Sissy spit roast sleep over
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Sissy Tidbits free porn video
SISSY TIDBITS by Throne
(This is a follow-up to my SISSY SNIPPETS. More brief glimpses into the
lives of men who are being led toward or have reached sissy status.)
My wife Thelma has had me on her homemade sissy program for several
months now. Mostly it involves me always wearing panties, doing all of
her housework, and being abjectly submissive to her in bed. In the
latter department, she gets all the orgasms, courtesy of my fingers and
mouth, and I get nothing in return. About once every other week she
lets me masturbate while she watches and makes fun of my below average
penis and shaved smooth crotch. If her taunts make me lose my erection
I have to wait at least a few extra days before she grants me another
opportunity. That doesn't bother her because, as she says, the hornier
I am, the better I eat her pussy. But last week she came up with
something new. Thelma wanted me to go and walk nightly through the
large local mall that's about a ten minute drive from our home. I was
given a pink perfumed envelope each evening, with instructions not to
open them until I was inside the building.
Before I left she insisted on conducting a 'panty check'. That meant I
had to drop my trousers, just inside the front door, while she walked
slowly around me and made comments, saying things like, "You are such a
sissy, Brad, that you deserve to be kept in panties" and "Your junk is
so small that, with those tight panties I buy you, it's just about
squashed flat. I'll bet that feels good all day at work." Anyway, I
finally got out of there on the first evening, and was nervous the
entire way to the mall. She had said that what I would be doing was
mostly 'thinking exercises' but still, with her wicked sense of humor,
who knew what they might include. Rather than tell you how I felt
during each of those walks, let me reproduce the orders that were in
those envelopes.
1. As you walk, look at all the sexy women. Think about the fact that
because you're being turned into a sissy, you could never have any kind
of a relationship with them, except to serve them like you do me.
2. Check out the men this time. Do you think ANY of them are sissies?
Wearing pretty panties like you are? Doing exactly what their women
tell them? They're not. It's only you, weakling.
3. Now observe all the couples. I bet most of them are equals. They
guy isn't walking two paces behind the woman, having to put a hint of
wiggle into his step, or hugging a package he's carrying for her to his
chest, like a schoolgirl with her books. But those are all things I've
made you do -- Ms. Wussy.
4. Window shopping time. Go into every store that specializes in female
accessories and browse. If the salesgirls offer to help you may say
whatever you want, EXCEPT you can't say you're shopping for someone
else. Buy one item at each store. I'm going to put all of them on you
at home and, because I'm sure they'll make you look extra girly.
Instead of Brad I'm going to start calling you Brandy.
5. This will be fun, but not for you. You're going to be looking at
the real men again, but now I want you to imagine them being with me.
You have to select two who you think I would find the hottest. Extra
points if you report any impressive crotch bulges. When you get home
you can describe them to me and I'll tell you which one is the better
choice. (Be careful not to start picturing them making out with me, or
in bed. If you begin doing that, you might not be able to stop.)
6. Take a nice relaxed stroll around the mall. Plan it so you finish up
at the food court. Go to that place called Ice Cream Heaven, order the
Super Sundae for Two, and eat the entire thing yourself. Be sure to sit
at the outer edge of the court, so all the people strolling by can see
you making a pig of yourself. While you're eating you can focus on how
out of shape you are, the extra ten or fifteen pounds you're carrying,
and how eating that mess isn't going to help. When you get home with a
tummy ache, and I know you'll have one, you can eat my pussy -- which
I'll make sure isn't washed.
7. Last time. You can go around the entire mall twice. Both levels.
Maybe you'll work off some of the calories from your pig-out session.
Dwell on everything you did for the past six evenings. Then treat
yourself to another of those million calorie specials. The idea of
making your ass nice and plump amuses me. I want to see those cheeks
get chubby, and strain against your sweet panties. And tonight you
don't have to eat my pussy. I'm switching you to my ass.
