Ceras at another Batchlor Party
- 3 years ago
- 25
- 0
Alexia free porn video
The secret sissy in question claimed to be a young, successful man,
heading his own department at work and living the good life. But he
yearned for his teen years, where he would passably dress up and meet men
off the internet. He wanted to be completely broken and feminized to the
point of no return.
Here is what I had to say, and after writing the little scenario at the
end I thought it might be a good enough start for my first posting to
this site.
Without further ado:
Hey there- this is a long message but consider it your first test.
I see you've posted your request under t4m, which reflects your naïvety.
Now I'm sure in your fantasies, some strong determined guy turns you into
his perfect pet. You want what's in those captions and sissy vids that
thousands of other "armchair" sissies beat off to. And maybe you've
gotten some responses that offer such.
Unfortunately, it's just that - a fantasy. In reality, most men are ill
equipped for such an undertaking. They may currently desire such a
project, but over the time required (many months) they will lose
interest. Rome may have been destroyed in a day, but breaking a sissy is
as much about rebuilding as it is about tearing down. (And there will
still be a LOT of tearing down.)
In short, most men (on Craigslist especially) both dominant AND
submissive, lack the dedication for such an undertaking.
I propose, if you were truly serious about being Owned, knocked from your
social standing, to be eventually ridiculed by your peers who might have
once respected you, slowly but inevitably forced to be a silly,
ridiculous little sissy slut dependent on hard cocks, you would need to
be properly broken and trained first.
After all, no one will invite a bitch in that isn't house trained, right?
Once I've taken the time to break and rebuild you, then you will be ready
to find a permanent, full-time Owner.
You say you were passable- great, it is a starting point. There will be a
strict regiment of skin care and dieting of course, and eventually some
hormones and laser will be required.
BUT I have no interest in creating just another hot little trap. If you
really want to be molded into MY perfect gurl, it would be as an over the
top sissy, a mixture of bimbo slut and mincing drag queen that will draw
a bit of lust from a certain crowd, but mainly just stares and laughter-
even in a "progressive" place like the Bay Area.
That may not be what you want. Perhaps you'd like to just secretly suck
some anonymous cock before meeting your friends for drinks, or wear some
sexy lingerie under an expensive suit while bossing around your
secretary, maybe even play around with some light public humiliation in a
far away town so you can rub off to the shameful memory safe at home. If
that's all you want, have fun carrying on with your little naughty games,
but be more honest in your future ads so that you don't waste anyones
time.
You can't TRULY break someone without pushing them past their hard
limits, to force them to give up control and obey even if it doesn't fit
into their scripted fantasy world. Don't you agree? Do you REALLY want to
be BROKEN and rebuilt into something your own horrified Mother wouldn't
recognize? Or are you just a wannabe that likes to play "sissy pretend"?
Rest assured though, there is a gulf between here and there and you will
be progressively eased into Sissy Hell slowly. And hey, it probably won't
be forever. After you're properly transformed to my satisfaction you'll
have no trouble finding a permanent Owner (And you will need one, as
sissies can't direct anything except a cock to one of their openings).
Perhaps he will take some pity and allow you to "tone it down" enough for
him to take you out in public with some dignity. Then you can be the sexy
little passable slut you want to be when you wank.
But before then, we'll see how serious you are about public humiliation
and being "broken".
About me - I'm a tall slender tgirl in my late 20s, so I know a few
things about what makes gurls like you tick. I'm local to SF but to be
clear, I'm busy with my own career and in a happy lesbian relationship.
Any "cams" will be one way and not frequent, and there won't be any one-
on-one meetups for quite awhile, if ever- but maybe eventually I'll send
you somewhere to humiliate yourself and I'll be one of the many laughing
in the crowd, or maybe we will finally meet at your collaring ceremony,
as you kneel before a stud, holding your hair up as he closes and fastens
the titanium band ;)
Communication will mainly be through chat, email and text - mostly
everyday as I will set aside some time.
Though it is remote, my control will be enforced through simple
consensual blackmail. I do not like having my time wasted. I will show
some good faith by having a quick chat first so I may get to know you
better, but after that further contact will require you to provide
incriminating photos and video of yourself, along with contact info for
friends, family and colleagues. This information will be discreetly
verified before continuing.
This threat will keep you focused during the initial training period,
enough to ease you into your new slippery slope of a lifestyle. Sooner
rather than later, chastity will be enforced as well. I know how easily
most devices can be defeated and options will be discussed to make it
more secure. The real training begins when your lust pushes you to do
things you couldn't imagine ever REALLY doing. "...And in front of all
those people, like, oh my gawd!"
