My Senior Years In An FLR
In my case, it was better late than never to be in an FLR (female-led relationship). I had always been extremely respectful and submissive toward women but the women of my generation didn’t want to be in an FLR. And besides, I had to compete as a man in the world and make my own way, build my career, and engage in all of the behaviors expected of a man. All throughout those years, the concept of FLR was carried out by couples privately. However, in those days before the Internet, there were few ways to connect and no general realization of FLR as a concept, nor its possibilities. So the crossdressing that began in my teen years remained a secret. Before there were plenty of chastity devices on the market to choose from, I experimented on my own.
When I turned 65 I retired, I found myself spending more time at home, cleaning my apartment more frequently, cooking, and grocery shopping. I could now crossdress during the week as well as on the weekends. I realized I was becoming a housewife. This pleased me but, I really wanted to become a housewife for someone, perhaps a somewhat younger woman who still worked.
I Found A Woman To Serve
After several false starts, I was able to find a woman who appreciates what I do for her and who knows how to make use of me. She became aware that I had an abundance of free time so she gave me a task. She was pleased with how I completed this task, so she gave me another. Gradually she came to treat me as a valued subordinate and realize what I needed:
- “You like it when I boss you around, don’t you Rob?”
- “Yes, Ma’am, I like it very much.”
After that, she accelerated her control of me. She wanted to make sure she had exclusive use of me—that I was not running around serving other women at the same time.
- “I like you Rob, and I want all of you so I don’t want you serving other women, which would be cheating on me. I don’t even want you cheating on me with your own hand. You know what I mean. All men are weak that way and I won’t stand for it. Have you ever heard of male chastity devices?”
- “Yes, Ma’am. I have experimented on my own a bit…”
- “Well, that’s good but it doesn’t really count. You are either under female control or you’re not. I want to control you for your own good.”
- “Yes, Ma’am. I am ready to accept your control. Thank you.”
From that day forward, I have been locked continuously in chastity with no release except for cleaning and edging sessions to maintain and increase my degree of frustration.
She made me confess all of my history, my clandestine practices, my fetishes, my failed efforts to find authentic female domination.. all of it. Afterward, she decided I would undergo continuous chastity, rather than full feminization including female hormone therapy, complete cross-dressing at all times with discreet women’s trousers and blouses that could easily be mistaken for male garments when out in public, and of course skirts and dresses to be worn when in private. In public, I wear 38B or C bras but when I am at home, I must wear breast forms and 38E brassieres.
I get a maintenance spanking about once a week, with more severe punishment whenever I make a mistake or simply when she feels like giving me a strict punishment. My behind always has some marks from one of her implements: a hairbrush, paddle, strap, cane, or short whip. Of course, I do all of the domestic chores, everything that would have been considered housewifely duties in the 1950s, a decade that I remember well from childhood: cooking, cleaning, laundry, ironing, hand washing of “unmentionables,” shopping for feminine hygiene products and makeup, the whole nine yards.
Give My Sissy Hole An Extensive Workout
Sometimes when she arrives home from the office she will saunter into the kitchen, grab me from behind, snap my bra straps or garters, bend me over the counter and reach under my dress and petticoats, then laugh at me as I hand her a glass of wine. Later that evening she may decide to give me a good pegging, giving my sissy hole an extensive workout or she may wish to examine my breasts to check for additional growth.
She asks if I have been a good girl all day, questioning me closely, possibly with an implement in her hand smacking it against the palm of her other hand.
- “You know, Bobbie, you really have become my little pussywhipped pantywaist, haven’t you.”
- “Yes, Ma’am. I’m so happy to submit it to you! I love that you wear the pants in our relationship.”
I love it when she “takes me down a peg or two,” emasculating me further, increasing my level of humiliation and feminization, making me ever more hers, ever more subject to her decisions and her will, my own personality subsumed in hers. Many people are sad in their senior years, but I am now the happiest I have been in my entire life!