***
Harold couldn't believe what his wife was saying. They were sitting in
a small Greek restaurant, a dimly lit place located on a narrow side
street. Their table was in a recessed alcove. She repeated herself,
calmly stating, "If you don't strip from the waist down, right now, and
put on those lovely panties I just gave you, I'm going to use my phone
to send those naughty photos I took to all your sports buddies." "But,
Rita. Darling. You can't do that. You told me that if I shaved my
body it would really turn you on. I did it for you. And that temporary
tattoo you put on my butt, I couldn't see it. I didn't know it was of a
butterfly. Plus, you encouraged me to drink those two glasses of wine
before I let you play with my hair and give it that swept up, girly
look. This isn't fair." "Hey, you went along with everything. And
your explanations won't show up in everybody's in-box, along with the
shots. Plus, I remember you coming up with some of those naughty poses
all by yourself." "But I thought it was turning you on. It was
supposed to lead to some kind of supercharged sex." "It DID. My pussy
and your mouth had a wonderful time. Too bad your little dick didn't
get in on the action."
He began to tremble but she just stared at him unrelentingly. With a
sigh, Harold began to unfasten his belt. He was grateful that the
tablecloth was so long. After he removed his shoes and socks he was
able to get the pants off, along with his jockey shorts. Then he took
the lacy panties his wife had provided and slid them up his smooth
hairless legs. This was soooo humiliating. What if someone were to
guess what was happening. Rita, meanwhile, took his discarded clothing
and put it into one of those reusable shopping bags, which she had
brought along for that purpose. As he sat there in the depths of
discomfort, she went on, "Now lose the shirt, sweet stuff. I want you
in panties only." "W... what if someone sees me before you give my
stuff back? It's not THAT dark in here." She shrugged and suggested,
"You could slip down under the table." He was close to tears as he
realized that he had no other choice. Making sure no one was looking,
he got under the table.
The nervous husband couldn't help looking at his wife's shapely legs.
She had worn a very short skirt and, even in the near darkness, her
lower limbs looked terrific. His penis twitched with pent up need. He
really wished she had let him have sex the other night. Harold passed
his shirt up to her. He poked his head out and hissed, "Please, can I
have my stuff back now?" She gave him a consoling smile and said, "Our
busty waitress is coming back. Do you want to risk her figuring out
what's going on?" "N... no," he said and vanished once more. He heard
he waitress say, "Would you like anything else?" She answered, "Sure.
I'm not in any hurry. How about another glass of that delicious wine?"
They chatted amiably for several minutes while Harold sweated and
quivered. The waitress finally said, "Is your date okay?" "My husband?
He has a delicate tummy. Poor dear. The slightest thing upsets him. I
mentioned something about how guys are always looking at me and he had
an attack of jealousy." The waitress hesitated and said, "Well, you ARE
awfully attractive." "Thank you dear. I guess I'll have to be careful
not to put myself into those situations where I'm around handsome
strangers. Is there anyplace around here I should avoid?"
"Just that little park up the block. I mean, it's safe and everything,
but sometimes guys hang around there and it's gotten a reputation.
Women who want a one-night stand know that's the place to go to be
picked up." "Really? That's fascinating. You know, I think I did hear
about that just the other day at work." She tittered prettily. "Maybe
that's why I selected this place for dinner. I might secretly want a
little change from my... little... husband." Harold heard the waitress
giggle. Then Rita put her hand under the table and he saw that she was
holding her thumb and forefinger about three inches apart. She was
joking with that sexy woman about his... shortcomings. And he was at
least an inch longer than that. Harold wanted to moan but couldn't risk
it. The waitress went and returned with the wine. Rita gabbed a bit
more with her and said, "Here, dear. This should cover the bill. And
my husband wants you to have THIS." The young woman gasped. "Are you
SURE?" "Would he leave me with his wallet if he didn't want me spending
his money?"
"Rita," he whispered a moment later. "Pleeease. Enough is enough."
She said, "Here. Take this. You'll feel better." Her hand reappeared
holding a pill. He accepted it and popped it into his mouth, swallowing
it dry. Harold tried to center his thinking. She obviously was amused
by his uneasy state but, if he just let her have her fun, soon she would
come to her senses and this would be over. She was in no hurry to
finish that extra glass of wine. At last he managed to calm himself.
That's when she felt for him, found the side of his head, and began to
teasingly play with his ear. Rita said, "This has gotten me SO turned
on. I'm ready for the wildest night of sex in my life." At last she
was saying something he wanted to hear. He began to get excited,
despite the circumstances. VERY excited. Shouldn't that pill be
relaxing him? What had she made him take? Suddenly he was more
stressed out than ever.
