How I Became A Cuckold Sissy Maid, by sissy-maid dave
You can never fool a woman.
I learned that the hard way.
My wife Daria is tall, blonde, and athletic.
Big tits, tiny waist.
The kind of woman who turns heads when she strides down the street.
Guys get a hard-on just ogling the way her ass moves.
Daria’s a fitness buff.
Three mornings a week she stops by the gym before cabbing to work. She plays tennis every Saturday. She’s so competitive at tennis she even hired a tennis coach to improve her game.
I don’t have a gripe against fuzzy little balls.
Why would I want to hit them?
I’m a couch potato.
The only exercise I get is lifting a beer mug off the bar top.
Legs? Do you mean I’m supposed to walk on the damn things?
By the time I stumble to the fridge for another beer and back to the couch again, I’m panting like a penguin in 100-degree heat.
Daria’s a lawyer.
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I’m what you’d call a jerk-of-all-trades. Seven different jobs in three years.
Daria earns six figures.
What I bring home hardly covers the cable bill.
No wonder people say Daria and I are a mismatch.
Even in bed.
I would just lie there playing dead while Daria straddled me, using my droopy cock as a dildo.
I joked about that to her one morning after we had sex.
“Your cock is too tiny to be a dildo,” she snapped. “I get more pleasure putting in my Tampon.”
We both laughed, but I was hurt.
Daria showered and left for the gym.
The moment she shut the front door I went to her drawer, pulled out a pair of her panties, and slipped them on.
I stood in front of the mirror for a while, feeling sorry for myself.
Daria’s complaint about my cock had left me castrated.
My wife is a neat freak; everything has to be folded in a certain way. I spent about ten minutes arranging her panties in the drawer so she’d never know I’d touched them.
From that morning on, when Daria left for the gym and then work, I dressed up in her clothes.
I started with a pair of her panties, then added one of her bras.
By the end of that first week, I’d managed to find a loose red dress of hers that fit (sort of).
On my way home from work one day I stopped at a department store and bought some lipstick and makeup, a blonde wig, and the widest pair of high-heel shoes I could find.
I kept the gear in my briefcase, where Daria never looked.
Every morning during the week, and on Saturdays, while Daria was playing tennis, I’d dress up and prance around for a while, before flopping on the bed and masturbating.
I needed that.
Since the day Daria had made that insulting remark about the size of my cock, we hadn’t had sex.
The one time I’d put my hand on her in bed, she’d slapped it away as if she were shooing off a pesky insect.
So I kept dressing up and jerking off.
But, as I said, you can never fool a woman.
It was Saturday morning,
As usual, Daria showered picked up her racquets, and left for her tennis lesson.
As usual, I put on her panties, bra, red dress, plus my high heels, blonde wig, and makeup. Then I hopped onto the bed, hiked up the hem of Daria’s dress, and started feverishly massaging my cock.
My eyes were shut tight to preserve the vision of Daria’s ripe dangling tits dancing on my inner eyelids.
“You disgust me!”
I opened my eyes.
Daria was standing by the foot of the bed, pointing her tennis bag at me like a swollen accusing finger.
I’d been so engrossed in my self-pleasuring, I hadn’t even heard her enter.
“I knew you were fooling around with my panties, my bras, and that red dress,” she spat. “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I’m married to a guy with a cock the size of my clit. And now I find out he’s a goddamn transvestite!”
The stiff penis in my hand went limp.
I was trying to pull up my panties when Daria strode over and slapped my face hard, smearing my lipstick.
“On your knees with your panties down and your ass up in the air,” she said angrily.
I did as I was told.
Daria took a racquet out of her bag and beat my ass so hard a couple of strings broke.
“Wimp,” my wife said, “go stand in the corner till I figure out what to do with you!”
I stood in the corner, nursing my sore ass, balancing on my stiletto heels until my ankles felt like they were cracking.
How, I wondered, could women spend hours perched on those painful stilts?
I was about to find out.
The next day, Sunday, Daria disappeared and didn’t return until past midnight. She went straight to bed, after banishing me to the living room couch.
On Monday she came home with a package for me: a French maid outfit with a lacy white headpiece, black dress, and apron, both trimmed with white frill.
“Every day you will put on this outfit as soon as you return from work,” she instructed. “If I can’t have a real husband, at least I can have a full-time live-in maid.”
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She made me put on the French maid’s uniform and my high heels, lipstick, and blonde wig.
Then she ticked off my daily duties, which included laundering the dirty clothes, washing the dishes, vacuuming, and sundry other household chores.
“And your most important daily household task of all,” she said finally, commanding me to lie on the floor on my back.
Daria slipped off her skirt and panties. Crouching, my wife planted her ass crack square on my face.
“You will clean my asshole and cunt thoroughly with your tongue.”
She smothered me under her ass so long I thought I was going to suffocate, all the while urging me to use my tongue more vigorously or else she’d cut it off.
That’s how it went for a while.
I’d come home from work, put on my maid’s outfit, then rush to get the chores done before Daria arrived.
One day I forgot to clean the master bathroom.
Daria was furious.
She ordered me to take off all my clothes and kneel in front of the toilet. She forced my head down and made me drink out of the bowl like a dog.
Another evening she came home and found that the lingerie I’d washed was slightly askew in her drawer.
As punishment, she took me over her knees and spanked my bare ass with a hairbrush hard and long. Daria only stopped when she saw I was weeping from the pain.
I was more careful after that. In fact, soon I had a lot more time to get my chores done properly.
Daria started coming home late every evening; a couple of times she didn’t even come home at all.
