Exposed At The Summer Party.

“I told you before,” said Samantha, “You’re going to wear this lovely hoodie I just got from Amazon. Look, it’s the perfect size!”

“But I don’t want to wear it,” replied Darren.

“Yes, you do,” retorted his wife, as she looked for a summer dress in the bedroom closet. A nice pink one might be just the ticket.

“It’s a company function, I can’t possibly wear that!” he said in frustration.

Samantha adopted her most patient demeanor, and repeated, “You’re going to wear it. Think of it like this, you can pretend to be the wife. You’ll like that.”

With that she slipped her jeans off, and started to go through some of the summer dresses in her wardrobe. The heat of the summer was dissipating, but she could still get away with something revealing her perfectly tanned shoulders. She also like the soft materials, and gentle colors.

Trying a slightly different tack she added, “Besides, look how well these colors go with my dress?”

“Darling, it makes me look soft. It’s not manly,” said Darren. “Everyone is going to be wearing the tee shirts with pictures of cars, or motorcycles. Did you see that thing Steve wore last year? It had the picture of an F22 jet on it. He said something about it being ‘power dressing’.”

“No self-respecting teenager would wear that, as you well know,” responded his wife. “Think of it as just being your true self. Gurly dressing. After all, that’s what you like, isn’t it? Besides, they’ll just assume you’re striking a blow for trans rights.”

“I don’t want to blow anything,” said Darren, an air of dejection in his voice. He knew there was little point arguing with his wife when she had set her mind to something.

Samantha sat on the bed thinking about which summer dress would be best, her full breasts gently rising and falling with her breath. The summer afternoon light caught her beautiful honey colored hair just perfectly and her beauty almost made Darren catch his breath.

At length she said, “That’s not what you said last night.”

Darren shuddered. He hated it when she brought up things like this outside of their sexual activities.

“Don’t say that, darling,” he muttered awkwardly.

“Oh, come on. Own it, Darren. You told me you wanted to suck cock, and at the time you were wearing the panties I’d bought you. Do I really have to remind you?”

“That was different.,” he replied feeling embarrassed.

“Oh? And you seemed quite happy to wear my robe, and those heels,” said Samantha. “No, missy, you’ll wear what you’re told to wear. Besides, you practically begged me for anal last night.  I’m likely to be more forthcoming if you do me the favor of wearing something appropriate. Who knows, perhaps tonight is your lucky night.”

“You’re going to make me wear this… this… flaming gay hoodie to a company function?” protested Darren.

“Yes, darling,” said Samantha, pulling on a summer dress that complimented the hoodie. “If you want me to accept your dressing up then I expect you to dress in a nice way.  Besides I picked this one out specially. I think it’s very feminine, without being too obvious.”

“Look at those colors! It makes me look like I am some sort of dick hungry whore!” said Darren.

“But darling, when you were inside me last night, and I told you to say ‘I need to suck dick!’ that’s precisely what you were. I only want you to dress the part.  Is that really so bad?”

Samantha would not be moved, and eventually Darren did pull on the hoodie. It was just the company picnic, after all. No one would be wearing work clothes. All the same, he felt he was taking a terrible risk.

“There you are!” said Samantha. “Now, if you are really good I may let you be naughty tonight. I’ll even call you Darlene while I take you.”

Darren smiled. He knew that every cloud had a silver lining. And he really liked the hoodie.

As he walked to the car he forced his ass out a little, and swayed his hips. Yes, he had the best wife ever!

Jensen And The Lady Of The Manor – Part 5.

Jensen and Mrs. Sinclair are getting in deep.

Get all the Jensen episodes HERE.

Jensen And The Lady Of The Manor – Part 2.

The second part of this series finds Jensen slipping deeper into Mrs Sinclair’s intrigue. Jensen’s unusual punishment becomes evident. Ms. Katia Thornwood’s list is available in it’s entirety here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/ten-tasks-for-of-37281389

You can find the first episode here – https://fionadobson.com/jensen-and-the-lady-of-the-manor/

You can find all the Jensen episodes HERE.

