His fathers submissive housewife

Images of a life flash through your mind. A happy couple, a single child. You. Your first day at school. Your first crush. Your handsome P.E. teacher from 6th grade. Your first period. Wait, period? Your first kiss, a guy two years older than you. You were 16. Your first time with a man. It was prom, and he was one of your teachers. And then, the accident. Orphaned, at 18 years old.

My name is Jane.

"My name is Jane," you mumble, somewhat uncertainly, having been told to repeat what it tells you.

I am a good housewife.

"I am a good... housewife?" I am? you think to yourself.

He is my husband. A photo of a handsome man, maybe in his early thirties, with a vague familiarity to your father.

"He is my husband."

I enjoy looking my best for him, every day.

"I enjoy looking my best for him, every day."

He is the man of the house. I find pleasure in serving and obeying him.

"He is the man of the house. I find pleasure in serving and obeying him."

I am deeply devoted and attracted to him, and I always will be.

"I am deeply devoted and attracted to him, and I always will be." As you say it, it's like it becomes true. The photo flashes again, and it fills you with a passion and desire to please him.

I want to have his children.

"I want to have his children."

You start to come out of your trance-like state. You don't know how long it's been. Hours? Days? You open your eyes, blinking at the bright light, and taking inventory of your senses. Your body feels different. Something is off. Slowly, you sit up. Red hair falls in front of your eyes, and there's a weight moving on your chest. You brush the hair away with a dainty hand.

Staring back at you from the mirror is a young woman. Early twenties, maybe. Attractive, with a cute face. Slim, but still with curves in the right places. Not quite a model, but still quite a catch. A name comes to mind and sends a chill down your spine. Jane. That's you, isn't it?

You swing your dainty feet out of the hospital bed. The first thing you realize as your feet hit the ground is that you are dramatically smaller now. By the looks of it, you're short even for a woman, and you used to be tall and broad-shouldered. You walk over to the mirror, hips swaying naturally, with a morbid fascination. You reach out your arm, and the reflection does the same. You lift your hand, touching your new face, feeling your soft skin. Green eyes, red hair, freckles. An Irish heritage, you think.

You let your hospital gown fall down, and are presented with your nude body. Firm, decent-sized breasts, a curve narrowing in at the waist and curving out at the hips. A hairless pussy between your legs. Normally, this would have aroused you, but now, there's nothing. You realize you look good, but it's not the kind of good that turns you on.

There are clothes on a chair beside the mirror, and you start putting them on. The underwear is sexy, a lacy and frilly black thong and matching bra, stockings and garther belt. There's a red dress, and red pumps. Somehow, you manage to put the clothes on without a hitch. When you're dressed, your style is reminiscent of a 50's housewife, though you're not wearing any makeup.

For a moment, the thought of wearing makeup feels weird to you. This entire get-up feels weird to you. But... you are a woman now.

An orderly knocks, and opens the door. "Ah, good, you've already dressed. It's time to come and meet your new family."

You're greeted by a tall, well-built man. He's older than you by maybe a decade, clean-shaven and wearing a sharp suit. Your husband. The sight of him gives you a sudden rush, like butterflies in your stomach. It feels like so long since you last saw him, and you rush towards him and throw yourself around his neck. He effortlessly lifts you up, catching a feel of your butt as he does, and you press your lips together for a long, deep kiss. Right now, you wish you were alone, so you could show him just how happy you were to see him.

"Hello... Jane," he says, staring into your eyes, as you finally let your lips part. He lets you down, and you stare up at him. "Hello, Peter, dear," you say. And then it hits you. Up until a few hours ago, this man wasn't your husband.

"Who are you? I mean, who were you?" you ask. Peter looks at you with a confused look.

"What do you mean? I was Robert, of course. Your husband." Shit! You had hoped that, at least, he had been your sister. That would have been marginally better.

"Um... I wasn't mom. I was Andy," you reply.

Just then, a man who looks like a doctor comes in, trailed by a man around the age of Peter, and a woman in her late 20's. You recognize the two as Carl, Peters best friend, and his wife Susanne. The doctor looks at all of you.

"I'm sorry," he begins, "but there seems to have been a bit of a mix-up. I'm afraid Carl and Jane here were switched. You," he looks at Carl, "were supposed to have become Jane, and you," he looks at you, "Carl here."

"Is... is there any way to fix it?" you ask, uncertainly. You're a guy, you're not supposed to be this tiny woman. You're not supposed to be married to your own father, no matter how much you love him.

"There is. But right now, neither your bodies nor your minds can take another round of the treatment. It'll take at least a month before you've recovered enough to attempt to fix it."

"But... but... I'm a girl, and I'm married to my own father!" you sob.

"We could lift some of the conditioning. It's risky - I mean, you could end up slipping up and giving yourself away - so we can't recommend it. But it's an option."

"I don't want it," says Carl. Your former mother. He looks at Susanne. "It'll be interesting to see how life is like for a guy. Besides, knowing Peter here..." he trails off, giving Susanne a wicked grin.

You, on the other hand, are conflicted. There's a part of you that really doesn't want to be a girl, let alone married to your dad. And yet, when you look up at your fath... your husba... Peter, you're filled an entirely different set of feelings. There is a part of you who wants to be this mans devoted wife.

You look back at the doctor, and open your mouth to give your answer...