Depending on how well your training progresses, the occasional release
may be granted as a reward.
In an endeavor such as this there has to be an element of trust. I do
promise that I won't force you to do anything i*****l or put you in real
danger, extort you, or push you "out of the closet" too soon or
(immediately) jeopardize your job. (I also DO NOT charge for this
training service as MY kink is knocking masked male pretenders like
yourself down quite a few pegs.) Outside of that, there will be
consequences for disobedience.
It DOES however require a leap of faith on your part to provide the
information, with the knowledge that I WILL use it if you decide to
terminate our agreement prematurely or refuse an assignment, which is
basically the same thing. You will of course be paying for your own
feminization and your finances, budget and living situation will be a
topic of our initial discussion. Once we've begun there will be no
secrets from me- all information I ask for will be provided.
Think about what you really want before continuing; if I'm going to be in
it for the long haul, you will be as well, even if you have to be dragged
kicking and screaming out of the closet. As a reminder during those
moments of weakness, I will show you the video you recorded for me at the
beginning that just BEGS me to ignore your silly protests, that I know
what you need and I'm helping you bring out the little slut you know you
HAVE to be. After all, you posted this ad, didn't you? You didn't lie to
everyone and worse, yourself, about what you really wanted, did you?
And you will trust in me to be strong enough for the both of us, even
down the line, after you've superficially changed your mind and regret
your decision and you frantically BEG me to stop it all, to let you go
back to being "normal". I will let you plead as it amuses me, but you
will learn to know when it's time to stop and thank me for ''allowing
you'' to be so pathetic before you go out the door to live your
nightmarishly sissy existence.
As you struggle to mince in your strappy high heels down the busy street,
each step a cascading rustle of nylons on petticoats, limp wrists
trembling in humiliation and your cheeks burning red but barely visible
under your makeup as some group of giggling teen girls, barely able to
contain themselves, puts you on Instagram (#omg #wtf #sissy!).
You try increasing your pace to hurry away from them but only succeed in
adding a stumble to your step that causes your bubble butt, short fussy
dress and jeweled butt plug to bounce even more, which further ring the
tiny bells sewn strategically around your hemline, drawing even more
attention to the ridiculous sight you present.
A bobby pin falls loose and a pink curl falls into your eyes. Despite the
small crowd of tourists that stand around to snap your picture you stop,
grabbing another pin from your purse to fix the stray. Then out comes the
mini bottle of hairspray. The crisis averted, you're on your way again
when a teenager skating by makes a nasty remark that cuts to your core.
As you never know when I will text and require an immediate selfie
proving that your makeup is appropriately garish BUT still done to over-
perfection, you flap a hand in front of your face, fanning your eyes to
dry the tears that begin to form so that you don't ruin your mascara.
...The mascara you bought at Sephora, along with the rest of your makeup,
that you had to ask the smirking salesgirl to apply for you. She shook
her head, suppressing giggles under professional decorum as, your girly
voice faltering, you ask her to really slather it on because that's "how
your boyfriend likes it."
...It's the same expression the girl at the nail salon had while she
applied the bright pink color you requested to your long acrylic nail
extensions while the other patrons in sweats and jeans laughed behind
their magazines.
Back in the present, you're in this state of self-pity and sissy
confusion when you almost bump into a couple. She is a beautiful, sharply
dressed woman in comfortable ballet flats, about your age, her tastefully
made up face twisted in revulsion as she slowly looks you up and down,
lingering over every overdone and ridiculous detail. The handsome,
masculine guy on her arm shares her expression, but thanks to your
training you immediately notice the growing bulge in his tailored
suitpants. You subconsciously salivate and bite your painted lips to stop
a lustful moan from emanating. Your head submissively downcast, you
glance up to see them quicken their pace around you, loathing melting
into amusement as she hugs his bulky arm tighter, thankful to be with a
Real Man.
He looks familiar somehow- maybe you worked together at the office once,
long ago? Or maybe you're just reminded of who you used to be- someone
that had Privilege and Power, who could have had a pretty girlfriend and
a successful career like him. Watching a pair of girls walk by you who
share a glance together and simultaneously burst out laughing, power is
certainly a distant memory.
How could you DO this to YOURSELF? What have you DONE?
