Our next mini-story for Beach Party July!

By FoxFaceStories

How did Robyn get here? She’s meant to be an ordinary down-on-her-luck guy, but now she’s a beautiful, curvaceous, and deeply submissive trophy wife! It’s all thanks to her desire to be wealthy and secure, and a wealthy billionaire she met on a cruise . . .

Cruising to be a Trophy Wife

When I wake up, there’s always this little moment where I think I’m a man again. Not even ‘again,’ really, I just think I’m a man as I’ve always been, no gender strings attached. Like the last year of my life never happened. Like I don’t have the strong arm of an older man wrapped around my body, spooning me as he still sleeps, his hand cupping my big boob and kneading it softly. And even as I come to grips with the fact that I’m now Robyn Harper, gorgeous trophy wife to William Harper, shipping magnate and mega-billionaire, there’s this little follow-up moment where I think I am, at least, just a woman.

And then I rub my thumb against my wedding ring.

Then I feel that totally alien movement in my stomach, which is far rounder than it should be on my otherwise petite, if very busty, frame. 

That’s when I remember that I’m not just a gorgeous trophy wife anymore, I’m also going to be a mother in just two months’ time. I’m going to give birth, and it won’t be the last time either. William has made it clear that he wants me to be his submissive, dutiful, and always stylish and sexy trophy wife, one who will be a stay-at-home mother raising his many children. And it’s going to happen, too. It’s too late to back out now, and as I feel his hand knead my breast and his prick begin to harden between my cheeks, I almost don’t mind. God, it’s frickin’ embarrassing, right? How on earth did my life get to the point where a guy like me ended up as a mega hot supermodel type with a billionaire’s baby growing in my belly? 

Well, it all started on a cruise . . .

My name was Robert Thompson, and I was a directionless twenty-two year old man. I’d just finished my university degree in law, but hadn’t taken the next steps because, frankly, I had no passion for it. I wasn’t sure I had passion for much of anything, in fact. I knew I had to work one day, but I truly didn’t want to. The idea of working in a court, or in an office, or in a school, or anywhere really, just made me want to puke. I just wanted to hang out with my buddies, drink beer, travel the world, meet cute girls, and enjoy life. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t exactly have the means to do so. At least, not until my Great Uncle Trevor died.

I’d never even met the guy, but he left me a few thousand dollars. A smart guy would have put it in the bank or invested it or used it as an eventual down payment on a house. But not me. I didn’t want to think about the responsibilities of adulthood. I wanted to travel and enjoy the world, and when I saw that there was a stunning cruise through the Caribbean that I could now afford, I jumped at the chance.

At first, I had a damn good time. I won’t claim to have been the handsomest guy, but I had hopes of finding the right girl. Unfortunately, it seemed so did a lot of other men, and they were often more jacked, more charismatic, or most importantly of all, just seemed to have more going for them than I did. Women I talked to seemed to have a sixth sense for my lack of ambition, and it clearly wasn’t attractive. It got to the point where I just sort of spent my time sunbathing on the deck, hitting the beach at the various stops, and just plain doing shit all other than trying to relax.

But then everything changed when I met William Harper. My future Bill. My future husband. I had just struck out with another lady when someone sat down beside me and ordered me a drink. He was an older guy, forty two as I later found out, but solidly built and very handsome, with gorgeous silver hair and a peppery goatee. Sorry, I’m a bit biased now since my transition, because my hormones light up at the sight of him.

He told me that he’d seen me strike out more than once, and that I didn’t seem like the ordinary cruise party guy, all hopped up on testosterone and overconfidence. I initially didn’t think much of him, but then we got to talking some more, and soon I was admitting to him everything about myself; my feeling that I had no purpose, my lack of desire to work, my wish to just live a comfortable life and enjoy passion without effort. At this, his eyes lit up, and he finally told me who he truly was. I was talking to a freaking billionaire. 

