Uncle Jim lived alone in a big, old farmhouse far out in the country. His wife, Darla, had walked out on him many years ago.
No sooner had I brought my suitcase into the house the Uncle Jim announced, "You won't be needing your old clothes. I got plenty of better clothes for you to wear. You see, when Darla ran out on me, she left all her old things. And so now you can take Darla's place. So why don't you go upstairs and put on one of Darla's pretty dresses while I go out back and burn your old clothes."
I began to protest but Uncle Jim started beating me. Hard. I was no match for him; I was small and weak and he was huge and strong. It didn't take long for him to wrestle my suitcase away from me and to drag me up the stairs to Darla's old closet. He picked out a dress and threw it on the bed. "Now get changed like I told you to!" he shouted. "There's underwear and make-up in those drawers and there are pretty shoes in the closet. Now hurry up, get dressed and get your ass downstairs." He hit me again before he slammed the door behind him and stomped down the stairs.
I was paralyzed. I started crying as I sat on the bed, looking at the flowery dress that was lying there. Then I smelled smoke. I looked out the window and true to his threat, Uncle Jim was burning my clothes in the back yard. I knew I was in big trouble and that I had better start cooperating or something really bad would happen to me. I put on one of Darla's bras, a pair of her panties, the dress and some shoes. I put on some red, red lipstick and some rouge on my cheeks. I took a deep breath and headed down the stairs to where Uncle Jim would be waiting.
That was nearly a year ago. I have been living and dressing as Darla all day, everyday, since I arrived. My hair has grown longer and I am now better at doing my make-up and walking in high heels. Uncle Jim calls me Darla and expects me to do everything a good housewife does. I cook and serve three meals a day for him. I scrub the floors and wash the windows. I vacuum and I dust. I do Uncle Jim's laundry. My chores are endless. I hate my life. As I do my chores, hour after hour, day after day, all I can think about is how wonderful and free my life used to be, when I was a normal boy. But that life is behind me now. I am the Sissy housewife/slave of a demented monster.
Uncle Jim gets very mad at me if he catches me daydreaming or not doing my chores vigorously enough. And he gets furious if he thinks I don't look pretty enough or if I don't sound and walk and laugh enough like Darla did. And when I disappoint him he throws me over his knee and spanks me brutally.