from Hermione

Dear Auntie Helga,

I am quite new to PDQ but I feel that I must tell my sorry story as I believe that I owe it to men like me as a cautionary tale based on "be very careful what you wish for as it might come true". I sincerely hope for their sake that it doesn't or they may end up like me. I thought that it was I who was calling all the shots but in the end it became apparent that it was my wife who was doing so.

The account starts early in life when I was 9 or 10. My mum was a very shy person who used to get undressed ready for bed in the bathroom. For some reason which I can't fathom, I started, during my nocturnal visits to the bathroom, to slip on my mum's blouse and skirt and spend 5 minutes or so walking up and down the hall. It was better in the summer when I was wearing a thin cotton skirt which she had taken off just hours earlier. It simply swished around my legs. I wasn't bothered at that age being found out and neither was there any sexual element. Once or twice I went to the living room to read for an hour or so. We lived in a flat all on one level so any visitor to the bathroom would have seen a lit room and on looking in would have seen me in skirt and blouse. My secret was never discovered.

I was a very sensitive child and could easily be brought to tears. On these occasions I was accused with acting like a "little girl" and I was frequently threatened with being treated like one but I ignored these threats to my cost. Then came the crunch on the Friday after an almost full week of temper tantrums. Having come home from school I was bundled into the bedroom and ordered to undress. There was no arguing with mum and soon I was standing in front of her in a state of complete nakedness. She made me step into a pair of knickers then, first a petticoat, and then a thin cotton dress of a floral design was pulled over my head. This was followed by a pair of white socks and then my own sandals. I don't know where she got the clothes from as there was no girls in the family although many of her friends had daughters about my age and size. I was about 13 then. When, first my brother and then, my dad came home I was made the centre of ridicule for the remainder of the evening. To my extreme mortification I had to wear the dress for the whole of Saturday and Sunday. That was the first and only time that I suffered this form of punishment.

Years rolled by. I was married but we have never had children. I am not that active in the bedroom department. I was now 27. No matter how hard I tried to dismiss it from my mind thoughts of wearing female clothing just wouldn't go away. I pretended to my wife that I had read an article that stated that more men cross dressed than was realised. I made other comments that I intended would make my wife respond and they worked. With much pretended reluctance on my part I allowed her to persuade me to wear panties and nightie in bed that night. It resulted in the best sex I'd ever had. In the morning I confessed with much assumed misgiving that I had enjoyed the feel of her garments on my body and that it hadn't been as humiliating as I thought it might be. This was repeated frequently over the following six months. At least two or three times a week although the sex soon petered out to my simply masturbating.

I then decided to increase the stakes somewhat. I casually pulled the conversation round to women in general and my wife in particular wearing skirts and dresses. I was hoping that she would take the bait. She did, and how. Before the day was out I was wearing one of her dresses. She seemed to enjoy it immensely; I certainly did. We did this a lot from then on. With the benefit of hindsight, which always has 20/20 vision when seen through rose-tinted spectacles, I identify this period as the day she turned the tables on me. Gradually and so gradually that I failed to notice. I was spending most of the weekends wearing a dress or skirt and blouse. And panties.

Over the next few months, and with the justification that her clothes were tight on me, she acquired a complete wardrobe of dresses, tops and skirts, lingerie, tights and stockings for me to wear. She even managed to find shoes in my size. To my dismay all the clothing was frumpish and utilitarian. Nothing pretty. All this was done using salami-tactics, slice by slice; like a dripping bathroom tap - drop by drop.

My wife then one weekend declared that each Saturday was to be a cleaning day. To protect my dress, see how I now say MY dress, she got me several aprons to wear. What started as shared tasks became my tasks as she always had something else to do.

More months passed. Then one day, laughing on the outside but grim as death on the inside, my wife observed that I was more of a cleaning-lady than a husband. By now, bedroom activity had decreased to almost nothing although I very frequently masturbated when she went out. I sleep soundly due to medication and I woke up with an erection. My hand went towards my cock. To my amazement I touched something plastic. I looked down and saw that my cock was encased in a chastity device. The first that I knew that my wife was already awake was when she told me that it would stay on until I had learned to stop wanking. She showed me some pictures she'd taken of me in the chastity device while I'd been asleep. My nightie was up around my waist and my panties were halfway down my thighs.

