauve" finger tips as I flipped through the Super Bowl preview pages.

I swore I'd never tell anyone, but I actually began to like painting my nails! Of course, I always removed the polish from my fingers before I went shopping. One night I mistakenly told Stephanie that I didn't mind painting my nails because it gave me my only chance to relax during the day.

In and of itself, this was no mistake. The mistake came when I told her that I used that time to watch Sport Center or the national news. The next day, as I sat down with my nail kit, I flipped on the TV to discover that Stephanie had locked out all the channels but the fashion channel and the Women's channel. When she came home that night, I wanted to complain bitterly, but I didn't have the time. I guess she knew my complaint was coming so she kept me too busy to bring it up.

She literally didn't allow me a free minute to complain! From the moment she got home, she rode me like a dog. Nothing I'd done during the day was right. In fact, so much was wrong that she made me skip dinner so that I would have enough time to finish all the rest of my duties. She also took that moment to tell me that I'd been gaining weight and that I was going on a diet.

I'll order a pizza. Out of spite, Stephanie let the pizza boy in while she got change out of her purse. This gave him the full view of me as I worked. I wore my sissy shorts, a dress like apron, and long red nails.

The flab on my chest even bounced a bit when I walked. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him staring at me. Then he began to laugh. On his way out, he said, "Good night ladies.

I went from angry husband to quavering jello- like submissive. I cringed, waiting for the verdict on my outburst. Stephanie's justice was always swift and vicious. Get back to work. And don't you ever, and I mean ever, speak unless you are spoken too again.

If you do, I'll make you greet the pizza boy in a dress and give him a big kiss. Do you understand me sissy?! It was difficult to tell where I'd left off with the dusting since I'd done a perfect job in the morning, but I wasn't going to take any chances. As I worked, I still shook with fear and choked back tears.

Soon I was near the end of my list, with only the kitchen floor left. It looked like I would still have some free time. I knew Stephanie was not in a good mood, but I had regained my resolve. I was determined to bring up the TV situation! Just then, she called me into the family-room. She sat on the couch watching TV, which she muted as I entered. Apparently my TV blackout wasn't to be lifted for even a few seconds.

As she watched the nightly business report and world news, I ran myself ragged trying to re-mop the kitchen floor and polish her shoes. Usually I don't polish her shoes until the weekend, but she had a big meeting the following day and wanted it done tonight.

She said she needed all of them done because she wasn't sure which ones she wanted to wear the following day. I didn't buy the explanation.

I don't think she meant me to. After the shoes, I fixed her nails. I tried to speak, but I saw myself kissing the pizza boy. I waited for her to mention the TV, but she didn't. Without a word said by me that night, she sent me to bed.

I never got the chance to bring up the TV problem. Of course, I didn't bring up the lock out the following day either. Or the following day or the one after that. Since Stephanie never mentioned it, I never got the chance to talk about it. I just didn't dare bring it up on my own! Slowly my life changed. Because Stephanie took the newspaper to work with her every day and she switched off the TV whenever I entered the room in the evenings, I was now cut off from the real world.

I never even knew how the Super Bowl ended. I felt more alone than ever. The next day she told me to gather up all my sports magazines and place them in a large box. Because I could see what was coming, I only placed half my magazines in the box. I placed the other half into a dusty old box in the upstairs closet. While Stephanie spoke on the phone I snuck the box back to the closet and set it on the top shelf in the back.

The box was heavy enough that Stephanie couldn't retrieve it without my help and dusty enough that she wouldn't want to. The remainder of the magazines went into the other box, into the trunk of her car, and off to who-knows-where. From then on, when I did my nails I read my old sports magazines and watched the fashion channel.

I guess I should admit though that after a while the same magazines got kind of boring and I eventually started reading Stephanie's fashion magazines the only new magazines she allowed into the house. Soon my sports magazines were all but forgotten up in the closet. The following weekend, Stephanie came home with a bunch of hair care bottles and a new hair drier.

For the past four months, Stephanie had refused to give me any money to get a haircut. At this point, my brown hair hung down to my shoulders. I don't know if she planned it this way or whether it was all a coincidence, but now Stephanie could use my long hair to teach me how to take care of hers.

Like my nail training, she told me that I needed to take care of mine the same way I took care of hers. I hadn't revolted much during the past few weeks, but this time I did. It always gets in my face. You wouldn't believe the effort it took to force even that out of my mouth.

There are several ways to keep the hair out of your eyes. You can either get a perm or you can start wearing a soft pink ribbon and tying your hair in a ponytail. It was hopeless to resist her. Facing this Hobson's choice - I took the ponytail. What I didn't realize when I made my choice, was that she meant a girl's ponytail. So there I stood, with a ponytail high up on my head, tied together with a pink nylon ribbon.

