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DRESSED UP TO GET MESSED UP by Throne I was worried about what my new on-line Mistress would send me as her first Demand. Would it be to appear in some girly outfit in public? Or even to wear it to a kinky club and flirt with guys? Or maybe pick up a hooker while I was in drag and submit to her, doing anything she said? I was on pins and needles for an entire day, waiting to learn what would be my assignment. I was a wreck at work and couldn't eat when I returned home. Then, right on schedule at 6 PM, the message arrived. It said -- "You will go to a nearby Dollar Store and purchase a dozen items that you can use to make yourself and your environment more feminine. I won't give you any suggestions so you must make all the choices on your own. You will then use these things and write back to me by 10. If I am not satisfied with any aspect of your response, I will no longer be your Mistress. That is final. So select wisely and use everything creatively. The clock is running." What? A Dollar Store? I could just go in my male clothes? And only spend twelve bucks? It sounded ridiculous at first. But the more I thought about it, the more interesting it became. There was a background buzz of anxiety the entire time because I might displease my new Mistress and lose her, but somehow I felt optimistic. I had four hours so I ate something light and then switched from jockey shorts to panties, a nice yellow pair that fit snugly. I always bought them a size or so too small. Then it was off to the store. When I got there I was almost giddy. It was such an odd experience, to be out in public, doing something directly related to my sissy-sub secret life. The people around me were inspecting picture frames, snack food, and kitchen items. I was excitedly heading toward the cosmetics department. There was an old guy with grey in his beard, intently examining plastic bags of comic books, as if he was searching for some valuable artifact. It takes all kinds. I had one of those little baskets they provide. My hand hovered over a few items but each time I hesitated, wanting to make the absolutely best selections possible. Well, I decided, I could always switch some choices for better ones. I went for the cosmetics and got a few basics. There was something called 'shiny liquid eye shadow' and I figured I really HAD to have that, so in it went. There were other goodies in the Ladies' Department and I added a pair of pink socks plus -- and I blush to write this -- intimate wipes. I mean, if I'm trying to be feminine, it makes sense. I rejected the inflatable bra pad inserts. Not sure why. Next came a little package with two scented candles in it. I went for the apricot variety. That sounded pretty girly. By then I was more relaxed (it was going rather well) so I just strolled around until I reached the party d?cor section and spotted a princess centerpiece. It was one of the honeycombed paper type and would look sweet on my dresser. I was in the home stretch with just four more purchases to pick. Those included flowery soap, a package of tissues with (again) the princess theme, a box of (blushing once more) tampons, and on a whim, a wood craft kit that featured a cut-out of yet another princess, with several small markers to color her with. I strolled around, traded the tissues for some artificial flowers, considered a romance novel but it wasn't trashy enough, and decided I had completed my assignment. I grabbed a few items that were unrelated, some candy, a novel about an actress (it's amazing what books you can find there), and a roll of cellophane tape, which I was almost out of at my apartment. Feeling proud, I went to the checkout and put everything on the belt. As the cashier, a bored young girl, rang up the very unmanly merchandise she glanced at me once but then focused on her work. I paid and hurried to my car, checking my watch and finding that I was only minutes behind schedule, probably from my earlier hesitations. At my place I happily made up my face, getting an extra kick from knowing how inexpensive my cosmetics were. It made me feel cheap, but in a good way. And that liquid eye shadow only added to the mood. I lit a scented candle and belatedly remembered the soap, which I used on my hands and, while the bar was wet, dabbed at the hollow of my throat and the insides of my wrists, like perfume. I set up the centerpiece and was pleased with how frivolously femme it appeared. Next I put on the socks. Naturally, I keep my body hair shaved off, so they looked very nice. Finally I lowered my panties in the front and used an intimate wipe to clean myself, as if I was a girl worrying about feminine hygiene. That was everything. Wait, no it wasn't. I still had the tampons. So I took one and stuffed it down the front of my panties. I was all done prettying up myself and the bedroom, where I have my computer, and had time to chill. I