Look Ladies, he has Boobies

Copyright © Lady Alexa

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Look, Ladies, he has Boobies

by Brianna

HOW did it ever get this far? I’m actually serving as a hostess at my wife Janet’s bridge party! A hostess, moreover, dressed as a maid, which is what I became six months ago – my own wife’s personal maid!

I should have seen it coming. Even before we were married, Janet noticed I had unusually large nipples for a man and began to caress and suck on them. She did it so much my nipples became sore and distended, but she paid no attention to my complaints and went right on sucking them. Once afterwards I couldn’t resist scooping up some of her spit dripping from my swollen nipples and rubbing it across my nose and lips, licking it with my tongue. She noticed this and chuckled, knowing she now had a new hold over me. In bed she licked my face, sucked my nose and lips together, and even opened my mouth and drooled in it. She also controlled my outbursts of independence out of bed by wetting me in some way from her mouth.

But the day six months ago that I came home, fired from my job, was the day that changed my life forever! When I worked up the nerve to tell Janet the news, she just laughed and said it didn’t matter because with her new promotion she could support herself. She was even considering hiring a maid!

“But I wonder if I can trust you here in the house all day with a pretty maid on hand?”

When I began to protest my loyalty she broke in suddenly, “I’ve got it! I can get a maid for free and not have to worry about my husband’s possible infidelities!”

I asked what she meant, but she just took me by the hand into her bedroom and ordered me to strip. I recognised one of our kinky scenes starting, so I went along with her. Then she made me follow her on my hands and knees, to her laundry hamper. Humming to herself, she reached in and scooped out a pair of lacy pink nylon panties. I remembered buying them for her the previous Christmas.

“These were always really a present for you,” she said, “so now you can wear them.”

“Me wear your panties? No way.” I answered her. I wriggled uncomfortably as she lay the crotch of her panties across my mouth and nose, saying. “No? But I know different. You may leave my dresser alone; you’re not much interested in clean lingerie are you? But I remember where I put things, and these panties are not where I put them yesterday.”

She began rubbing the crotch across my nostrils and lips. With a shudder I breathed in the heady aroma as she anointed my cheeks, ears and eyes with her panties then ordered me to my feet and dressed me in them.

“You may as well know,” she said as she fished a bra out of the hamper and fitted it to me, “that now that I am the breadwinner, I wear the pants around here! I happen to know your last boss blacklisted you, so it’s stay here as my maid or out in the streets you go.”

I submitted to being cross-dressed as her maid, only to be further ensnared when her friend Sally jumped out of hiding and began taking Polaroids of me in my maid’s outfit and heavily made up to boot. Now even the street wasn’t an alternative for me.

For bed she began dressing me as a slut in the laciest, sheerest lingerie. It was always lingerie she had worn that day and sometimes for a few days, steeped in her personal scents. She made me up like a whore and then went to work on my nipples, sucking them vigorously and rubbing them, tweaking them, even putting little clamps on them. I was always aware of them now, often painfully so.

Then, one night about three months ago, I awoke to find myself spread-eagled and shackled to the four bedposts. Janet came in a minute later, grinning widely. In one hand she held a hood with some sort of attachment, and in the other two bottles of pills. She put the pills down on the bedside table and slipped the hood over my head, lacing it up in back. She adjusted the front, and suddenly a tube penetrated my mouth and almost pressed on my tongue; any longer and I would have gagged. I saw through my eye-holes that the tube extended about two feet in front of me. Janet was holding the other end, still smiling at me. With the hood over my nose, I was forced to breathe through the tube in my mouth.

“This is a new day for you, Ian,” she said. “Your life takes a different direction from this point on.” With that, she opened both pill bottles and extracted a pill from each. One pill was small and purple, and the other rather larger, round and white. “This little pill is Provera,” she said, “And the larger one is Premarin. They’re what I’ll be giving you every day from now on. You see, your nipples are about as large as I can make them by sucking and torture. The time has come to grow breasts on you. These little pills will do that and more, they’ll grow your hips and fanny too, and they’ll change your skin, make it soft and milky. They’ll make a real girl out of you.”

She placed the Provera in her mouth and presently blew it, with a great deal of spit, through the tube into my mouth. I tried not to swallow it, but Janet plugged the opening of the tube until I did. She then repeated the process with the Premarin, and suddenly I was on my way to boobs !

But except for Sally, no one else yet knew about our Mistress-slave relationship. Not until three weeks ago, when she called me in to her bedroom one morning and said she was giving a card party for some of her female executive friends. “And I expect you to act as both hostess and maid.”

