7 comments/ 29912 views/ 12 favorites Roles Reversed By: lyzunchik My wife, Bridget, was at home already, as was her usual routine, when I arrived that Friday afternoon. I heard her in her office working. Bridget is a freelance analyst and consultant for marketing, among other things. She works from home mostly. "Frank?" She called from her office. "Come in here." I walked into her office and there she was, at her desk with her back partially to me. She was in a black business suit and heels. Actually, she was only in her jacket and white blouse on top. She had taken off her skirt or pants, whichever she wore today. Her jet-black hair was in a tight bun with a lock of hair seductively falling loose of the side. Her reading glasses were resting midway on the nose of her bridge. She knew I loved the sexy, seductive librarian/teacher look. She turned around to look at me, her legs crossed. She was wearing black stiletto pumps. And no panties. Her makeup was dark, giving definition to her best features – her lips, her eyes. She had large hoop earrings on. They seemed almost out of place. "Get on your knees," was all she said, as she reached for her cigarettes and lighter. I did what she said, more so indulged her than obeyed her. I wondered what she had in mind today. She took a long, deep drag as she lit her cigarette. "We have to have a conversation," she said as she exhaled. I had wondered when this was coming. Something had changed in our marriage in the past nine months or so. It was never an abrupt change so that I would notice and question it, but more subtle, so that it settled into the landscape of our lives, our bedroom and sex life without disrupting the equilibrium or routine. After the New Year she had stopped shaving her pussy. Well, not completely. She shaved her pussy lips, but let her mons go feral before manicuring her thick, jet-black hair into a nice little hairdo, usually a heart or triangle. I prefer a shaved pussy, but didn't make a scene about it, thinking it was a temporary change of pace for her. Originally Bridget was very self-conscious about her hair down there. If left to its own devices, untended, it was quite the jungle, with hair appearing damn near her navel. There were other changes, of course. I'd noticed her style of dress had changed somewhat. It was more feminine, if not likewise harsh in a certain way. Today's business suit was a prime example. I had no complaints about that. She wore heels more, and stockings, sometimes with a garter belt, sometimes the stockings that stay up on their own. She shopped generously for herself at Victoria's and elsewhere. She still had a great figure for a lady about to turn 45. Mid-height, weight never above 130 – discounting being pregnant, of course – and a bust that was still pert and full, a nice C-cup with big, responsive nipples. Bridget tended to herself quite well these days, with salon and spa time. Given she was a breadwinner in her own right with her hard-earned income, it was her prerogative. And frankly, I liked that she was keeping herself more feminine, with nails and such. But she had started doing them a little longer, closer to talons than a typical manicure. Ironically, though, Bridget was smoking more. Not that she ever was a heavy smoker. If she smoked a pack a month it was a lot for her; now, more like a pack at least every two weeks. I never complained or made a deal about it. I figured it best to deal with it as with a rebellious teenager. Address it, you get counterproductive results; ignore it, and usually it goes away of its own accord. But Bridget wasn't a teenager. She was a very intelligent lady who had her shit together. Frankly, it sometimes turned me on when she smoked. It made me think about her sucking my cock. She knew this, too. All to well. Therein lies another evolution in our lives. Our sex life had definitely evolved over the past year. Gone were the times when I got head on demand. Bridget hadn't sucked my cock in months. She told me she didn't like sucking cock anymore and wasn't going to indulge me. She found it demeaning. I tried to figure it out but Bridget closed the conversation curtly and wasn't open to revisiting the subject. A good thing gone up in smoke it seemed, at least for the time being. There was a time not so long ago when I could get head on demand, with her swallowing or even taking a facial. She never minded if I took her hair in my fist and bobbed her head on my cock to my complete satisfaction. And she never minded if I talked dirty to her, calling her cocksucker and the like. In lieu of head I occasionally got a handjob these days. More often though it was me jerking off for her. What had certainly increased was me licking her pussy, especially after the less-frequent occasions when I did get to fuck her to cumming inside her. I have never been a fan of cleaning out creampies, but I just tried to go with the flow, figuring it was a phase for her. Her vocabulary had changed, too, and not only in bed. My lovely wife of 20 years demonstrated that she had a very dirty mouth. Pussy became cunt, for example. She was more verbal overall, especially in bed. I've always loved dirty talk, so this was not a point about which I would complain. But it was a datapoint in all this evolution of Bridget. I chalked most of this up to, for lack of better terms, a mid-life crisis. Although it really wasn't a crisis all-in-all; just an unexpected and not