The Travelogue Of Katia Thornwood – Part 1

All work and no play does make a person dull. And in my work, I need to always have an edge, or many, preferably sharp, pointed or at the very least, hard.

So I’m travelling to South East Asia for research, and of course a little respite. First stop, Cambodia, a little resort just outside of Seam Reap. Then Thailand – that heady mix of dirt, excitement, and mystery that I’ve always found so intoxicating a prospect.

Siem Reap is a harsh Mistress in herself. The heat is hard to explain, inescapable, it invades every pore and the only way to survive it is to surrender to it. My dewy skin breathes in temporary relief as the tuk tuk turns and the mildest hint of a breeze ripples through my cotton shirt, over my bare décolletage, sensually brushing bare skin and bringing me to life in a way I haven’t felt in a long while.

The road is an ordered chaos of interweaving tuk tuks, mopeds and cattle. The smell is a heady mix of boiling refuse and floral fragrance from the vegetation of the fields and forests beyond.

I contemplate being a stranger in a foreign land must be somewhat similar to how my submissives feel at times. At the mercy of many things that are beyond their control, trusting that things will work out because they have to, yet knowing around every turn is something that may just push them completely out of their comfort zone, at best, or completely destroy them, at worse.

Continue reading “”

Clothes Maketh The Man – Part 51 is out!

I sat in the ships dark store room space with my head in my hands. The dull throb of the engine filled the air and became the background music of the dark drama playing out before me. Here I was, shunned by Devina, on a cargo vessel moving through the dark night, on a black river headed who knows where.

Read Part 51.

Go to Clothes Maketh The Man Chapter list.

Kinky Christmas – Mollie Blake.

David — occasionally known as Diana — is preparing for a rather quiet Christmas. The best laid plans…

‘So you’re seriously not going to see your dad this year?’

For a moment David didn’t reply. This would be the first year in a long time not to go home to spend Christmas with his dad. The phone call from the old man, telling him he needn’t bother because of Covid and the Omicron variant, had been a kick in the teeth. All these years, David endured a festive period suppressing his need to be who he really was because he thought his father needed him. Even last year, amid the UK lockdown, David had to steal his way down South to make sure the man wasn’t alone. Now there is no lockdown, yet the words ‘I’m safer without you,’ conveyed his dad’s true feeling—he would rather be alone at Christmas than have his “queer” son spend the holiday with him. The bastard wasn’t even concerned about the safety of his only son. Just his bigoted self!

‘Yes, I’m serious. I’ll have a happy Christmas for a change. I’ve got whisky, gin, mince pies and chocolate.’ He ran his hand over his left breast, the smooth silk of his lilac cami-top teasing him. ‘And I’ll have all the company I need.’

‘You’re kidding, right.’ From Lucy’s lips this was more command than question. ‘My plan’s just been rewritten. I’m coming over.’

David was about to protest but he didn’t get chance to open his mouth.

‘And I want to spend Christmas with Diana, not know-it-all David.’ Her grin bounced down the phone and slapped David on the cheek as only Lucy’s could. ‘Have you got room in your freezer?’

‘Why?’

‘I’m bringing Haagen-dazs – a new duo, Belgian chocolate and vanilla crunch. And you can let Diana know, that will be the only vanilla delight she’ll experience on Christmas day. I’ve got a super-kinky pressie.’

David’s hand moved lower. ‘Ok, see you later.’

It was Christmas Eve and David opened the door to Lucy and her purple mane of thick waves falling over her shoulders.

‘Quick, let me through before this melts and we have to wait for it to go stiff again.’ She fled to David’s kitchen but not before passing her free hand over his crotch and laughing.

From her bag she pulled out the ice cream and popped it straight into the freezer. Then she withdrew a turkey crown big enough to feed them for a week! a bottle of prosecco and another gift bag bulging with gifts wrapped in shiny Christmas paper. She turned to David and beamed.