did that by opening the package with the wooden princess figure and coloring it in, wishing I had a larger variety of markers so I could be more extravagant. It was time to report to my Mistress. I lit the candle to set the mood. A touch nervously, I began to compose my letter, detailing what I'd bought and how I'd made use of everything. It was somewhat shameful to have to admit to using the intimate wipes and the tampon. I made sure my tone was humble, bordering on apologetic. The possibility of losing my Mistress was disturbing. I kept telling myself she would be tolerant. Maybe assign me some extra Duty to make up for any failings I had committed. I crossed my fingers and, just short of the deadline, transmitted the message. After that I was on pins and needles waiting for a response. When it came I read it with a mix of hope and trepidation. She accepted what I had bought but then mentioned that they must have had stickers, colorful ones meant for girls, that I could have gotten and put onto mail I sent. She also wrote that they probably had lollipops, or maybe those tubes of liquid that you freeze to make long narrow popsicles. Mistress commented that I could have bought either of those two items and used them to practice sucking techniques. Sitting there by myself I felt my cheeks grow warm. To my relief, she gave me extra points for the intimate wipes. She also applauded the tampons but stated in no uncertain terms that there was a better place for them than down the front of my panties. I scurried to the bathroom and got another one, bared my bottom, took a deep breath, and carefully inserted it back there. I could feel the string hanging out, tickling me. She also bestowed high praise for the cut-out figure and my coloring it, telling me that it should stay on display, along with the centerpiece, until I was given permission to take them down. Then she declared that, because I had missed a few items, I would have to pay a Penalty. The first part was to put myself into chastity. I had some utility tape on hand for just that purpose, having expected her to want me that way sooner or later. It was one of those designs they've come out with in recent years, with bright flowers on an even brighter background. I cut several strips and put one around my flaccid penis, and several more over my groin to flatten and hold my genitals. Now there was no way I could get hard. Also, the way I was 'hiding my candy', when I put my panties back on it appeared that I had no male parts at all. I examined myself with a hand mirror and was shocked at how complete the illusion was. The other part of my Penalty was that I had to write her a long letter, detailing my fantasies and giving lots of particulars. Some of my dreams I had never revealed before, to anyone. I began, pouring out my innermost desires, describing how I would like to be made to look feminine but at the same time kept naked, to be subjected to creative bondage, and my burning desire to then be put outdoors, preferably with some goal I had to achieve, like entering the woods behind my apartment and having to cross them to retrieve some article that would win me re-admittance to the indoors. She let me wait for an hour before writing back that she had deigned to continue being my Mistress and that I should return to the Dollar Store the next day and see if they had any bungee cords, which would probably be in a three-pack, with each of them a different length, to use for self-bondage. And she wanted me to send for a Veronica's Secret lingerie catalog. I was delighted. I had passed the first Test. But my joy was tempered by the knowledge that I would have to continue to please her. Still, it looked like the beginning of a wonderful friendship. ****** It was the day of the first game in the football playoffs. I was intensely eager to watch the event. But my wife Tyana had decided differently. Ever since she had discovered my submissive streak and mild interest in being feminized, se had taken advantage of both, putting me under her spell and taking me further than I had ever thought I wanted to go. Now she could have a session whenever she pleased, sometimes keeping me in feminine garments for an entire weekend. Or longer, if she made me use vacation days. At the moment I was in the most humiliating outfit yet. I wore a baby bonnet and a short gown, the latter with lace around the ends of its puffy half-sleeves. Under that I had on a pair of panties. Below I wore leggings and my feet were in ankle socks which had lace around their tops. Everything was white and pink. I was on my hands and knees, as she had ordered me to be. I looked up at her with pleading in my eyes. She stood there in a pair of male pajamas with long sleeves top and bottom, a paddle held firmly in her slim fingers. Tyana has a slender oval of a face and collar-length auburn hair. Peering down at me, she said, "You know, I didn't appreciate your