entirely welcome evolution in Bridget's womanhood it seemed. When she got a tattoo after turning 40 and a piercing in her labia, I didn't protest. The tattoo of chinese symbols at the base of her neck actually looked hot, and kind of turned me on when she let me take her from behind. And the piercing would lightly tickle my balls when I fucked her, too. "What's on your mind, Baby?" I responded to her, not really sure how to respond. I was trying to keep an open mind, but 'we have to have a conversation' usually doesn't have a good outcome. But I was trying to stay positive and keep an open mind on the subject. "First," she said to me after a moment of looking at me while she smoked slowly, purposely, seductively, "This really isn't going to be a conversation. And don't call me Baby anymore. You can speak when I'm finished and I tell you you can speak. Nod if you understand." "It's OK, I'm sorry, just tell me what you need to tell me," I said. "I'm here for you." I was trying to be supportive and not let the situation become aggressive or antagonistic. I still had an ominous feeling about where this was going. Bridget exhaled and then suddenly leaned forward and slapped my face, hard. One of her long nails cut my cheek under my eye. Her eyes seemed like they were on fire. "I SAID, shut the FUCK up, listen and nod if you understand!" I was taken aback by her aggressiveness and her loss of temper. Bridget had never raised her voice like this, even during the relatively few arguments and fights we had had in our marriage. I nodded meekly, trying to bring down the temperature of this exchange. A thought crossed my mind fleetingly. Bridget had been working out at the gym more. I had noticed she was gaining quite a physique. Not just toned, but also she had gained some muscle mass in the process. I wondered if she had turned to steroids for this, and if this wasn't a 'roid rage of some sorts. My mind was all over the place under the circumstances. Bridget settled back into her high-back leather office chair and continued smoking for a moment, seemingly regaining her composure. She continued with her "conversation." "For 20 years I've been taking care of you, the kids and this house, and working at the same time, making as much or more than you over the years," she said. "Things are about to change. Whether you like it or not." Her tone was not contemptuous, but cold and direct. She had obviously thought a lot about this – for how long, I wondered. "I haven't decided on all the changes I want at the moment, but for now," she continued, taking a long, dramatic drag on her cigarette, "Here are the terms: 1)I'll be taking over all household and financial decisions in our marriage; 2)once the kids are on their way to college this fall, we'll sell this house and downsize to a smaller place; I plan to travel, and no, you will not be with me most of the time; 3)there will be changes in our sex life, too; I don't plan to leave you high and dry, but there will be distinct changes; we'll get to those later. For now, we'll take care of the mundane, the business and financial issues. You have time now to ask any questions you need before we move on to the next phase in our marriage." I was still trying to take onboard all that she had just told me. It didn't seem rehearsed, but it definitely was not a whim that came up this morning in the shower. "Are you having an affair," was my first question. Bridget laughed. "Not exactly. I've been seeing a woman off and on for a bit. Not too frequently." That struck me. Bridget had never given any indication of any interest in bisexuality. "Are you going to take a lover?" I asked. "A man?" Bridget lit another cigarette. She was probably a little more nervous about this than her cold demeanor revealed. Admittedly, the cold Bitch routine was sexy, and she pulled if off for an Oscar, but I was trying to wrap my head around this being a 24/7 routine. "Probably," she smiled coyly, as she exhaled. "We'll talk about that later. Frank, you've been a good lover all these years, for the most part. But I'm about to turn 45. I've only been with you, one man in all these years. My cunt needs a vacation, a sabbatical. What are your other questions?" I had never seen her so cool and confident, so in-control like this. "Is this a hormonal thing?" I asked. "A mid-life crisis?" Bridget bitch-slapped me again. "That's really a stupid question to ask!" she yelled at me. "This is about equity. Don't be so ignorant. Think about what you're saying and asking before you open your fucking mouth. Do you have any other questions before we move on?" My mouth was dry from the whole drama unfolding. I hesitated ask anything else, but had to ask one last question. "Are you going to leave me?" Bridget's attitude seemed to soften slightly hearing my question. "I never said I was leaving you. But it's up to you. It's all up to you. So do you accept this new arrangement, all-in? No negotiations." I swallowed hard. I had no idea really to what I was agreeing. "Yes," I replied, rather hoarsely. "Yes what?" she asked harshly. She was obviously enjoying this, perhaps more so than she ever expected. "Yes Ma'am," I said meekly. "Good boy," she smiled slightly. "I knew I could count on you." Bridget gave me the routine for the rest of the day and sent me away so she could make phone calls before she finished her work for the day. I took a quick shower and changed into casual clothes. The