Consequence to Recompense

This story took an interesting journey. I thought I had it about done when madelinemasoch asked why there weren't more feminization stories with gaslighting wives. Always looking for a challenge, I made some changes, and this is where I landed. It's darker and heavier than most of my other stories, but I managed to work in what I think is a happy ending. 😊

As always, I hope you enjoy the story, and please leave me a comment when you've finished reading.

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"Amy, I'm home." I shouted as I used my elbow to close the door. My hands were full of my computer bag, the roses I'd picked up on the way home, and theater tickets I'd promised her. It was our tenth anniversary, after all. 'La Cage Au Folles' was on tour, and I'd bought box seats for the two of us.

"Up here." I heard her voice drift down the stairs. She knew what I had planned. Maybe she was already getting ready.

"Happy annivers..." I almost dropped the roses. The words stuck in my throat as I entered our room. It was chaos. Clothes strewn everywhere; the totes I kept so well hidden in my shop were full but with my everyday clothes. There seemed to be a system, but I couldn't quite figure it out. My open underwear drawer was full of panties and bras. I was pretty sure I saw one or two garter belts in there, too. Looking closer, I saw a few pairs of my boxer briefs tucked neatly in the corner of the drawer.

"I can't decide." Amy came out of my closet holding my red and my black corsets, one in each hand. "Is the red too much?"

"These are for you." I offered her the roses. My voice was barely a whisper.

"Ooh, red it is." She smiled at me with this strangely gratified look on her face. "Why don't you go put the flowers in some water and pour yourself a drink? I think you might need it."

Trembling, I did as she instructed, grabbing the railing like a vise as I stumbled down the stairs. Pulling a vase out from under the counter, I situated the roses and poured myself a double scotch. How the hell had she found out, and why was she reorganizing my closet?

The dresses, the panties, bras, and even the garter belts; They were all mine. I had been cross-dressing since I was in middle school. I'd been fantasizing about being pretty like my sister since I was probably five or six.

---

"Come on Steve. It will be fun. I'll bet you look really cute in it, too." My older sister Grace thought it would be fun to dress me in her old Easter dress one day when I was helping her clean out her closet.

"Grace, I don't know. What if someone sees me and laughs?" I was thinking about it. In fact, I'd been jealous of her pretty things for as long as I could remember.

"It's just you and me. Mom and dad won't be back for a while. Nobody will know. It will be our secret."

"You promise?" I was more excited than nervous.

"I promise." She held out the dress. I took it. Pastel blue with delicate yellow and pink flowers all over, it hung just above my knees. Grace was right. I looked cute. The panties and training bra she had talked me into sent chills up my spine, but it was the knee socks and white patent leather shoes that did it. I couldn't stop looking at myself in the mirror.

"Come sit here." Grace guided me to her vanity. Just the lightest touches, a little blush, eye shadow and bright pink lipstick. I felt like crying. Grace played with my hair, moving it down over my forehead. I was pretty.

The rest of the afternoon, we just played. Grace would find an outfit and I'd put it on. More dresses, tops and skirts, short shorts, even swimsuits. Sometimes she'd change my makeup, others not. When she found that pushup bra, though. That's when I knew. Those modest bumps on my chest, my boobs. Whatever this was, I didn't want to stop.

I loved it, being girly, pretty. Instead of the charity box, about half of the clothes she got rid of went into the back of my closet in an old suitcase.

We thought we were being so clever, our little dress up sessions. Grace taught me how to do makeup and even took me with her when she got her nails done. Of course, I didn't get color, but I loved everything about it.

If my parents knew, they never let on. I grew my hair long and got my ears pierced. Not a word. One day, I noticed that the briefs my mom bought me sat lower on my hips and didn't have a fly. Damn, they were nice and soft, all white, with a smattering of pastel blues and greens, too. When we shopped for school, I got the same jeans as Grace. Lower on my hips and tighter in the crotch, just without the decoration on the back pockets. Sure, they fit tight, but I liked that. Yeah, they knew, or my mom did. We just never talked about it.

My 'secret' wardrobe grew and morphed when I went off to college. My parents had bought a small one-bedroom condo a block or two from campus when Grace left for school. She graduated and moved out. I moved in. She even left a few things behind, just in case I wanted them. I did.

