(“Epilogue” is the concluding episode of a nine-part story arc – mostly autobiographical – which began with “Prologue” and passes through the four-part “Her Story” series and the three-part “Metalogue” series. “Prologue,” “Metalogue” and “Epilogue” are written through the viewpoint of the husband while “Her Story” presents the wife’s point of view after her husband first reveals his desire to be pegged. All nine episodes feature male sexual submission and feminization. Readers who have a problem with these subjects are urged to look elsewhere)

“Bet you’re sorry now you didn’t remove that make-up, aren’t you, dumbass?”

My wife had obviously turned on every light in the place and, coupled to eyelids which felt pasted shut, the brilliant glare made it impossible to locate the origin of her softly taunting voice. My reaching hand found my wife’s usual place in bed empty, so I turned toward sounds coming from the opposite direction…

“Not from lack of trying on my part, I might add,” the mocking voice continued. I could only presume the blurry-appearing body reclined on my side of our bed belonged to my wife, and after I rubbed my eyes madly, that familiar bemused smile lurched into focus. For the past two weeks, that all-knowing smile of hers had bedeviled me at every turn, always leaving me with the impression that its owner was on the ground floor of some joke, and I was its subject.

“So… what did you do last night?” she asked, almost guilelessly. “Myself? I pegged a boy and liked it. He was dressed like a girl, but I knew he was a boy. Know how I knew that? After he blew his load into his pretty little cock cage, he fell fast asleep in his make-up.”

More laughter.

“Listen, sweetie, I tried to get you to remove that bullshit make-up last night.” She poked her index finger at a lump in the folds of my blue silk negligee where my balls and caged cock were hiding. While she continued giggling, her finger slowly traced the negligee’s hem upward to my shoulder where it still perched, a silent witness to how she’d bared my ass the previous night. “Yeah, you were pretty hot last night, Roni… for awhile, at least.” She resumed prodding the blue silk bulge and laughed at the thought of cum dripping from the end of my pink Vice Mini found beneath it.

“You know, Roni, you’ll never make much of a girl,” she said, “but I’ll admit whatever the hell you were last night was pretty fucking amazing. In the end, though, all you really cared about was burying that pretty made-up face of yours into your pillow and snoring.

“Such a boy!” the voice concluded.

That make-up, I thought, as I continued the battle with my eyes. Something about white eyeliner came back to me now. I also remembered a steel butt plug grinding into my prostate last evening while I sat at my wife’s vanity. She’d spent what seemed like hours making me up, much of that time having been spent on my eyes. I couldn’t swear to it, though; all I could remember was the hypnotic sound of her voice in my ear plus that insistent feeling in my ass provided by something she kept referring to as “her bookmark.”

What else had gone into the gunk which now forced me to see my world through my ears? Eyeshadow? Mascara stained by my own tears? I had been deep in subspace while she prepped me for what early returns – all originating with her – were already hailing as my one shining moment, but why couldn’t I remember more of it? Why did my whole life now seem like a Dos Passos novel? Incomplete fragments of long-gone moments, old headlines, snippets of barely-remembered conversations, all mingled with assorted cultural flotsam and jetsam…

“It’s bad for your skin, you know,” my wife’s voice broke through again, continuing her own amused post-mortem of the previous evening. “Not to mention eye MGD. Don’t ask me what that is – you just don’t want it.

“And one more thing, Roni – a girl who sleeps too often in her make-up? People will start thinking maybe she’s a slut.”

She laughed again at the confused look on my face. Jacking her torso higher onto her elbow, she reached across to brush aside several locks of hair tumbling across my forehead which were also contributing to my poor vision. “Your hair is a fucking mess,” she concluded with another laugh, but this time I felt fingers lovingly straying through my hair in an uphill attempt to make me appear “more presentable.” Soundlessly, her lips formed what I took to be “I – love – you.” Her fingers moved to my cheek where they delivered a long, lingering caress before her lips leaned in to give me a kiss. Chills raced along my spine and down into my throbbing ass.

“Golly,” she said, shaking her head as she surveyed the disheveled wreck before her. “I wonder how the fuck this all happened.”

She laughed again.