Now it was his turn. ‘As this is our first Christmas together, I got you a Christmas Eve gift.’

He dipped his hand into his trouser pocket and handed Lucy a small box wrapped in paper decorated with holly and berries.

Shredding the paper with the excitement of a toddler, Lucy discovered exquisite snowflake earrings carved in sterling silver.

‘They’re antique,’ David said.

‘They’re beautiful.’ Lucy proceeded to replace her bling Christmas tree ones with the snowflakes. ‘We’ve got a theme going here.’

David’s curiosity would have to wait until Christmas day.

‘Open this one first.’ It was Christmas morning and Lucy picked the larger present from her gift bag.

They were sitting up in bed, naked after a very “demanding” evening.

David held up a cotton vest top, the fabric imprinted with large snowflakes. In lilac, of course. He slipped it over his head. ‘I need some makeup on,’ he exclaimed after peering at his reflection in the dressing table mirror.

‘Here, you’ll want this.’ Lucy handed over another present.

The wrapping paper ripped off, David rolled up a lipstick to reveal a deep purple colour. It would be a new shade for Diana. He licked his lips with an alluring glint in his eye. ‘Let me see if it suits you.’

He leaned forward and placed his lips over Lucy’s left nipple, leaving a perfect purple “kiss” surrounding her darkened nipple.

With blush and mascara to complete her attire, Diana blew a kiss to her own reflection. ‘I’ll put the turkey in the oven and then you can open your gift.’

‘You knew I had my eye on these in Harvey Nicks!’ Lucy declared, stepping into Jimmy Choo 4 inch stilettos which had been way beyond her budget.

Diana watched with admiration tinged with a touch of jealousy – there was no way David could walk on those. But it didn’t matter. They would have hidden her Christmas-red toenails anyway.

Delving into the gift bag once more, Lucy pulled out parcels containing Terry’s chocolate orange, a bottle of Drambuie and a candle in the shape of a reindeer – soon to come to a fiery end this evening. One box remained. ‘This is to wait until after dinner.’

After preparing the meal to Christmas pop blaring in the background, and eating to Carols from St Paul’s Cathedral, the couple finally retired to the lounge armed with Bollinger and the board game, Risk. Lucy may have been short on stature but she packed a punch and was one tough cookie when it came to world domination, or at least David and Diana’s.

As evening descended and the bedroom beckoned once more, Lucy handed Diana the final gift. Diana fondled the lilac silicone love ring, her fingers tracing the raised snowflakes on the outer ring. She licked her lips and grabbed Lucy’s hand.

‘Wait a sec,’ Lucy yelled, slipping away into the kitchen to return with the erotically delectable Haagen-dazs. The large tub contained far too much for them to eat, but none of it would go to waste.

This was the best Christmas ever.

Wishing Fiona and all her gurls a wonderful, safe and happy Christmas and a New Year free from fear.

Get more Mollie Blake HERE.

The Apartment. A Halloween ghost story for crossdressers.

Going back to places in our past can stir up emotions, don’t you think? Perhaps it’s the same for you. Settle down and enjoy this story, as Jeff returns to his old apartment to find more than a few old cobwebs.

You can find more stories HERE.

🙂

Fiona

  • http://FionaDobson.com

I guess he didn’t know what sort of gurl I am.

I cut across the square and walked into the bar after work. I usually only come here at lunchtimes, the fish always being fresh and the salad light. I can come in here, have a quick lunch and be back at my desk within an hour easily.

In the evenings there’s a lot of people in from out of town, there being a large hotel next door. And there’s a fair crop of locals too. It’s quite busy after six. It’s surprising how crowded this lonely city can be when all the commuters go home.

I don’t think I’d seen this one before. Maybe I had but it didn’t matter anyway. It’s not like I go out looking for romance. But he looked interesting. He told me a name, and I just let him freestyle his way into my evening.

He bought me a few drinks, and started to get a little touchy feely. Well, it was ok. The bar was closing soon anyway.

I decided I’d walk home with him, his place wasn’t far from mine, and we’d part and he’d never know how different I am.