Boy shorts, that's what my mom had been buying me, became bikini briefs and then thongs. I bought myself a nice pair of modest breast forms I could glue on, and even sleep in. Living alone, I slept with them almost every night. My skimpy nightgowns just hung on my body better with them on.

Sometimes, I wore them to classes under a baggy shirt. No one noticed or cared.

A few times I even went out as Stephanie, breasts, makeup, all of it. Walking through the mall, window shopping, stopping at the food court, I wasn't trolling for attention or looking to hookup. I just wanted the experience of being a girl. I knew I looked good, so I took a trip to get coffee, and stopped by the bookstore to just browse. It was exhilarating, magical almost. The attention I got as an attractive woman was intoxicating.

Then I met Amy. This beautiful, perky blonde from a small town in Kansas just outside Lincoln. Smart and funny, I fell for her immediately. But there was no way she was going to understand. Stephanie went into storage. I bought and wore boy underwear for the first time in years. Being with Amy was so worth it.

I stopped shaving and grew a beard to get rid of my baby-face and put all my girl things away. The problem was, Stephanie didn't just go away. She stayed with me; followed me, always just under the surface. She was an itch I couldn't scratch. Until I had to.

Stephanie became a specter, a ghost. She haunted my every thought. She was jealous of the soft fabrics and pretty colors women around me wore, especially Amy. It had been the same when I was little with Grace. This compulsion, this part of my soul that knew it should have been a girl, was always there. All things feminine were my crack, my heroin. Keeping Stephanie at bay was the massive stone to my Sisyphus, that eternal challenge I could never conquer, but for Amy - would go to any ends to keep at bay.

So, I hid her, taking her out to play when the challenge grew too great; those times my resolve failed me, and I had a few odd hours or maybe a full day to myself. Amy never knew, or so I thought. I'd find a reason to sneak off for a while. I'd put on a cute outfit. If only for a little while, Stephanie got to come out and play. With my beard and lack of makeup, I couldn't see her, but I could feel her.

I had been so careful, so meticulous.

The funny thing was, Amy and I met at a nail salon.

"I don't think I've ever seen a guy getting a manicure before." Her smile was electric.

"Yeah, my big sister got me hooked. It's my drug of choice, I guess. I'm getting a pedicure, too. If more guys knew what this felt like, this place would be packed." I laughed.

"Well, keep it a secret then, OK?" She smiled and winked. We just clicked. I helped her pick the color for her toes and forced myself to decline when she jokingly suggested I get the same. When we found out we had a class together the next semester, our spa dates turned into study dates, then actual dates. We got married right after graduation.

I almost told her so many times, but that one night. We were leaving the theater and a guy in a dress walked by. We didn't have a clue if he/she/they were just a cross dresser, if they were trans, or if they'd lost a bet with a friend. It didn't matter. Amy did a double take and shook her head. The look on her face bordered on disgust.

"I just don't get it." That was all she had to say. Those five words convinced me I'd lose her if she ever found out.

Like I said, I was so careful. At least I thought I had been.

---

"I went to borrow your drill and found your things in your shop. I didn't know what to think, so I called Grace and took her to lunch. When I told her what I found, she told me everything. She couldn't believe you hadn't told me." Amy's voice wasn't cold, but there was no warmth, no love either. It sounded disconnected. I did my best to fight back the panic filling my soul.

"I guess you want a divorce or something." Tears slipped down my cheeks.

"Let's start with the 'or something.' You've always been different than other guys I dated. You're softer, more sensitive, caring. It's what I love about you the most. I still do."

"Or something?" I slowly turned to face her. There was no anger at all on her face. Instead, I saw a cold, dispassionate look I didn't know she was capable of.

"Or something." Amy smiled wryly and wiped the tears from my face. "We've been married for ten years, and you may love me, but you don't trust me. How could you keep a secret like this from me? How could you not tell me before we got married?"

"I didn't want to lose you." It sounded so stupid when I said it out loud.

"So, rather than trust the woman you supposedly love, you lie. You create this fake reality and hide it away, hoping I would never find out. Does that really sound like the basis for a good relationship?"

