Farmers Wives
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters
My sister Deanna was 17 when she left home. She could have studied physiotherapy at the college near our hometown in New Jersey, but instead she went to Virginia. She never came back. Within 3 years she had qualified and was married to Brad. The only time we ever met Brad before we moved south, was at the wedding. It was clear why she was ashamed of us. Brad was rich. He had taken on running the family farm as his parents had retired to Florida and his older brother worked in banking overseas. The wedding was at the farmhouse if you could call it that. It was called “Atterton” and was a huge mansion in old Southern style, although built only in 1967. Deanna was the lady of the house, although she modestly called herself “just a farmer’s wife”.
About a year after the wedding, our house burnt down with our mother inside it. Her death was upsetting for my father but not as devastating for him as it was for me. It was well known that his financial difficulties had caused problems in the marriage. Worse was to come. Within two months the insurance company declined the claim and gave us a week to vacate the accommodation they had rented for us. My father sought legal advice but after exchange of documents the advice he received was not to proceed. The insurance company had evidence of the use of accelerants in the fire, and with financial and marriage problems the circumstantial evidence of a deliberate act was too high to ignore. Litigation if it failed could see my father prosecuted not just for arson but for murder. The insurer had not yet notified the police. It was suggested to my father that he abandon any claim. There was also the suggestion by a sympathetic assessor, that to avoid prosecution for insurance fraud, it would be a good idea to disappear.
So, we were left without a wife and mother, without a home or any belongings, in debt to the bank for the amount due under the mortgage and with the threat of a police investigation. My father took charge, and I followed as usual. My father suggested that I call my sister. We had nowhere else to go.
It was never clear to me why my sister hated my father so much. Even to this day after all that has happened, she has not confirmed any sexual abuse, but it would make sense. She told me that the only reason that she would have us in her house was me, although she never seemed to like me much either. But she knew that I was not coping with my mother’s death so well and wanted to offer me support. I suppose she figured that her house was big enough so that she would not need to be too close to my father while we stayed.
Whatever the issue was with my father, she must have told Brad about her feelings, as he was clearly hostile to my father. But Brad was a more complex character. I think that he wanted to exact some kind of vengeance on my father – on my sister’s behalf I suppose.
Brad’s attitude to me was something else again. I think that he understood that I was a passive person who needed somebody strong beside me. That had always been my father. But because of his feelings about my father, I think that he felt that I needed another person. Also, he could see too much of his wife in me. He told me that if I had longer hair I could be her twin.
Brad is a physically powerful and quite intimidating man. I felt very weak and inferior in his presence. I am sure that he liked it that way. He mixed with his workers and was a man’s man amongst them, but at home he was king and did not need other men about. That and his clear hostility towards my father led to the curious proposition that he made.
On the second evening of our stay while we sat at dinner Brad made his proposition. “I want to make it clear to you,” he said, “that neither Deanna nor I consider that we owe you anything. But I am prepared not only to allow you to stay, but to settle the mortgage debt. I expect services in return, on my terms. If you do not like the conditions for my help, then you can leave and take your chances. It is as simple as that.”
“We will work it off,” muttered my father. At this point he was totally demoralised. He had been a proud man but there was little pride left. It was not his wife’s death that affected him so much as the loss of all the material things he had worked for over the years – all burnt to a cinder. But even such a low point he was not prepared for what followed.
“I have men who work the farm. They are capable and strong. They know the work. You have nothing to offer on the farm,” said Brad. “So, there are things to be done in the house. It is too big for Deanna to look after and with only Mrs Doolan, the cook there is work here for maids. I can take you both on as maids.”
“You don’t mean maids – you mean butlers or valets or cleaners?” My father was shocked by the word Brad had used.
“No. I mean maids. There is no place for men in this household. I am the man here and the only man in this house. I will take you in only as female servants. You will dress as maids right down to bras and panties. Those are my terms. I am offering you a modest wage and a place to live – in the servant’s quarters. After a year in the job, if you are not in jail, I will pay off the mortgage debt.”
