A feminized basket ball player

“They didn’t tell you.” I squeaked. “They did tell me. They told me everything. I talked to a lovely woman named Misty, you do know Misty don’t you.” I looked at my wife and tried to think of a way out of the situation. Misty, as she called herself, was my regular phone girl and I had told her my deepest and darkest fantasies, my most intimate secrets. I thought I could trust her of course, but how naive was that.

“Yes.” I said slowly “I know Misty.” My head was down. I was staring at the black, knee high riding boots, my wife had taken to wearing. “You better look me in the eye when I speak to you bitch. Is that clear!” My wife said in a flat tone, that made her all the more intimidating. I snapped my head up and looked her in the eye. I was ashamed by the fact that my erection was growing.

“That’s better cunt. Anyway . . . ” My wife’s voice was suddenly light and airy, a singsong like melody. “Anyway, Misty and I had a long talk about you. She thought you wouldn’t mind, seeing as how your just a submissive, little, faggot whore anyway. Besides I don’t think she really cared if you would mind. What does it matter what you do and don’t mind anyway. Does it matter matter what you mind Alex?” She asked.