He convinced me to come to his expansive cabin, the finest on the ship, where he had an entire staff service dedicated to his every want and need. We drank and laughed and enjoyed every amenity on offer, from fine caviar to personal oil massages to a live NBA game upon the largest TV screen I had ever seen in my life. It was incredible, and now I know he was buttering me up, because after several hours of this, he finally got me to sit down, and made a serious offer to me. It was one that he slowly explained because it would sound mad just to put it in a simple sentence. Still, I’ll do that just now anyway:

He would give me a life of luxury and wealth and relaxation, if I agreed to be medically turned into his dream trophy wife. At first I thought he was totally insane. This had to be a joke, right? But then William showed me what else was in his incredible cabin suite: a state-of-the-art facility dedicated to providing medical alteration right up to and including a total comprehensive sex swap. How did he even get that on the boat, you may ask? Well, guess which billionaire shipping magnate owned the boat.

It turned out that William Harper had a particular vision for what he wanted in a wife. He wanted a woman with no great ambition of her own, one who would be stunningly beautiful and able to hang off of his arm and be his loving and dutiful trophy, a woman to be shown off in all sorts of lovely outfits, all while he showered her with gifts and a life of luxury. He wanted someone who would depend upon him, who would never leave him, but would also appreciate a totally transactional and honest companionship. He had tried to find the right woman for years, but they had always turned out to be gold diggers; already he had two ex-wives who had gotten hundreds of millions in divorce settlements. Now, he was taking matters into his own hands. 

I told him no way. I was a man, after all! He told me that could be fixed. I said I wasn’t interested in sleeping with a man either, but William also said that the sex change would sort that out, that I would be interested in men after the change. He promised there would be no mental alteration - this would just be a result of the hormones. And better yet, he promised a few million by way of a signed contract if I wanted to back out of marrying him.

In the end, I told him I’d sleep on it. But after leaving his incredibly luxurious cabin - the place of my dreams! - and going back to my little one, all with the knowledge that this epic cruise was nearly over and the drudgery of life was about to hit me with all its expectations and responsibilities, something in me cracked. I started to consider it. More than that, I started to convince myself into it. So what if I’d be a woman? I’d be a lot hotter than I was now, and I’d be a billionaire! I’d have everything I wanted, with no struggle at all. Was my male pride really that strong?

As it turned out, it really, really wasn’t. Just two days later, I approached William Harper at the bar once again and accepted his deal. He took me immediately to his luxury cabin again, and he told me not to worry, as I’d be getting the ultimate cabin class upgrade from now on! What followed was a flurry of paperwork and signatures. I did have to sign a prenup, alas, just to ensure I wouldn’t become a gold digger, though the clause for a few million remained if I backed out post-change. I was shown artwork of what my body would look like after the change, and it made my jaw drop: I was going to be stunning. I would have full Double-D cup breasts and an hourglass figure. My hair would be long and slightly wavy, and my face would look like a classic Golden Age Hollywood beauty come back to life. The image had me in a dress and heels and makeup and jewellery and all the works, and it nearly made me back out, because those things scared me. But the truth is, I wanted the life of a billionaire so badly; to not have to worry about anything.

I signed the last dotted line, and from there I was taken directly into the surgery suite and put under. The last thing I remember before that moment was William smiling at me, telling me I was going to be perfect.

What followed was hazy. I recall waking up from time to time, feeling my body sore all over, and strange weights upon my chest. Doctors would casually mention that my breast development was proceeding, and that my vaginal passage was forming right, and that the womb transplant had gone perfectly. I didn’t panic; the drugs made me feel like I was in a world of wonder.

Finally, I was woken up. The cruise was still going, but technically it was a new cruise! I should have disembarked over a week ago, but instead I was still in the lap of luxury thanks to the contract I had signed. I opened my eyes and knew that everything was different. I didn’t even need to get out of bed to inspect my body, because a mirror had been installed on the ceiling so I could immediately see myself. And God, I was more stunning than any speculative artwork could possibly capture, even more so when I threw aside the blankets to see my changed body in full.