whining earlier. If I say you don't watch the game, then you don't watch it." I should have kept my mouth shut, or at least thought before I spoke. Instead, because I was upset about her decision, I started to say something about how important this game was. That's when she stepped behind me, pulled up the back of my gown, and yanked down my panties. I froze, realizing that I had invoked her anger and knowing what was about to happen. My instinct was to try to talk her out of using the paddle but I knew that would only make matters worse. So I merely said, "I'm sorry, Tyana. I was wrong." "Too late for apologies," she intoned with satisfaction. My wife WANTED to spank me. She had been getting more and more enthused about administering punishments. Reveling in it. I braced myself as she took a few warm-up swings through the air, limbering up her arm, getting her range. "Shoulders down. Backside up." I adjusted my position, feeling awkward and disgraced. She let me squirm for another minute before starting. The paddle went up slow and came down fast, smacking my bottom with a loud crack of wood against flesh. I yelped and my eyes started to water. The next three blows were evenly spaced, giving me extra seconds to anticipate each. A pause followed while she came around front to observe my bright red face and the tears that were forming in my eyes. I sniffled and bit my lips, knowing that anything more demonstrative than that would cost me extra pain. Tyana gave a single nod of approval and moved back behind me. There followed eight more hard ones, delivered very deliberately. Each one provoked a loud 'OW' from me, my voice getting progressively more strained, closer to cracking. Tears began to flow. My buttocks hurt terribly. And I didn't know how many more swats of the paddle I would have to endure. I've never been able to decide which is worse -- knowing how many are to come and dreading each one, or not knowing and worrying about how long the mistreatment will go on. It turned out, that time, that she delivered a total of two dozen. I was crying and panting by the end. She came back around in front of me and stood with her feet well apart, gazing down and challenging me to oppose her in even the slightest way. I had learned my lesson, at least for the moment. Still, if there was some way for me to see the game... Tyana told me to get up on my feet. It was painful to move but I did it. My sitter was blazing. She had me bend forward so she could savor the damage she had done. Then she allowed me to raise my panties and go do some housework, in this case dusting with an oversized feather duster. I felt as foolish as I'm sure I looked. I could faintly hear the pre-game shows playing on our big screen TV that sat in the home entertainment center I had so carefully selected and arranged before my wife began to dominate me. Now I was lucky if I got to pick one or two shows a week, and those were usually ones that she intended to watch anyway. Usually I had to sit at her feet while she put her legs over me and rested her feet in my lap. Or sometimes she used me as a human footstool. Feeling miserable, I continued dusting, searching my mind for some way to reverse this unbearable situation. Maybe I could try a sensible argument. Perhaps that wouldn't trigger her temper. I tried to work out the details before I spoke but it was hard to concentrate while wearing that insulting outfit, doing a silly chore, and trying to ignore my smarting bum. Eventually, however, I did get my thoughts organized and felt ready to talk to her. I returned to the den, the duster held against my chest with both hands, and found her in the easy chair that was formerly mine. She was watching highlights of previous games and listening to commentary. There was a brief Q&A with a player in the locker room, a huge lineman wearing only jockey shorts. My wife leaned forward fractionally as she admired his broad chest and well developed arms. I was maddeningly aware of how poorly I compared with someone like that. She made no secret that she lusted after the physical type. I waited with patience that I didn't feel until a commercial came on. Then I said, keeping my voice soft and level, "Dear, may I speak to you?" She shot me a look that promised trouble if I got out of line. I swallowed with difficulty and, after she nodded assent, said, "It's just that I was hoping I could change into something less... embarrassing." "Oh? You don't think you should be dressed like a sweet little girl?" My nerve began to fail me. "It's just that this is... these clothes are... sort of...extreme." "Well, sissy," she said, stressing the initial sound of that demeaning word with a sibilant hiss, "I think it's perfect for you. After all," she went on, pointing toward the television, "don't those sportscasters have their jackets with the network's patch on them? And when I'm watching the game, won't the players have their