I panicked, but Janet assured me that by now I was so feminine-looking that if I watched my voice and my movements, I should be able to pull it off. “Anyway, I’m having the party and you’re serving at it, and that’s that !” she said with finality in her voice.

What could I do? Just try my best to pass and hope no one noticed I was really a feminised man. But on the afternoon of the party my hopes were dashed almost immediately when a trim, middle-aged woman congratulated me on my costume and the sultry redhead sitting next to her said it was wonderful how liberated husbands were becoming, that they actually didn’t mind serving their wives and company as maids.

Janet smiled and ordered me to go sit on the redhead’s lap. She was quite a big woman, a regular Amazon, and my much reduced weight didn’t bother her a bit.

“But what have we here?” she exclaimed, and began feeling my shameful secret. For weeks now I knew I had no hope to return to my life as a man, as my nipples swelled and became painfully sensitive, then were raised up by two mounds forming on my chest. Already my nipples were growing, hardening beneath the redhead’s caresses as she rubbed them through the opening of my see-through bra. Several voices in the room exclaimed in surprise.

Janet laughed. “All right, Brianna, that’s my husband’s name now, not Ian anymore. I suppose we can’t keep it a secret any longer.”

She undid my dress and bra and deftly pulled away the cups in one swoop, as gasps of mirth arose all around me,

Look Ladies! He has boobies!” she shouted triumphantly.

There was no mistaking the C-cup melons that hung there, capped by huge, milky-looking nipples. And I knew suddenly what every woman in the room was thinking, what was really amusing them: that if I had titties like these, my male equipment must be correspondingly smaller, in fact no bigger than a long clitty. They knew they were looking at a ruined male, who had been turned into an abject, feminised slave for life.

Later!

“BUT Janet!” I pleaded, “please don’t give me any more hormones! They hurt!”

My voice came through muffled from inside my slave helmet, my tongue depressed by the force-feeder funnel my wife used to spit Premarin and Provera tablets into my mouth along with a good deal of her spit, which washed them immediately down my throat. She chuckled and did it again, as she did every morning, despite my pleas.

“What was that, Brianna? I couldn’t quite hear you?”

“Sore!” I moaned, “my breasts are getting sore, and they’re so large!”

“Oh, Brianna, I must disagree, “ my wife said. “Sore they may be, but they are nowhere near large as yet. However, we’ll soon fix that.”

She picked up the phone and started punching in a number.

“Wh- who are you calling?”

“Hello? Is this the Gender Clinic? Fine. I spoke with Dr. Rhoda the other day about my husband. Yes, he is ready now for implants. All right, I’ll bring him in this afternoon. Two o’clock? Just a moment.”

Turning to me, Janet smiled coyly and said “You don’t have anything planned for two ‘o’ clock today do you Dear?”

I tried to protest but all that came out were muffled exclamations. “I thought not,” she purred, “Yes, two o’clock will do fine. My husband is looking forward to the operation. Yes, of course he will sign the consent form. We’ll see you then. ‘Bye.”

After she hung up, I told her no way in hell I would ever sign for breast implants. This time she heard me. Reaching inside her bosom, she brought out a locking chastity device, saying “I have something here that I think will change your mind.”

Bound as I was to the bed, I could only watch helplessly while she imprisoned my by now undersized penis in it. It had teeth and locked around my scrotum.

“There,” she said, “now the smallest little sign of enthusiasm from your clitty and this metal fellow will bite you in a dozen places.”

Before releasing my bonds and taking off the helmet, she placed the key to the chastity collar in her mouth, holding it with her tongue against the inside of her cheek!

“I don’t mind swallowing this key, Brianna,” She said, smiling sweetly, “and if I do, you will never get free of your little collar down there. So one false move or word of protest, and you can kiss your little clitty good-bye, for good! Now we will dress and drive to the clinic. We’re due there in half an hour. When we get there, you will answer all the nurse’s questions truthfully. You do want big breasts, don’t you, Dear? Hmmm?” and she ran her tongue across the inside of her cheek.

“Yes, yes, of course, Dear,” I said, in an agony of nerves.

“That’s what I thought, and that’s why you’ll be signing the consent form, won’t you?”

“Yes, of course I’ll sign, only please be careful, d- don’t swallow the key!”