Both of us knew the answer all too well, of course, but I was uncertain how many hours had passed since her strap-on cock had forced its way into my rectum and turned my life on end. I tried in vain to kars escort wrap my mind around the total experience, but just the soft touch of her fingers stroking my hair or that incessantly mocking yet gentle voice were all it took to again turn my mind to mush. Some things just never seem to change with us, I thought…

“By now I hope you’ve figured out that I personally found fucking your ass last night to be simply incredible,” she said bluntly. “Far and away, part of me keeps insisting, it was easily the most brilliant thing I’ve ever done in bed.

“I’m not totally sure about that last bit, but I guess you can fairly assume that I loved every fucking second of last night!”

Not until I heard those words did the reality of what we’d done the night before finally sink in. As her laughter tailed off, one irreversible bit of knowledge about last evening stepped front and center.. She HAD fucked me last night. That simple little four-letter word FUCK and everything it implied are inescapable for a generation which had took it from back alleys to Main Street. No two ways around it: I had been FUCKED!

With her laughter still ringing in my ears, I considered those implications. Not unlike thousands of women around the globe who also surrendered their virginity last evening, I had found myself impaled on something which more than just superficially represented the male penis. It may have only been an all-too-clever replica of the real thing fashioned from space-age plastics, free of thermoplastic rubbers and elastomers, not to mention the dreaded PVC, but I had been left writhing and moaning on its length nonetheless while it rooted through my darkest voids and thundered sudden bursts of agony and ecstasy through my body and soul.

It was true my rectum had to substitute for last evening’s thousand faceless vaginas, but I still felt kinship to their sisterhood. An outside animal force had invaded our privacy and filled each of us with a false sense of completeness. Like my sisters, I too felt newly initiated into ancient mysteries, filled to overflowing by both the wonders revealed and the gnawing misgivings concerning our futures. Had we all given ourselves too cheaply, I wondered? Worse, would the day soon come when we’d regret last night? To paraphrase Carole King, would she still love me tomorrow?

Everything seemed so overwhelming. A better plan ducked annoying reality by burrowing into the love I still felt flowing through my wife’s body. I’d go back to sleep, perchance to dream endlessly of my next night spent as that well-fucked woman or whatever I’d become; tomorrow, I figured, could just fucking well take care of itself. My body yearned for my wife’s warmth, and my well-reamed ass was begging to once again float in the lost reverie of last evening’s subspace…

“Hey, enough of that shit,” I heard her say as she shook me about the shoulders. “You’ve got things to do today, lover, or did you forget that?” My still gummy-feeling eyes caught sight of lurid red lipstick smears and smudged mascara on my pillow case, and that jarring sight plus her demanding voice forced me to consider my less agreeable options for the upcoming day. “Oh shit!” I heard myself say, finally full aware that the glare dazzling my eyes wasn’t controlled by a wall switch. While my wife had watched me sleep, the summer sun had kicked its way into our bedroom and filled it with its own dazzling light.

Jesus! I realized. It was nearly noon!

Was there something that really needed done today, I asked, trying to bargain with myself? Shit, there was always something demanding immediate attention on our farm, even on the morning after an evening spent in women’s frillies and a new strap-on cock up my virgin ass. Damn if I could remember what today’s all-important task might be, though, what with all those memories of last night finally coming alive in my head and my little male clitty demanding immediate release from its cum-filled prison.

A stirring in my ass began to speak of more mundane needs, like maybe a trip to the bathroom? But again my wife read my mind as I attempted to stumble out of bed. “Did you forget you’ve got another plug back there now, dumbass?” she asked. “That’s probably what you’re feeling…”

Reaching again across my body, her fingers quickly found a smaller stainless steel plug right where she’d left it the night before – socketed deeply into my ass, its smooth handle nestling stealthily within my butt crack. “Hey, we didn’t want your man-pussy getting lonesome last night after I pulled out of you,” she said with another of those damn laughs. I pictured her wicked little grin while she slapped my reaching hand away, then jiggled the plug’s handle. My ass twitched as I felt her unceremoniously take hold, and the last of my evening’s anal companions vacated the premises with a perceptible “pop!”