uniforms? And the refs have theirs? And even those sexy cheerleaders?" Her tone grew harder as she went on, "So why shouldn't YOU be wearing what's appropriate for a wimp sissy? Don't you think what you have on is right for a husband whose wife runs his life, and keeps him in panties, and spanks his naughty fanny whenever he gets out of line?" In desperation I continued, "It's just that... I mean... you can't..." I fell silent. Those had been the wrong words to use. I know better than to try to tell Tyana what she can or can't do. She didn't miss my blunder. Her expression turned grim. My legs went weak and I voluntarily sank to my knees in surrender. "I... didn't mean that. I'm sorry. I was wrong. Again. Please forgive me." "Of course I'll forgive you," she said mildly. "After another dozen smacks to your disobedient backside." My lips quivered and I clutched the duster more tightly, but there was no alternative. I had to accept. So I wordlessly put my face against the carpet, reached back to flip up the gown and lower the panties, and waited for the inevitable. My bride chuckled and told me, "Good girl." She didn't hold back on those spanks and I howled loudly. When she was done I was weeping openly. While I was at my weakest she said, "Oh, by the way, I have a friend coming to watch the game with me. He's bringing his own beer and I picked up a bunch of snacks. You remember putting them away when I came home from the supermarket." Between sobs I said, "Yes, dear." Of course I wanted to know who this guy was, coming to our home, but by then my spirit was broken. I humbly volunteered to go and check that there were bowls for the chips and dips. I said I would slice some cheese and open the boxes of crackers. My wife laughed soundlessly at my subservient attitude. She liked seeing me so well broken. Tyana told me not to pull my panties up because she wanted my nicely reddened bum on display. I nodded, thanked her, and hurried off to get everything ready for the other man. The indignity of having him see my punished backside would be devastating. About a half hour later I heard a loud firm knock on the front door. My wife went to answer it and then she was conversing with a man, one with a deep confident voice. The sound moved to the den and she called for me to come and get Jack's beer, to take to the fridge. The last thing I wanted was to be seen the way I was, in that awful outfit with my tanned backside showing, but I had no choice. I went and found them sitting together -- close together -- on the couch. He was tall and blond and handsome, athletic and wearing tight jeans plus a snug short-sleeved shirt, both of which showed off his manly physique. There was already a beer in his large hand. Jack laughed derisively at me and pointed to two six-packs at his feet, saying, "Do you think you can handle those, or are they too heavy? Maybe you should take one at a time." My wife's shoulders shook with mirth. I went to where they were sitting, bent over, and picked up the beer. As I turned away, Jack said, "Nice job on his ass, Tyana. I can't believe a man would let his wife spank him." She told him, "A man wouldn't. My Fred -- I guess I should change that to Frieda -- is definitely NOT a man. When he disobeys, he gets the paddle." I came back with a tray holding cheese and crackers. She was leaning her head against his broad chest and rubbing her hand over his flat stomach, her fingers straying close to the bulge of his crotch. He was idly stroking her hair. Forgetting my lowly status, I blurted out, "Hey, you two can't be all over each other like that." My wife's eyes blazed. Without moving she said, "Listen, little husband. Or should I say 'hubette'? You have no say in what we do. You are a ridiculous excuse for a guy. And if you want to say anything else about us cuddling, or how I dressed you, or what we MIGHT be doing after the game, Jack and I, your tushy is going to get another walloping. Except this time it will be from my boyfriend." "Right," seconded Jack. "And I don't need a paddle. It'll be my bare hand smacking your pretty butt-cakes." Hearing that and seeing how tickled my wife was by the idea of him doing it to me, I broke down and cried. They gave each other a deep kiss. Tyana told me to get her a glass of chardonnay and to bring fresh beer for Jack and refill her glass as needed. She also gave instructions for when to bring the rest of the snacks. Then Jack produced a set of ear buds and told me to put them in. I got them into my ears and he used a remote to turn them on. Suddenly I was hearing white noise. The pre-game discussions, which were almost done, became inaudible. My wife made me pull out one of the buds long enough to tell me, "When you're not serving us, you can get down on your knees and stick your nose against the rug. Starting right now." I replaced the earpiece and assumed that demeaning posture. Now I couldn't hear OR see the TV. Along