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o The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety of stories. o
o They have been submitted by people from all over the world. Also o
o from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no particular order o
o other than offering them to you in alphabetical directories. o
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o profit without obtaining the author's permission in advance. o
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o Lest we forget!!! This story was produced as adult entertainment o
o and should not be read by minors. o
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Good Girl (MF, wife)
by L. E.
**
This is a story I did a couple of years ago... it's entirely fiction,
and I would NOT want to meet the narrator... L. E.
My first wife, Betty, was what you'd call a nice girl--pretty,
honey-blonde, soft-spoken, dependable, reserved. Our love life
wasn't much though... not what I'd hoped for when we got married.
She seemed to have inhibitions about any but the most "normal" sex
acts, and I couldn't get a handle on them. However, sometimes she
seemed to hesitate before saying no, and I eventually persuaded her
to tell me why.
It turned out that she'd had fantasies about doing all sorts of
things, but out of guilt she'd always envisioned them as happening
to an alter ego who she called Nita. "Nita is a bad girl," she told
me. "Well... couldn't you be Nita for me in bed?" I asked her.
She shook her head. "I'd still know I'm Betty," she said. I thought
about that. The next day I bought her a dark wig, since she'd told
me Nita didn't look like her. "When you wear this wig, you're
Nita," I told her. She hesitated, but said she'd try it.
That night, after she undressed, she put the wig on. She looked at
herself in the mirror, psyching herself up. Then we had the best
sex we'd ever had. Afterwards, she took the wig off, kissed me
goodnight, and went to sleep. We started doing this several nights
a week. I learned more things about Nita.
Nita never ate her vegetables, Nita went to reform school, Nita
used blue language(Betty *never* did), Nita smoked(or so she told
me; this was a real surprise, since Betty had made me quit when we
got married), Nita played with herself--and didn't mind my
watching. I liked going to bed with Nita. The thought crossed my
mind that if I could get her to sleep in the wig rather than going
back to being Betty after sex, I might be able to get sex out of
her in the mornings too.
Betty told me that she didn't have any sleepwear that would suit
Nita... all her nightgowns were at least knee-length, and Nita was
something of an exhibitionist. I got out a catalogue from a sexy-
underwear place that Betty had told me I was perverted for getting,
and asked her to pick out something for Nita. She selected a pair
of crotchless panties and a peek-a-boo bra. We ordered them, and
after they came she began to be Nita all night. Within a few
months, she was Nita all night, every night. The more she did
things that Betty would never have dreamed of doing the less she
thought of herself as Betty. She took to wearing plenty of cheap
makeup, and I got her a broader wardrobe of ultra-sexy underwear. I
took to thinking how I could get her to spend even more time as
Nita.
Every morning she would scrub and turn into trim, prim Betty;
every night she would change into her wig and blatant undies and
become pouty, naughty Nita. I decided to get her some clothes to
wear around the house that would suit Nita. My first try was less
than successful; the clothes I got her were way too sexy for Betty,
but not vulgar enough for Nita. She had to tighten and shorten and
slit everything to make them right. "You'll have to go out shop-
ping for yourself, Nita," I told her. She shook her head; that was
too much for her... yet.
Now that she had clothes to wear around the house, she became Nita
around dinnertime, and increasingly stayed Nita through breakfast.
I noticed she got a bit dirty at times. "Nita never washes," she
told me. "Nita... you're not Betty. You should say "I" I corrected
her. The less she thought of being Nita as an act, the better she
was at it. She accepted the correction, and from then on we often
showered together, with me washing her, though she had to wash her
wig and her hair separately. After about six weeks, I finally got
her to go out shopping with me as Nita to get some more Nita-type
clothes. Like before, the stuff I suggested to her never seemed
naughty *enough*.
I was amazed at the transformation. Nita wore ultra-short dresses,
ultra-short hot pants, peek-a-boo blouses, net or seamed stockings
that she would keep wearing even with runs in them. When she wore
panties--about half the time--they would either be crotchless or
she would wet them and never mind the smell. Nita was still nervous
outside the house, though, and I decided to build her confidence.
After a while I brought home a pack of cigarettes. After she had
become Nita, I showed them to her.
"I know you smoke, Nita," I said, "but I've never seen you do it.
Wouldn't you like a cigarette?"
She took one slowly. I lit it for her, and lit up myself for the
first time in a long while. It felt good. I showed her how to
smoke, and after a little while she got the hang of it. I
encouraged her every evening, and in a month Nita was smoking more
than I was. I grew to love the way she ripped the top off a pack
and stuffed the cigarettes into her stocking tops, occasionally
lifting her skirt to take one out and light it from one she'd
smoked to the bottom, and the way she insouciantly blew smoke in my
face. I had to live with the way she used *anything* for an
ashtray... that was the way Nita was, cheap and dirty.
Most important, once she had the habit, her strong concepts of her
Betty self as a non-smoker and her Nita self as a smoker made her
feel less at home being Betty and more at home being Nita. We
started going out together regularly, and she won some wet T-shirt
contests(the kind of place I went with Nita was very different from
the place I had gone with Betty).