I had, and still have, the body of a perfect trophy wife. My lips are full, my eyes sultry, a little beauty spot on my right cheek. My hair is dark and long, my eyelashes prominent but classy, and my facial structure is now a heart-shape that emphasises the beautiful babyfat still on my cheeks. My body is that of a perfect hourglass figure, with the kind of hips just made for having babies, and a soft, trim stomach that most women would kill for. Well, it was trim. It’s a lot rounder now. My breasts were considerable, full and round and ripe even while lying down, and topped by lovely pink nipples with wide areolas that are even wider now that I’m going to be breastfeeding in a couple of months. The breasts are bigger too. I could barely believe my appearance, especially when it came to the gentle cleft between my thighs, just below the triangular bush of pubic hair. I had a vagina now. I have a vagina now.

I explored it, naturally. Who could blame me? Who wouldn’t do the same? Moments later I was gasping for air, moaning and thrashing about until I finally came. Perfect timing followed, because William entered to see the aftermath, and he smiled at me, asking if I liked my new changes. I didn’t entirely know how to answer, but I certainly blushed in a demure way that is quite familiar to me now. He told me that the operation had gone perfectly, and that I was now Robyn Thompson, soon to be Robyn Harper. In fact, as soon as I had a few days to adjust, a helicopter would be on its way to deliver my wedding dress so we could have a perfect cruise wedding. It was all so much to take in. I had breasts now. I had a peachy ass. I had a slim waist. I had long hair and kissable lips and I was shorter and thinner and curvier and I had a functioning womb and a very responsive vagina. 

William asked me if I was still willing to proceed with the marriage. If I was going to be his perfect and submissive trophy wife, and enjoy all the fruits of wealth that followed.

I thought about it. What had I done to myself? Would I really be willing to play that part? But then I looked at him, and found my body attracted to this billionaire shipping magnate, and I realised that I could get used to it. I’d put up with a lot, in fact, if it meant having a life with no real stress.

So yeah, that’s how I got where I am today. I married him, right there on that cruise ship, and I wore a gorgeous white dress and all, one that showed off some rather tantalising cleavage, if I can say so myself. I was still overwhelmed by it all, but I just reminded myself that I would never have to work again, and that I would have just about everything I wanted, and that included having my husband’s hard dick inside of me, because God my new body was horny. Is horny. Even now, in the third trimester, I feel such a need for him. It’s been a year since I was Robert Thompson, and already we have our first child on the way. Kinda surreal, really. Very surreal, actually. I’ve got a baby moving around in my belly, and I’m lying here in bed, enjoying a lovely cruise once more. An extended babymoon, in fact. I’m going to give birth in Hawaii, and no doubt my husband will love seeing my round preggo body looking so fertile as I strut around the beach in a bikini. I won’t mind. Every day for me is a trip to the beach, or a cruise, or a perfect restaurant dinner at a place that normally has a year-plus waiting list. Letting my husband appreciate his pregnant trophy wife is a very small price to pay for it all. 

His hand shifts down to my belly and starts to stroke it. He’s getting harder between my cheeks, and my own pussy is starting to get damp. I begin to shift against him, humping up against his dick and hoping it will wake him. I want to please him. He’s given me so much, and I strongly suspect that in just a few years or less, my whole ‘submissive and dutiful trophy wife’ act will cease being an act entirely, and just be me. I’m more than okay with it. Sure, raising a baby or five won’t be easy. It will be, in a sense, another kind of work, but I can hire maids and nannies and whoever I want to help me out. I’m a goddamn billionaire’s wife, after all. So for all the confusion I still feel when I wake up and realise I’m in the body of a gorgeous pregnant socialite, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Think less of me if you will for taking the easy road in life, but God, is it easy.

“Mhmm, my beautiful Robyn.”

That’s my Bill. He presses himself against me and kisses my neck tenderly, causing me to whimper a little. That used to be an act too, one that turned him on. It’s totally genuine now, and I moan a little as he begins to caress my swollen tits.

“Ready for another day of our babymoon cruise?” he asks.

I gasp a little as he shifts me, his penis pressing against my entrance.

“Always,” I reply. “Every - ahhh! - day!”

And damn if that isn’t the truth.

The End