next change I came across was my underwear. In place of my boxers Bridget had replaced them with silky men's briefs. Thank God they aren't women's panties, I thought. I'm not sure I could go down that road. I went downstairs and cooked dinner for us – something Bridget thought I had done all to infrequently and would rectify now by doing it all the time. Bridget came downstairs later to eat with me. She was still in her stockings and heels but had shed her jacket and blouse for a sheer, silk black robe. Her tits swayed slightly underneath it. It seemed the hard Bitch I encountered in her office had been replaced with the Bridget I knew when I left this morning. She complimented me modestly on the meal and we made small talk. Well, she did, I was still unsure of how to approach her and our new circumstances. I was laconic mostly. I was in an unfamiliar landscape. Some regret, "buyer's remorse" crept into me over dinner. Bridget left the table and me to clean away the dishes, moving to the patio to relax. It was a warm evening. As I was finishing the dishes she called for more wine and to bring her her cigarettes and lighter. I didn't like cooking, but I hated washing dishes even more. I made it a point to get familiar with the dishwasher soon. I grabbed Bridget's things and a beer for myself and headed to the patio. Bridget lit a cigarette and then asked, "Did I say you could have a beer?" I laughed nervously. A little rebellion was settling into me now that our initial afternoon exchange had passed. "If I want a beer, I think I'll have a beer." Bridget allowed that to pass as she smoked and took a generous sip of wine. She got out of her deck chair and sat on my knee, putting her hand behind my head as she held her wine glass and cigarette in her other hand. "Frank, you can go with this, you can enjoy the ride, or the alternative is you watch me walk out the door with the house and half your shit. Your choice." "I don't think this is fair," I replied, trying to reason with her. Bridget smiled, almost sweetly, cockily actually. "NO one said this was going to be a fair arrangement. It's my arrangement, my terms, my way, or the highway." She took another sip of her wine and a drag before continuing. "There are three outcomes here: vicious, hard, or easy. Your choice." I thought for a moment. Bridget drank and smoked as she looked at my face, reading my eyes. "I guess I don't have a choice," I said after some time, with resignation. "No, you don't," she replied with self-satisfaction. "But I'm not pleased you tried to welch on our deal. You have to pay for that. Do you understand me? It's my rules, no questions asked, no back-talk, no bitching, no whining, from now on. Don't be a pussy, Frank, get on the ride, you just might enjoy this in the end. But I'm not one to suffer fools lightly, not even from you. This is a zero-sum deal. Do I need to explain it any more?" "No," I said quietly. "No what?" she asked harshly. "No Ma'am." "Good boy." Bridget gripped the hair on the back of my head roughly in her fist and shook my head slightly. "Now, for tonight, you're going to lick my cunt to a multitude of orgasms and no, you will not get one yourself, not jackoff much less a handjob. And we still have to do something about you trying to welch on our deal." Bridget changed the subject to talk about the kids and other less provocative household subjects. I participated in the conversation, but I was really somewhere else, I really am not sure where. I was in no-man's land. Finally sated with wine and smoke for the moment, Bridget told me to follow her upstairs to take care of her. It was still relatively early but I could tell she was emotionally drained from the day's events and a little drunk. Bridget was still dressed as before when I walked in the bedroom, but there was stuff on the bed I wasn't familiar with. "Strip," was all she said to me. I slowly did as she said. In a flash she had handcuffs and a lead on me and hooked to a heavy ring in the ceiling. I started to protest and I got another bitch-slap. "Frank, when you misbehave from now on, when you disobey me, when you piss me off, when you fail to satisfy me, in bed or otherwise, this is how you will pay for your shitty, insolent behaviour and poor performance. Let me repeat one more time: this is the way it's going to be, or I'll be gone by noon tomorrow. You have a choice. It's either this or take a good look at your left hand – that's your new girlfriend. What's it going to be?" My head was spinning a little. "Please don't leave me," was all I could say. "What? I didn't hear you." "Please don't leave me." "Please don't leave me what?" I hesitated. I wasn't sure exactly what she was looking for. "Please don't leave me, Mistress," I said meekly. "Good boy," she said, obviously satisfied. I heard her pop the cork on a bottle and light a cigarette. "This isn't going to be quick. This is going to hurt. I need to break you. I don't have the time, inclination or energy to put up with your wishy-washy attitude and welching on our deal going forward. So we're going to seal the deal right now. I knew you couldn't not fuck up, so this was the easy part. I really don't want to have to repeat I'm about to do, but if necessary, I certainly will, or I will just walk out. But after this, it's my decision, not yours. Well, actually, it's all your decision, depending on how you behave yourself. Do you understand me?" "Yes Mistress," was