“You seemed to enjoy the company of your big buddy so much before I’d even fucked you that I decided to fix you up with kars escort bayan his little brother when I called it a night,” she explained, holding out her palm to show me a smaller nJoy plug resting alongside the two-inch Pure Plug – the “bookmark!” – she’d removed when she fucked me.

“I did warm him up for you first in hot water, though. Hardly knew he was back there, did you?”

I had to admit I hadn’t, but my now-empty ass couldn’t help but notice the vacant feeling left by his departure. Still wearing her own blue silk nightdress, my wife quickly exited our bed, disappearing into the ensuite only to return with a bottle in one hand and a handful of make-up removal pads in the other. “Micellar water,” she said, holding out the bottle toward me. “You’ll be surprised how well this cleans you up!”

She led me to her vanity again and had me take my now-familiar seat. Shaking her head again at the sight of my hair, she quickly finger-combed the wild waves up and away from my face, clipping it into a loose knot at the top of my head. “I gotta admit you are cuter than fucking Christmas like this,” she said, squeezing my hand.

Saturating a cotton pad, she held it over my left eye for several seconds, then gently wiped it away and held it out so I might see the results for myself. “That’s what you slept in last night, dear,” she said with another laugh. “Do you understand now why I so seldom wear this shit myself?”

She grinned at me, then earnestly began to strip last night’s artificiality from my face. She hummed happily as she worked, and it occurred again to me how immensely pleased she’d been with herself throughout our most recent sexual adventures…

“There you go,” she said, stepping away so I could see myself in the vanity’s mirror. “Virginity practically restored…


I ignored her laugh and took a long look at myself. I was surprised to see my skin looked almost dewy fresh, and my eyes seemed to sparkle. But for my still-wavy hair she’d piled on my head, I looked almost “normal.” Assuming that word still applies to me, I thought…

“So,” I heard her say, once again interrupting my thoughts, “feeling all better now?” I told her I did, but I knew it really went far beyond simply that. The truth was, even with all my misgivings, I couldn’t remember a time in my life when I’d ever felt better! Once again I reached for her in an attempt to feel her warmth, but again she pushed me away.

“Listen – I need your completely undivided attention now,” she said, setting her skin care products aside. “Please try to focus on what I’m going to say, Ron, because I really did a lot of thinking while I watched you sleep away the morning.

“We really need to talk about all of this…”

+ + + + + + + + + +

My wife would have made a great lawyer. Seldom does she pose a question without already knowing the answer, and she’d obviously figured me out before she asked if I’d ever given thought to how I imagined my ass being taken.

During its almost 15-year-run in the theatre of my mind, my dream of being feminized and losing my anal virginity to a strap-on owned by my wife had one constant theme. Even when my mind gave the scene over to wild whirlwinds of chaos, my body always presented a serene vision of composed submission, patiently waiting on bended knees to passively meet its impending deflowering. Almost from the very beginning, I saw myself bent forward at the waist to prominently display my ass in the air while my head, neck, forearms and hands groveled in the dust at her feet.

The inevitable comparison of myself in such a position to a barnyard animal awaiting service was humiliating to contemplate, but perhaps that was why I also found the vision so compelling. I couldn’t have explained it if I tried, but it just seemed so right that there existed a part of me which only wanted to be mounted like a bitch in heat.

As my initial obsession over once wearing her panties and nightie early in our marriage grew into a full-blown submissive fantasy, I often turned to my laptop’s private browsing feature to satisfy my endless curiosity as to how it might develop. The first images to really grab my attention were of sissified males on hands and knees waiting to be bred. In those days, Tumblr or some such website hosted a readily-accessible trove of such images on the web. I found each lovely in its own peculiar way, stirring my imagination to a boil. My eyes filled with wonder at the sight of them, and my cock stirred to thoughts never before considered while I examined them in detail.

I was particularly drawn to photos of the male derriere en femme, flawless glowing skin having been shaved and maintained silky smooth and moisturized, covered at times with just hints of lingerie. Only hairless cocks and balls revealed these lovely creatures to be males, and I tried to imagine how exciting it would be to experience the feel of my own penis and scrotum lathered escort kars and shaved and left to dangle uselessly beneath an evening’s real target for animal lust – my quivering asshole! I began to imagine myself in just that way, hopelessly trembling but eagerly awaiting…

I studied any secrets those lovely she-males chose to reveal to me. It was immaterial that they might be photo-shopped, and I didn’t much care if they were straight like me or gay. All I cared about was how light glistened off their skin, the way their legs always seemed positioned just so, and the vision of their sightless asses posed so perfectly while they awaited the inevitable conclusion.

