The Perfect Housewife [Man to 1950s Housewife TG] - Part 2

Commissioned Anonymously

Avery didn't become a woman for the body; the truth is, all he’s ever wanted was to be taken care of and keep house; not exactly a manly pursuit. When he finds out that his best friend Paul’s dream girl is exactly that, they hatch a plan to live together and fill the holes in one another’s lives. What they didn’t expect was just how hard it would be to keep their hands off each other, especially once Avery undergoes mental programming to make himself Paul’s ideal wife. 

~

Part 2 - The Change

The first few days felt like a blur, like I was in a dream I didn’t want to wake up from. I’d spent the morning in the kitchen, spending my time meticulously making breakfast. No more cereal and rushing out the door to get to work, I could take my time. I’d make eggs and bacon, pancakes or, on the days when Paul had an early start and didn't want something too heavy, oatmeal and berries. I’d spend time ensuring I looked perfect—just like the women in the magazines. My apron was pristine, my hair in neat curls, and a layer of lipstick carefully applied. 

Then, I could spend my days in peace, watching whatever I wanted on TV between chores. There was no need to speed my way through them or squeeze the tasks in between work. When all day to vacuum, it didn’t feel like such a chore or waste of time. By the time Paul came home from work, the house was spotless, and dinner was waiting. 

He was a bit stiff and unsure of how to act around me, but when he saw the steaming roast and the carefully set table, I saw something flicker in his eyes. I wasn’t sure what it was, gratitude or just relief, but it made me smile. It felt good to have this purpose, to be more than just another cog in the machine. No boss was breathing down my neck here, and my work was appreciated. I could tell Paul noticed everything I did, from dusting the shelves to cooking and cleaning. It felt nice to be appreciated for my hard work for once. Even if things between us were a little awkward. 

Having your best mate suddenly acting like your perfect wife must have been weird for him. It was a little strange for me too, but this was the life I’d always wanted. Somebody taking care of all the hard stuff, I just had to keephouse and look pretty. And now that I had these mental changes helping me along, it was so easy. I just had to get Paul over this awkward hump. 

I woke early on the first day of our second week. The sun had barely crept over the horizon, casting a soft golden glow through the kitchen window. I moved quietly, dressing in a pretty A-line dress and apron, making sure my makeup and hair were perfect. I didn't even have to think as I sat down at the makeup table, it was like my hands had a mind of their own. I slowly applied my lipstick, enjoying the gloss gliding over my full lips. I finished up and stepped out into the hall only to run into Paul coming out of his bedroom.

“Morning!” I smiled brightly. “Looking smart this morning!”

It was true, ever since I ironed and organised his wardrobe, Paul had never looked better. I’d always known I was bi, but even after my transformation, I’d leaned more toward women. Now, though, I felt something shifting. I realised since the mental changes, I hadn't looked at a single woman in real life or in my magazines. The men, on the other hand, had caught my eye, and right now, Paul had never looked sexier. 

“Thanks, I uh, didn't even know I owned this tie.” He chuckled. “My boss has been noticing how professional I look lately, I thought maybe I should start putting in a bit more effort.”

The tie was limp around his shoulders and I watched as he tried and failed to tie it properly. 

 “Like this,” I said softly, adjusting the knot, then pressing my hands down his lapels to smooth them. 

“Uh…thanks.” 

There was a beat of silence, and I felt something pass between us. Something unspoken that made my body heat up in a way that made my cheeks flush. 

“I’d better get breakfast ready. I’m starving, and I bet you are too!” 

Paul hesitated for a moment before saying;

“Bacon and eggs would be nice.”

“Of course!”

Making him happy felt so incredible, it fueled that warmth glowing in my body and made heat gather between my legs. I pushed those feelings aside and rushed to the kitchen to try and distract myself. The kitchen was where I belonged now. It felt right. 

Paul ate his breakfast in silence as usual. Talking had always been so easy, but now it was like pulling teeth. A nervous dread started to form in my stomach; was he not happy? The idea of making him unhappy made my stomach turn in knots. 

“Do you not like it?”

“No, it’s amazing I just…” 

“Just…?”

“Need to get to work. Thanks for the food.”

He got up so fast I barely had time to hand him the packed lunch I’d prepared. Before I knew it, he was out the door, without me to hand him his hat and coat. My hands twitched, and my heart sank. It felt like I’d failed somehow, and the fact that I couldn’t please my man felt…awful. 

Wait, when did I start thinking of Paul as ‘my man’? I just wanted to make him happy so this arrangement could work, nothing more. This arrangement was everything I’d ever wanted; I couldn’t lose it now.

“Clearly, you’re just not working hard enough,” I matter-of-factly told my reflection. “Time to get to work, girl, chop chop!”