But that’s not quite how it went down. Sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes it just gets more interesting.

We decided stopping at my place for a nightcap might be ok.  Why not? He leaned close as I fumbled for my keys, his breath heavy against my cheek. By the time I found my keys he was running his hands inside my jacket searching for my breasts

Continue reading “I guess he didn’t know what sort of gurl I am.”

A jailbird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

“There is no way,” I said to Amanda, my wife’s awful friend.

“Oh, please,” she begged. “Just pretend.  I mean, really, you can pull it off.”

“And I’m not ‘pulling him off’, either!” I protested.

“Look,” she insisted, “all I’m asking is that you hang out with us. I promised!”

“You set him up on a date with some… some… some floozy, and she’s now dropped out. And you’re asking me to step in. And let’s face it, your brother isn’t exactly a catch. This is going to be the first time he’s visited you since he was in jail. That’s not what I think of as a good catch. Besides, I’m married,” I stammered. “You’re a friend of my wife’s. How can you even suggest this!”

Continue reading “A jailbird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”

The Crossdresser’s Guide To Marital Bliss – Part 10.

Part 10.

Sitting in the garden, just by where Ali had completed a rather unusual example of topiary depicting Cleopatra’s Needle and two of the Elgin Marbles, not to scale, I poured my wife a glass of wine.

“Darling,” I said. “have you ever had a boyfriend who liked to crossdress?”

“Well, I really don’t know,” she replied nonchalantly. “What they get up to in their spare time is a mystery to me.”

“Yes, but surely,” I persisted, “there must have been one who showed interest. I mean, so many men talk about it these days. I can only think there must be some women who find it, I don’t know, exciting?”

“Well, I’ve always thought men look rather odd in dresses. Not to mention heels.”

“I’m sure,” I replied.

“On the other hand,” she went on, her voice dropping a little, “it does give me a feeling of power.” At that point she paused and corrected herself. “That’s to say I’m sure it would. If someone were to, you know.”

I looked at her sideways.

“Are you quite sure you’ve never…”

“Well, there was this one young man in college. A very unusual chap, but certainly very liberated. Exciting even,” she murmured.

I could see she was leaving a great deal unsaid, her mind wandering through what seemed to be some happy memories.  I decided it might be best to let it hang for a moment.

“I think it wonderful how much energy women put into their look, and it’s always seemed a little unfair. A man shows up to a date with a clean shirt and he’s considered well dressed. A woman spends two hours putting on corset and suspender belt and god knows what, and she’s not even remotely satisfied how she looks.”

“And ten minutes after you’ve left the restaurant they’re trying to get the damned stuff off! You have no idea.”

I kept my desire to say ‘I know exactly what you mean’ in check.

“Well, I must say I can’t help thinking that now and then a man should have to try doing that. Just to remind themselves how much trouble you girls go to.”

I topped up my wife’s wine.

“I think you may have something there. I think it would be a great idea to help men understand.”

I sipped my wine quietly.

“Well,” I murmured. “If you really insist. I suppose I could try.”

The Crossdresser’s Guide To Marital Bliss – Part 9.

Part 9.

I sat in my office just yesterday going through the messages I receive from members. There was yet another one asking how a member should talk to their wife about dressing. As I worked through the message it became evident that my member had decided one day to tell his wife all about it.

“I couldn’t hide it any longer,” they wrote. “So I told her about the dressing and that I’d been dating several men. It devastated her.”

I shook my head in sadness. Of course it broke the poor woman’s heart.

I wrote back to my member saying that whilst what is done is done, he might want to limit just how much truth he delivers in one sitting.

The conversation did raise a very interesting point though.  To accept a husbands crossdressing is a massive challenge, but to do so and learn that there had been an affair – or multiple affairs – surely that would be too much for any marriage to withstand.

I decided that in the quest to retain marital harmony it might be wiser to limit just how much truth one reveals at a time.  I personally do not feel that crossdressing need be tied directly to dating men. Of course it’s highly exciting, and dressing does make one feel euphoric, but this should probably not be mistaken for a great state to make sexual decisions one is going to regret later. Better to spend the energy gradually persuading a partner to accept it.