My father started to straighten himself a little: “So you would have us dress as women to degrade us?” he demanded.
“In your case, yes,” Brad frankly admitted. “As for Bobby here, I just find his appearance as a male a little unnerving. You look so much like your sister, you see,” he said to me. And then he said directly to my father: “You can leave after dinner if you don’t like the deal. Keep your dignity if you like. I will give you 24 hours to think about it.”
We must have drunk way too much that night, because I passed out and woke late in the morning.
Shortly after that outrageous proposition my father called his lawyer in Newark and learned that the insurance company had contacted the police and that we were both wanted for questioning. While it had nothing to do with me, they were keen to contact both of us and family would be the first place they would look. So, my father agreed with Brad on a deal that would resolve our problem – temporarily at least. We would work as maids if he concealed us until things blew over. Essentially, we were to be fugitives in disguise.
Could I have just left? I was under no threat of prosecution myself. Sure, I had no money, but I would not be alone in that. The problem is really all me. Why was I still living in my parents’ house? The fact is that I am just not an independent or courageous person. In fact, a life “in service” almost appealed to me. As for the uniform, it was not my choice.
Deanna laid out clothes for us and ran a bath, firstly for my father and then for me. They included underwear. Our uniform was from the skin up. We would serve out our indenture dressed totally as women.
“Brad has got a bit carried away with this,” Deanna whispered to me. “I’ll be glad to see that old bastard brought down a peg or two, but I am sorry that you need to go through this.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I am just glad to be here. It will be great. We can be like sisters for a year. If I can do this, then the old man can do it too.”
My father was given strict instructions on depilation – the removal of all hair from his body below the nose, using a powerful chemical. Deanna did some work on his face – some eyebrow plucking and a little make up. With his maid’s uniform on and a dark wig on his head he looked … well, ridiculous: Like a man dressed as a maid.
He became Pamela, the housemaid. His job was to clean the living areas and assist in the kitchen and in serving breakfast and lunch.
Here he is looking less than happy while posing for the photos Brad required. His hairless arms do not look that feminine but his legs in sheer panty hose and heels, look really good!
Deanna added the string of pearls.
Pamela had several sets of this uniform which she had to wear during working hours. When not working she was given three retro-style floral sundresses to choose from, and wedge sandals. There were to no jeans or pants of any kind, and no tops that might just pass as men’s clothing. There could be no retreat into our past lives. We were moving forward as female.
On the other hand, my transformation was much more successful. The hair on my body was light, but without any hair at all, I was amazed at how sensitive my skin was. I had a new appreciation of a soft towel, and the silkiness of lingerie felt delicious. It was not until I first wore it that I started to consider that some time in women’s clothing could be easily tolerated.
Because the hair on my head was longish Deanna said that I should go with her to the salon in town to have my hair coloured and to have extensions put in. In the meantime, like my father I was given a uniform to wear. I was to be Roberta (still Bobbi), Chamber maid and Deanna’s lady's maid. I was to help her with her clothes, dressing and hair, and keep all the bedrooms in the house tidy. I was also to be available to serve dinner in the evenings.
At the salon I had a complete makeover. I had a skin treatment and I had natural extensions woven into my hair. I was taught how to put my hair up in a simple style as in the photo. I was told that this was the proper style while I was serving.
It took some time for me to be able to do it as well, but I was not only practising on my hair but also Deanna’s when assisting her as lady’s maid. I was to return to the salon for further training over time, and I discovered that I was really quite skilled with hair styling.
I was also given instruction on make-up. Both maids were expected to report to work in full make-up including foundation, blusher, mascara, eyeliner, and lipstick. And this would need to be maintained throughout the day.
I just went about my duties, but my father was bitter and grumpy. I was not there the first time that Brad cornered him slamming something down while polishing his desk. I understand that Brad made it very clear that if there was one step out of line, we would both be out. I found myself imploring my father to just go along with things. It was not for my sake, as I have explained, it was for his.