all I could muster. I was scared. This wasn't the wife I knew this morning. Even when we had fooled around haphazardly with BDSM, it was nothing even close to this level. Bridget checked my flesh and commented on how it was so tender, almost sympathetically. Then she began. She set up a rhythm of methodically whipping my ass, upper legs and back. The only breaks she took were to light another cigarette or pour herself more champagne. Most of my backside burned and ached. I was bathed in a light coat of perspiration. But it wasn't over. I don't know how long Bridget had whipped my ass or how many strokes she had given me, but she seemed long from satisfied. When she tired of me screaming and begging for relief, she put a piece of duct tape over my mouth. She began to concentrate on my tender skin under my butt cheeks and the fatless flesh on my back. I had no more tears to shed from the pain she was administering to me. As she methodically punished me, she explained why it had come to this. She had long held resentment that I never indulged her fantasies of female domination, only fulfilling mine of dominating her. She finally set aside all this in the interests of raising kids and maintaining the household and a job. But her fantasies festered and of late they had finally come to a head. And now they were coming for payday in spades. She stopped finally, and I thought it was over. She stepped before me with a hand mirror and showed my backside in the mirror on the wall behind me. It was vicious. Black and blue from above my knees to almost my shoulder blades. She smiled sweetly, evilly as I looked at my body in the mirror. "We're about half-way, Sweetie, hang on," She laughed. I suddenly regretted never listening to her fantasies of female domination with a pounding of my heart and extreme fear. I could not take what she had in store for me. But that wasn't my choice. She worked her crop on me some more before switching to some other instruments, less sharp, more blunt. I assumed she was trying avoiding to break the skin while still giving me the effect she wanted. All the while Bridget took her time, enjoying her champagne and a smoke when it pleased her. When I had no strength and resistance left, hanging limp in my restraints from the ceiling, she stopped. She cupped my balls in her hand and raised my chin. I was bathed in sweat, tears, and feared what I would feel when I sat down the next time. I feared what surprise she might have in store for me now. She looked me in the eye, tore the duct tape from my mouth and smiled at me. "Now, do we understand each other?" She was almost sweet and sympathetic in her manner. "Yes, Mistress," I said weakly. "Good, that's a good boy. I'm going to release you now. I don't really want to do anything like this to you again. But that's up to you, do you understand me? That doesn't mean you won't get the crop ever again – we know that's going to happen. But it's up to you if I have to repeat this kind of beatdown." "Yes, Mistress," I repeated weakly. Bridget released me and I fell to my knees, drained of all strength. My body ached. I was truly broken. Bridget spread her legs. Her labia was engorged from her excitement, her clit erect and extended fully from underneath her hood. Bridget had always had a big clit, but it seemed even larger of late. It looked vaguely like a little penis peaking out from foreskin at the moment. Her cunt was wet and ready. Roles Reversed "Lick my cunt, bitch," she said, as she lit another cigarette. I had no idea what time it was when I began licking her, but the sun was already above the horizon before I finished. As I satisfied her with my tongue, Mistress Bridget teased me with a couple of details to come in our new relationship. to be continued. . . . Roles Reversed Ch. 02 TWO Several days later Bridget returned home from shopping, after I had returned home from work. She had stopped by her office before going on what was obviously a shopping spree. She had a multitude of bags and sent me to fetch them for her out of the car. I had already prepared dinner, as she had instructed per her note left on the kitchen counter. Bridget didn't say much but took her bags to the master bedroom and returned in a robe and a what appeared to be a new pair of heels, the medium-height kind that you imagined women wore around the house. I could see her thick bush underneath her silk robe. I started getting a hardon, thinking about fucking her. Despite the changes in our relationship, my wife still got me hot. And as much as I hated to admit it, the recent changes had turned me on in a way I never expected. We had dinner and the topic of conversation was getting the kids out of the house and on to college and on their own, out of the house permanently, to put it bluntly. Which is what Bridget was prone to do of late. She told me before we finished that I was to join her in the bedroom when I finished the dishes. Then she left the table for the veranda for a glass of wine and a cigarette before going upstairs to our bedroom. It dawned on me why Bridget had arranged for our son and daughter to go away over the summer before they started college. She had obviously planned this for quite some time. I wondered when this whole scenario had germinated itself in her head, what prompted her to do it. Bridget was already in the bedroom when I finished the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen. She was