All I could do was shake my head no. I'd had the same argument with myself a thousand times. She was right.

"I didn't know how to tell you. I tried so many times, but I..." My eyes dropped to the floor.

"Steve, I do love you, but this," she practically shoved the corsets into my face. "This is a betrayal. I'll be honest. I'm livid. This isn't the Home Depot card you put your poker winnings on that you don't think I know about. I am so angry... I just want to leave and take you for everything. I don't understand why you couldn't trust me. It makes me wonder what else you're keeping from me, what other secrets you have."

"You know about my Home Depot card?" I cringed. It was either the perfect thing to say or the absolute worst. She'd either think it was funny, or she'd think it was the tip of the iceberg of a litany of secrets I'd kept from her.

"That's why I'm not divorcing you." She tried not to laugh but couldn't help herself. "Nobody can make me laugh like you do with the stupid things you say."

I saw it for an instant, that flash of love and acceptance in her eyes. Yeah, she was still pissed, but she had every right to be.

"This 'or something.' What does that look like?"

"You're going to prove to me that you trust me implicitly. I found your things almost a month ago and have been thinking about this ever since. It's going to be uncomfortable, a little embarrassing - possibly even a little humiliating. When we're finished, I'll know the complete truth. You'll either trust me with everything, or we'll be divorced. No middle ground."

Uncomfortable, I could handle that. Probably embarrassed, too. But humiliated; just what did she have in mind?

"Where do we start? What do you want to know?"

"For starters, I want to see you dressed. Whatever you normally do, I want to see that. Then I can figure out next steps." She tossed the two corsets on the bed with the pile of random clothes she had already put there. "I'm going to open some wine. You get dressed and I'll be right back."

It wasn't difficult. I never did anything too complicated. Mostly because there was no chance I could ever pass. Not with my beard, anyway. I just liked the way I felt wearing the clothes. I stripped and chose simple cotton panties from my drawer with a white T-shirt bra. My modest forms nestled in the cups, giving me small breasts. I found my favorite fit and flair dress in the closet and pulled that on, too. Simple sandals and I was done. I looked like a guy in a dress because that's what I was. It didn't help that I'd had a beard off and on for as long as I could grow one. It hid my baby-face. The last time I'd shaved was the morning I met Amy. Without it, I probably looked like I was fifteen.

"That is not what I expected." Amy came up behind me as I looked despondently at the image in the mirror.

"It's part of why I never said anything. Beard, hairy legs, I look ridiculous, but the clothes just feel so right. I can't explain it because I don't understand it myself."

"How about we try again? I want to see what you can do this time. That means all of it. Once I've seen that, I'll know what I have to work with."

I knew what she meant. Was this a dream or the gateway into my own personal hell?

"Amy, I haven't shaved since the day we met. What if I look like a little boy without my beard?"

"Maybe if we start there, you can look like a girl when I'm finished. Now scoot." She swatted me on the butt, sighed heavily, and took a big sip of her wine.

It took a while, but I got it done. I wasn't the most hirsute man in the world, but it took some work none the less.

"Uh, uh. I said everything." Amy was waiting for me when I got out of the shower. Shaving my crotch was possibly the most emasculating thing I'd ever done. To be fair, Amy's shaved her crotch, or had it waxed, so I guess it was fair. But she was a woman. I was a...

The lotion she left for me felt wonderful on my freshly shaved skin, and the floral scent kind of made me feel a little feminine. I liked that. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

"How does it feel?" Amy smiled at me, offering me a glass of wine.

"Different. Nice but different. More sensitive." All the old feelings and memories came back.

"I thought you might like it. Now step in." She held some kind of harness out for me. I stepped in and let her slip it up my legs. She worked my scrotum into this pink paper clip thing and then pressed my penis back into itself, pulling my foreskin through.

"Amy, what...?"

"Girls don't have a penis." She adjusted things a little more and pulled the straps tight around my hips. They hooked together in the front like a bra. When she had them where she wanted, she attached a flat clip right in the middle and locked it with a small key. Fuck, it was a chastity device, but one that left me with what looked like labia. "Now go see if you can pee."

I had to sit and lean forward a little, but it worked. Then there was wiping the dribbles. Just like a girl.