I will talk about polyamory in another series, however the kernel of truth does remain; no wife wants to be told you’ve had an affair with either a man or a woman after the fact. Discovering such news can hardly be expected to yield a positive result, nor will it pave the way to it being ok to slip into your wife’s panties.

So, at this point in the journey to help the wife understand a need to crossdress, I think it very wise to consider just how much one is going to reveal when one does.

For the moment, building up to the point at which one does reveal all it’s obviously prudent to limit the amount of truth one is going to impart. Let’s just say, we’re going to give her what she can handle.

So, clad in kilt and ready to share a little more, I decided it was time for my wife and I to have a little chat.

The Crossdresser’s Guide To Marital Bliss – Part 8.

Part 8.

I’d had it in mind to tell my wife that I was a crossdresser for several months before I actually said the words.  By the time I did I’d shown a more gentle side of myself on numerous occasions and in many ways.

I was already taking her for regular shared nail appointments and had a wardrobe of increasingly androgynous clothing. It can hardly have been a surprise when one day I said I was going to start wearing a kilt to the office now and then. There was a drama series showing at the time that she enjoyed. When a brightly colored kilt arrived from Amazon one day I put it on, and her first words were, “Oh god, you look like that guy in that show.”

“I do?”

“Hey, big boy, where’s your sword?”

I looked a little nonplussed.

“I don’t think I have a …. Oh, I see where you’re going with this.”

I didn’t expect the kilt to have quite that effect. The first day I wore it to the office I got a combination of admiring glances, and one or two interesting comments. By day three it was accepted and normal. Admittedly I wanted to wear heels and panties with it, but that wasn’t on the cards yet.

Before long my dress sense was being complimented, and my kilt was both ‘so very masculine’ and also considered daring. I loved it. As for my wife, she was in highland heaven every time I wandered in with it on.

It suppose it had been three months since I’d made the decision to start adopting these changes, before I eventually spoke a word to my wife about it. I’d been wearing the kilt every now and then for at least a month before I broached the subject. I decided that when I did so it would have to be somewhat obliquely. I like being married. I have children. I’ve been divorced before and it’s no fun.

This would have to be done carefully.

The Crossdresser’s Guide To Marital Bliss – Part 7.

Part 7

Get all parts of this series here.

I gradually moved from a very masculine and Alpha style of clothes, to really looking at the feminine clothing I enjoyed and looking for first ways to move more toward the centre of the gender spectrum, and then becoming more overt about the clothes I was choosing.

It started with the colors. Then the cut. A more fitted pair of jeans. A slightly more tailored cut to my shirts, and then the complete exclusion of shirts. I would choose soft lambswool sweaters that could easily be mistaken for women’s clothing. Gradually some of my sweaters were being bought from women’s clothes stores and became more overtly feminine.

Up until this time I’d not mentioned the shifts to my wife.  There was simply no need.

Then one day we had a conversation that moved into how we felt about something or other.

“I don’t really feel very strongly about it, darling,” I said. “I don’t know, I feel a little more sensitive these days. I feel more inclined to accept a softer approach.  What do you think?”

At first she looked at me a little strangely. After all, I was usually the forthright one of us.

“Well, I think you’re probably right.”

In that moment I was aware she’d seen a shift, not in my clothes but in my nature. And there had indeed been one. I was accepting so many things ina less aggressive and Alpha manner. I was allowing the softer sides of myself to emerge. It seems a small thing, but really it’s not.

Gradually I started allowing myself to think differently and be more gentle in my approach to life. It so happened that I replaced my vehicle around this time. Instead of looking for the fast muscle car that perhaps was more expected from a middle aged advertising executive, I opted for a powerful – but understated vehicle. That raised more eyebrows than my gradual shift to less gender binary clothing.  

One day my wife said to me, “I like that you’re being more thoughtful these days. It’s like you’re maturing.”