“Oh, this little thing? Oh dear, I almost did swallow it! I just don’t know how I’m going to get to the clinic and back without accidentally gulping it down. But if you are very sweet and co-operative, my Dear, I’ll try my best.”

Janet dressed me for our doctor’s visit. She snapped me tightly into a black satin waist clincher with six garter straps, to which she attached fully-fashioned seamed nylon stockings drawn tantalizingly up my legs – her every move calculated to make my ‘clitty’swell and engage the cruel teeth of my chastity collar. She delighted in oscillating me thus between pleasure and pain. She sprayed me with her personal perfume, then removed the elaborately frilled lacy panties she had worn all yesterday and all night long, rubbed their crotch briefly across my nose and lips, then pulled them up over the garter straps and my imprisoned penis.

“Turn around, Dear,” she ordered sweetly, and drew on my C-cup bra, “Just think, Ian,” she purred, “this will be the last time you will fit into this little thing. I’ve got your new bras already picked out for you at Victoria’s Secret, and I bought one of them there yesterday to take along with us today. You’ll need support, and need it badly, on the way home! It’s here in my handbag – no, no peeking!” she giggled. I was anxious to see how large it was!

A frilly blouse with flounced sleeves and a bolero jacket completed my upper ensemble, while black capris and sandals with 2-inch heels, exposing my nyloned feet and ankles, completed me down below. Fixing a saucy beret on my head and smoothing down my brows with a spit-moistened finger, Janet declared me almost fit to travel. She finished my dolling-up with a little dash of pink lipstick on my lips, a touch of rouge to my cheeks and light eye makeup – she liked to understate the feminine appearance of my face, so that people would still guess I am a man – and changed my earrings to more dangling, sluttish-looking ones with small pearls.

I drove us to the clinic, anxious to prevent any accidental swallowing on her part by doing all the work of driving, holding the doors for her, even helping her into her chair in the waiting room. And when the nurse presented me with the consent form, I signed it immediately, as Janet stamped her foot impatiently, not daring to take the time to read it!

When I sat down next to her again, Janet took a dainty handkerchief from her purse and blew her nose, pretending to accidentally swallow the key in the process. Then without folding it over she held it over my nose and lips, moistening them with her snot, and said “Blow, Dear.”

I managed to sniff out a little air, upon which she smiled contentedly and wiped her moist hanky across my nostrils and lips, then replaced it in her purse.

“Oh!” she said suddenly, “what’s this? Hold still, Dear.”

Taking out the hanky again she spat in it then scrubbed my face, first one cheek and then the other, while the other women in the waiting room laughed a little at my beet-red embarrassment. Then a nurse peeked out of the doctor’s office and called my name.

Dr. Rhoda was a dark, dusky brunette, rather tall and very bosomy. Reading through the signed consent form, she smiled at me and said, “Now, according to this form, Sir., you state you are willing to undergo a series of operations, beginning with implants. Is that correct?”

“A, a series?” I stammered, then caught my wife’s eye as she played with her tongue inside her mouth and quickly added, “Yes, yes, Dr. Rhoda, that’s so!”

“Really? That is marvelous, if a little unusual. And you realise these implants will be quite large? Usually we start a patient off with no more than 38C cups and work our way up from there, but I see you are eager to skip all the intermediate steps and go straight to a 40 double-D. Are you sure?”

“Fuh- fur-forty duh- double D?” I looked over at Janet with a panicked expression. She just arched her eyebrows, looking away from me, and I saw her swallow!”

:”Yes, yes, Doctor, “ I cried, tears running down my cheeks now, “Anything! I agree to everything!”

“Very well, then, Sir, off with those clothes and mount the stirrups!”

“Now,” I thought, “the doctor will see my toothed cock-collar and will realise I am under duress,” but the dusky doctor appeared to take no notice of it as I placed my legs in the stirrups. I realised with a sinking feeling that she was in on it with my wife and all her questions were just to mock me. A nurse quickly bound my arms to the sides of the operating table, and placed two large pillows behind my head.

The purpose of this became evident when Doctor Rhoda asked my wife. “Do you want him to have a full anesthetic, to be out during the operation? Or will a local to the breasts be sufficient?”

“Oh,” said Janet,” a local by all means. Ian wants to watch his breasts bloom, don’t you, Dear?” Shocked, I could only nod my head in consent.

“I thought he might,” said Dr. Rhoda, “that’s why we’ve placed pillows behind his head, so he can watch the whole operation in comfort.” To the nurse she said, “Prepare the syringes.”

