“Do you understand English, you stupid bitch? I told you to
stand still!”
“I’m trying Ms. E., I swear, but these heels, they’re so
high it’s hard to keep my balance and…”
“I don’t want you to try. I want you to do it or I swear I’m
going to bolt your worthless balls to this rod.”
Ms. K. snickered. “That wouldn’t be a bad idea in any event.
Although maybe it would be more practical to wire them instead.”
To my horror, I saw Ms. E giving the suggestion serious
consideration. “You know Kat, that just might work. There’s a hardware store a
few doors down, towards Broad. Why don’t you buy some. Ask whoever’s working
there for something that’ll secure a mannequin.”
“Sure thing Aunt Erica.”
Ms E was Erika Collins, Ms. L’s lesbian life-partner and Ms
K was Katrina, Kat for short, a nineteen year old student at the Fashion
Institute of Technology in New York City home for the three-day-weekend. She
was really Ms. L’s niece by blood, but she called both women aunt. And I, of
course, was the sissy they’d told her about, standing on a formica platform in
the front window of Ms. E’s exclusive ladies’ boutique on the main street of
the upscale town where they lived.
For the occasion, I was dressed in a pair of pink,
rhinestone-studded ten-inch stiletto sandals, pink lace thong panties, a
see-through tutu-style skirt, pink garters and fishnet stockings, and a black
corset whose pink satin ribbons were only for show it being the hard plastic
ribbing inside the garment that had reduced my waist to alarmingly, and
unrealistically, narrow proportions and made it impossible to breath save in
the tiniest and most sporadic of sips.
In spite of the fact that the anklets, bracelets, and choker
I also wore all doubled for restraints that bound me tightly to the frame upon
which I was “mounted” for display, I was still apparently having trouble
holding as perfectly motionless as Ms. E demanded, although I’d swear that the
only part of me moving was my heart. I’d begun to wonder if anyone not dead and
stuff could hold still enough to please her, not that I would even dare make
the suggestion, not even in jest.
The simple truth was that Ms. E, in spite of her
extraordinary beauty, had me afraid for my life from the moment I met her. With
Mr. Frazier and my wife Pam out of town for a romantic three-day getaway—a
shock I still hadn’t come even close to assimilating—it was decided that this
was the perfect time for me to begin the first of what were to be a series of
intensive sessions of household sissymaid training.
Ms. L explained that as Mr. Hollis’s personal assistant it
would be part of my regular duties to serve at dinner parties and such for his
more important clients.
When she saw the incredulous look on my face, Ms. L grinned.
“I guess you didn’t read the fine print on your job duties contract, did you
sweetie.”
That document, as I scarcely recalled it so briefly was I
permitted to see it before making a decision, consisted of pages and pages
covered from top to bottom in fine print, as if all six tiny feet of an entire
colony of ants had been dipped in black ink and set loose across a sheaf of
papers.
“It’s all there in black-and-white, clause 477, subsection
19d.” She recited from memory “…shall serve Employer as personal maid, hostess,
escort for V.I.P. guests, etc. and as such shall perform those services and
duties as Employer demands solely at the discretion of the Employer …”
Could it be true? Had I really signed such an insane
agreement? For goddsakes, it made me sound more like a slave than an employee!
“I-I-didn’t know,” I stammered lamely; after all, what who
signs such an important contract without reading it thoroughly? “D-do you think
I might be able to se it again? The contract, I mean?”
“Sorry,” Ms. L said, without sounds the least bit so. “It’s
with the lawyers at the moment. You’ll get a finalized and stamped copy for
your records, of course. Well, Pam will, in any event. Perhaps, she might let
you see it.”
She might as well have added “when it’s too late.”
I knew it would be pointless to argue any further. Perhaps
later, I told myself, there would be a chance of negotiating some sort of
compromise in the terms of my contract—maybe, I rationalized, if they saw how
hard I worked they would reward me with a few favorable concessions. How naïve
I was even then!
Ms. L lived in a stately old home on the exclusive north
side of town—well known for its well-to-do population—which she shared with Ms.
Erika. Slender, willowy, almost ethereal, her dark hair and dewy eyes, her
striking Eurasian beauty formed the perfect counterpart to Ms. L’s icy Nordic
glamour. I judged Ms. E to be about fifteen years younger than Ms. L, but, if
anything, and in spite of her delicacy of form and feature, even more imperious
than her lover in her attitude towards men—especially weak and ineffectual men like
me: she hated them on sight with a virulence that was truly terrifying. She’d
nearly hit the ceiling when Ms. L told her that I’d be staying for the weekend.
The very idea would have been comical if Ms. E weren’t so
deadly serious and not standing so unsettlingly close to the letter opener on
the little table by the front door—I mean the notion that Ms. L might be
interested in me sexually! But Ms. E so distrusted men and was so possessive of
Ms. L that she was afraid I might come between them.
As I was so unfortunately soon to discover, Ms. L
positively doted on her beautiful young lover and indulged her every whim, no
matter how irrational. So to completely allay her lover’s needless anxiety, Ms.
L had me take off my clothes right there in the foyer, everything down to my
itsy-bitsy micropanties and the deep blush of shame I wore from head to toes. I
stood there under the withering glance of my new mistress and waited for her to
pass judgment with my eyes glued to the floor.
It wasn’t long in coming.
Ms. E took one look at my soft, smooth, effeminate body, my
brightly painted toenails, and dainty pink panties and, in spite of her anger
and misgivings of only a moment before, couldn’t keep herself from bursting
into laughter. The final blow to whatever illusion of manhood I might still be
clinging to before these two beautiful women was struck when I was ordered to
pull down the wispy panties. The sight of my penis trapped inside its
tightly-laced pink sheath brought another chorus of cruel laughter from the
ladies.
