I Was The Bride - Part 2 (Patreon)

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Mr. Rother came home from work as Joyce was clipping the long, flowing train to my dress, and Mrs. Rother adjusted the huge bow on my bottom.

Mr. Rother took a double take as he walked into the room, cleaning his glasses. 'My goodness,' he said, 'this gorgeous young thing can't be our...'

He stood and stared from the doorway, put his glasses back on, squinted, and adjusted his eyes to the light. Disappointment was etched across his face.

Mrs. Rother spoke first. 'Yes, darling, it's our future son-in-law. Doesn't he make you proud?'

Mr. Rother never approved of his wife's idea and looked at me as if I were something nasty he'd stepped on in the street.

'Look,' Mrs. Rother says, 'look how he's taken to his new feminine role, like a duck to water,' and before I could stop her, she lifted my skirts high and showed him my shaven legs, stockings, and pants as if this extra feminization made the picture complete.

'Remarkably, it's our daughter's wish,' he says begrudgingly. 'We should respect that. It's not for me to give an opinion.'

Mrs. Rother nodded. 'But you've got to agree, doesn't she look beautiful? I'm sure you won't mind giving her away at the church.'

He nodded, and I simultaneously imagined hanging off his arm as he proudly walked me down the aisle. Yet despite everything, I began to have doubts. Mrs. Rother seemed to be taking it to extremes, and over the following weeks, I felt my masculinity stripped from me as she made me grow my hair, shave my whole body, and learn female mannerisms. I was even treated to a facial and a manicure as she prepared me for the big event.

Paula's mom seemed determined to feminize me, not for a day but to make deep, scarring changes that would take years to disappear. She took me to have my ears pierced, plucked my eyebrows into a feminine arch, insisted I wear pants under my trousers at all times and made me grow my nails, which she insisted I coat with clear varnish until I could hardly do anything manual. Work began to get suspicious, as though they knew about the wedding; I hadn't told them who was to be the bride. I just hoped I could hold them off until after the big day when I could cut my hair and nails and resume my normal life.

Mrs. Rother even insisted that I learn to dance. She had this wild romantic notion that Paula and I would take to the floor for the first dance. Paula knew how to dance already, so Mrs. Rother paid for me to do lessons at a local school so I could surprise Paula with my new talent. And she was going to be surprised for sure as Mrs. Rother enrolled me as Kristy and took me to and from lessons insisting I dressed the part. She bought me a black crepe dress, a bee-stripe sweater, a gold lame miniskirt, and a black wrap dress. I was the smartest there, and I not only learned to dance as a woman, but the whole experience made me act more and more like a young woman.

It all seemed so extreme, and I feared Paula would go off my new feminized body, but as the wedding approached because Mrs. Rother seemed to be more accepting of me, Paula became more and more comfortable with the whole idea of marriage. Though, if the truth is to be known, I noticed a change in Paula that I found a little unsettling.

She began to talk to me like a woman; she would chat about fashion, ask my opinion, and talk about men and emotions. We didn't have sex very often. I assumed she was saving herself for the wedding night, and when we did, she took control, but could I blame her? I was looking increasingly feminine, and I found it difficult to be the macho man wearing pants, with increasingly longer hair, a body as smooth as a baby and pierced ears and arched brows.

For the wedding rehearsal, Paula asked me to go to her house so we could go with her parents. I had been dreading the event, and as it turned out, I had good reason. As soon as I arrived, the two of them whisked me upstairs and made me strip in front of them. I was embarrassed to be wearing pants, but that was nothing compared to the pretty floral dress they expected me to wear to church. Secretly, I loved it but feebly protested, as I knew they expected. Apparently, they'd spun a line to the vicar, implying that I dressed as a woman 100% of the time; therefore, turning up in jeans may jeopardize the whole proceedings. Twenty minutes later, I was dressed in a fresh lacy pair of pants, sheer tights, a matching bra, and an incredibly feminine dress. Mrs. Rother handed me an outrageously high pair of heels.

I smirked as I took them from her.

'You're kidding,' I gasped.

'You should know me by now, darling; these shoes will transform your legs into a shapely turn; they'll complete your outfit. They'll give you height, authority, and poise and can completely change the mood.'