And then instantly every fiber of your being glows white hot and you hate
every moment of it, every little sensation; The ridiculous ultra-feminine
mannerisms that have become second nature. The strain on your arched
feet, the tight corset limiting you to shallow breaths, the weight of
your prissy, colored, dated hairstyle, the breeze tickling your exposed
thighs, and the tight, short, frilly and LOUD dress that no real girl
would ever be caught dead in.
You've shackled your body in the instruments that real men have used to
subdue women throughout history.
Some buried, genetic masculine pride tries to boil its way to the surface
to save the hopeless sissy it's attached to. In mortified shame, suddenly
hyper aware of your appearance you quickly mince into a quiet side
street, hyperventilating in the restricting corset as it all comes
crashing down on you; the total and utter humiliation that you USED to be
respected. You USED to be able to walk down the street and make eye
contact with a pretty girl who might smile back, not laugh in your face
or scoff in disgust.
You need to tear it all off! You ineffectually grab at your dress's tiny
pearl buttons, pull at the lace and ribbon embellishments, but your long
nails and frantic movements make the slippery material slide through your
clumsy fingers. You moan in agony and stamp your dainty shoes in sissy
frustration, which causes the slender heel to slip on a crack in the
pavement. You lose your balance and stumble awkwardly to your knees, your
other heel catching a loop of lace on the back of your skirt, preventing
you from readily getting back up. You almost break down sobbing as you
rock back and struggle to untangle yourself, hampered by your ludicrous
nails and fully laced corset, the rustle of petticoats, bells and jewelry
almost deafening.
NO! This CAN'T be real, this CAN'T be your life!
You suddenly fold over at the waist in pain, clutching your stomach. And
then you're reminded that of all the things you hate, of all the daily
embarrassments and degradation you suffer through, you're especially
ashamed of just how damned HARD it makes you. All throughout your hissy
fit tantrum, your sissy clit has been straining in your tiny, tight metal
cock cage- a constant reminder that your fetishes and perversions were
your downfall. If only you were born NORMAL, right?
And with out so much as a touch, that thought alone causes months worth
of sissy juice to flood your frilly silk panties while you groan in pain,
your whole body spasming with spurt after spurt. There's no pleasure, but
there's just the smallest relief of pressure. After the gushing finally
stops your breathing slows, and with trembling hands, your training takes
over. Finally untangled you straighten to your knees, and with one hand
holding up your hem, pinkies out of course, the other reaches down,
scooping the gooey cream from your panties to bring hesitantly but
deliberately to your lips.
You do NOT ''eat cum''. You savor it, slowly teasing it with your tongue
from each finger. In between nibbles and sucks, forcing a tear soaked
smile, you repeat the ''cleaning'' mantra you learned back when you were
allowed the occasional orgasm- ''I am a silly semen sipping sissy. My
seed is worthless and must be kept away from real women. The only place
my cum deserves to go is into my own mouth.'' You have to repeat it quite
a few times before you've swallowed every nasty tiny, dainty sip. Even
after all this time, the taste of yourself that you're forced to consume
still disgusts you, and you struggle not to gag while appearing to truly
love it, because you never know when I might be watching. Any bit of
masculine pride you may have had left dissolves with your spunk.
With it mostly all back inside you where it belongs, the last bit of
slime gets patted on to your puffy lips to savor, so you're reminded of
what you are every time you purse your lips in nervous submission- a
hopeless little sissy cum guzzler.
And then you realize, of course, no "normal", REAL man would have turned
himself into such a pathetic caricature of femininity. You can't change
who you are, and unlike the rest of the world, you're not hiding what you
really are. You shakily climb to your feet, straightening your dress and
ribbons before pulling the compact from your little purse to powder your
nose and fix your face. In the reflection, you catch a glance of the
person in the second story window who has been recording your entire
prissy meltdown and clean up ritual.
Your cheeks burn anew, but despite the previous emission, you feel a
stirring in your cage. Sighing the dejected sigh of a sissy that has
reluctantly accepted herself, you strut back towards the main street,
shoulders back, wrists limp and above the waist. You can already hear
laughter from somewhere in the crowd while you struggle to keep your head
high, though your gaze drops nervously to your painted toes. Still
utterly humiliated, but with the realization you're exactly where you
belong, through your tears your brightly colored, cum smeared lips
manages to stretch into a small, shy smile.
And THEN you'll be reborn, and ready to find your new Owner.
