A Throne’s Snowed In!

A Throne’s Snowed In!

By THRONE

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

**DEVIN DICKIE NOTE**
All characters are OVER 18 years of AGE! This is a bullying fantasy and not real. The acts in the following written work are only consensual sexual choices and fantasy humiliation scenarios.
Bullying is NOT OKAY and If you or someone you know is being bullied, please alert the authorities.

A Throne’s

Snowed In!

By THRONE

A wife has learned about her husband's crossdressing. On a day when they're stuck inside by a snowstorm, she goes from merely tolerating his feminization to accelerating it, while adding new submissive behaviors to his lifestyle.

Snowed In by Throne

There was no way we were going out. Based on the latest weather report, we would be snowed in over the weekend. I didn't mind being housebound with my attractive wife Ginger. The only issue was how she would feel
if I did a little dressing up. Over the past months, since she figured
out about my predilection for wearing panties and stockings, and whatever else from a feminine wardrobe that I could, she had been acclimating herself to the idea that her husband wanted to occasionally 'sissy-out', as she liked to call it. Ginger had been warming to the
idea gradually but not committing in a big way. That was why it surprised me when, over our morning coffee at the dining room table, she said she wanted to discuss it, and acted receptive to what I wanted.

"Here's the thing," she said. As a business executive, she's in the habit of stating her thoughts directly. "I think we can come to a compromise on this. What I need from you is to agree to try something for me, if you want me to go along with more for you."

I was fairly sure I knew what she was thinking, but asked anyway, just to be clear. "Do you mean... um... me doing what you've been asking for."

She took a sip from her cup, gazing at me over the rim. That allowed some extra seconds for my tension to rise. "You know it is. If you use your mouth like a good hubby, I might have some surprises for you. I've been researching your kinks online. Those stories I got you to recommend, on that Taletelling Obsession website, were very informative."

A hot chill ran through me. I had never wanted to give her oral. Despite being naturally submissive, I avoided it. Why? I suppose I believed that giving in on that point would be like opening a door that couldn't be closed again. I'm a bit of a control freak, when it comes

to my fantasies, and at some level feared having her add to them or even rewrite the scenario. I was mainly interested in her pretending to force me into the lingerie and other selections that I adored. There were different possibilities in those stories, ones that excited me, but which were at the same time scary. The chance of losing control was like standing on the edge of an abyss and worrying that I would topple into it.

Ginger didn't rush me. Her expression was slightly amused, as if she knew she held all the cards and maybe had a few aces up her sleeve. I fidgeted around on my seat. I was in a bathrobe, but it was my male one, dark and heavy. Under it, however, I wore an abbreviated version of a baby doll nightie that left my midriff bare, and matching panties, both in baby-pink satin. That fashion combination, with the masculine outer layer displayed and feminine inner one hidden, summed up my attitude of wanting to go further but being trepidatious about it.

Whatever I said next could significantly impact my life for a long time to come. I asked myself what my wife might have been drawn to in those stories to which I directed her. Some of them contained my darker dreams, the ones that I didn't want fulfilled. Even so, if I took the cautious route now, I could regret it endlessly. With both hands on my coffee mug, gripping it tightly, I answered.

"Well, okay," I said hesitantly. "We could try. Take some baby steps."

She shook her head, drawing my attention to her pretty blond pageboy hairstyle. Her plain cotton nightshirt couldn't hide the enticing fullness of her bust.

Ginger told me, "I'll be the boss. You won't give me any backtalk. Right?"

Oh my. All at once I saw that fall into a bottomless chasm taking place. Even so, I said, "Yes, dear."

"Get out of that unflattering robe, Ralph. Once you take it off, your name is going to be Crissy."

I obeyed, while trying to process this change in her. She had issued a few orders in the past, so it wasn't a difference of type but of degree. Showing her those stories may not have been wise. After disrobing, I stood there in my satin underthings. The way she looked at me, more evaluating than I was used to, was unnerving, as was the sly smile that followed.

"You look darling in that, Crissy, but I have something else picked out for you. Into the bedroom, girly."

That take-command attitude made me move quickly. I found myself putting some extra swish into my stride, as if that might placate her. In the bedroom, she pulled back the spread to reveal what was under it. First there was a shiny yellow thong. I got out of what I'd had on and slipped the tiny item up my legs. As I snugged it into place, it compressed my male parts. The effect was somewhat like I imagined being in chastity would be. My genitals are of average size but this made them seem inadequate. She approached me with a determined set to her features. Ginger reached out and fingered my nipples. We both knew I was very sensitive there. Normally, she didn't touch them much. Now, with her new interest in control, it came across as natural. I gasped
at the first jolt of sensations. My dick tried to get hard but was only partly successful, due to its confinement. She pushed her thigh against the tight packaging.

"Somebody's thingie isn't getting much bigger. It's not for lack of trying."

The more she teased my nips, the deeper I breathed. When her hands moved away from there, it was only so they could explore other parts of my anatomy. I became sensitzed all over.

She said, "Let's finish dressing you, so we can get to what we're really here for."