With a mocking little smile, the pert blonde nurse injected me with the local anesthetics in my armpits and on the outer sides of my breasts. Then she did the same to my buttocks, injecting them off-centre, towards my hips!

“Wh – why are you injecting me down there as well?” I asked.

“Oh, Ian,” said my wife, “you want your body to be in balance, don’t you? With such big boobs you will need an ass and hips to match, don’t you agree?”

“Y- yes, I see what you mean!”

“Not yet. But you soon will,” said Doctor Rhoda. “Feeling numb yet, Sir?”

“Y – yes, it’s getting numb on the left now,” I admitted.

“Then let’s begin.” Doctor Rhoda swabbed my left armpit with antiseptic and then, taking up a small scalpel, made a small incision there. As she worked, she explained the procedure I was undergoing to me.

“We don’t want the scars to show, so we generally prefer to insert the implants through the axila. That’s your armpits, of course. However, this incision is for my endoscope so I can see what I’m doing inside you and position the implant in just the right spot.”

Doctor Rhoda inserted a small tube with a bright light into the incision. The tube was linked to a screen at her elbow. As she moved the instrument into the flesh of my left breast, I was fascinated with viewing my innards on the screen. However, I was soon distracted by the second incision, in which she inserted the implant, which trailed a tube to a saline pump next to the screen. This brought me back to the reality of my position – helplessly bound to this operating table, and about to be given huge 44-double-D breasts for the pleasure of my sadistic wife! Why was Janet doing these things to me? Why did she want to turn me into a woman? The answer was not long in coming.

Now the implant had been inserted in place, and the doctor started the pump. Slowly, gradually, the flesh around my left nipple started to swell – and swell – and swell! If I hadn’t been numbed there I knew I would be screaming with the painful pressure, as my left breast, hitherto ‘hide-able’, began ballooning out, growing larger and larger, and larger! Now my nipple was almost as big as the whole breast had been; the doctor looked inquiringly at Janet, but Janet shook her head no and the pump continued to fill the ultra-flexible sac in my breast with saline solution! At last, when I could no longer see anything towards the left front but my enormous boob, the doctor sent a sealant through the pump that sealed off the sac.

She then moved to my right side and began repeating the operation, this time without explanations. I watched in horror as my right tit blossomed out to match my left. Janet’s grinning face finally disappeared, setting like the moon below the horizon of my enormous breasts!

Then I could feel, without being able to watch, something similar being done to my left buttock and hip, and then finally my right. At last they elevated my backrest and wheeled a full-length mirror in front of me.

I fainted.

I must have been out only a few minutes, because I was immediately aware of smelling salts and then there I was again in the mirror, staring back at myself, a full-breasted, voluptuous woman now with a tiny penis locked in a toothed metal collar! Janet and Dr. Rhoda both grinned at me, then the doctor put her arm around my wife’s shoulder and kissed her long and passionately!

“Oh, Rhoda,” Janet breathed between kisses, “it’s turned out just as wonderful as you said it would. I’m so glad I took your advice in the first place and decided to transform Ian. You did a beautiful job!”

“Dearest,” said the doctor, “perhaps we’d better call ‘her’ Brianna now all the time, don’t you think? No one will ever believe she is a man, that is, not unless they see her little clitty; and maybe we can do something about that as well?”

“Yes, I think so,” said Janet. “I didn’t want to at first, because I wanted Ian – I mean Brianna – to keep a little reminder of the time when she was a man. But that no longer seems important. If it pleases you, dear Rhoda, we’ll cut it off and fashion a lovely vagina for her!”

“Yes, soon, my love. But Brianna will have to heal first from today’s operations. And after you have both moved in with me, think how ideal life will be, with our own maidservant to wait on us and render us every intimate service. And afterwards, she will be just like us!

I felt dizzy and almost fainted again. Then I was given a mild sedative by the pert blonde nurse. As I drifted off, I heard Dr, Rhoda saying “We must be very gentle with her for the next month or so. No driving, no lifting or stretching her arms overhead….”

I slept a lot after that, waking up at first at home, then later at our new home in Dr. Rhoda’s house. The first time I woke up, Janet said “Time to take off that uncomfortable collar now, Brianna.” She reached inside her bosom and fished out the key.

Though still groggy, I managed to feel surprised. “I thought you had swallowed it!” I exclaimed.

“Oh, no, it was here in my blouse all the time,” Janet giggled. “I palmed it. You didn’t know that stage magic was my hobby, did you, Dear?”

The End?