I woke early that morning, as I usually do. The sun was pouring into our breakfast nook by the time I finally heard his footsteps on our backstairs.
I could only smile at the first sight of him. He was still wearing the blue silk nightgown I'd dressed him in a few short hours earlier, after first shaving him smooth and putting him into a pair of my black lace panties. "Good morning, dear," I greeted him cheerfully, crooking my index finger at him in an invitation for a morning kiss.
As he leaned his lips across the table, I flashed a warm smile and caressed his cheek tenderly. "You look lovely this morning, you know that -- right?" I exclaimed, and indeed he did, standing there barefoot as he was, his lace-trimmed silk nightdress now rumpled, his long hair all bedhead-y. How could I have ever missed seeing him the way he obviously saw himself? He was meant to look like this, I thought, and it was difficult coming to grips with why seeing him in this manner affected me so deeply. My eyes devoured him, and I instantly yearned for our next time in bed together if only to see him again the following morning, that naturally sun-streaked brown bedhead now nicely managed into a high, messy pony . . .
"Did you get a good sleep last evening?" I asked him. "Get a good night's rest?"
The double entendre was not lost on him, and he immediately blushed bright red. Golly, but he's cute when he blushes, I thought, especially when he's dressed as he is right now. I wracked my brain trying to remember if ever before in our 15-year marriage had I seen him blush, and I said a little prayer that this time wouldn't be the last . . .
"Yes, I did; I had a very nice evening," he answered quietly, throwing me that cute, bashful little smile he saves only for the most special occasions. "Thank you for asking."
"Coffee?" I asked him. "Or do you now prefer tea?"
He blushed again. "Coffee's fine," he said, quickly looking away. Almost oblivious to the presence of the vision in pale blue silk now seated at our breakfast table, we proceeded through the usual small morning conversation -- made even smaller, perhaps, by the obvious omission of his typically weighty male topics. He seemed to me to be both the same as always and disturbingly different at the same time, and the thought made me shiver. His conversation, as always, flowed as freely as spring water, and I allowed its familiar cadence to surround me before my attention began to stray and I caught myself intently studying the morning light as it filtered through the leaves outside the window and danced on the lace at his throat . . .
"You know, sweetheart, we really need to get you a robe to wear when you're down here in the morning," I broke in, interrupting both what he was saying and my own rapidly growing need to own him forever just like this. "This girl finds that just seeing you sitting like this across from me is a lot more stimulating than watching you wandering around in tighty-whities ever was."
He blushed once more, but this time I strained hard to maintain a straight face and not laugh as my usually glib hubby for once found himself at a total loss for words. Let's go a little easy on him today, I thought. Let's give him a little room to adjust. There's time enough to later rub his nose a bit into our "new arrangement." To bail him out, I switched subjects: "Well, Roni, your morning is out there just burning away, and you still need to go buy a few little things. You haven't forgotten what you're getting today, have you?"
"No," he said quietly. Was that a spark of banked-down anticipation I just saw flickering there beneath that calm demeanor, I wondered? Was he coiled on edge, just waiting for me to say "GO?"
"Well, go take your shower, pull on your big boy pants and get your shit in gear, kiddo," I told him. "Time's-a-wastin'!"
I watched his tight ass moving toward the backstairs and appreciatively sucked air between my teeth and lips before calling after him: "By the way, Roni, you're still on for two dozen panties today, but you only need to buy five nighties. I'm making you a gift of that one you're wearing."
He briefly paused for a questioning glance over his shoulder, and I tossed him an explanation in return, "I was probably never going to wear it anyway," I said. "Now that I know how devastatingly cute and adorable you look wearing it, I wouldn't care to embarrass myself by inviting an unequal comparison." I know I said I planned to go easy on him, but it was really a rotten shame that I couldn't see his face after saying that . . .
A half hour later, he was headed out the door to his truck when I shouted at him once again: "Hey honey, I've some shopping I need to do myself today. How about one of your credit cards? Just leave it on the stand by the door. Thanks awfully. Ta!" I watched his pickup truck drive out our lane before reaching for my laptop. I'd already done a little research while waiting for him to wake this morning. In eager anticipation, I excitedly used the edge of the credit card to drum a quick cadence on the shell of the laptop, then flipped open its lid. It was now time to do some serious on-line shopping.
My first need, I had decided, was for a strap-on dick. Since this would be my most personal "interface" in the actual process of deflowering his splendid sissy ass, I really intended to get it right but found the many choices a bit overwhelming. Ummh, maybe we need to save that for last, I thought. Second, I figured real girls don't need cocks. That made his a distraction redundant to requirement, and my plan became focused on locking it away until he forgot how to use it. Finally, there was the little matter of his backdoor. My limited research indicated that the male pussy was nowhere close to being in the same league as the marvelously adaptable organ I possessed. Fortunately the male's was said to respond somewhat favorably to "training," and, frankly after what I had read that morning, those prospects sounded like a lot of fun. For me, at least . . .
OK, the "chastity device" -- a CB-6000S (so clinical sounding)! It came in a number of colors which were mostly "sold out." I found that news depressing until I realized "Pink" was not one of the sold-out colors. Gee, I thought, as if my little sissy was going to be locked into anything else! Availability seemed almost instant, too; I clicked "Add To The Cart" and begin counting down the seconds until I could fit him into it and click that little lock closed forever!
To prepare his ass for the fucking of a lifetime, I first did him a favor by ordering an arsenal of plugs which I was pretty certain would systematically open him up to the exciting world of anal sex. Glass, all pretty in pink! Shiny stainless steel, with jewels in the ends! A rather professional-looking set of silicone plugs in graduated sizes that would look right at home in our farm work shop, displayed between the metric wrenches and the socket sets maybe? Works for me! As I splurged on a vibrating plug that featured wireless remote control, I suddenly realized I was also awakening a hunger in my own ass that I never knew existed. That's a rather interesting development, I thought . . .
Heading back to the strap-ons, I finally decided "early availability" trumped other considerations -- I could always order another. In the meantime, a few additional items caught my eye. A leather head harness with a shiny red silicone ball seemed absolutely essential. Even though we lived on a farm, you didn't want your neighbors thinking we're butchering hogs the evening I finally decided to explore the depths of his virgin man pussy! Another head harness, this time for a double-ended dildo gag that straps into his mouth . . .
The idea of the head harnesses, I'll admit, got me wet. I imagined putting his hair into a tight French braid before shoving the dildo into his mouth and cinching the harness straps tightly around his head. I imagined his startled wide eyes almost cross staring down the dildo as it lined up on my soaking-wet pussy . . . Pausing a moment, I edited that scene to also include eye makeup for him -- even better, I concluded, now picturing him with white eyeliner! It went without saying that I also ordered a selection of lubes in preparation for all situations and occasions . . .
Finally, just for fun, I added a pair of ridiculously red silicone lips which comically hid an open-mouth ring gag. How much of my dildo could he swallow, I wondered before concluding that we'd find out soon enough!. By this time I had also noticed that the price for his fantasy of becoming "my girl" continued to climb. "But hey," I told my computer, "it's his fetish, and it's also his credit card!"
My final order complete, I consigned it to the ether with a keystroke, made a cup of tea and settled in to browse the web until he returned from his own expedition. As sexy Benedict Cumberbatch would put it, "The game's afoot!"