organizing and looking over her purchases. She turned momentarily to look at me and all she said was, "strip." I got undressed and waited for her, standing there, bashfully, my cock starting to get hard. When she was finally finished with her things she sat down on the chest at the end of the bed and lit a cigarette, looking me over a bit before she spoke. "Bitch, I know you've disobeyed me, jerked off without permission," she said sultrily, exhaling a cloud of smoke. I began to protest my innocence, but she was having none of it. "I'm not going to beat your ass tonight because I didn't catch you in the act," she countered. "I'm trying to be fair here, not a tyrannical cunt, but I certainly can be, if you want. So here's the deal: you're going in chastity tonight. I planned to do this when I'm away but we might as well begin now. You'll also be shaved. I want you hairless. And I've decided to modify your wardrobe a little," she smirked. I stood and listened. I was afraid to say anything. I waited for her to speak again. "So, let's get started!" she said with wicked enthusiasm. She had me stand before her and spread my legs. She shaved my cock and balls, and not gently so, before she turned me around and shaved my ass. She commented as she worked that I was getting semi-erect, but for someone who hadn't cum in four days I wasn't leaking any precum, which confirmed her suspicions. She then rubbed my body with a smelly, nasty depilatory and made me wait the fifteen minutes until it took full effect before sending me to shower. When I'd finished and dried off my body was slick and hairless. I felt a little emasculated. Bridget told me to come to her and she took my cock and balls in her hands roughly. She took something out of a box and slid a plastic device on my cock and locked it behind my balls. It was very snug. She put me on my knees before she continued. "Now, you can piss but you can't pleasure yourself. Or fuck anyone else," she explained. "By the way, I better not see you ever peeing standing up. You squat to pee from now on. I'll decide when you will have this taken off and you can pleasure yourself. Let's get to the rest of the rules I'm instituting to keep you in line. But I'll let you ask any questions you want at the moment. Ask away, while you can." "Why are you doing all this? I've never cheated on you and I think I've been a good husband and father for our children," I said in a pathetic, submissive and pleading voice. Bridget lit another cigarette before she answered and enjoyed a long drag. "Bitch," she began, exhaling a cloud of smoke upward, "I've already explained this to you. I don't like to repeat myself. I will whip your ass if you make me do it again. Now what else do you want to ask, I'm getting tired and bored, and I want my cunt licked before I go to bed." I hesitated to ask anything else, but I had to know. "Where is all this going?" I asked meekly. Bridget looked at me for several moments before she answered, smoking and ruminating on my question and her answer. "I'm not entirely sure. I haven't planned the entire journey yet, but I know a general direction. I'm not leaving you, as long as you behave and do what I tell you to do. So relax and enjoy," she smiled wickedly. "Now I'm through with questions for the night. Time to get on with the rest of our business tonight." I waited, kneeling before her. "You'll sleep in the guest room from now on," she continued. "I'll be putting the house on the market soon, so we can downsize to a more reasonable place. You'll be responsible for all the mundane details of arranging movers and such. I already have a place in mind, once we sell this house. In two weeks I'll be taking a little vacation, alone. You will stay here and you will behave. And believe me, I'll know if you fuck up. Don't test me. Do you understand?" "Yes Ma'am," I said, my head spinning a little. "Good boy," she said, almost smiling. "Now, two more things. You will be taking early retirement or arranging to work from home. I want you at my beck and call 24/7, and along with that, I'm going to change your wardrobe a little. You'll notice on the bed in the guest bedroom several items. These are what you'll wear, for now, under your street clothes. Oh, and you're going to be pierced and marked as my property. You may be my husband, but you are my chattel, now," she said harshly. "Do you understand?" I hesitated. I wasn't entirely amenable to putting up with this, not at all. I remained silent. Bridget bitch-slapped me again. "I asked, 'do you understand?!'" "Yes Ma'am." "Good." she lit another cigarette and spread her legs, exposing herself to me. "Get over here and lick my cunt before I retire for the evening." It didn't take long to satisfy her. She was very wet, and obviously very excited. I licked her and sucked her cunt until she couldn't take anymore. Then she sent me to my room, closing her bedroom door behind me. In my new room I found two shopping bags on the bed and a lengthy note with instructions from Bridget. "pussyslave, In your shopping bags you'll find what I expect you to wear under your street clothes: -Panties -chemise -stockings Do try to color coordinate. I don't have time to dress you. At home you will wear only a robe, stockings and your maribou slippers. N panties. You will sleep nude. You will follow the additional instructions attached along with a daily schedule. Your Bitch Wife Bridget" The rest of the note explained