He had to fight to get his breathing under control. When he begged Rita
for his clothes back, she said, "Not yet, dear. I have to do something
first." She patted him on the head. "I just HAVE to try out that
park." Before he could react she had slid from their booth and was
walking away. With his clothes. His shoes. His wallet. All his ID.
Harold dared to peer out from under the tablecloth and saw her exiting.
He was stuck under there, wearing only panties, his body hairless, pink
and smooth. Worst of all, he had a straining erection that was pushing
out against the front of those disgracing panties. It was a small
erection but it was still impossible to miss. This was insane. At
least, he told himself as the table was being cleared, he had a few
minutes to think. That was when he heard an authoritative female voice
say, "Is this table ready?" The busboy answer that it was. Harold had
about a minute to escape. He tried to remember the layout of the
restaurant. Wait. There was a kitchen door not far away. At once he
began crawling, out from under the sheltering tablecloth, toward the
door, getting closer and closer until...
"Hey, look. I didn't know there was a floorshow," someone said tipsily.
"Whoa," another voice offered. "A KINKY floorshow." "That's a guy?"
"Sort of, I guess." He reached the kitchen door, and rose as he pushed
through it. Facing him were several members of the staff, waitresses
and cooks, along with one waiter who eyed his exposed body
appreciatively. Harold shuddered and blurted out, "It's not what it
looks like." A middle-aged Greek chef with a lined face said, "Sure
it's not... sissy." The beleaguered husband wriggled between everyone,
frightened and embarrassed, to burst out of the rear door. He dashed
past garbage cans and dumpsters until he realized no one was bothering
to pursue him. Harold crouched in the shadows, his stiff member trying
to tear through the thin material of his single garment. He had to keep
moving. Rita was going to that small park they had spotted on the way
in. If he went to the end of this alley he would be very close to it.
But what then? He would have to improvise. He couldn't let some guy
hit on her. She might get herself into trouble. Rita couldn't want
some other man in her life -- even if it was just for unrestrained sex -
- could she?
Harold dodged from one protected spot to the next, often having to squat
among containers of smelly refuse, sticky waste under his bare feet. He
sniffled and tried to adjust the panties so they would cover more than
half of each of his buttocks. It didn't work. When he reached the
corner and darted around it, he was able to crouch between parked cars
and observe the park. There was Rita, just arriving, taking her time.
Several guys were standing around, young confident studs who wanted a
single night of fun with no attachments. He swallowed with difficulty
as she entered the park. Harold had to cross the street but every time
he was ready to move another car or more pedestrians appeared. Rita sat
comfortably on a bench while he was forced to kneel on hard asphalt to
hide himself better while he peeped out and begged silently for a bit of
luck. At last an opportunity presented itself and he flew across the
empty street and into the thick foliage that bordered one side of the
park. He had to squeeze between the closely planted shrubs, the
branches of which pricked his exposed skin. At one point, to get nearer
to his wife, he had to sink onto his belly and slither along the ground,
his stiff tool being dragged across the dirt, receiving added, unwanted
stimulation.
At last he was close enough to his wife that she could hear if he spoke
softly, not loud enough to attract anyone else's attention. For a
second he was relieved and then he spotted a tall good looking guy
heading straight for her. No, no, no. Harold got into a crouch, a
branch jabbing him between the buttocks, and didn't dare to move an
inch. The relaxed guy sat on the far end of the bench and said to Rita,
"Hey, there, beautiful." She gave him a soft smile and said, "Hello
yourself... stud muffin." He laughed easily and slid closer to her.
She didn't retreat. He said, "You really make that dress look sexy."
"And you make the front of those slacks look tight." Their eyes met.