Alexia
------
And if you're a youngish, cute closet sissy with the means and desire to
be broken this way and exposed to the world, feel free to drop me a line
at Alexia_Dark (at) yahoo (dot) com. Serious inquiries only- consider the
above a guideline for your application and remember what I require
heading his own department at work and living the good life. But he
yearned for his teen years, where he would passably dress up and meet men
off the internet. He wanted to be completely broken and feminized to the
point of no return.
Here is what I had to say, and after writing the little scenario at the
end I thought it might be a good enough start for my first posting to
this site.
Without further ado:
Hey there- this is a long message but consider it your first test.
I see you've posted your request under t4m, which reflects your naïvety.
Now I'm sure in your fantasies, some strong determined guy turns you into
his perfect pet. You want what's in those captions and sissy vids that
thousands of other "armchair" sissies beat off to. And maybe you've
gotten some responses that offer such.
Unfortunately, it's just that - a fantasy. In reality, most men are ill
equipped for such an undertaking. They may currently desire such a
project, but over the time required (many months) they will lose
interest. Rome may have been destroyed in a day, but breaking a sissy is
as much about rebuilding as it is about tearing down. (And there will
still be a LOT of tearing down.)
In short, most men (on Craigslist especially) both dominant AND
submissive, lack the dedication for such an undertaking.
I propose, if you were truly serious about being Owned, knocked from your
social standing, to be eventually ridiculed by your peers who might have
once respected you, slowly but inevitably forced to be a silly,
ridiculous little sissy slut dependent on hard cocks, you would need to
be properly broken and trained first.
After all, no one will invite a bitch in that isn't house trained, right?
Once I've taken the time to break and rebuild you, then you will be ready
to find a permanent, full-time Owner.
You say you were passable- great, it is a starting point. There will be a
strict regiment of skin care and dieting of course, and eventually some
hormones and laser will be required.
BUT I have no interest in creating just another hot little trap. If you
really want to be molded into MY perfect gurl, it would be as an over the
top sissy, a mixture of bimbo slut and mincing drag queen that will draw
a bit of lust from a certain crowd, but mainly just stares and laughter-
even in a "progressive" place like the Bay Area.
That may not be what you want. Perhaps you'd like to just secretly suck
some anonymous cock before meeting your friends for drinks, or wear some
sexy lingerie under an expensive suit while bossing around your
secretary, maybe even play around with some light public humiliation in a
far away town so you can rub off to the shameful memory safe at home. If
that's all you want, have fun carrying on with your little naughty games,
but be more honest in your future ads so that you don't waste anyones
time.
You can't TRULY break someone without pushing them past their hard
limits, to force them to give up control and obey even if it doesn't fit
into their scripted fantasy world. Don't you agree? Do you REALLY want to
be BROKEN and rebuilt into something your own horrified Mother wouldn't
recognize? Or are you just a wannabe that likes to play "sissy pretend"?
Rest assured though, there is a gulf between here and there and you will
be progressively eased into Sissy Hell slowly. And hey, it probably won't
be forever. After you're properly transformed to my satisfaction you'll
have no trouble finding a permanent Owner (And you will need one, as
sissies can't direct anything except a cock to one of their openings).
Perhaps he will take some pity and allow you to "tone it down" enough for
him to take you out in public with some dignity. Then you can be the sexy
little passable slut you want to be when you wank.
But before then, we'll see how serious you are about public humiliation
and being "broken".
About me - I'm a tall slender tgirl in my late 20s, so I know a few
things about what makes gurls like you tick. I'm local to SF but to be
clear, I'm busy with my own career and in a happy lesbian relationship.
Any "cams" will be one way and not frequent, and there won't be any one-
on-one meetups for quite awhile, if ever- but maybe eventually I'll send
you somewhere to humiliate yourself and I'll be one of the many laughing
in the crowd, or maybe we will finally meet at your collaring ceremony,
as you kneel before a stud, holding your hair up as he closes and fastens
the titanium band ;)
Communication will mainly be through chat, email and text - mostly
everyday as I will set aside some time.
Though it is remote, my control will be enforced through simple
consensual blackmail. I do not like having my time wasted. I will show
some good faith by having a quick chat first so I may get to know you
better, but after that further contact will require you to provide
incriminating photos and video of yourself, along with contact info for
friends, family and colleagues. This information will be discreetly
verified before continuing.
This threat will keep you focused during the initial training period,
enough to ease you into your new slippery slope of a lifestyle. Sooner
rather than later, chastity will be enforced as well. I know how easily
most devices can be defeated and options will be discussed to make it
more secure. The real training begins when your lust pushes you to do
things you couldn't imagine ever REALLY doing. "...And in front of all
those people, like, oh my gawd!"