new house rules, mostly mundane, about chores and so forth, along with a daily schedule -- breakfast in bed, dinner time, daily shaving of her pussy, drawing her bath water, etc. I threw the note on the nightstand set the bags on the floor. I was angry and depressed. I slipped downstairs quietly and poured myself a stiff drink, straight vodka out of the freezer. I was trying to drink myself into a stupor so I could sleep. I poured myself another before I returned to bed. I could hear Bridget talking to someone, but couldn't make out the conversation. I set my alarm and went to bed, naked of course. My alarm went off too early and I was exhausted from a fitful night deprived mostly from sleep. My head ached a little from the vodka. I looked at my shopping bags and rummaged through them for panties, stockings and the shoes. The idea of dressing for Bridget didn't completely turn me off. I could indulge her for now. It was pretty harmless. My slippers fit perfectly. I wondered how she got them in my size. My feet were not small. The stockings actually felt nice, a pair of dark seamed stocking thigh-highs. There were at least a dozen pairs of panties, but true to my instructions, I left them and slipped on one of the silk robes in the bag. I went downstairs to make breakfast for Bridget and brought it to her on a tray to her bedroom. I knocked on the door and waited for her to answer. "Come in," she said after what seemed like an eternity of waiting outside the door of what was formerly my bedroom. "Well, don't you make a pretty, sexy little housewife," she smirked. I didn't react outwardly. Inside I was mortified, to tell the truth and turned on at the same time. Bridget had me stand next to the bed while she had breakfast. She inspected my cock and balls and the chastity device. She reminded me that I was to keep myself slick and hairless -- completely. After breakfast I would give her her daily pussy trim and shave. "We're going out later," she informed me. "We have things to take care of. You'll drive me. Draw my bath in half and hour and be ready yourself in one hour. Don't forget your wardrobe. You'll wear slacks and a dress shirt for our business today. Now, take the tray and clean up." Bridget lit a cigarette and smoked in bed as I left for the kitchen. When Bridget came down ready to go out, she looked stunning. She was wearing a pencil skirt, stiletto pumps and a beater that showed off her still-amazing rack, and a jacket. She gave me an address and I drove her there, using the GPS in the car. We pulled into a rather seedy shopping center. She told me to follow her and we went into a tattoo and piercing parlor. I wondered what was going on, dreading what this might be. Was she going to follow through on what she had said before? She told me to wait in the lobby -- if you could call it that - while she spoke to the girl at the desk. I couldn't hear what they said but in a moment the girl, replete with tattoos and piercings on all exposed skin, took Bridget into another section of the tattoo parlor. In a while she opened the door and told me to come back with her. "You'll be here for several hours for your procedures, so I'll be back when they're finished," she said and promptly left. I had no idea what was going on, sitting here in what was something similar to a medical examination room. In a moment a man and two women walked in, both about mid-thirties. "Well, let's get started, then," the man said without introduction or fanfare. "You'll need to strip down naked for what Bridget asked us to do." I was mortified. I'm sure I turned beet red, my face was hot. I began to protest but the man was having none of it. "Dude, you're getting this, whether you like it or not, your lady already paid for it," he said. "I don't want to have to hogtie you for this, that would be fun, but I really don't have time for it. But if you insist, I will hogtie your ass and do what she asked for." He was no small man, but his tone and demeanor told me even more so he meant business. Not to mention he looked like a very rough character, with tattoos everywhere, like a tough biker. His counterparts were a contrast between one another. One looked like a biker chick, the other was a very attractive lady, elegant even. She could have been a model, although she was rather petite for that kind of work. I wondered why it took three of them. I reluctantly stripped, slowly. All of them grinned brutally when they saw me in panties, stockings and a chemise. Biker chick told me those have to come off, too. While I slowly stripped Biker man and Biker Chick talked as if I were not there, discussing this and that, some things that meant nothing to me, but what did stick in my mind was that not only was I apparently getting a tattoo, or maybe tattoos, I was also getting pierced. The model simply observed. She lit a cigarette while they began their work. The man told me to bend over the table. Fortunately he was wearing latex gloves, as was Biker Chick now, when he began to touch me. I felt him drawing on my lower back, almost into the crack of my ass at one point. I felt like running away, but I was afraid of the consequences, one from this guy, and ultimately from Bridget. So I took it. When the needle started it hurt like hell. The tattoo was by no means small. It took Biker Man what seemed like ever to finish it. My lower back was nothing but dull, throbbing pain once he started. I tried to