They had established that they were interested in each other and that
they had something more than talking in mind. She snuggled up against
him and he put his arm around her. In the dense understory, Harold
almost swallowed his tongue. He was desperate to stop them but what
could he do, looking the way he did? If they called a police officer,
he couldn't even prove who he was. The pair on the bench lowered their
voices but he could still make out what they were saying. The man
introduced himself as Chet. Rita said, "I was out with my husband but
he got indigestion and went to buy something for it." "Oh," said Chet,
with a note of disappointment. "So I guess you expect to see him in a
few minutes." "No, I expect to see him in a few hours. I have the car
keys and when he gets here he can just wait for me. Unless he wants to
find his way home on his own." Chet laughed and said, "You are one mean
lady." "He has it coming to him. He's no fun and, well, not much of a
man." "You mean...?" "Oh, in all kinds of ways. He's a wimp and, on
top of that, he's hung like..." She held up her index finger. "...like
that."
Chet said, "It sounds like you need something more, you know, filling,
to make you happy." "That's right," she said, glancing directly at
where Harold was huddled. She must have spotted him. "I need a lot
more. And I'm betting you can give it to me." She was being so...
direct. So... lewd. Harold's head was spinning. And his erection was
beginning to throb. His balls ached. His satiny skin itched. He held
back a whimper. Rita told Chet, "Give me your address and I'll drive
there." He smiled slyly and asked, "How do I know you'll show up?"
"Here." She offered him the bag with all of Harold's stuff in it.
"Take this. When I get there I explain what it is, but you can believe
that I won't go home without it." He shrugged and leaned toward her.
"Why don't you give me a kiss to seal the deal?" She moved her lips
close to his and said, "Why don't YOU give ME the kiss? It'd be nice to
have a man who does that without me having to encourage him. A man who
does more in bed than slobber all over my boobs, and then finish before
I get started." "Lover," he said reassuringly, "I'm a one hour man."
Then he kissed her. Hard. And long.
They stood up. She put her arms around him and clung there, giving her
almost nude husband a last chance to respond. Instead, he began to
tremble. He couldn't make himself act. When the two by the bench
stepped away from each other Chet said, "Well, at least your husband
won't be bored if he waits here. It's a straight pick-up spot until
about now but then, when the first show lets out from Les Boys, it turns
into a gay hot spot." She said, "Really? I didn't know THAT." Her
attention returned to Harold's sanctuary and she said, "That IS a
bonus." Then to Chet she said, "I'll see you at your place in about..."
She consulted the address. "... ten minutes." He gave her a lingering
kiss, his hands running possessively up and down her back, even stroking
her desirable bottom, before they parted to go to their cars, with him
carrying that bag. Harold watched them go. He noticed that most of the
women were gone and the few remaining guys who had been there were also
departing. Moments later the influx of effeminate males, butch males,
and even straight looking males who gravitated toward the obviously gay
ones. But there was only one guy there who was naked except for
panties, and that was Harold. It was going to be a long evening.
***
Bart backed further into the alley, fearful of being seen like that. He
was dressed in a long red wig with bangs, full slutty make-up, too much
bling, tight top and tiny skirt, fishnet stockings, and trashy shoes.
Did he look like a hooker? With his short stature and slender figure?
With those coconut breasts and bubble butt the hormone treatments had
given him? Oh yeah. Even if someone felt under his skirt they wouldn't
know he was a man, because the treatments that gave him his new shape
had also shrunk his genitals to near non-existence. On top of that,
literally, his wife Dora had glued a convincing pussy patch, complete
with a landing strip of red pubic hair to match the wig. "Get out
here," Dora snapped. "How do you expect to make me any money if you
hide? I re-named you Blow Job Bette for a reason. By the end of the
evening I expect you to suck at least a dozen cocks at twenty bucks a
pop. And I do mean pop. Those guys are going to love popping off in
your trampy mouth. Is your tramp stamp showing?" He turned his back to
her and above the waist of the skirt, where the top didn't reach far
enough down, was his tattoo, a string of red hearts containing the
letters ISACF$, which stood for I'll Suck Any Cock For Money. Dora
checked his overdone cosmetics, patted him on the cheek, and reminded
him that the busiest hours for this street were just about to start.
"You can't leave me here. Not again. I'm straight. I don't want to...
give men oral sex." "Call it what it is," she told him tersely.
"Especially when you're talking to customers. Say it like I told you
to. Right now. Like I had a twenty in my sweaty, unwashed hand." He
gulped and managed to say, in a girlish, seductive voice, "Hey, stud,
want to get your cock sucked? I know all kinds of ways to make you feel
good. Deep throat. Ball licking. Sucking just the head while I stroke
your shaft. Or whatever you want. I'll do anything for twenty.