Depending on how well your training progresses, the occasional release
may be granted as a reward.
In an endeavor such as this there has to be an element of trust. I do
promise that I won't force you to do anything i*****l or put you in real
danger, extort you, or push you "out of the closet" too soon or
(immediately) jeopardize your job. (I also DO NOT charge for this
training service as MY kink is knocking masked male pretenders like
yourself down quite a few pegs.) Outside of that, there will be
consequences for disobedience.
It DOES however require a leap of faith on your part to provide the
information, with the knowledge that I WILL use it if you decide to
terminate our agreement prematurely or refuse an assignment, which is
basically the same thing. You will of course be paying for your own
feminization and your finances, budget and living situation will be a
topic of our initial discussion. Once we've begun there will be no
secrets from me- all information I ask for will be provided.
Think about what you really want before continuing; if I'm going to be in
it for the long haul, you will be as well, even if you have to be dragged
kicking and screaming out of the closet. As a reminder during those
moments of weakness, I will show you the video you recorded for me at the
beginning that just BEGS me to ignore your silly protests, that I know
what you need and I'm helping you bring out the little slut you know you
HAVE to be. After all, you posted this ad, didn't you? You didn't lie to
everyone and worse, yourself, about what you really wanted, did you?
And you will trust in me to be strong enough for the both of us, even
down the line, after you've superficially changed your mind and regret
your decision and you frantically BEG me to stop it all, to let you go
back to being "normal". I will let you plead as it amuses me, but you
will learn to know when it's time to stop and thank me for ''allowing
you'' to be so pathetic before you go out the door to live your
nightmarishly sissy existence.
As you struggle to mince in your strappy high heels down the busy street,
each step a cascading rustle of nylons on petticoats, limp wrists
trembling in humiliation and your cheeks burning red but barely visible
under your makeup as some group of giggling teen girls, barely able to
contain themselves, puts you on Instagram (#omg #wtf #sissy!).
You try increasing your pace to hurry away from them but only succeed in
adding a stumble to your step that causes your bubble butt, short fussy
dress and jeweled butt plug to bounce even more, which further ring the
tiny bells sewn strategically around your hemline, drawing even more
attention to the ridiculous sight you present.
A bobby pin falls loose and a pink curl falls into your eyes. Despite the
small crowd of tourists that stand around to snap your picture you stop,
grabbing another pin from your purse to fix the stray. Then out comes the
mini bottle of hairspray. The crisis averted, you're on your way again
when a teenager skating by makes a nasty remark that cuts to your core.
As you never know when I will text and require an immediate selfie
proving that your makeup is appropriately garish BUT still done to over-
perfection, you flap a hand in front of your face, fanning your eyes to
dry the tears that begin to form so that you don't ruin your mascara.
...The mascara you bought at Sephora, along with the rest of your makeup,
that you had to ask the smirking salesgirl to apply for you. She shook
her head, suppressing giggles under professional decorum as, your girly
voice faltering, you ask her to really slather it on because that's "how
your boyfriend likes it."
...It's the same expression the girl at the nail salon had while she
applied the bright pink color you requested to your long acrylic nail
extensions while the other patrons in sweats and jeans laughed behind
their magazines.
Back in the present, you're in this state of self-pity and sissy
confusion when you almost bump into a couple. She is a beautiful, sharply
dressed woman in comfortable ballet flats, about your age, her tastefully
made up face twisted in revulsion as she slowly looks you up and down,
lingering over every overdone and ridiculous detail. The handsome,
masculine guy on her arm shares her expression, but thanks to your
training you immediately notice the growing bulge in his tailored
suitpants. You subconsciously salivate and bite your painted lips to stop
a lustful moan from emanating. Your head submissively downcast, you
glance up to see them quicken their pace around you, loathing melting
into amusement as she hugs his bulky arm tighter, thankful to be with a
Real Man.
He looks familiar somehow- maybe you worked together at the office once,
long ago? Or maybe you're just reminded of who you used to be- someone
that had Privilege and Power, who could have had a pretty girlfriend and
a successful career like him. Watching a pair of girls walk by you who
share a glance together and simultaneously burst out laughing, power is
certainly a distant memory.
How could you DO this to YOURSELF? What have you DONE?
And then instantly every fiber of your being glows white hot and you hate
every moment of it, every little sensation; The ridiculous ultra-feminine
mannerisms that have become second nature. The strain on your arched
feet, the tight corset limiting you to shallow breaths, the weight of
your prissy, colored, dated hairstyle, the breeze tickling your exposed
thighs, and the tight, short, frilly and LOUD dress that no real girl
would ever be caught dead in.
