Crossdressing Husband Novels & Stories

They slide down our bodies, hands roaming and he covers me in passionate kisses. We make love on the couch in the living room. After that, we take a hot shower together and we lie, wrapped in a warm blanket. The dawn is breaking and we talk about before, the time we missed spending together. I tell him everything about Conor, too. “It was never a real marriage. But he made sure everyone believed it. I started asking him for a divorce as soon as I had more money. And then he began refusing. “ I rest my head against Dominic’s chest and feel his muscles shift as I say this.

My fingers curled into fists at my side, and i was just about to start firing back a text at her, when a throat cleared behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to see my large, husband with his hands crossed over his chest, "I don't have all day sweetheart." At that moment, everything clicked. I needed a husband to maintain the lie that everyone now knew about and here was a man I was legally married to. I hadn't been to church since the humiliating day of my marriage, but it felt like God was smiling down at me. I shifted a sly glance at Jeanne, who gave me back a confused look.

Claudia stood between me and the cabinet. “Where are your manners, Rochelle? It’s bad enough that you’re breaking and entering, but you’re acting as if you own the place.” I put down my arm, an answer clear in my head. The bearded man with a pair of aviators covering half his face was my husband, Hank. Right now, he was hiding in the cabinet in front of me. Well, Hank could run, but he could not hide forever.

Within a few minutes, we were married under the law and I was pronounced Mrs Webmar. “ You are mine forever, no one can take you away from me again”. Lawson said as he moved over to where I was, trying to remove my fake lashes, leaned on me, kissed me on the lips, and I kissed him back. I had promised myself to be a good wife to my husband and not hold anything against my parents. My husband removed my wedding gown,my bra and panties as we kissed, I removed his suit, his belt, and panties. He sucked my boobs while I played with his hard tempting penis as he gave me the best sucking of my life in between my legs.

“Exactly! You dared to bring a woman like this home? Have you been possessed?” “Divorce! Yvonne must divorce him!” Daisy wailed loudly while Philip Carter, my father-in-law, remained silent with a dark expression. His pipe struck the table with a thunderous clatter. Charles kept his head down, and his fists were clenched tight. He did not dare to argue. I listened to the commotion from my room. This was only the beginning. Michelle, your journey of “returning to the primitive” had only just started.

“Well, do you give me permission to take off your dress?” I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips as I lifted a brow, “Do you even know how to take off dresses like these?” “Oh trust me darling, I know.” He smirked, reaching for my neck, and in a flash my dress was off. “Hmm. Nice skills. It takes my husband about a minute to do that.” His fingers trailed up my middle, sending jolts of electricity through me, before palming my bare breasts as I didn’t wear a bra. “I guess I’m just better than your husband.”

His hands were already sliding inside my Dior custom silver dress, fingers greedy, pushing the fabric up my thighs. I had just put the dress on, and somehow my husband couldn’t keep his hands off me. Tessa was finally marrying her forever crush, and we were about to miss it because Christian couldn’t behave. “Christian, we are not—” My words cut off in a moan when his fingers found my panties, stroking my already wet pussy through the lace. Four years married and this man still set me on fire every single time. “Fucking hell, you’re so wet, wife,” he hissed. In one swift move he bent me over the desk, bunching the gown around my waist. He tugged at the lace, dragging it down my legs.

Like I was being difficult by asking inconvenient questions about my own betrayal. "Six months." Six months. Half a year of lies. Half a year of him coming home to me with her scent on his skin. Half a year of me trying to figure out why my husband felt like a stranger, why he flinched when I touched him, why he had started working late every night and coming home smelling like perfume that was not mine. The room wavered sideways, and I grabbed the doorframe to keep from falling. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision, and the hardwood floor rushed up to meet me.

“Then maybe you’ll finally understand.” He hangs up but I can still hear him. Or maybe that’s just the blood in my ears. The crossdresser doesn’t move. He just watches me like I’ve done something holy and cruel. I’m shaking, but not from guilt. From the power and desire coursing through me. “That was… the hottest thing I’ve seen in a long time,” he says, tapping my shoulder lightly with an amused grin. I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. “Honestly, I don’t think you need to learn a damn thing. You’ve already got that fire in you—and I’m starting to think your husband’s the problem.”

She reached the altar, standing beside the man who had orchestrated her downfall. "You look beautiful, wifey," Cross said, voice low, sweetened with sarcasm, but layered with something darker. There was a cruel amusement in the way he said the word "wife," like he owned it—like he owned her. Marceline's lips curved in a perfect, empty smile. "You look equally dashing, husband," she replied, the word tasting like ash in her mouth. The priest stood before them, but there were no vows. No promises of love, devotion, or forever.