Anything that involves a hard cock and my wet warm mouth. That's why
everybody calls me Blow Job Bette." He blinked, his long artificial
eyelashes fluttering, and finished with, "How about it?" "Sure," said a
drunken voice from just outside the alley. "But what the hell are you
doing saying that to a broad?" The guy shambled into sight. He was
tall and had a beer belly. Out came his wallet and a dirty twenty
dollar bill appeared. Dora told him, "I'm helping her with her come-on
lines because I'm her pimp. So I'll take that money and then she's all
yours." "Will she suck me off while she's chewing gum? You know, like
she's a bimbo who's always got a wad of gum in her mouth?" "That's a
new one, but sure, she'll do it." The slob asked suspiciously, "Any
extra charge?" "Nope. Blow Job Bette is always ready, and the price is
always twenty. Tell all your buddies. She'd love to meet more classy
guys like you."
Bart choked slightly as the creep unzipped and freed a long tool that
was already trying to get hard. The helpless man went into his small
shoulder purse and found a package of gum. His customer said, "It might
take you a while 'cause I can't shoot too quick after I've been (burp)
drinking a lot." "That's fine," Dora said as she strode away, cash in
hand. "Bette likes it to take a long time." The leering man looked at
the cross dressed, unwilling prostitute and said, "Is that true,
gorgeous?" Bart's lips contorted as he said, in his most convincing
Bette voice, "Oh, yessss. I love-love-love to give a big cock like
yours a good long, really long, sucking. It be the highlight of my
night," he lied. His wife was gone, leaving him alone with this loser,
who was backing him deeper into the dark space. Bart rubbed the man's
growing member, coaxing it along, even as he sank to his knees, worrying
that Dora would bitch slap him if he damaged those fishnet stockings.
And because she had taken the cash, this customer wouldn't count toward
his total. It was going to be an awfully busy evening.
***
Jerry looked back at the taxi that had dropped him off and watched it
vanish up the road. He turned back to the tall imposing doors of his
Aunt Harriet's spooky old house. The sun was going down, the air was
growing cooler, and it made him uneasy to be at this creepy place. He
shifted his little suitcase from one hand to the other. Why hadn't his
mother allowed him to pack more clothes? He wanted his worn jeans and
all those cool shirts with pictures of skulls and bats and stuff on
them. That was the kind of scary junk he liked. This huge dark house
was not. Well, he would give his Aunt a long list of complaints. He
wasn't going to let anyone show him a hard time. He had talked back to
his teachers, the guidance counselor, and even the Principal. Jerry had
a bad reputation and he intended to maintain it. As he was thinking
about that and building his courage back up, the door swung inward
unexpectedly. He started and fell backward, landing awkwardly on his
bottom.
Glowering down at him was a fearful figure. She was tall and thin and
dressed in black, her grey hair pulled up into a severe bun. Perched on
her long nose was a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Her cold demeanor was
suddenly broken by a welcoming smile as she said in a kindly voice, "You
must be little Jerry. I'm your Aunty Harriet. It's so nice to finally
meet you." She chuckled. "Now pick yourself up, dear, and come inside.
I'll make you some nice hot chocolate. ' As soon as he perceived that
she was no threat he squared his shoulders, put on his best scowl, and
said firmly, "What you're going to do is call my Mom and tell her to
send more of my clothes." She calmly told him, "But we have lots and
lots of nice things for you to wear. I'll call your Mommy in the
morning and let her know that you got all settled in and that you're
feeling very different about all that trouble you caused back home." He
was about to demand to know what she was talking about and why she
thought his bad behavior was her business, but there was suddenly
something sinister behind her smile that made him fall silent. Instead
he followed her wordlessly into the house, noticing the dark bulky
furniture and old fashioned d?cor. He would still show his Aunt who was
boss... but not until tomorrow. And he WOULD wear whatever he pleased.
That was for sure.
***
(Hope you'll take a peek at my previous collection of short-shorts,
SISSY SNIPPETS. Comments are encouraged.)
Sherry
- 17.03.2020
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