I got to work, humming a little tune as I dusted lampshades and swished about the house in my dress and apron. I would prove to Paul I could be the perfect partner, then he’d let me stay. In fact, I’d be so perfect he wouldn't even need to find a real wife. We could just stay this way, just the two of us. I felt that heat between my legs again but ignored it; I had cleaning to do. When it was all done, I got dinner started only to look at the clock and jump in surprise. 

“Goodness me, he’ll be home any moment! I have to put my face on!”

I looked down at myself, my messy apron, the crinkled skirt from kneeling down to clean the floors, my hair was probably coming out of its perfect do as well. No, this wouldn't do! No wonder Paul wasn't happy; who wanted to come home to this? 

I quickly dashed back up to my room and sat myself down at the makeup table to make myself presentable. A man wanted his woman to look beautiful at the end of the day, to help him relax after all that hard work. It was my duty to look good for him. I’d just finished polishing my pearl necklace when I heard a key in the front door. I ran to the stairs, almost snapping one of my heels. Paul looked tired when he walked inside but it evaporated when he laid eyes on me. 

“Avery? Wow, you look incredible.”

“Thank you,” I said demurely, nobody liked a vain woman, after all. “I wanted to look good for you.”

“And the house, woah, I can see my reflection in the mantelpiece!”

With every bit of praise, my body seemed to tingle in excitement. My body was flush with pleasure as Paul sniffed the air and his eyes grew hungry.

“What smells so good?”

“I made meatloaf.” I beamed. “Come, put your feet up, I’ll bring you yours on a tray so you can watch the game.”

“The game! I’d almost forgot, the final is next week.”

I nodded, not really caring that much as I served up dinner, humming a little ditty to myself. I’d made Paul happy; that meant I was happy. And oddly enough, slightly horny. Did I have a praise kink all of a sudden? How weird. Oh well, I could take care of that myself later. 

With a little skip in my step, I carried Paul his dinner and sat it on his lap, bending over with my now signature wide smile. I watched as the mood instantly soured. His happy, calm face suddenly grew red and I watched his eyes dip to the neckline of my dress. All of a sudden, he couldn't meet my eye and grabbed the tray, slamming it down on his lap. 

“What’s the matter? Have I upset you?” I asked, lip wobbling.

“No! It’s just…hard for me. I thought this would be fun but it isn’t.”

My heart thundered in my palms slicked with sweat. No, I’d done something wrong, I was supposed to be here to make his life easier! He was going to tell me to leave; I couldn’t bear that! Not just because I wanted to keep living this housewife dream, but to my shock, I found myself not wanting to lose him. 

“What do you mean hard?” I asked, falling to my knees and squeezing Paul’s knee tightly. “I just want to please you, just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it!”

“It’s that!” he cried, not meeting my eyes. “Y-you’re too perfect.”

“Too…perfect?”

Paul cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I could ignore that beautiful body back when you were still acting like a guy, but now…now you’re acting like my dream woman. It’s hard not to see you…well, as a woman.”

I felt myself shudder; the way he said ‘woman’ was so primal. It made the heat between my legs bloom, and I finally realised exactly what was happening. My new mental persona…it made me the perfect wife and that meant being attractive to my husband. I was getting turned on by making him happy. I felt my lip quiver as I spoke. 

“Do you want me to go?” 

“No!” 

Paul finally looked at me and the emotion in his eyes made my breath hitch. I could feel tears burning in my own and Paul put aside the tray and gently cupped my cheek. 

“Oh no, don’t cry. Please, I’m sorry.”

“S-sorry.” I sniffed.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything, you’ve been great and I am being a jerk. I…Gods, listen to me. I’m talking to you like you’re a real woman.”

Those last words hit me like a tonne of bricks. I’d never been bothered when people joked about it before, me not being a ‘real’ woman. After all, I got the transformation because I wanted a women’s lifestyle, that was all. But now, those words hurt more than anything. To have my man say such a thing, it truly meant I was a terrible wife, and I wanted nothing more than to be a perfect wife. I had to do something; before I could think, my lips were moving. 

“I am a real woman,” I whispered, leaning in close. “A woman who would do anything to make you happy.”

Paul sucked in a breath and I froze in place. I couldn't believe what just came out of my mouth! I’d just offered myself to my best friend, and what’s worse, it made me so hot. My pussy quivered and I realised I really meant it. I’d do anything to keep Paul and make him happy. Even sleeping with him. 

“I have to go.”

His voice was choked as he got up and fled upstairs. I called out, but Paul didn't turn around. His meatloaf was sitting forgotten on the floor, still on its tray. I stared at it for a moment balled my hands into fists. My perfectly manicured nails bit intot he skin but I didn’t care. The disappointment mixed with the sexual frustration was maddening.

“It’s a bit unladylike…” I muttered. “But I’ll be able to think clearer if I take care of myself.”