That summer we went to a topless beach, but I noticed Nita was ill
at ease. She occasionally checked her wig. I asked her about it
later, and she said she was nervous about anyone who knew Betty
recognizing her. I got some hair dye and we colored her body hair
to match her wig rather than the hair on her head, but it didn't
help much. I thought about the problem.
A week later I bought a wig that looked a lot like Betty's hair,
and another, redheaded wig. When Betty got home that day I showed
them to her. "This wig is for Betty," I told her, "And this one is
for Nita."
"But Nita--"
"Nita *shaves her head*," I said, adding an embellishment of my own
to Nita's naughtiness for the first time.
Betty gulped, but accepted my suggestion. She took off her clothes,
and I led her to a mirror. First with scissors, then with a razor,
I carefully shaved her bald. She looked with wonderment at her
changed appearance. She had symbolically crossed the line from
being Betty, who occasionally pretended to be "Nita" for me, to
being Nita, who occasionally pretended to be "Betty" for the out-
side world. A wig falling off could never reveal Nita as Betty,
only Betty as Nita.
Nita didn't wear the redheaded wig much, but since she had started
occasionally flashing people, she occasionally used it to change
her appearance. About this time, since Nita had told me pictures of
her appeared in men's magazines, I started taking some and sending
them to tacky sexy-letters magazines... PLAYBOY et al were too
respectable for Nita. Some of them got bought. Nita was delighted,
but it embarrassed Betty so much I saw even less of her. Not long
after this we moved.
Although we were still in the same metropolitan area, we had
crossed a state line, which meant we needed new driver's licenses.
I asked Nita if she could drive, and readily fibbing up a history,
she said she had been a hot-wiring car since she was twelve. I
challenged her to get a license of her own rather than renewing
Betty's.
Nita went down to the motor vehicle office and got a learner's
permit, and then took her written and road tests--she entertained
me with stories of how the instructor made eyes at her and she
teased him. Soon Nita had her own driver's license with her picture
on it, and Betty's had expired, which meant she had to commute to
work as Nita, changing clothes and wig in a bathroom; I hardly ever
saw Betty around the house after that. Since her driver's license
was such an important ID, Betty transferred her bank accounts into
Nita's name.
A couple of months later, we decided to take our vacations together
in the Bahamas. Nita rummaged through her things(she had far more
clothes than Betty did by now) and found an old passport of
Betty's, but it had expired. "I don't want to take my vacation with
Betty," I told her, "I want to take my vacation with you." With her
driver's license, her bank ID, and some fancy work, we managed to
get Nita a passport. While in the Bahamas, she got her name
tattooed on her ass.
After we got back, we moved again, this time only a short distance.
Betty had introduced herself to the neighbors in the last place,
and they had wondered about us since they saw more of Nita than
they did of Betty. In the new place Nita was Nita to everybody,
even if it grossed them out. In fact, Nita took very few of her
"Betty" things along on this move.
I had lunch with Betty a few times, just for variety, but now that
I knew life with Nita I didn't understand what I'd ever seen in
her. She was so dull. About this time Betty's brother, who had been
ill in the hospital for many years, took a turn for the worse. He
was the only relative she had, and she visited him often. Before
long he died, and she had barely gotten over that when her boss,
who had been less than understanding of the situation, fired her.
Not wanting Nita to suffer over Betty's problems, I suggested that
she get a job herself.
After she won another wet T-shirt contest, she managed to get a job
in a top-less bar. It was just the kind of job that suited her. She
was nervous at first over the fact that she was expected not only
to hustle cheap champagne but be fondled and suck off customers for
extra cash. I told her it was okay as long as she told me about
everything, steered clear of disease(Nita had her own doctor now;
Betty hadn't been to one since we moved), and gave me the money. If
I wanted to live with Nita, I had to live with the kind of woman
Nita was. I went to the bar often, not only watching Nita, but all
the people watching her. I placed bets with myself over whether
customers would ask her into one of the private rooms. I was glad
to see her become the most popular "hostess" in the place.
Through a regular at the bar we learned about a private sex club
and became regulars there. Nita found a job at another topless bar
that paid a little better, and I managed not to let anyone there
know she lived with me... as far as they knew I was just another
man who came to stuff tips in her G-string and buy overpriced booze
from her.
One day Nita told me a patron had asked if she could appear in an
X-rated movie he wanted to produce. After hearing that the man had
a good record in the field, I told her to do it. All the men who'd
seen her bod in magazines deserved a chance to see it on film, and
those who'd seen her in the flesh deserved a permanent record.
We went to California, where Nita did the movie and got offers to
do several more. The producer told us she was a real find, and paid
to have her boobs enlarged a bit, but Nita felt being a movie star
didn't fit with her image as a cheap slut, and decided to wait a
few months at least before doing another picture.
We went to Reno, and in the tackiest quickie-wedding chapel we
could find, I formally married my second wife, Nita. As we sped off
in a rented convertible, Nita reached under her saucy mini-dress,
took off her panties and exuberantly threw them out of the car.
When we got home, I inserted a wedding ring in her nipple.
We gave away the last of Betty's clothes, and buried her college
diploma and a few of her odds and ends in the back yard as a sort
of funeral. There really wasn't any reason to have her around any
more.
I love life with Nita. She's my kind of girl.