'But we were only going to the church,' I mutter.

'More reason to look your best. The vicars expect to marry a beautiful bride, so you can't disappoint her at the reception.'

I frown and look at Paula, but she smiles, reassuringly glad that it's me and not her wearing the girlish dress.

Not surprisingly, I tottered precariously as both women laughed at my pathetic attempts to master the heels. Mrs. Rother gave me some tips, and within a few minutes I was striding like a catwalk model, and she was right I was transformed. This was the first time Paula had seen me in a dress, and she was surprised at how convincing I looked.

'My goodness,' she said, her jaw almost touching the floor. You look absolutely stunning, and I should be jealous. That dress looks better on you than on me.'

I grinned like a teenage girl, clutched the floaty hem and fine slip, and twirled on the carpet like a ballerina. It was easy in my new unmarked heels, and as I spun gracefully, I lifted my skirt to reveal my pretty lace pants. I heard her gasp with surprise, but to my disappointment, Paula was less than supportive. She mocked my enthusiasm and even implied that I'd make a better wife than a husband. I wasn't pleased. I couldn't win; the situation seemed hopeless, and to make matters worse, I saw Mrs. Rother curl her lips upwards in a cruel smile as if half expecting Paula's reaction.

'Women who choose a high heel over a sensible shoe enjoy mischief-making,' Mrs. Rother said. 'They enjoy political incorrectness, looking good in clothes, and just a little personal torture.' She grinned like a cat that's got the cream, and I noticed a slight frown of concern on Paula's brow.

The next couple of hours were surreal. Dressing in the wedding dress at Mrs. Rother's house was kind of fun and innocent, a bit like a fancy dress, but this was different. I was now masquerading as a convincing woman, and everything I experienced was new. Getting in and out of the car without showing too much leg, walking one toe in front of the other, swinging my hips, head up proud, holding a handbag, and talking in a high-pitched voice.

Everything went as planned; even the choir boys didn't expect a thing. And yes, I even enjoyed wearing the new dress, clutching my handbag, and brushing away my hair in a suggestive manner. And the lipstick was gorgeous. It tasted like cherry, and I loved the feeling of rich, glossy lips. I couldn't help but want to keep touching it up and checking my reflection in any mirror. After the rehearsal, we went for a drink in the village pub. I thought I'd be embarrassed, but by now, especially after the dance classes, wearing the dress was second nature, and I could easily walk the walk and talk the talk. When I went to the toilet, Paula came with me. She seemed concerned. I asked her if anything had changed, and she paused momentarily before replying. 'As long as you haven't changed,' she said with a wink.

'Of course not,' I said, moving towards her to kiss her, but it was difficult to be convincing with your legs encased in nylon, a heavy-filled bra wrapped around your chest, a light dress hanging from your shoulders, floating around your thighs, and your feet squeezed into towering heels. She pushed me away with distaste. And I was about to protest when another girl joined us. She said hello, and we both smiled as I went into a cubicle.

That was my first ever experience of going to the toilet as a woman, and I loved it. I enjoyed hitching up my dress, pulling my tights and pants down, and even squatting over the seat. It all seemed so natural.

As I finished and dapped myself with some tissue, alarm bells immediately rang in my head. Why didn't I stand? I wondered, but there was something about the dress and the situation that made standing inappropriate. Women don't stand; I wasn't a man, therefore I sit. I shuddered at my own thoughts, flushed, and hurriedly rearranged my pretty dress.

Unbeknownst to me, Graham stayed in touch with Paula at work. I guess it was difficult, too. Mrs. Rother sent him an email of me wearing the wedding lingerie and the dress, and he learned with mirth about the new wedding arrangements. I can still hear him ridiculing me now, and at the time, I was fearful of losing Paula, so I made even more of an effort to please them. Then, to my amazement, Paula dropped a bombshell. She wanted Graham to be the best man, and I stupidly agreed.

On the morning of the wedding, unbeknownst to me, as I was being dressed and having my face done, Graham popped around to see Paula. In his smart morning suit, he made one last attempt to win her away from me. You can imagine what he focused on. Me upstairs in her mother's wedding dress, seemingly loving every minute.