Those wearing pantyhose were soon dismissed as merely okay in my mind. I iincreasingly preferred pictures of she-males dressed in sleek black or white stockings – occasionally red – the stockings’ lacy tops clipped to numerous suspenders dangling from a garter belt or a fitted corset, tightly laced in back.

My gawking eyes eventually made daily visits to one particular favorite. With no faces visible in any of these rear views, one’s own image could be mentally projected onto any of those pictures. One particular male subject, whose own flow of brown hair tumbling down his back mirrored my own long hair’s color and length, made it sublimely easy. Almost instantly I adopted him as my role model for wherever this craziness was headed, and I returned over and again to seek counsel and advice from his image.

Part of me began to worry about the hours I spent “analyzing” this picture’s smallest details. I was especially given to a fantasy which proposed an unseen female lover responsible for the black lace panties pulled to mid-thigh, revealing a large jeweled butt plug set in his flawless ass. I marveled how neatly his taut garter straps further framed the plug, and I invented back stories for my long-haired doppelgänger, eventually coming to believe it had been my own wife who had pulled aside those panties and fingered a man pussy which I increasingly considered my own. It had been my wife’s hand which had plugged that lucious ass, I was sure of it, and in our own love-making sessions I imagined her fingers slipping suggestively beneath imaginary garter straps framing my own ass. I pictured her gathering the hair in the picture, and I imagined alternating pulls in sets of three as her fingers quickly wove it into a plait. I saw her use that three-strand braid to control first the man in the picture, then later myself as we merged into one, our collective head drawn back by the pull of her hand. I imagined the “pop” of that jeweled plug as it was removed from our ass, and together we would finally experience penetration by her long, lifelike strap-on!

No matter where I found myself – tractor cab, open road or making a deposit at the bank – my mind sifted these thoughts so often there were times when I wondered if I might not be going mad. I so badly wanted to be one with that guy with the long hair. Was it any wonder when my wife asked last evening if I’d given any thought to how I wanted my ass taken that I already knew exactly what to say?

When reality at long last replaced hopes and dreams, I quickly reached the conclusion that my wife must have been channeling me all along. I was stunned by how quickly it all unfolded. “Just in case,” she said first as she filled my mouth with a bright red ball gag, securing its harness tightly around my head. Led to our bed, I was placed as I’d so often pictured, head down and ass up. The hem of my long gown was pulled over my head, and cool air I’d long imagined raised goose bumps as my wife’s hands pulled down my white lace panties to allow my cock and balls to dangle with my pink cock cage beneath my plugged asshole.

A long gutteral moan more felt than heard escaped my gag as the Pure Plug was removed, leaving me free to imagine a now-gaping void desperate to be refilled. The mattress shifted as my wife took up a place behind me, and I felt the slim tip of her lube shooter slip past my sphincter muscles and release its load into my rectum.

“Relax, sweetie,” I heard her say as first one, then two of her fingers further lubed my male pussy. My world slowed to a crawl, disturbed only by the slender trickle of lube running down the inside of my thigh, then I felt a hand placed on my bare ass cheek. It moved down to caress that part of my thigh not encased by stocking, and I then felt a finger slide beneath one of my garter belt straps. Its attached stocking drew taut as the strap slowly stretched. I seemed to teeter on an edge, then received a double surprise as the suspender snapped back and I felt my wife’s strap-on for the first time at my ass as it traced my butt crack. Although tense at first, my ass was quickly mesmerized by the feel of her cock sliding up and back while she further lubed both hunter and hunted.

“Please, please,” I heard myself begging her from behind my gag. I wanted them both so badly! A sharp gasp accompanied the feel of the glans as at long last I felt it align with my anxious anus and begin to exert pressure against my rear entry. I surprised even myself as my eager body led it inside with a long satisfied sigh as the pain of its initial penetration transformed into rapture.

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