"Now these." They were larger than the forms I used, but not obscenely so. Amy wiped something on my chest around my nipples and then squirted something onto the back of the forms. Damn, she was going to glue them to my chest. She had been planning this.

I had to hold them in place for a few minutes, but when I let them go, the weight on my chest was obvious. When I looked in the mirror, I saw a girl about half my age with modest hips and sharp features. The same girl that used to play dress-up with my sister. Stephanie was coming alive again.

"Better?" Amy smiled at me.

"I guess. I never did anything like this before because you'd notice." The words caught in my throat as soon as they left my mouth. If I'd just told her...

Amy had a pair of red panties that matched the corset she'd brought out of the closet laid out for me. At least she hadn't picked out a dress. There were a pair of high-waisted linen slacks and a rose purple silk blouse. Except for the panties and corset, it was all new.

"Wait to put on your blouse until I do your makeup." I decided not to mention I already knew how to do it. Besides, Grace had probably told her, and I was out of practice.

Getting the corset on was a challenge. It always was. Amy waited until I asked her before she took the laces and tugged them as tight as she could get them. It was tight, and I'd have to figure out how to breathe, but it gave me a decidedly feminine shape. When I pulled the slacks on, they snugged around my waist and hung on my hips perfectly.

Amy seemed pleased with herself, and I had lost any resistance to what she was asking me to do. I sat at her vanity facing away from the mirror and let her paint my face and style my hair. It hurt when she plucked the hairs she didn't want from my eyebrows and letting her do my eyes was a little awkward. The coup de grâce was her taking out the studs in my ears and replacing them with elaborate bangles that teased my neck.

"Ready?" I could hear the excitement in her voice as she handed me my blouse. I slipped it on and let her show me how to tuck it in just right. When I turned around, I gasped. It couldn't be. Stephanie had never looked this good, and she'd been very cute. How was it possible? My red hair framed my face perfectly, curling just under my chin in a cute bob while my green eyes sparkled, highlighted by the eyeshadow Amy had chosen. Ample breasts accented by the delicate lace of the cups on my corset peeked out from underneath my blouse. A thin waist led to nice round hips and a curvy ass that sat atop long, slender legs.

Amy pointed to a pair of short heels. I stepped into them and fastened the buckles around my ankles.

"Come on, or we're going to be late." She handed me a purse. I checked and found my keys, wallet, phone, lipstick, a compact, and a small bottle of lube with three condoms inside.

"Amy, I can't go out like this." For the first time, I protested.

"You can if you trust me." There was no smile. She cocked her head and shrugged. "Your choice."

"Amy, please." I was half begging. Only half because I remembered those trips to the mall, the afternoons sitting in a coffee shop reading and people watching.

"Steve. Stop. I love the man I thought you were. You've hidden this from me from the beginning. I'm not sure that man ever existed. I found dildos Steve, fucking dildos. It's either what I say or nothing. Do. You. Understand?"

"OK." I nodded. "Can I at least ask what the endgame is?"

"I'm not sure I know. Right now, I'm trying to figure out what the hell I married. Once I know that, I can decide if I even like you, much less still love you. We can talk over dinner after the play."

Amy drove, and I sat in silence, letting everything that was happening wash over me. I had tried or thought about trying to tell Amy so many times. I just never found the courage to do it. She was right to be mad. I'd kept a massive secret from her from day one. She was livid with me, and rightly so. She had told me she was going to make me uncomfortable, embarrass, even humiliate me. At the same time, she was granting me my deepest desires.

I'd reminisced about going out in public as a woman so many times since Amy and I started seeing each other. That would have meant shaving my beard, and I'd intentionally grown it to be more attractive to Amy. With it, I never thought I would ever pass. Seeing the results of what Amy had done to me was both terrifying and validating. I looked so much better than I ever had before. Even the chastity clip, that little piece of plastic holding my manhood at bay; It gave me a nice smooth crotch. Shaved, it looked almost like a real girl's.

Then the panic set in. What if we ran into someone we knew at the play or at dinner? What then? How would I react? What would Amy say or do to embarrass or humiliate me?

"I never thought you'd look this nice." Amy's voice almost sounded contrite.