Like I did a few months earlier, he apparently dropped on one knee, but instead of a cheap tin ring pull, he produced the diamond engagement ring he'd bought for her a few months ago. Again, like I had done before, he let rip with his feelings and how he was concerned that I was a secret crossdresser. I'm sure it didn't take much convincing; I had made sure of that.

Then, to her surprise, he announced that he had booked a registry office wedding when he originally proposed and not canceled it. They were due in two hours, and if they hurried, they could wed before the church service.

'What do you want as a husband? A man who dresses as a woman or a real man?' he said.

To his surprise, she said yes, and in an excited frenzy, they fled the house as her mother struggled to lace me into my tight corset.

Outside, they met Tina and Jon, two friends from the university who were guests, and they all went to the registry as witnesses. Paula explained the way she changed her heart. If she was in any doubt, Jon and Tina did Graham many favors as they joined in devaluing my status as a man and suitable partner. Two hours later, as I had my hair combed and the bridal headdress clipped in place, they were back at her mother's house as a legal man and wife.

Paula, I believe, had the full intention to stop the wedding, but when faced with her excited mother, she didn't have the heart to tell everyone yet again about the change of plan. So Paula quickly changed into her groom's suit in a confused state, to say something later. I was secretly smuggled out of the house, so she couldn't see me.

I was then driven to the church with my bridesmaids and her father, who had no idea what had just happened.

To waste time, the chauffeur drove around the town a few times, and as I gazed nervously out the window, my heart was fluttering, smiling at all the women who looked at me enviously, unaware of my identity.

I've no idea what was going through Graham and Paula's minds as the two of them sat at the front of the church as man and wife while I dressed up as the radiant bride and stood outside the church door trembling like a leaf with her father. Jon and Tina had taken a pew and sat equally bemused. The organ began to play, and Mr. Rother took my hand proudly and led me down the flower-laden aisle.

Of course, as I approached the alter, each tiny step made it more difficult to stop the proceedings. The guests were wonderful; I think they all knew that it was me under the dress and make-up, but they were so understanding, I didn't see one person chuckle or smirk, and I felt myself wanting to cry with happiness. It was really a dream come true, or was it?

She didn't; no one gave a reason why we shouldn't wed. I said, 'I do' and so did Paula. She put her wedding ring on my finger, next to her diamond engagement ring that I borrowed, and kissed me as her bride. The next minute, we signed the registry and posed for photographs outside the church in the sun. Oblivious to what had gone on, I tossed my pretty flower bouquet to the eager onlookers, as I was deliriously happy and blissfully unaware of what had gone on. I'd unknowingly committed adultery.

Graham played along with the charade smug that he had married my true love first. We were driven to the hotel for the wedding breakfast, and she chatted to me excitedly and didn't once let on that she had already married Graham.

Though I was excited, I could tell something was amiss. Our guests were great, and we walked past them in a line as we entered the hotel. Most of them were friends of Paula or her parent's acquaintances. I had no family and dared not invite anyone from work. Not one of them mentioned my gender; instead, I got told how pretty I looked and how they liked my hair or make-up.

We ate, Paula and Graham all gave a speech, and everything seemed normal. As they cleared the tables away and some more guests arrived, I politely excused myself to change. Still, no one said anything, and Mrs. Rother was sweetness itself as she offered to help me out of the dress. That's where I got my second shock, as in the bedroom room designated for me to change wasn't my smart trousers, shirt, and jacket but a gorgeous chiffon summer dress.

'I decided your going away outfit was inappropriate,' she said, 'you can't wear trousers after my wedding dress, so I chose something more fitting to your character.'

'I can't wear this I protest, holding the light, flimsy dress, 'What will Paula think?'

That's when she smiled cruelly. 'She helped me choose it,' she lied. 'Paula, though you made such a lovely wife, you should stay as one for as long as possible.'

To be honest, as you can tell, I enjoyed the attention and secretly loved being the bride for the day. I even dreaded taking off the wedding dress, and I thought many of the guests, though confused, had thought of me as the bride. I was hating the moment when I had to step out of the feminine wedding dress and into a smart trouser suit.

I wasn't sure if I could carry it off, and I even thought I would look overtly campy or like a woman in man's clothes as I'd become so conditioned as a woman. It had to be said, but the past month of dressing in lingerie 24/7 and behaving as a convincing young lady had taken its toll on me.

