Dear Auntie Helga,
I write to you from a desk in my wife's house while wearing a satin tea dress and wondering how my resistance to wearing such things has been so ineffectual. When I sit still I can just about forget that I'm wearing silky knickers or lace-topped stockings, or that my collar is fastened with a pussy bow. It's only when I move that I am reminded of my status as a sex object at the beck and call of two women who have assumed total control of my life.
You asked me, Helga, whether I would share my circumstances with your readers. I shall oblige.
When I first met Helen at a party in London we began a relationship that I thought we both found fulfilling, and which was both conventional and equal. That was two years ago. Now we are married, but convention and equality have long since disappeared. I satisfy her needs through a devotion more closely aligned with religious worship than mutual affection. I am permitted to satisfy my own needs only through a friend of hers and only on certain terms. Specifically, I must be their perfect sissy.
My first brush with women's clothing happened last year when Helen told me that I should learn what it was like to be objectified by the opposite sex. She said that men do this to women by buying them fantasy underwear and that she wished to have sex with me whilst I was wearing a pair of knickers that I had bought her. She didn't wait for my assent. She caressed me with them until I became aroused and then got me to put them on. She kept me that way all evening, not finishing her ministrations till late into the night. Even then she insisted that I keep the knickers on till morning. Since then she has made me wear women's underwear every time we have sex. I have acquired a succession of garments, which she buys second hand on auction sites and arranges to be sent to my work address so that I have to bring them home.
It started with underwear and nightwear but soon I was standing by the front door buttoning up a blouse or zipping up a skirt, readying myself to keep Helen entertained until she took me to bed. When I asked her if we could go back to having sex the way it was before she laughed at me. When I declined to wear the clothes she became confrontational, which I cannot bear. The threat of hostility and the reward of sex were enough to keep me in line.
Then, ten months ago, the package I brought home from work was a sissymaid costume. It was a ridiculous parody of a French maid uniform in pink satin with a lace-trimmed apron and a skirt lined with bows. I flatly refused to put it on. I walked out of the house, cowering as she threw it into the street and told me not to come back without it on. I considered leaving her then, but the force of my love for her meant that I had to come back eventually. I felt so terrible that she was so upset that I agreed to try model the maid outfit for her just to clear the air. I acknowledged that it was no different in principle to my other feminine clothes. She took me to bed and showed me in no uncertain terms that she was in charge.
The next morning I no longer had any men's underwear in my wardrobe and whenever I returned home the maid outfit was waiting for me.
My acceptance of her advances while dressed to her requirements only encouraged her. Late last year I saw over her shoulder while she was at her laptop one evening that she was browsing for wedding dresses much too large for herself. I assumed that it would be another role-play between ourselves but I was awoken one morning by Helen's friend Carly sitting at the foot of my bed. I was dressed in a silky nightdress, as had become my habit. It was the first time that anyone other than Helen had seen me in women's clothing and I was mortified. Carly seemed to find it highly amusing and told me that Helen had asked her to help me wear something special. She showed me a set of underwear in ivory satin and told me she was going to help me put it on.
I was speechless but couldn't make her go away. When I asked her to leave, she just laughed and told me how pretty she thought I looked in my nightclothes and how she couldn't renege on her promise to Helen - not on such a special day.
She watched as I stripped naked and insisted on fastening the suspender belt and stockings, even holding the knickers as I stepped into them and pulling them up into place. I cringed each time she touched me or paid me a compliment, both of which she did constantly. After the underwear she brought out a wedding dress and got me into that, too. I don't think I could have done it on my own even if I had wanted to. Once she had fastened the hooks and eyes on the bodice she made me kneel so she could brace my back against her leg while tightening the ribbons on the corset.
It was a meringue of a dress, with puffed sleeves and skirts that puffed out wide over a petticoat. There was a veil too, which I was relieved about because when Carly led me downstairs to the living room there were half a dozen of Helen's friends, all dressed up for a party. One of them was dressed as a priest and I was led up an aisle between our dining room chairs to stand next to Helen for a mock service. I was made to repeat vows about giving myself over to Helen and swearing obedience. I was too ashamed to say them at first but the "priest" made it clear that the ceremony would be over sooner if I complied. At the end, everyone congratulated us on our "big day".
I was relieved when Helen took me to the bedroom. The relief was short-lived: Carly was there too.
Helen had introduced me to strap-on sex on the night of my debut as a maid. This was to be my first such experience with two women. At first I assumed that I would be taking Carly's strap-on in my mouth while Helen did her usual routine, but Carly asked if she could try too. I glanced at Helen, silently pleading with her to prevent this last indignity. She instructed me to show my gratitude to Carly. I looked over my shoulder at her, thanking her over and over.
Helen chose this time to announce that she had really enjoyed our ceremony and that I had shown myself to be ready for a real and lasting union. She asked Carly whether she was free in June, and she was.
"Well, that settles it, doesn't it, darling?" she said to me. I heard myself saying yes.
It was in the new year that Helen informed me that Carly would be moving in. We would need the money for the wedding and it was better to have someone who already understood our relationship. Even though Carly had seen me at my lowest, I still found it embarrassing to wear women's clothing in front of her as a matter of routine. She merely found it amusing.