I smiled and let it go.  It was lovely comment.

Then one day I suggested, “Hey, when was the last time you had a pedicure?”

“I don’t know. Months I guess.”

“Well, why don’t you have one this week. I’d like to go with you.”

“You?”

“Sure,” I said. “There’s a couple of guys in my office do, and I wondered what it might be like. Besides, we have a new client who want’s us to start promoting their chain of nail salons. I might as well know what I’m talking about.”

“Well, I guess,” she said.

Of course, I paid. And made a follow up appointment. And got spectacular nails as well.

Over the coming months we went several times and before long my wife was booking appoints for us both, aware I enjoyed it. If she didn’t travel so much I’ve no doubt we’d go even more often.

The Crossdresser’s Guide To Marital Bliss – Part 6.

Part 6.

Get all parts of this series here.

Ali, my gardener, is a Syrian refugee. He arrived in Canada a few years ago after fleeing Syria with his wife and two little girls.

After being in the country a week, he found himself on a bus travelling to northern Alberta, with over a hundred other Syrians who went up to Fort McMurray to help fight the forest fires that had encroach on the town and were burning it to the ground.  A group of Syrian refugees had seen that the forest fires were devasting the area and volunteered to go and help the country that had offered them a home.

Like all refugees he had a story. In his case he was a professor at Damascus University and taught Botany. It would be hard to find a more educated gardener. He also speaks excellent English when he chooses to, but doesn’t allow this to stand in the way of his random comments about my neighbours garden.

“Marjory’s chlamydia is out early this year,” he might quip. “The vulvodynia is coming along nicely!”

Currently he is on his hands and knees head to the flower bed pointing east. He’s either praying or carrying out the jihad he’s declared on the weeds in the garden.

I like Ali very much. He is wise beyond his years, and I often listen to his advice. He is something of a fundamentalist, in a botanical sense rather than an Islamic one.

“Ali,” I said when he’d finished what he was doing, “how would you go about telling your wife you were into crossdressing?”

Continue reading “The Crossdresser’s Guide To Marital Bliss – Part 6.”

The Crossdresser’s Guide To Marital Bliss – Part 5.

Part 5.

Get all parts of this series here.

Just as the yin yoga helps my body find that impossible position after a gentle and gradual approach to the objective, so I can see my members finding a solution to how they approach their partners.

Amanda is my wife’s best friend, and a woman of particular personality. She has an association with tweed that few crossdressers will understand. I certainly don’t. I suspect even her underwear is made of the coarse material, she seems to wear it with such frequency.

For all Amanda’s faults, and they are many, she also has some interesting views on things. The fact that she has known my wife for so many years is a point in her favour.  She’s been a good friend to her.  And then there’s her journalism. She is editor of Pig and Pig Farmer, a publication that shot to prominence under her editorial guidance when it came out and endorsed Donald Trump for president in 2016. There’s just too much there to go into, so I shan’t be drawn.

“How would you feel,” I asked her, “if you learned that your partner was interested in dressing as another gender.”

“What,” she said in panic. “Has Marjory told you something?”

Continue reading “The Crossdresser’s Guide To Marital Bliss – Part 5.”

The Crossdresser’s Guide To Marital Bliss – Part 4.

Part 4.

Get all episodes here.

I am wearing some lovely patterned leggings. I do yoga in them with my personal trainer, Sebastian. He’s a very good sport and I know he likes the way my body moves. He looks at me at times with a sort of lustful hunger, and I have to say I enjoy it.

But before I go too far telling you about Sebastian, let’s go back to Rose – so much older than myself and a woman who knew very decisively what she wanted. She would dress me up, make me up and then use me like I was some sort of toy for her amusement. In every respect I was bought and paid for. The degradation and the humiliation came right along with the discomfort of allowing her to do things to my body that certainly weren’t covered in my biology studies in high school. It was disgustingly wonderful.

Continue reading “The Crossdresser’s Guide To Marital Bliss – Part 4.”