We had only been in this situation for a week or so, when the police came to call. Pamela was in the kitchen, so Mrs Doolan told her to get changed into her yellow sundress and take a basket of baking down to the stable cottage about a half mile down the southern path. Pamela walked straight past the policemen talking to Brad. They asked about other people on the property and Brad called Deanna and me onto the upstairs landing, and Mrs Doolan from the kitchen. He then sent them down to the cattle yards and then the horse stables to check over the farm workers.
My father explained later what had happened. Apparently when he got to the stables he met Jim Overton for the first time. Jim was head stockman and about as close to a cowboy as you can get this far east. He was a big guy with a face of tanned leather and sparkling blue eyes. My father insisted that he was still his same sullen self, but that Jim was charming and even flirtatious. He kept calling Pamela “little lady” or ”sweetheart” and complimenting her or her baking (my father had a hand in making the muffins and was learning fast).
When my father had introduced himself, Jim had said: “Oh but we have met before, though you were drugged to sleep on your first night here. When you had your shots.” It turned out that we had both been given injections.
Brad admitted it when he was asked later in the day. “You are both on female hormones”, he said. Have been from when you arrived and will be until you leave. A dose in your coffee every morning or a pill if you like, but those are the rules. The only male hormones in this house are mine.”
Pamela seemed to find herself a friend in Jim. I am not sure whether she was responding to his romantic overtures on some level, or whether she just needed somebody outside the house. Anyway, the baking deliveries became a regular thing.
Deanna also arranged for both of us to be assisted in our femininity by weekly visits from Cherise, a beautician from a nearby town who had been born Charles. As an attractive and totally convincing transwoman Cherise was able to coach us on walking, hand movements (so different for women) and in lifting the tone of our voices. Pamela was so successful in this that Brad loved to hear her voice. He would say something like: “Tell me what’s in this pie”, and grin with satisfaction through her gently lilting explanation.
I was even more successful and found that with Cherise’s training I could even sing. I took to doing that as I did my morning chores. I found that I was increasingly happy in the work I was doing. I also found myself becoming happy with my appearance. I had never regarded myself as particularly vain, but given the importance attached to feminine appearance by Deanna and Cherise I found myself constantly checking myself in the mirrors all through the upstairs rooms. I would ensure that my hair was all in place and my make-up perfect.
Whether it was the hormones or just the collapse of his will which saw my father also relax into his role. Cherise had suggested that he do without his wig. There was a slightly receding hairline which Cherise said could be fixed with a small surgical procedure – just pulling the scalp forward. She approached Brad to pay for it. My father’s view of it was that anything that arrested baldness was hardly a bad thing.
Brad did agree to pay, although afterwards he said that it would just be added to what my father owed him. But as it turned out the procedure was a little more radical. It was almost a week before Pamela returned to the farm, and when she did she looked as if she had been in a brawl with a bike gang. Not just her face but as she said it, her whole body ached. She was very groggy. Jim carried her up to bed and I was left with the task of nursing her back to health.
The first thing that I noticed when I was adjusting her sheets was that her chest was also bandaged. I knew immediately what had happened. I quickly checked the groin area. It was all intact, although a bit wizened. There was also bandaging on the nose and chin, and on the sides of the face. As it turned out the work done was substantial.
I found out later that she had been given a huge shot of hormones as well. It left her crying for days. She started to understand what had been done to her. She had received what is known as “facial feminization surgery”, and breast implants. It took a while to heal but the change was remarkable.
Brad was pleased with the outcome, and so was Jim. Jim started calling Pamela “Pretty one” or “Angel face”. While my father was initially shocked at what had been done to him, nobody dislikes a compliment and he started to preen a little more.
He also took to his breasts more easily than seemed reasonable. Deanna brought him some bras but the ones he liked were the push up style which showed a tight cleavage. That and the maids outfit made a potent cocktail and would have aroused anyone, but even in the sundresses it gave her a real “sex bomb” look.