You've shackled your body in the instruments that real men have used to
subdue women throughout history.
Some buried, genetic masculine pride tries to boil its way to the surface
to save the hopeless sissy it's attached to. In mortified shame, suddenly
hyper aware of your appearance you quickly mince into a quiet side
street, hyperventilating in the restricting corset as it all comes
crashing down on you; the total and utter humiliation that you USED to be
respected. You USED to be able to walk down the street and make eye
contact with a pretty girl who might smile back, not laugh in your face
or scoff in disgust.
You need to tear it all off! You ineffectually grab at your dress's tiny
pearl buttons, pull at the lace and ribbon embellishments, but your long
nails and frantic movements make the slippery material slide through your
clumsy fingers. You moan in agony and stamp your dainty shoes in sissy
frustration, which causes the slender heel to slip on a crack in the
pavement. You lose your balance and stumble awkwardly to your knees, your
other heel catching a loop of lace on the back of your skirt, preventing
you from readily getting back up. You almost break down sobbing as you
rock back and struggle to untangle yourself, hampered by your ludicrous
nails and fully laced corset, the rustle of petticoats, bells and jewelry
almost deafening.
NO! This CAN'T be real, this CAN'T be your life!
You suddenly fold over at the waist in pain, clutching your stomach. And
then you're reminded that of all the things you hate, of all the daily
embarrassments and degradation you suffer through, you're especially
ashamed of just how damned HARD it makes you. All throughout your hissy
fit tantrum, your sissy clit has been straining in your tiny, tight metal
cock cage- a constant reminder that your fetishes and perversions were
your downfall. If only you were born NORMAL, right?
And with out so much as a touch, that thought alone causes months worth
of sissy juice to flood your frilly silk panties while you groan in pain,
your whole body spasming with spurt after spurt. There's no pleasure, but
there's just the smallest relief of pressure. After the gushing finally
stops your breathing slows, and with trembling hands, your training takes
over. Finally untangled you straighten to your knees, and with one hand
holding up your hem, pinkies out of course, the other reaches down,
scooping the gooey cream from your panties to bring hesitantly but
deliberately to your lips.
You do NOT ''eat cum''. You savor it, slowly teasing it with your tongue
from each finger. In between nibbles and sucks, forcing a tear soaked
smile, you repeat the ''cleaning'' mantra you learned back when you were
allowed the occasional orgasm- ''I am a silly semen sipping sissy. My
seed is worthless and must be kept away from real women. The only place
my cum deserves to go is into my own mouth.'' You have to repeat it quite
a few times before you've swallowed every nasty tiny, dainty sip. Even
after all this time, the taste of yourself that you're forced to consume
still disgusts you, and you struggle not to gag while appearing to truly
love it, because you never know when I might be watching. Any bit of
masculine pride you may have had left dissolves with your spunk.
With it mostly all back inside you where it belongs, the last bit of
slime gets patted on to your puffy lips to savor, so you're reminded of
what you are every time you purse your lips in nervous submission- a
hopeless little sissy cum guzzler.
And then you realize, of course, no "normal", REAL man would have turned
himself into such a pathetic caricature of femininity. You can't change
who you are, and unlike the rest of the world, you're not hiding what you
really are. You shakily climb to your feet, straightening your dress and
ribbons before pulling the compact from your little purse to powder your
nose and fix your face. In the reflection, you catch a glance of the
person in the second story window who has been recording your entire
prissy meltdown and clean up ritual.
Your cheeks burn anew, but despite the previous emission, you feel a
stirring in your cage. Sighing the dejected sigh of a sissy that has
reluctantly accepted herself, you strut back towards the main street,
shoulders back, wrists limp and above the waist. You can already hear
laughter from somewhere in the crowd while you struggle to keep your head
high, though your gaze drops nervously to your painted toes. Still
utterly humiliated, but with the realization you're exactly where you
belong, through your tears your brightly colored, cum smeared lips
manages to stretch into a small, shy smile.
And THEN you'll be reborn, and ready to find your new Owner.
Alexia
------
And if you're a youngish, cute closet sissy with the means and desire to
be broken this way and exposed to the world, feel free to drop me a line
at Alexia_Dark (at) yahoo (dot) com. Serious inquiries only- consider the
above a guideline for your application and remember what I require
Yvette
- 16.06.2021
- 15
- 0
