When term came round and the children were off at boarding school my gorgeous hubby and I felt much freer to indulge ourselves sexually. Since allowing and actually encouraging him to dress as a woman for bed he had become much more free and open, and, dare I say, happy. But we had reached the stage where we went shopping together for clothes and freely chatted about our likes and dislikes in fashion. This meant a lot to him. What pleased me most was that he showed his appreciation for my tolerance of his transvestism, as I learn from my studies it used to be called, and what he regarded as enthusiasm. I had to remind him that I still had a few qualms and that I wasn’t too chuffed that he was getting to look prettier than I was when fully made up and dressed. We laughed about it but even so.
One way of redressing the balance – excuse any pun – or of maintaining the status quo, arose when we found a practical use for the French maid’s uniform I had bought him. I had seen one at a fancy dress party and believe they make appearances at stag nights. The one I bought him was quite classy, a little black satin number with a frilly apron and separate underskirt. I almost fancied getting one for myself.
We, or rather I, decided that we would reserve Mondays for cleaning day. It was my day off and he was working from home as a freelance writer, so could take off days now and again. He said he welcomed a little manual labour, though that was before I outlined his duties. He enjoyed putting on his new seamed black lace top stockings and lacy bra, panties and suspender set we had ordered online. They fitted snugly. I did his makeup while still in my nightie, and after putting on the short dress carefully, so the white lace petticoat hem showed all around and the top fell off the shoulders to show his frill-edged thick black bra straps, I asked him to step into a size twelve pair of six-inch high heels I had procured from a shoe sale.
I helped lace up the bosom, just tight enough to show the white see-thru camisole top and lace bra, and asked him to turn around. Carefully straightening the seams so they were in line with the heels and suspenders, I told him that in the future he would be responsible for this, using a mirror and taking care. He seemed bemused by my slightly strict pronouncement, but when I said, half-jokingly, that I would put him over my knee and spank him if he didn’t obey this or any other disciplinary measure I’m sure his little eyes dilated with excitement.
“Now,” I said, “you are going to wash and dress me.” And I beckoned him to the bathroom. I slipped out of my flowing nightie and handed him my discarded panties. “You will hand wash these later on, and have them dry for me tomorrow.” I then turned on the shower and told him to warm a fluffy towel on the radiator and await the completion of my torrential hot ablutions. This he did obediently, passing the time looking carefully in the full-length mirror to admire his new uniform and ensure it was tidy.
Having dried me I told him to select some clothes for my day, fairly casual and comfy. I was surprised at his excellent choice, as if he had been doing this for years. Maybe he had, the angel.
When I was completely dressed I outlined some chores, including making breakfast, washing dishes and cleaning the spare bedroom. I had plans for a visitor. First though, he was to bend over and get my slippers from under the bed. As he bent down I admired the bare thighs and shiny black suspenders disappearing under his lace panties. The lace stocking tops were very sexy and I was pleased to see his seams were straight. As he felt for the slippers, which I knew were already on my feet, I too bent forward and placed my hand up his uniform.
"Oh darling," I cooed, "you are so lovely and soft in your little black lace panties." I ran my other hand over his exposed bra strap and down inside his dress to cup the lacy breast. I felt myself drawing closer to him, my panties rubbing his, and strange butterflies flitted in my tummy. Never in my wildest dreams had I been so turned on.