My nails were silver that day, and I wore nothing the hot pants and a too-tight tee shirt. I'd been gaining fat in my chest lately and very few of my tee shirts fit. I was kind of embarrassing to see my formerly well toned chest bounce with all that flab. Between the ponytail and everything else, I'd learned my lesson. When she demanded that I dye my hair some sort of very feminine blond, I just shut my mouth and slipped into the chair. The following week, I ruined the last pair of shorts completely by accident.

I swear that I closed the bleach tightly like I always do, but when I reached for it, the cap popped off and ruined the pink shorts I wore. I wondered how Stephanie would react. I dreaded that night. As Stephanie walked into the house, she set down her brief case in the hallway and handed me her overcoat. I hung it up. I guess we're out of shorts now aren't we? Do you think I want to see you in bleach stained shorts? I would not risk making her angry.

But you're not going to wear those shorts. My penis stood at attention underneath the satin panties. The fabric did not stretch much, so my penis pulled the panties away from my body, leaving a gap at the top of the panties through which Stephanie could see my penis.

This was the first time in a long time that she'd touched my penis with her hand directly. Usually, she fondled me through the panties. Oddly, I hoped I did not ejaculate because that's very hard to clean out of satin! Needless to say, the inspection was emasculating.

Then the fun began. I stood virtually naked before Stephanie. She stood in front of her closet, holding up a very small sexy babydoll nightie. By "her closet" I also mean her bedroom.

She'd kicked me out of the master bedroom weeks ago. I now lived in a small guest bedroom upstairs - the smallest in the house. I will not allow you to go around with hairy legs hanging out from under my them. From now on you will shave your legs. I hated this idea, but I just couldn't bring myself to confront Stephanie.

Looking up into her eyes made me feel weak and small and broke my will before I could say my piece. It wouldn't have done any good anyway. Stephanie grabbed my hand and led me to the bathroom. Once there, she made me run a bath and then stripped me naked. Buy the pink disposable kind, they work best.

When I finished and rinsed myself off, Stephanie returned with a towel and some powder. I reached for my slippers. My nighties all have matching slippers. From now on, you wear those.

These things had three inch heels! My slippers disappeared during the night. Minutes later I found myself in the living room in a red baby doll nightgown, a pair of real silk stockings, and a pair of red satin three inch high heeled mules with a book on my head. After I'd gotten out of the tub, I'd slipped into the mules and nearly broken my ankle on the first step.

When I finally got myself standing upright, I wobbled like jello in an earthquake. Then my second step ended with my face on the floor. This convinced Stephanie to take me to the living room and teach me to walk in high heels. I'll spare you the details of her instructions because until you've been there I almost said "in my shoes" you can't appreciate the difficulty I had. Granted I'm not a big man, but I am a man and I'd never worn high heels before. For the next hour, Stephanie made me practice with the book on my head and my hands down at my sides - pointing out horizontally to the ground.

A full hour of balancing, slap slap slap click click click. A full hour of yelling and teasing. Finally, Stephanie decided it was time for bed.

My time for bed. She planned to stay up and watch more television, but I needed to go to bed. For some time now, she'd been sending me to bed at 9: I actually found it difficult to stay awake past I felt so self-conscious walking to my bedroom. Every single click echoed off the hardwood floors. Every slap of the shoe against my foot mocked me.

As I slipped into my bed, Stephanie turned off my light. Then you will wear the slippers while you do your chores all day long. I expect you make serious progress.

I sat on my bed pulling the stockings down my legs. I'd done my nails and all the dusting. I wore the slippers all morning. My feet and calves hurt a lot.

I'd gotten one shoe caught in the carpet and nearly broke my leg falling down. That taught me that I needed to be more delicate with my steps. The days of taking large steps while vacuuming and dusting were over.

When I finished dusting, I removed the polish from my nails and headed to the bedroom to find something I could wear to the store. I certainly was not going to wear the mules or the babydoll! I didn't know what else to do though.

Ok, no laughing, but eventually I found a pair of denim shorts with a large pink star on the butt. To this I added my barely serviceable wing tips. In addition I carried the change purse Stephanie had given me. My nails were clear, but long.

My hair was platinum blond. I probably should have just bitten the bullet and worn a dress, but I had to draw the line somewhere. That evening Stephanie made me hop, skip, jump, pivot, dance, stand on one leg, and anything else she could think of. From now on, you will wear heels all the time. The higher the better.

I lost the office when I lost my job. Now she had the key and I was only allowed in under supervision. Those slippers are very sexy on you. At first I didn't feel like it, but now I just couldn't imagine myself walking into a locker room full of big, strong horny men.