I feared that I felt more comfortable in the submissive feminine role than in the strong masculine role. I enjoyed all the attention, looking pretty, and having all the decisions made for me. I looked at the chiffon dress on the bed; it was stunning, and I could almost hear it calling my name. I felt like a fly caught in a spider's web, and as I struggled, I became more entwined, and the spider scuttled towards me, its fangs dripping with paralyzing venom. Mrs. Rother saw my fear and hurriedly removed me from the dress.

'Come on, dear, the guests and groom await.' I winced as she unhooked the corset, but I loved the idea of the chiffon dress. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but what would Paula say?

In a dizzy state, I let Mrs. Rother undress me again and then redress me in the sexy chiffon dress. This time it felt so gloriously natural, that I couldn't resist. I knew what to do, and compared to the wedding dress, it felt so light and comfortable that I hardly felt it on.

But my joy was short-lived. The dress was fitted, and to my horror, it showed my complete lack of hips. The material sadly sagged around my bum. I looked like a ruler and was very unfeminine, despite my large breasts. Mrs. Rother came to the rescue. Her solution was a pair of padded pants.

She had apparently thought of everything I thought as I lifted my skirts up to my waist, but instead of an over-girdle-type foundation thing, they were figures hugging panties of an incredibly tight and stretchy fabric. She rather unceremoniously tore down my minuscule pants and pushed me over the sofa back like a naughty child about to receive some form of punishment. Strangely, I trusted her implicitly and thought nothing unusual as I backstepped into the padded pants.

Mrs. Rother gave a long, sad sigh. 'Strange as it may seem, in one respect, I envy you. You have experienced being a man and a woman, and I have not. You have seen both sides. Of course, I know all there is to know about men, but only second-hand.

You, by contrast, have been on the front lines; you've seen it and lived it, and that is entirely a different matter. And very soon she added, with an almost wistful expression, 'You'll be there again as a woman, except this time you will not be back as a man. Now, if you are ready, we may as well proceed with your total feminization and ultimate divorce.'

Wine can make your head spin, but it took me only half a second to translate feminization and divorce. With a yelp like a dog, I jumped back or tried to, but with my knees cuffed together with the padded pants, my feet stayed where they were, as though they'd been set in concrete by a very discreet gangster. Mrs. Rother frowned. It was the sort of frown I remember from being a kid. This won't hurt, as her expression was telling me. Don't be such a sissy. It's for your own good. You'll like it once they're up.' Then I felt something hard brush against my inside leg.

'Hold on,' I whimper.

'I could of course explain these,' Mrs. Rother replied. 'But what would be the point? Please keep still. I want to get back to the party. I have many people to see after I've finished with you, and a little cooperation would be most welcome. Nothing you can do could possibly alter the outcome, and it's churlish to cause inconvenience to others for the sake of being difficult.'

I tried wriggling out of the way, but my arms and legs didn't seem to be working. She pulled the padded pants higher, and the tight Lycra slowly enveloped my thighs until she began to pull the tight material over my buttocks. I felt the hard object again. But this time it pressed against my sphincter. It was cold and strangely greasy.

'I regret having to do this; of course, such a blunt, brutal approach is practically an admission of defeat. However, I have to say, you have nobody to blame but yourself. This may be the shortest wedding in history. Goodbye. It was hardly a pleasure having known you, but most certainly an education.' And with that, she hauls the pants over my buttocks even further, and the hard object presses against my most intimate opening as if an arrowhead stretched on a bow. But this was no slender arrowhead, and as it teased my opening, I could only guess its girth. I gasp as she cups my gusset and presses it firmly, with no remorse, into my passage with one long, smooth movement.

'Bend further over,' she barks, pushing it deeper into me. 'Did you honestly think my daughter wants a complete sissy as a husband? This little extra feminization will be the final straw. There is only so much girlie behavior that even my daughter can endure in a man.' She slaps my buttocks, my muscles stretch, and my eyes water with pain. 'Call this a wedding present from your new parent-in-laws' she laughs and pushes it fully in place with a satisfying slap.

I stand motionless, filled to capacity, as a new feminine sensation flows through me. I feel defenseless, submissive, and hopelessly like a woman.