She said: “You are going to have to get a pair of these. Why don’t you ask Brad?”
The truth is that I was starting to wonder if there was any escape. I already had small breasts growing on my chest from the hormones. My face and hair looked hopelessly feminine. I talked like a woman, I walked like a woman, so was I a duck?
I suppose that I felt that Deanna would prevent it from getting any worse for me. After all, my father was being punished for some perceived wrong in addition to working off the debt, but I deserved no punishment.
But what I didn’t understand then was that Brad and Deanna’s marriage was falling apart. The first rule in those circumstances is “stay out of it.” I broke that rule and suffered the consequences.
Deanna had sought comfort from one of the farmhands, a guy known as Haddy. She did her best to hide it, even from me, but a lady’s maid misses nothing. Brad put me on the spot and so I had to tell him what I knew.
Deanna was furious with me. She wanted me gone, but Brad was not ready to do that. I could not stay as her lady’s maid, so I swapped places with my father. I became the housemaid and Pamela took over upstairs. She was happy to do that so long as she could keep the muffin delivery going.
But Deanna was getting increasingly irrational and (as I learned later) she demanded that Brad have me submit to some procedures. I reluctantly agreed to the breast implants, as I understood that was fully reversible, but I did not want work on my face. Brad promised me that would not happen.
He kept that promise, but did far worse. I went in for surgery at a private clinic that he had arranged, and I came out female. That is right, Deanna had demanded it. She wanted me castrated. But it ended up being a full sex change.
I had no idea that my own sister hated me that much. It was more than just speaking the truth about her infidelity – this was a permanent injury that would destroy forever my chance of returning to manhood.
I was taken out of the clinic even before I realised what had happened, back to Atterton and attended on by Pamela. Deanna came in only to mock me. Like Pamela the operation had been accompanied by a flood of hormones. I cried and cried. The pain was unbearable. I felt as If my insides had been ripped out. My groin was a mass of bandages and I was pissing through a tube into a bag.
A nurse called on me a few days later to check the surgery. She pulled from inside me a mass of bloodied bandages. There seems enough to fill a bath. What kind of cavity had been made? Then she pulled from a box, three different colored dildos. The smallest of these (which still seemed impossibly big) she lubricated and gently thrust inside me. I was to work it in and out and around, then move through the larger dildos over coming days and weeks. She would return in a month to check that the largest one would easily slide in an out.
Pamela seemed very curious about the whole thing and would question me constantly. I wondered if she was not just a little jealous.
After a few days, I was able to move about and recommence my duties. It was noticeable that things between Brad and Deanna had not improved, despite her horrible revenge on me. I should have been angry with Brad, but I was not. He seemed to be genuinely regretful that he had allowed her to demand this. I felt sorry for him. She was making his life a misery. He spent more time on the land and would sometimes sleep at the bunkhouse. When he was at home, more often than not, he would sleep on the cot behind his study.
I was becoming more comfortable with my new anatomy. Not only had the pain subsided, but the dilation with the big dildo was becoming pleasurable. The surgery had preserved the sensitivity at the top of the entrance of my new vagina. I had lost any ability to get an erection well before the surgery, and it seemed that I would never have another orgasm, that was until my first female orgasm during dilation.
There were other things too. I didn’t mind sitting down to pee and wiping afterwards. It seemed tidier. As a housemaid you learn that men do seem to dribble in and around the bowl. We women are just neater. And nice panties and a smooth front look really good.
I learned to like my breasts too. Initially they seemed to be a nuisance as a weight on my chest putting me off balance and dangling in the way while I was cleaning the floor, not to mention bouncing around like crazy if I had to run anywhere. But with a bra on cupping them nicely, they just felt right on me.