I don't know what they'd do once they saw my shaved legs, platinum blond hair, and satin panties, but I didn't want to find out. Stephanie seemed to be keeping trim though. She never told me anything definite, but I think she worked out before she came home each night. After I finished dusting the office where I'd once spent so many late nights, Stephanie told me to go wash out our stockings and then go to bed.

It was only 7: Without access to news or other people, I slowly lost track of time. I never knew how much my sense of the world depended on other people until I lost my access to them. One day I sat looking at my feminine legs as I balanced a delicate high heeled shoe on my toes.

I honestly did not know if I'd been wearing heels for a couple of weeks or a couple of months! I tried to figure out the dates, but I couldn't. My inability to time events only got worse as the days progressed.

So please forgive me if I can't be more precise about timing. Sometime after I first started wearing her slippers around the house, Stephanie came home with horrible horrible news. For whatever reason, she'd invited my best friend Richard over to our house for dinner that night. She gave me less than an hours notice! Richard and I were drinking buddies from way back.

In college we both ran track together. How could you, why didn't you. Now hurry up and finish cooking dinner. What would I change into? I had nothing at all masculine left to wear. I couldn't wear a nightie and high heeled slippers in front of Richard. As I cooked I thought about my clothing option.

I could wear the star pants shorts. I typically wore those and my wing tips when I went shopping these days. Although I wore these items to go shopping, I felt humiliated the entire time. On me, the shorts were more like hot pants. The big clunky shoes at the end of my soft, curvy shaved legs, the long platinum blond hair Stephanie had made me put a slight lifting curl into the hair so it puffed out at the bottom , and the long fingernails all combined to make me look like more female than male.

Most of the other customers called me "ma'am. I never corrected the anyone because I didn't want to explain why I looked more like Stephanie than I did like Paul. Plus, as Stephanie I could always get one of the boys to carry the groceries to the cab for me. Oh that's right, I forgot to mention the cab. Stephanie tore up my driver's license to save money on insurance. Now she gave me exact cab fair for my little trips to the store.

In a bit of twisted obsession, Stephanie made me keep the cabby waiting while I shopped. This made me hurry or I wouldn't have enough cab fare - I really had to run! This had the added nuisance of keeping me from stopping to read any magazines. Oh God, what was I going to do? Once dinner was prepared, I hurried to my bedroom to change my clothes. I hung up my apron and kicked off the mules. I felt determined to get as masculine as possible in the few minutes left to me.

Stephanie came in to watch me change as she often did - I hadn't seen her naked since she kicked me out of her bedroom. I stripped naked and then replaced my panties with new ones. Stephanie decided to tease me. Richard will like those. I don't want the world knowing what kind of sissy I married. This was all her idea after all! I reached for the star-butt shorts and slipped them on. They do show off your nicely shaved legs.

And they will certainly make your shoes stick out more. I will not have that. In fact, those are going in the garbage tomorrow morning. On the other hand, there's nothing wrong with these," she tossed some shoes onto the bed. Stephanie picked up my shoes and placed them in a bag she was holding. Then she went to my closet and grabbed the last of my tee-shirts and other clothes. The loss of my shoes really hit me. What was she doing? Granted my wingtips had numerous holes, but I didn't have any other shoes!

Stephanie pointed to the bed. I wished I didn't see what I saw. The one pair were black high heeled pumps. These things were delicate and feminine. They had a glossy black finish and a four inch high heel. There was no way I could wear them. The other pair were pink wedge heeled sandals with lots of delicate little straps. The heels couldn't have been more than an inch and a half, but they were very feminine. The sandals were probably easier to explain, except for the pink color.

I could always tell Rick that my shoes were ruined and I had to borrow hers for the night. I guess he'd buy that with a pair of low heeled sandals. I made my choice. That way I'll be taller than you all night.

Now would you like to continue wearing those shorts or would you rather wear some of my slacks? Anything that hangs down over these shoes. You can take the polish off your fingers, but not your toes.

Oh, and if you remove the polish from your fingers, you'll have to replace it tonight before you go to bed. I sat on the bed in Stephanie's bedroom, looking at the silver nail polish on the ends of each of my toes as they stuck out from the pink sandals. Although these shoes had relatively low heels, they felt very awkward. Each step I found myself expecting my heel to hit before it did. It's hard to describe, but I found myself walking nearly tip-toe to compensate.

I figured I could explain the shoes to Rick by telling him that I'd ruined mine that day and I wore these as a stop gap measure. I didn't know how to explain the nail polish. I wasn't too sure how to explain my fingernails either. As I stripped them of color, I never even suggested cutting them because I didn't want to give Stephanie any reason to get nasty.

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