Within a fortnight or three weeks I was performing my cleaning duties dressed in a French maid's outfit. She calls me, and refers to me, as "Hermione". She doesn't even call me "sissy" as she thinks it's obvious that I am one and, to a certain extent I am. The black dress with white lace ruffles was barely long enough to hide my panties which were matching black with similar white lace ruffles. A little white apron and six inch heels with black hold-up tights completed the outfit. No. I forgot about the little white lace mob cap that she pinned on my head. It had two long white ribbons hanging down the back. A complete stereotype of a comical French maid. I worked on the house from 8:00am till 6:00pm with just a 30 minute break for lunch. My feet and legs were badly aching but my wife refused to let me work bare-footed as she said that my shoes gave great definition to my calves.

By the end of the day I'd had enough and told my wife so. I said no more dressing up. Cross dressing wasn't fun any more. Then appeared her evil side. She brought out her camera phone and showed me dozens of photos of me taken without my knowledge showing me in skirts and tops, dresses and even in the maid's outfit. Even pictures of me in bed wearing the nightie where it all began, years ago. She told me that she detested me and always had. She said that she was fully prepared to publish these pictures on every media site that she could. She would give a story, with pictures, to the press and television if they wanted to run the story. To avoid this happening all I was required to do was to follow her orders to the letter. Including wearing a cock cage 24/7 that was part of the arrangement. I haven't experienced an orgasm since then except when I have had a wet dream. So far, she has at least kept her word. My life would not be worth living if she broke her promise. But in reality a divorce would hit her as much as it would hit me.

I don't know how long she had been planning this but it started to work for her.

Nowadays, I see her frequently when she comes downstairs in an evening in a waft of perfume, when she is ready to go out on a date. Yes, she has a boyfriend, her boss at work. She likes to wear low-cut tops and dresses to show off her ample cleavage or short skirts and dresses to display her shapely legs. But never low top and short skirt together. She is a tart but never looks like one (UK tart = US hooker). I can only weep.

Her boyfriend has come over for dinner many times. By now, she has given me lessons in make-up and I now wear a wig in their presence. I have to stand close by them waiting to refill their plates or glasses and I on strict orders to let him put his hand up my dress and squeeze my genitals whenever he wants but he has never sexually abused me. Yet. They both thoroughly enjoy my humiliation.

At night, until 1:00am, I must stand outside the bedroom door and listen to them rutting. For a man of 67 he has the stamina of a teenage boy. I must be on hand to enter the room with drinks or lube or condoms.

Not many people know of my life style, just her boyfriend, some of her friends, both male and female and our neighbours either side who have seen me en femme in the back garden hanging out the washing to dry.

I am obliged to go to work wearing a camisole top and lace panties under my suit.

You may feel that these things only happen in pornographic accounts. They don't. They are happening to me right now. I apologise for the length of this email but I want to protect weak-willed men, like me, from similar ruination and from total humiliation. They need to know everything. My own life, however, is beyond saving. The only satisfaction I can gain from my story is to warn other men not to follow my example. Most men and all women will take the view that I only got what I thoroughly deserved. Some men, and I fear that it will be those already on or close to the path to self-destruction, will show me any sympathy whatsoever. My wife imperceptibly turned the tables on me, the evil bitch. I wonder how long she had been planning this. I wonder if even the initial idea of nightie and panties was my idea at all. There are other evil women in this world besides my wife and she still denies me a divorce.

What started as fun continues to this day in total misery.

Please print this in PDQ as a warning.

Auntie Helga, you are a very perceptive and straight talking lady from what I have read. I would very much welcome your honest opinion of my situation. Do I deserve it?


Thank you for your letter Hermione. Referring to your glorious wife as a 'tart' is uncalled for in your email to me and from the advice I'm likely to provide, I wonder if you might refer to me negatively. Your mother, bless her heart, kept your petticoating secret except for family and I assume you learned a valuable lesson.

Of course your inclinations could not be repressed forever and this led to secret self abuse while wearing women's clothes, your wife, a wonderful woman with a strong confident nature probably felt your masturbation was out of control and that you needed help, so she did something about it and put you in chastity.

You asked basically do you deserve this, well, of course you do, you see this as a bad thing whereas actually its an opportunity to do good and to make sure her home is clean and she is happy to pursue other forms of entertainment and sexual pleasure.

Auntie Helga

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Letter 10