The other piece she had selected for me was a cable-knit sweater of hers, with a turtleneck. She had me put it over my head and wriggle into it. After it was on, she took two large safety pins that had been waiting on the dresser. My wife used them to shut the ends of both sleeves, so my hands were stuck inside and rendered useless. It was very strange to be attired like that. My top half was well covered, though with the disadvantage of the sleeves. Below the waist, I felt almost naked and was aware of the restriction of the thong. In the back, my buttocks were fully exposed.

I wear my auburn hair full and at collar length. Though I don't do anything with it when I dress femme, this time she decided it needed styling. Using a brush and some gel, she soon had it fuller, with some falling diagonally across my brow. There was a full-length mirror mounted on the inside of the closet. I had originally insisted that it was for Ginger. After my secret habit came to light, she understood that it was there for me, on those occasions when her job took her out of town. That was when I turned fully into my inner self, and could move around the house, often with a glass of wine in hand. The difference was that when I picked my own clothes, the outerwear tended toward the classy, like a little black dress and a string of faux pearls, with sensible shoes. Now I projected a very different image, one that confused me. More importantly, what I had on was of my wife's choosing. I experienced a profound loss of self-determination.

Ginny got naked in front of me, her mini-striptease oh so titillating. Her fingertips traced invisible lines over selected portions of my body. She blew into my ears.

Then came the words. "What's the matter, Crissy? Are you upset? Don't you like having me take the lead?" She chuckled. "Maybe it should be

like this all the time. If I like what you're going to do for me with your lips and tongue, I might not want as much regular sex. In fact, maybe I won't want it at all. Too bad for you if there isn't anymore penetration. But don't worry, I'd find some other way for you to finish." She leaned in and, with one hand cupping my chin, told me confidentially, "Of course, you being allowed to get some relief wouldn't happen very often. How frequently do you think you should be granted permission to empty your balls? Come on, Crissy. Tell me."

My mouth was dry. I didn't know how to answer her, so I said the first thing that popped into my head. "Twice a week?"

She chuckled. "I don't think so. Wouldn't want you to get spoiled. You might forget your new place in the order of things, panty-princess. How about once a week?"

"I guess that would be all right."

As if she hadn't heard me, she went on, "Or every ten days. That would be like three times a month. Could you handle that?"

"I suppose I could but it might..."

Speaking over me, she offered, "Once every two weeks. I think that would keep you interested in your oral service duties. It would also help you remember your status as Crissy the Sissy, who needs to be obedient at all times."

"But that would only be..."

Ginger held up a silencing hand. "I know. Twice a month. 24 times a year. Hmmm. Unless you misbehaved, in which case I would cancel some of your chances to pop your cork. Or, just from you speaking out of turn, I might have to reduce it to monthly. Imagine that. Twelve opportunities per year to relive a wicked set of blue balls."

"I'm not sure..."
"Who's making the rules now, Crissy?" I exhaled slowly. "You are, dear."

"Correct. And there's still the matter of how those limited ejaculations would be achieved. I could let you just put the tip of your dinghy against my moist warm slit, in the missionary position. That would make it simple for me to diddle your chest buttons. If you had been waiting two weeks, or better yet an entire month, for relief, I'm sure you wouldn't last very long. One-Two-Three and Squirt."

"That wouldn't be very satisfying for me," I suggested.

"Yet you wouldn't complain, not if you know what's good for you." She gave me a broad wink. "If I didn't want you leaving a mess down there, I could simply use my hand on you, with you teasing your own nipples. If you were in a gauzy top, it would feel nice to have that material rubbed against your chest."

"You're being kind of extreme with me, I mean, if you do go that far."

"Or further. How about this? I buy you a belly shirt in some cute color, like peach or apricot. Something fruity. To go with it, cheap cotten panties, the kind that come in three-packs. You'd put on a pair of those and have to make yourself shoot without taking them off. Your cream would get all over the inside of the crotch. Then you could keep them on and be constantly reminded of what you had done. I'd make sure there was no chance of you forgetting, too. I might ask you what am I smelling. Or have you wear a sanitary napkin to help keep things neat. There are so many fun ways to manage your needs."

I could see that my input was not wanted. Lowering my eyes and

surrendering to the new Ginger, I said, "Yes, darling." "And Crissy, please keep your voice soft and whispery." "Yes, Ma'am," I said, barely audible.

"But for right now, we have to give you a tryout as my pussy pamperer. Still naked, she stretched out on the bed on her back, legs apart. "I think you can figure out what to do now, sweetie."

With my head spinning, I got onto the bed and knelt between her feet. Then I lowered myself until I was lying there with my face inches from her furrow. I inhaled her natural scent. This was a big step for me. My dick was throbbing. At the same time, I was scared. It was a case of getting what you wanted but more of it than you wished for. I don't know if anyone has a name for desiring something and dreading it at the same time. With the new name she had given me and being put into the restrictive thong and closed-sleeve sweater, I was totally aware that she had assumed charge of me. I wriggled forward until my nose touched her pink furrow.