focus on other things, take my mind off the humiliating ordeal of getting a trampstamp. I thought this might be all of it but then I remembered about the piercings I overheard. Biker Man told me to roll over and sit on the bench. He took my left foot in his hand and began putting a tattoo around my ankle. Biker Wench was there practically the whole time, doing her own thing and watching, too. She had an amused smirk on her face. The Model simply sat and watched the whole procedure, smoking from time to time. I wondered what her role was in all this. When he finally finished my anklet tattoo, I shuddered to think what was next. About that time Bridget walked back into the room. She didn't speak to me, but getting an update on my progress from biker man and biker wench. She seemed to know the Model, but they didn't speak much. I wondered what the hell was going on. "We saved the best for last," biker wench said with a grin. She told me to spread my legs and Bridget used the key around her neck to unlock my chastity device. Biker wench had several things in her hand as she replaced Bridget between my legs. They turned out to be male chastity devices of a different design. "I think we'll have to go with a small or an extra-small," she smirked. "No doubt," Bridget said, as she lit a cigarette. Biker wench placed it on me roughly. It was all metal, curving my cock down sharply but it was open at the end, leaving my cockhead exposed. It also diminished in diameter so that she had to pinch what little of my cockhead was able to get through and pull it through, so that my helmet expanded past the narrow opening. My new cock cage secured much like the old one, behind the balls but also had a ring to squeeze them down and keep them tight in my sac. It was snug, but not too tight when Bridget stepped forward again to place the lock on it. Biker man left, his tattoo work finished, apparently. Thank God he didn't take care of the chastity device, I thought. Despite my predicament, I was getting aroused, although the cock cage prevented any reasonable chance of an erection. Biker wench then told me to lean back on the bench. She brought over a piercing needle and several rings, each the same, with a little stone mounted in the center, along with two plain stud earrings, I assumed. I began getting very nervous. She began with my ears. The earlobes hurt, but the nipples hurt more. She put the studs in my ears and moved on to my nipples. The pain in my nipples was sharper but it was momentary before she quickly replaced the needle with the ring. I had to admit, she seemed very skilled at doing piercings. Biker wench then grabbed the shaft of the cock cage. Suddenly I realized she was about to pierce my cock or balls. I gasped a little. "Oh, please, no!" I looked at Bridget. "Please, no, this is too much!" Bridget pulled biker wench aside so she could bitch-slap me. Then she grabbed my chin and looked straight into my eyes. "You know the score," Bridget said. "It's my way or the highway." The Model was obviously enjoying this. She had a wicked grin on her face. I nodded reluctantly. Biker wench stepped back between my legs and took my cock cage in her hand, roughly of course. "Don't move," she warned me. She stabbed the needle horizontally through my cockhead and replaced it quickly with the ring. She put some sort of antibiotic cream on my nipples and cockhead before she finished. "All done," said, looking at Bridget and the Model, grinning. "Great, thank you," Bridget answered. "Lovely work. Get dressed, pussyslave," she said, turning to me. "Thank you," biker wench said grinning even more broadly. "I LOVE doing cock piercings, it's such a rush." I was mortified. Where did Bridget find these people? I was feeling like I was in some weird, psychosexual "Twilight Zone" episode that just would not end. And who was the Model? Why was she there? Bridget had me drive her to her salon for a style and a manicure and pedicure. She would be at least two hours, I knew this. I wondered what I was to do in the mean time. I soon found out. "While I'm at the salon you're to go to the department store and buy yourself these items, in your size. You're to get assistance from one of the salesladies there. You will tell them that the items are for you and you need help with your sizes. I know the items are there, in your sizes, so don't fuck with me on this. You will try them on, each and every one of them. And yes, I will know if you don't follow my instructions to the letter," she said. I sat and stared out the car window. When does this nightmare end? I wondered. "Do you understand me?" she asked, annoyed. "Yes Ma'am," was all I could muster in a monotone of resignation. Bridget walked into the salon and I walked towards the department store. My piercings were starting to get irritated from my chemise underneath my shirt, and my throbbing cockhead was making me walk funny. I looked at my list and walked gingerly to the lingerie department. I noticed a saleslady there, a lady a little younger than me. She was immaculately dressed. "May I help you sir?" she asked me very professionally. "Yes," I said meekly. "I need to purchase some things, I have a list here," reluctantly handing it to her. She looked over the list quickly. "Do you know sizes? I'm sure we have everything you're looking for," she smiled. "No, I don't," I said, sighing. "Well, maybe you could describe your lady to me," she said. "They're