Once I asked where she’d been, but all I got in response was a slap in the face.
Then one afternoon she came home from work and told me to shave off all my body hair within an hour.
Daria had invited a friend over for drinks and wanted to show off her sissy-maid husband.
“You’ll be on your best behavior, obedient and utterly submissive,” she said.
I decided to take a stand.
“I will not allow you to humiliate me in public in front of your friends!” I shouted.
Before I could react, my athlete wife reached under my dress and grabbed my cock and balls in an iron grip.
“You will do whatever I say, the moment I say it,” Daria said grimly, crushing my cock and balls in her fist.
I started howling and she let go.
Without another word between us, I hurried to the bathroom and shaved off every hair on my body except on my head. Daria”s friend was due to arrive at about eight.
About a half-hour before, Daria ordered me to strip and thoroughly inspected my body. She found a couple of stray pubic hairs on my balls and yanked them out, painfully, with tweezers.
“Your cock is so tiny,” she sneered, “even a few public hairs are sufficient to hide it.”
Then she left me alone in the living room while she dolled up for the evening.
Promptly at eight, the doorbell rang.
Daria popped out of the bedroom, wearing a tight-fitting, low-cut black dress I’d never seen before.
“Maid,” she said, “that’s my friend. Get off your fat ass and answer the door.”
Unsteady on my stiletto heels, I tiptoed gingerly toward the door, wondering which girlfriend Daria had invited to revel in my shame and humiliation.
I opened the door–and found myself staring up at a tall black man, at least six-foot-four, with biceps bulging from his t-shirt that was bigger than my thighs.
He brushed me aside and embraced my wife, smothering her mouth with a noisy kiss.
With a delighted gasp, Daria broke free.
“Maid, meet Fred, my tennis coach,” she said, giggling.
Suddenly I knew where Daria had been those many nights when she came home late or not at all.
And I suspected that coach Fred had been teaching my wife a helluva lot more than tennis techniques.
“Curtsy to your new master,” Daria said.
Coach gave me a menacing look.
I bent my knees to curtsy, stumbled, and fell flat on my face.
Coach Fred ambled over. Grabbing the bra strap under my dress, he yanked me to my feet.
“Bitch, when your mistress tells you to do something, you do it right the first time.”
Then he gave me a smack on the ass forceful enough to have left a palm print through my panties.
“Maid,” Daria said, “go the kitchen and pour us two glasses of that red wine I left on the counter.”
I fled to the kitchen before Fred decided to plant another stinging blow on my buttocks.
I returned with the two glasses of wine.
Fred and Daria were cuddling side by side on the couch.
Fred had pulled Daria’s breasts out of her bodice and was massaging them between his broad hands.
“You’re one lucky bitch,” Fred told me. “This wife of yours has the sweetest tasting tits.” He bent over and started suckling on Daria’s erect nipples.
I put their wine glasses on the coffee table, tears streaming down my cheeks.
Fred took a quick swig of wine, then shoved Daria down on her back and pulled down her panties.
Powerless, I stood there watching as he unbuckled his belt, stepped out of his trousers and underpants, and pushed my wife’s legs apart, preparing to mount her.
Daria grabbed Fred’s enormous flaccid penis and waved it at me mockingly.
“Wimp, this is what a real cock looks like,” she said. “Now get over here immediately, on your knees, and make Fred’s cock stiff.”
I was about to protest when Fred gave me that mean, menacing glare again. The rebellion died in my throat, which soon filled with Fred’s fat, greasy cock.
“Fuck the bitch’s face hard,” Daria said.
Coach Fred obliged, gripping my head with both hands and ramming his penis in and out of my mouth.
His cock stiffened, I could taste his pre-cum.
I started gagging.
Chuckling, Fred pulled out and stroked his rigid cock. Then he pounced on Daria, jamming his cock up my wife’s pussy.
Daria was moaning and groaning, heaving up and down in rhythm with Fred’s brutal thrusts.
Finally, my wife let out a piercing scream as Fred flooded her pussy with his cum.
After a moment Daria said, “Maid, lick up this mess with your tongue before it stains the couch.”
She was pointing at her pussy, where Fred’s semen was dripping out in a gooey stream.
Damn them, no matter what the consequences, I was not going to lap up another man’s cum from my wife’s cunt.
“No way,” I stammered. “No way.”
Fred sprang off the couch.
Towering over me, he wrapped his massive hand around my neck and guided me toward the couch. He sat beside Daria, dragging my face down over his knees. Then he flipped up my dress and nearly ripped off my panties.
Pinning my cock between his muscular thighs, he started pounding my ass with the flat of his hand.
Nothing in my life had ever hurt so much.
Without missing a beat on my butt, Fred forced my head between my wife’s open legs, till my nose was buried in her drenched pussy.
Fred kept on spanking me, tightening his thighs around my genitals.
The pain was excruciating.
“Lick up my cum from your wife’s cunt,” he said. “Swallow every damn bit of it.”
I would have done anything to get that hammer hand off my ass and loosen that thigh-vice crunching my cock and balls.
I tongued out Daria’s pussy until it was desert-dry.
After that, it became a regular scene.
Fred comes over, he fucks my wife, and then I have to clean up the mess with my mouth.
The worst time is when Daria has her period. In front of my wife, Fred pulls down my panties, bends me over the couch, and pounds his swollen prick up my ass.
But even my miserable life has its small pleasures.
Occasionally, in part as a reward for my faithful service as a sissy maid and partly to amuse Fred, Daria pulls my cock out of my panties and plays with it until I cum in her hand.
Naturally, I have to lick up that mess, too.
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