I quickly moved up the stairs, fully intending to go to my room and quietly polish the pearl when a sound stopped me. A low groan that I knew well from my years as a man. It was coming from the bathroom, the shower was running, but if I pressed my ear to the woo,d I could hear the slapping sound of skin against skin. 

Instantly my face turned hot; I knew exactly what Paul was doing in there. It was so wrong; but the sounds turned me on so much I couldn’t bear to step away. He was grunting and I could almost see him in my minds eye; one hand braced against the steamy shower wall as he pumped; thinking of me. 

“Oh Fuck, Avery…” he moaned under his breath.

The sound sent pleasure forking through me. My nipples hardened, and my pussy clenched. Oh fuck, I was so turned on. It wasn’t proper or lady like at all, but I wanted nothing more than to reach under my heavy skirt and touch myself. I couldn't, though; I was frozen in space. Touching myself would be bad, that place for my husband. My body was for his pleasure, to take it myself would be wrong. So I stayed, frozen at the door, getting wetter and wetter as Paul touched himself. 

“Fuck….Oh fuck, yes…s-so close-!”

There was a loud moan and my whole body shuddered. Pleasure washed over me as I came front he sound of Paul’s voice alone. I could feel something in me shifting, the ecstasy making the mental programming all the stronger. I wanted to be a perfect wife, and a perfect wife pleasured her husband. She let him use her body however he liked, she was always ready and wanting whenever he needed her. Oh fuck, I was coming again. 

I stumbled back to my room, horrified at the intensity of my own feelings. This arrangement was supposed to just be for convenience, not love or list. I wanted to stop myself feeling this way, but I knew it was too late; I was falling in love and lust with Paul, and I couldn’t deny myself. I needed to feel him, needed him to make love to me, make me his real wife. I had to get a hold of myself, if I didn't learn to control these new impulses, I might push him away forever. Somehow, I was going to have to restrain myself, though I had no idea how. 

~

I fell back on the best thing I had: distraction. I focused on maintaining a perfect house and home for Paul. Trying to find joy in it for myself rather than his praise, but it was so hard. Every time he smiled at me, butterflies danced in my stomach. Each time I saw him get flustered as I bent down to straighten his shoes, I felt my own body respond in kind. It took all my self-control not to lean in and kiss him each morning as I did up his tie. 

The smart thing would have been to leave. If we just called this off, it would end both fo our torture; but neither of us did. It was like a slow game of chicken. On some level, we both knew what was going on but neither of us had the strength to end it. I couldn’'t bear the thought of leaving Paul on his own; who would lok after him? That was my job! The idea of his house falling into disarray and him going to work in unironed shirts again made me shudder. More than that, the idea that somebody would see he was technically single and steal him from me…no, I simply couldn’t allow it. No matter how wrong I knew it was. 

Paul it seemed, was in a similar boat. I’d be lying if it didn't make me happy. I was too perfect for him to let go. He couldn’t help himself; having a beautiful woman cooking, cleaning and at his beck and call was too good to let go. Even if he knew it was his old best friend. And so we were stuck in the endless dance of teasing, always being close, but bearly touching. 

Every night I laid in that bed down the hall stewing in my own hormones. I was so turned on by his approval that by the end of the day I was always soaked. I couldn't bring myself to touch though; the mental programming stopped me every time. A woman had to save herself for her husband. So I was forced to strain my ears and listen, if I ever heard Paul touching himself I would tip tow down the hall to listen and orgasm from the sound of his pleasure. It was my only loophole. It was the end of another long Friday, I was dusting the shelves after dinner while Paul watched TV somewhat guiltily. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help with anything around the house? I haven’t done anything since you arrived.”

“Of course not!” I gasped before I could stop myself. “That’s my job.”

“I just feel sort of bad you’re being treated like a maid…”

“Never! It’s my pleasure to take care of you. You’re a good provider.”

Paul smiled and shifted, clearly loving the compliment. 

“I know, why don't we hold a party at the weekend,” I suggested. “It’s the big game, you and your friends can all gather round here to watch and have lunch.”

“A barbeque?”

“That could be fun, but then you’d be at the grill half the day. No, I will cook lunch for you all. Just leave everything to me.” I grabbed the empty packet of crackers from next to his chair. “With the help of our good friends down at the wholesome food company, providing a spread has never been easier!”

I felt my smile force itself a little wider than was natural as I tilted my head and held up the box to show him. I expected Paul to find it creepy, but instead, he gave me the most adoring look. Oh, if only I could reward him the way only a wife could. I forced myself to turn around and walk back to the kitchen; there were dishes to do. It was exactly the distraction I needed to keep myself from doing something embarrassing. However, I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when I didn't have a job waiting to distract me in the future. These urges were getting so much stronger I wasn't sure I could hold myself back even if I wanted to.