This story begins with my marriage. My name was Neil and I was a slim, good-looking software professional in New Delhi, India who had just turned 25, and I was starting to face pressure to get married from my parents.
Arranged marriage is big in India. Couples often don’t get to choose or woo their partners but end up having a partner thrust upon them by their elders.
I faced a similar story. The bride my parents chose was a beautiful girl called Rita, who was a very successful investment banker.
Rita was a dusky beauty with large eyes, a slender frame, a cute and small nose and a beautiful smile. She looked like a model in her heels and loved showing her long sexy legs in short skirts.
Anyway, so there I was, married, to a girl about whom I knew virtually nothing, except that she was very pretty and successful. I later found out she was also strong-willed and dominating. On the wedding night, instead of finding a coy bride waiting for me in the bedroom, I found a slightly drunk, horny woman who literally attacked me and tore my clothes off. Not that I minded. But yes, she took the lead very early in the relationship. But her real personality only came out a few months later.
It first happened on our honeymoon. As we lay naked on the bed, she decided I needed a feminine makeover. “You look so pretty Neil, I want to see how you look like a girl,” she said.
She brushed my protests aside, and applied make-up on my face. A foundation was used for my skin tone and then blush-on, eye-shadow, mascara etc. She also attached false eye lashes and applied a generous coat of red lipstick on my lips. I must have looked very nice because Rita said I looked gorgeous and was turning her on. Needless to say, that transformation led to one steamy round of love-making. But that was the end of it and Rita didn’t mention my transformation again, for a few months at least.
Some months later, Rita got a lucrative job offer in the United States. She grabbed it. Considering it paid so well, I decided to sacrifice my job and we moved to Atlanta. As Rita settled into her new job, I played house husband till I could get a job here in the US.
It turned out that Rita liked me in this role. She took to punishing me for chores not done or for anything that displeased her. Spankings were soon dished out. I took it all, my submissive nature not allowing me to protest. And being jobless and dependent on Rita, I wasn’t going to risk anything.
One day she was so displeased with my dusting, she pulled my shorts down right there, put me across her lap and spanked me, making me plead for mercy. That day she kept me naked in the house with my wrists bound together in front. Things were looking bad for me. It seemed like I hadn’t got a wife, Rita had got a slave.
That night, after we had a sex session, she told me, “Neil, I think the roles in our relationship have reversed. I wear the pants in the family so I only think it’s fair that you wear the skirts.”
I looked at her flummoxed.
“Don’t look so surprised. We both know how feminine and submissive you are. And you do look so pretty dressed up. So from now I want you to be the wife and look pretty for me. And since you hardly go out of the house or meet anyone, no one will ever know.”
I protested. I cried. I pleaded. But there was no changing her mind. In fact she got angry with my whining and slapped me. Then she made me wear her blue satin nighty and told me to sleep on the floor as punishment.
I spent a sleepless light in the cold floor, tossing and turning and strangely, relishing the soft feel of the nighty.
My transformation had begun.
Chapter 2
The next morning was a Sunday and after I made tea for Rita dressed in that ultra feminine nighty, she made me use a hair removing cream to clean all my body hair. As I stood in front of her after a shower, naked, hairless and shamed, she seemed delighted.
She started with the nail polish. She made me kneel down naked and gave me a bottle of a spectacular maroon nail polish and told me to paint my toe nails. I meekly started doing her bidding. She used to often make me paint her nails and give her pedicures and I had become very good at it. Soon my toe nails were bright maroon and glistening in the light.
“Good,” she said. “Now, for the make-up.” She started with my face, telling me to pay attention as I had to learn and do this myself. She rubbed the cream and foundation lovingly, hiding any blemishes. The eyes got extra love with eye shadow, mascara, eyeliner. Apparently, I have beautiful eyes. And the lipstick was bright red and shiny. The nails on the hand were drone in a cherry red shade to match the lips.
“Ooh, pretty, pretty,” she giggled but didn’t let me see the mirror.
This was followed by a purple bra-panty and a cream-coloured, silky smooth chemise. What came over it was stunning. It was what we call a lehenga in India. It included a half-sleeve blouse which shows your cleavage and leaves the mid-riff exposed and a heavy, a beautifully embroidered ankle-length skirt that starts from below the navel. It was red with golden embroidery and it was just beautiful.
“This dress is a special treat since it’s your first day as the wife,” Rita said. “From tomorrow, it will be normal dresses.”
Then came the accessories and jewelry. Some gold bangles for both wrists. Golden hoop earrings (which were clip-ons) and some golden anklets on both feet that jingled. She even but a hair-band on my head.
“The bangles and anklets are a symbol of your new feminine identity and your servitude to me. These are my bonds you wear now,” she announced.
I just looked at the floor meekly.
Finally, when she showed me the mirror, I couldn’t believe it. Staring at me was a beautiful Indian bride. Looking at me, no one, and I mean no one, would have thought I was a boy then. My heart suddenly started beating faster and I felt a little giddy. Never had I thought I could make such a beautiful girl.
Rita looked at me and squealed with delight. “I knew it. I always knew it. You were meant to be a girl. I can see it in your eyes. Now kneel down and thank me.”
I kneeled and kissed her feet, leaving a lipstick mark.
That entire day, she took lots of photos and videos of me as I went about my chores and er wifely duties.
But I sensed a change in Rita’s behaviour. Suddenly, she seemed softer towards me, even a little affectionate.
She was no longer screaming at me. Every now and then she would come and tease me. As I stood in the kitchen chopping vegetables, she came up from behind and cupped my ass, and ran her hands down my legs, leaving me aroused.
When I was dusting, the living room full of the sound of my bangles and anklets, she came out of nowhere, pushed me against a wall, and held my wrists over my head and gave me a deep wet kiss that left me shivering.
Clearly, my new look was turning her on and seemed to be doing some nice things to our marriage.
Meanwhile, I can’t say I was not affected by this transformation. In fact, I was loving it. The feel of the soft chemise and the freedom of the skirts was just exhilarating. The sound of my own anklets was exciting me and every time I looked down, my feet looked so pretty. What was happening to me? It looked like I had a pretty girl hidden inside all this while.
That night, it wasn’t a crude fuck that Rita normally subjected me to. We made love. Only difference was that I was the woman, the wife being made love to. Rita was tender and loving, even though she tied my wrists to the bed, she left me helpless and whimpering as she played with my body, my nipples, my lips. I could taste her lipstick as she kissed me and smell her perfume as she played with my hard dick that she kept calling my vagina. She even used a finger to er pop my cherry. That night I had the best orgasm of my life. And I rested my head on her bosom, exhausted and content, I went off to a contented sleep with a smile on my face. I guess I was happy for the first time in ages.
Epilogue
Life changed for me and Rita from that day. As we swapped gender roles, we discovered love. From Neil I became Mona and I was the new wife. I kept myself pretty and dolled up for Rita and she played the master and the husband. That’s not to say she became masculine. She was as hot and sexy as ever. But she pampered me with gifts, flowers, cosmetics. Yes, she retained her love for BDSM. And I often found myself in various states of bondage, left tied up naked, or spending a day handcuffed or even chained to the bed as my mistress made love to me. But I had fallen in love with all this. And her. Life was starting to look good.