"Take your time, Crissy," she advised. "Rushing will cost you points, and you need all the points you can earn."

"Yes, Ma'am," I said again, my voice wispy now. It was already feeling natural to address her that way.

I licked. She sighed. My tongue entered. Her hips twitched. She said I should give her some kisses there, which I did. Then she instructed me in the care and pleasuring of the clitoris. I was a quicky study.
It was easy to tell when I was doing it right -- flicking, licking, lapping and sucking -- because every time I was rewarded with positive vocalizations. There we were, snowed in, with Ginger managing our relationship as effortlessly as, I knew from talking to her coworkers at social functions, that she ran office meetings. She got wetter. I

slurped up her secretions and, with no other choice, swallowed them. My penis pulsed insistently.

If everything had proceeded to the end like that, I think I could have dealt with it. That was when she reached over to the nightstand, took her phone, and held it to her ear. She didn't hit any keys and it remained silent, so I knew it hadn't connected with anyone.

In a seductive voice, she said, "Hello, Mack. I've put my husband into full sissy mode, like you suggested. You were right about him offering no resistance. I guess that's just part of being a sissy. And he's a natural at eating pussy. Won't this be nice for me? I'll have you for fantastic sex and him for when I need some tender loving care below the waist. He'll be using his mouth where you get to stick your long thick cock."

My wife was tapping into one of those fantasy areas that I definitely

didn't want to turn into a reality. Seeing myself in the role of one of the feminized cuckolds in those stories I read was one thing. For her to commit infidelity would be too much. Wouldn't it? Even so, the things she was pretending were tapping straight into the sexual-response center of my mind. It was a frightening thought that worked on me like some exotic sex drug. What she was saying intensified everything else that had already taken place since our dining room discussion.

Ginger continued, "You know, Mack, that I'll be thinking of you whenever I'm in bed with my pansy husband. And by the way, I changed his name to Crissy."

I gave her pearl some extra attention and she had to stop speaking. My poor pecker was straining mightily but futilely to break through the thong. I heard myself whimper, which made me sound like the sissy I was being turned into. Remembering what my spouse had said about not hurrying her, and the talk about how much she might restrict my ejaculation schedule, I slowed down. My hands were on her hips but,

with the sweater sleeves pinned over them, I couldn't touch bare skin.

She relaxed and resumed speaking, though not to me. "I'll have to take pictures of Crissy to send to you, Mack. I'm sure you'd get a laugh out of some of the outfits I'll be putting him into. They'll certainly convince you that he's no competition, lover. Wait until I send you one of him at the sink, doing dishes, wearing nothing but a skimpy apron and a big pair of rubber gloves. Naturally, those things will be color- coordinated. A sissy isn't happy unless the parts of their outfit match."

There was another break as I ran the flat of my tongue over her nether lips, several times in rapid succession. It was as if I was silencing her for a few moments to show I still had some power, minor as it might be. My wife playfully swatted me atop my styled hair.

She went on, "Now that matters are settled around here, Mack, you can start taking me out. Crissy will be good and wait up for me to come home after our dates. I'll be eager to tell her all the juicy details about the super sex you and I have. It will make her sad at first, but over time, with me controlling her sex life, that will change. Eventually, she'll get aroused by my accounts of our wild bedroom encounters. Too bad for her that she won't be allowed to have any releases, except when I say so."

Ginger was suddenly referring to me with female pronouns. How much further would she take redefining my identity? I sensed that she was ready to be put over the top. That's why I sucked on her clitoris, at the same time using the tip of my tongue against it in rapid-fire fashion. That did the trick. She set aside her phone, balled her hands into fists, arched her back, and went into a quaking, squealing orgasm. I had never heard her finish like that before. In fact, I had to consider the chance that she had never finished with me at all.

After my wife descended from the heights of ecstasy, she told me, "The

decision has been made. You're going to be my full-time sissy, Crissy. On permanent oral assignment. We can go shopping online for a bigger and better sissy wardrobe for you. I'll be like a little girl, with you
as my dress-up doll, though I don't think Barbette or any other dolls have kinky clothes like some of what I'm going to dress you in." She punctuated that with a single laugh.

That's where our marriage stands right now, a few weeks later. I come home from my humdrum office job and, if she's not busy with some executive duties, she's waiting for me. I have to strip down in front
of her and slip into whatever she has waiting for me. Ginger made some purchases shortly after our snowed-in day, from several local thrift stores. She says I look terrific in the slinky red dress with the high hem, the sparkly blue top that pairs well with golden chains, and even the retro pantsuit. What's coming from online shops will add lots of variety, including garter belts and stockings, mesh tops and bottoms, and even harem pajamas. There are also some sex toys on their way, but she won't tell me what they are.

My conflicted attitude, toward being pushed so far beyond my old limits, persists. I don't know if I'll ever leave it behind completely. But
she sees taunting me about it, and my resultant shame, as innocent fun. Considering how the pluses outweigh the minuses, I can't argue with her about any of it. And after all, I'm not allowed to argue with Ginny anyway, unless I'm willing to risk stricter regulations on my sex privileges.

*********