Initially my maids uniform covered everything up, with a white collar, but I decided to make some changes to show my assets. Deanna was not happy, but Brad approved. I caught him out staring at them more than once. If I did I would smile at him, and if Deanna was not looking he would smile back. Breasts on display made us both happy.
Then one day Deanna had gone into town and Brad came in from the yards to grab some lunch. I was doing some dusting. I was in my new uniform, the one I chose over the old one – the revealing front and the hem of my dress a little short. I was bending over the grand piano when he saw me from the hall.
“Stop, don’t move,” he instructed. I froze still, not quite understanding what was happening. Was there a hornet on my back?
He approached me and held me over the piano and stroked my bottom under my dress. He went a little lower so that I could feel his hand on my pussy through the fabric. I am sure that it felt hot. I did.
“I paid for this little thing,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said. “I like it.”
He seemed surprised. He said: “But how would you know if you haven’t used it?”
He took his hand off my back, so I could stand and turn to face him. I said with a cheeky smile: “I like it anyway.”
“You look a lot like your sister,” he said, “But with one important difference.”
I looked at him quizzingly, and he answered: “You smile, she never does.” And before I could say anything, he kissed me. He kissed me on the lips, not aggressively, but tenderly. Almost romantically.
I had a sudden urge to throw my arms around him. I am not sure where the urge came from. I had always thought myself to be a heterosexual man, and now with the changes forced on me I had assumed that my attraction to women would be unchanged, although I had never even thought about women since I got to Atterton. But I had an urge and gave into it. Big time. I found myself with my hands in his hair and my tongue in his mouth. He was as swept up in it as I was. He unzipped the back of my dress and it fell off me as if designed for the occasion. His pants came off and a huge erection sprang forth. Before we both knew it, I was on the piano stool, his cock at my entrance.
A girl in my position needs lubrication, and I had the gel upstairs. But there was no time. I gasped and groped for the bottle of linseed oil I had been using on the piano. I rubbed it on his huge cock now throbbing in my hand. Then he was inside me. Not the cool dildo, but a hot and fully engorged human penis. I could feel every sensation. I thought my head would explode as he started his thrusting, gradually increasing the rhythm.
I had sex as a man. I even had good sex, maybe even great sex, but nothing prepared me for this. It was, without doubt, the most complete moment of bliss I had ever experienced; the moment that I felt him spasm and my innards filled with his hot seed. We screamed softly together. Life would never be the same again.
Brad confided in me that there was no longer a future for him and Deanna, at least not now. It was over, the moment that he told her that he had enjoyed sex with the woman who used to be her brother. She bellowed out a laugh at first, but I was right there, and she could see me, and the glances between me and her husband.
She was furious of course. She accused Brad of being a pervert – a faggot and a tranny lover. She might have called me gay too, but everything that I was, was of her making.
Brad said: “I am not gay. But I would rather be gay and be with Bobbi, that straight and stay with you.” With that I drew close to him and took his arm. She could see he was now my man.
She left and a letter from her lawyer to Brad came the next day.
But the worst of it was that she informed on Pamela and me. Within a day or two the police came calling looking for a man and his son. They got the surprise of their life when we sat down with them.
As it turned out the accelerant in our house fire was some art materials that my mother had been using. The police had all but ruled out foul play. They were just puzzled as to why we had run off. They thought such action might show some guilt, but when my father explained that after his wife’s death we wanted to fulfil our aim of becoming women, the officers seemed to accept the explanation.
It took more months before my father received a pay-out on the house. He spent the first part of it getting the same operation I had, so that he could become a full woman capable of satisfying her man. The rest she put with Jim’s savings, so they could buy by a parcel of land not far from Atterton.
We had a double wedding, mother and daughter, when Brad’s divorce came through. Apparently, Deanna came out of it with a relatively small amount of cash (the farm itself is in trusts) but enough to able to make a life with some successful guy in the city. It turns out that she never liked the rural lifestyle. But Pam and I, we couldn’t be happier being farmers’ wives.
The End
© Maryanne Peters 2019