for me," I said shyly, in almost a whisper. I"m sure I was beet red from my confession to this complete stranger. "Hmm, hmm, hmm hmm," she laughed quietly and smiled knowingly, looking at me over her reading glasses. She stepped closer to me and put her hand on my arm, rubbing it lightly. "Don't you worry, Sweetie," she said quietly with a condescending grin, "I've dressed plenty of sissies, we're going to make you look and feel very feminine and pretty!" She took out a measuring tape and measured my hips, waist and chest. She then walked me around taking things off the rack and leading me back to the dressing rooms. I was thankful there appeared to be only one other saleslady in the lingerie department and one customer, both of them engaged away from us and the dressing rooms. She walked inside with me and I gave her a look of shock and surprise. "Now, relax, Sweetie," she assured me, "like I've said, I've helped lots of sissies dress, there's nothing wrong with it and you don't need to be embarrassed or ashamed. Let's get you undressed and try on some pretty things." I undressed hesitantly, knowing she was about to see me in my shame of being freshly tattooed and pierced, bound in chastity and feminized. I stood before her completely nude save my stockings. She smiled, as though to say "Oh what a sissy you are." She helped me with my new lingerie outfits, two panty-bra-garter sets, three teddies and a frilly chemise that looked like a satin dress with a short hemline. She talked soothingly to me, encouraging me, trying to take the edge off the embarrassment and humiliation of revealing that my wife was both dominating and feminizing me. Roles Reversed Ch. 02 Once we finished trying on everything -- which I was surprised, everything she chose fit me quite nicely -- she suggested a pair of heels to add to my ensemble. A look of shock and horror overtook my face. "Relax, you know you can't wear stockings bare walking around for your Mistress," she said a little to loudly, I thought. "I'll be right back, you wait here, I have just the thing." she came back shortly with three boxes. She pulled out a pair of large black pumps with a gold metal stiletto heel. She had me sit down and I tried awkwardly to put them on. I wondered how I would walk in them. She help me stand when I had them on and told me to leave the dressing room and walk a bit in them. The dressing rooms were enclosed behind a separate curtain but anyone could have walked in and seen me walking a white lacy lingerie set, stockings, and fuck-me pumps. I found it wasn't so difficult to walk as I imagined, and event felt I might be able to strut a bit in these. My saleslady stood with arms crossed, a self-satisfied smile on her face. She had me come back in and try on the other two pair, they were also black, one a similar pump but with an open toe. She had me "walk the runway" again. These felt a little nicer, less confining. My final pair was a platform sandal with an ankle strap. I would need a pedicure to wear the last two pair, she remarked. I dressed in my street clothes and paid the saleslady. She gave me her card. Her name was Marjorie. "Sweetie, anytime you need to update your wardrobe for your Mistress or yourself, you just call me or stop in, I'll be happy to help a budding sissy dress for success," she winked with a giggle. She gave me a slap on the ass as I walked away. It only seemed to get more bizarre. I walked back to the car and realized I had been shopping almost as long as Bridget said she would be in the salon. I chose to wait in the car, and she appeared shortly, newly coiffed and with fresh nails and a pedicure. "Did you enjoy shopping?" she asked smugly, grinning. Obviously I had been set up. I realized then she had somehow conspired with the Marjorie. "Yes," I said flatly. "I want a fashion show this evening after dinner," she said sternly. I changed into my housebound wardrobe and fixed dinner for us. Bridget took my shopping bags to her bedroom and told me she expected me upstairs when I finished the dishes. I walked upstairs when I was finished, not ready for my next round of humiliation. She was sitting on the bed reading something when I walked in. she lit a cigarette and told me to kneel at the edge of the bed and show me what I'd purchased. I figured she'd already been through my shopping bags herself. When I had presented all the lingerie to her, she asked to see my shoes. I turned beet red. I pulled the boxes out slowly and opened them for her. "Well, well," she smiled, laughing. "I see you exercised a little initiative in this whole process. I'm impressed. Marjorie obviously helped, good. You'll be seeing her again. Now those are lovely, let's get this fashion show going!" Bridget told me what to wear and I tried them on and modeled for her. I was actually started to grow accustomed to it, were it not for her catcalls and salty comments. If it pleased her, maybe this would all pass in time. I was ashamed to admit, I liked wearing feminine attire, especially the slut heels I had bought. Bridget laughed as I strutted for her, she made me work it. She threatened to buy a stripper pole and make me dance for her. I almost died at that suggestion. Bridget had me lick her to several orgasms before she sent me to bed. She was dripping wet when I began, and practically squirting before I finished her last orgasm. It was late but fortunately we were most likely both home the next day.