“Now can you possibly imagine me having sex with that?” Ms.
L asked, referring to me with such a cold disgust that I actually shuddered.
“Christ, I hardly think you could even call it a man.”
“Ugh. Is it wearing makeup?” Ms. E had stepped forward for a
closer look, picking up the letter opener in passing; now she placed the point
of it under my trembling chin and forced my head up to better see my face. The
utter contempt stamped on her own made it clear that she no longer considered
me a threat—or a man.
What’s more, she knew that Ms. L couldn’t possibly see such
a pale, painted, and chastised pantywaist like me as a sexually desirable male
either. To both of these lovely ladies I was a sexual zero, a neuter, as
sexless as a eunuch. “I can’t imagine anyone having sex with it. Maybe a
man, a real man. The pigs’ll stick their filthy cocks into anything.”
“Well, maybe when we’re done with it, anyway.”
I didn’t like the sound of that last bit, but I didn’t have
much time to fret over it; at that moment I had something more pressingly
ominous to worry about.
Ms. E had lowered the letter opener to my crotch and now
used the sharp point of it to poke at my painfully cinched ball sack. At the
end of the cold metal, she examined my aching and cum-swollen balls which,
after three weeks of strictly-enforced chastity felt ripe enough to burst.
“I like how this one has its thing done up. They would all
be done up like this if I had my way.”
It was hardly necessary for Ms. E to tell me—I could see it
in the evil glint in her mesmerizing eyes—that she would have liked
nothing better than to skewer my useless nuts on her letter opener and eat them
raw right in front of me, chewing them to a marinated paste between her two perfect
rows of pearly white teeth. And even so, my captive cock strained against its
restraint so eager was I to cum in the presence of this alluring and sadistic
woman.
Ms. E, seeing my helpless, unthinking need, sneered, her
scorn palpable, as she continued to ply the sharp tip of the letter opener, now
running it teasingly along the seam on the underside of my defenseless balls.
She was standing so close by now that I could feel the perfumed warmth of her
body and see the light freckles dusting the pale tops of her soft and snowy
breasts.
“Poor baby,” she mocked. “You want to cum ever so badly,
don’t you?”
I didn’t dare to say a word, but I didn’t have to. The
telltale stickiness at the head of my cock said volumes. Ms. E wiped it away
with the letter opener’s blade and raised it to my lips.
“Lick it clean, bitch.”
I saw the reflection of my painted eyes looking back at my
shame on the blade of the letter opener. And I saw my pink little tongue
dutifully licking away my sticky precum.
Beyond what I’d already suffered, Ms. E seemed determined to
add her own mark to my humiliation. At my balls, she had replaced the cold
point of the letter opener with the warmth of her smooth palm.
“Ohhh,” she pouted in mock sympathy. “I’ll bet no one
touches your poor blue balls anymore, do they? Poor widdle sissy. I guess wifey
has no use for them anymore, does she? Not since she now has a real man to
service her.” She paused, waiting for an answer.
“No ma’am.”
“Louder.”
“No ma’am.”
“No ma’am what?”
“Noo ma’am,” I said, wincing at the sound of my own girly
voice,
“my wifey has no use for my balls anymore since she has a
real man.”
I’d never said it out loud like that before and certainly
not in front of anyone else and the words shamed, hurt, and excited me all at
once…what was the matter with me? Why was I allowing this to happen? Meanwhile,
Ms. E’s soft hand continued to play with my balls, tugging on them gently,
which had its intended effect on my laced cock, which wet its tip again in
futile anticipation of an orgasm that, alas, was never to come. It was
the most sexual pleasure, if you can call it pleasure, that I’d had in a long
time and I couldn’t help myself.
“They’re so full aren’t they? You’d do anything to spurt a
little of that sissy cream and get some relief, wouldn’t you? Go on, baby. Tell
me. Tell Ms. E and I promise I’ll give you some relief.”
I don’t know why I trusted her; it was sheer desperation, I
guess, that, and the fear of disobeying her even though I knew she’d punish my
obedience. That was the sort of lose-lose situation that my tormentors—Pam, Mr.
Frazier, Ms. L and now Ms. E—seemed to get so much sadistic pleasure putting me
in and then watching me squirm. She was mocking me, setting me up for further
humiliation, but was I so wrong to hope that maybe, having satisfied herself
that I was no threat as a man, that she’d pity and even have mercy on me as a
chastised panty boy?
The answer was soon in coming. Still whispering sexy
innuendo in my ear, her warm hand cradling, fingering, teasing my cum-laden
sack, she suddenly, without the least warning, not so much as changing the
angelic expression on her face, tightened her fingers, crushing my testicles in
her hand. My knees gave way and I crumpled to the floor, groaning in agony. I
may in fact have passed out momentarily because the next thing I remember was
being curled on the floor in a fetal ball around my bruised balls which were
radiating such a nauseating pain through every fiber of my being I could have
wished them gone altogether.
Gasping for breath, I found myself staring through
tear-filled eyes at a pair of pretty sandal-clad feet belonging to Ms E whose
laughter sounded as if it were coming from a thousand miles above where I lie,
naked, on the cold, immaculately polished floor of the entranceway, holding my
wounded manhood and doing all I could to prevent myself from vomiting.
It was young Ms. K’s idea to use me as a living mannequin at
the boutique and while I hoped the idea was just too crazy to even consider,
Ms. E. loved it.
“It’s pure genius,” she pronounced to my dismay. “Just think
of all the attention it will get!”
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