Helen made it clear that I was to make our guest welcome in every way. Inevitably there was tension, not least when I found Carly watching Helen's home movies of the two of us in bed. When I complained to Helen, she arranged a house meeting. Rather than tell Carly off, Helen put on the videos and offered a commentary, pointing out my achievements and shortcomings, the art of making me shed real tears or the way she most liked me to beg.
Days afterwards Carly summoned me to her bedroom and told me to put on my maid's outfit in front of her. I complied and followed her instruction to dust her room (pointlessly, as I had already done it two days earlier). As I completed my task Carly backed me against a wall and kissed me. As soon as I got away I went straight to Helen, who marched me back to Carly's room. I had to apologise to Carly for being so frigid and show Helen that I could kiss her properly. I realised that whatever trust I had with Helen was superseded by the one between them.
My relationship with Carly became ever more involved even as Helen planned the wedding. Carly woke me one morning, when Helen had gone away for the weekend, with a gift. It was the satin tea dress that I am wearing as I type. I wore it for breakfast before she invited me to her room to help her with an exercise that she needed to complete as part of her training to be a therapist, she said. She turned the lights down low and after some breathing exercises got me to repeat affirmations about how much I trusted her, admired her and loved her.
She fondled me as we did this and afterwards, when we lay together, kissing like teenagers. Shortly before lunchtime she told me to "finish yourself off", but when I got up to leave for the bathroom she insisted that I do it in front of her. This was to be our secret, she told me.
Helen, meanwhile, became increasingly rough with me during sex, rarely considering my satisfaction. I put this down to the stress of wedding admin and hoped that married life would allow us to start afresh. I was so pleased to hear that I would not have to be wearing a dress for this ceremony, in front of our families, that I gratefully agreed to wear the bridal underwear beneath my suit.
However, it was a difficult time, emotionally. As Helen's roughness intensified, Carly arranged regular meditation sessions for which I was obliged to wear the tea dress. The affection that was absent from my time with Helen was in abundance in those sessions with Carly, who got me to repeat "I love you" as a mantra while we kissed and cuddled. I wanted so desperately for the fondling to develop into proper sex.
It was in June, a week before the wedding, when I decided to act upon my instincts. I took Carly aside and told her I loved her. I asked if she would help me break it to Helen that we had to stop the wedding.
She replied that she loved me too, but only in the context of our roleplays. She explained that our intimacy was an idea that she and Helen thought up together as a way of experimenting with my emotions. Helen thought that it would be good for me to break down my love for her and rebuild it, in her words, as "emotional dependence".
I was shocked. I told her that I felt lost. "Good," she replied, soothingly. "You have passed our test with flying colours."
I was still confused when the day of the wedding arrived. It was a beautiful church service, low key with just our families and a small number of friends. Carly once again helped me into my bridal underwear before I covered it up with my suit. Helen was sweet-tempered with me in front of our friends and the whole event seemed like the beginning of a more conventional life together, with the exception of Carly slipping her hand inside my trousers during the best man's speech. When I tried to get her to desist I was stopped by Helen, who held my hands in hers in what must have looked to everyone like a display of affection. I did my best to hide my orgasm. My parents remarked afterwards how touched they were to see me overcome by emotion.
That night I asked Helen if she loved me. She said that it was better to think of our relationship as one between a deity and a worshiper, in which she gloried in my abject devotion. She made it clear that I must pay my respects to her but that if I wish for affection then I must seek it from my make-believe sessions with Carly. At the wedding I signed the register as Robert, but that name feels like a persona I try on for work and official documents. At home I am only Bobbie.
That is the name Carly is calling out now. "Bobbie, darling," she says. "It's time." I must go.
I owe my situation very much to you, Auntie Helga, in your encouragements to both Helen and me when we wrote seeking your advice. I hope that my description of my circumstances is helpful to your readers who find themselves in a similar situation.
Thank you for your letter Bobbie.Congratulations and I know you will both have a wonderful life together. So then no team, just a bit of fun. I remember Carly and good to hear everybody is happy with the arrangement. They obviously have put a good deal of thought into this relationship and though you may struggle to accept it you will before too long.
What a fascinating analogy, deity and worshiper, I can see that. Of course you're devoted to her pleasure and serving her, or should be. I do feel that now this is inevitable and the best way forward is total obedience to Helen. Play with Carly, worship Helen.
So now Carly is living there as well and that seems to be causing you some difficulties, lets see if I can help address some of those concerns here. It would seem that Helen in her generous spirit has decided to share you with Carly, not only as a maid but as her submissive plaything, this is not unusual and happens frequently among friends.
My own sense is that Carly is there for the foreseeable future, the money she pays in is helping to provide for the house you share, the few little things she has you do are small favors. You yourself said that the sex was amazing afterwards, so I don't see this all as a big problem and Helen likely doesn't either. I suggest you get used to it and obey them both, it also wouldn't hurt to show some enthusiasm when providing services to Carly, Helen would appreciate that I'm sure, this would help confirm to her that she made the right decision.