with everything else, I was going to miss the big game. The two of them were being wickedly clever about spoiling everything for me. And they delighted in doing it. I tried to not start weeping louder as I began trying to figure out how I would time the snacks while I was like that. If I made mistakes, I knew that would cost me further punishments. Of course. ****** I had been playing with my pussy, thinking about what was to come. My ex- boyfriend James was due to arrive in less than an hour. He didn't have any choice about coming to my house, not with the incriminating photos of him I had taken after slipping him a date-rape drug and then posing him nude with two gay guys I know. Plus there was that other thing I had done to him. Now I had called three other girls who he had dated and dumped on, and we were all ready to give him a few lessons in manners. Reluctantly, I pulled up my panties and rinsed my fingers. Then I finished getting dressed. The trio of vindictive females showed up at my door first. We exchanged thoughts about how pissed we were at James. I assured them that I had matters well in hand. They doubted me, so I pulled out copies of those pictures and passed them around. That convinced them. I got glasses and a jug of wine and we all started sipping. Shortly after that, when they were seated in the den, my doorbell rang. I told them to relax and that I would bring our 'guest' to them. When I opened the door, James was standing there with an abashed expression on his cute face. I mean, the guy isn't bad looking. He's kind of short and slender, with small hands and feet, but that worked well with what I had planned for him. And his foppish hairstyle, long blond locks to his collar and hanging to his pale eyebrows in front, was perfect for my purposes. He came inside reluctantly. I said sweetly, "Let's go, Gem." He said without conviction, "You can't call me that." "I can't? And are you going to tell me I can't e-mail all those pretty pictures of you with your boyfriends to everybody we know?" His narrow shoulders sagged and he didn't answer. But when we got to the den and he saw Barb, Cathy and Dora, he had plenty to say. He told me firmly, "You didn't say anybody else was going to be here, Annie. This isn't fair. I hope you're not going to show these three those photos." I grinned and said, "Already did." His sudden forcefulness vanished as abruptly as it had appeared. The other girls greeted him. "Hello, Gem. Remember how you wanted me to act like a hooker in bed?" "Yeah, and how you tried to make me part of a threesome with you and some other dude?" "Or when you thought you were going to have some back-door fun with me?" "That's right, stud," I said to him. "We've all got issues with you. I personally need to resolve the issue of your cheating. But first you're going to strip down and show us what you have on under that T-shirt and slacks. He said, "Pleeese, Annie. I'm sorry. I mean it. To all of you." I said, "And to Shamika?" She was a Black girl he had spread untrue rumors about. He snapped, "That bitch? Listen, she never meant anything to me. None of you did. I was just..." It dawned on him what he was confessing. His moment of anger passed and he bit his lips, knowing that he had lost any sympathy we might have had for him. I said sternly, "Clothes off. Now. Let the girls see what you wear under your boy duds." A shudder ran through him as he began to unbutton his shirt. This was going to be good. I had sent some pretty things to him to wear. And there was still that something extra I had put on him after the photo session. As he continued opening his shirt, pale pink fabric started to show. It was a clinging, sleeveless pajama upper with narrow shoulder straps. The top had been designed for a girl with no bust, so it fit smoothly across his flat chest. When he shamefacedly got out of his pants they all saw the bottom half of the set, tiny shorts in the same color. Both halves were trimmed with strips of lace. He stood there wearing nothing but that feminine sleepwear while the girls pointed and giggled. I mentioned that I had also made him shave off his body hair, not that there had been much to remove. "It gets better," I assured them. To James I said, "Go on, Gem. Pull down those sweet shorts and show them what ELSE you're wearing." His face blushed bright rose as his hands went hesitantly to the waistband of the tiny lower half of his jammies. I snickered as he hooked his thumbs under the elastic and slowly worked the snug garment down. The girls craned forward in disbelief. "What IS that?" Barb wanted to know. "It looks so... tight," Cathy marveled. "Really," added Dora. "Can he take it off?" I chuckled and said, "The answers to your questions, in order, are that it's a chastity tube to keep his dick in line, it's tight so he can't get a woody, and no he can't take it off, not unless I give him the key, which I have no intention of doing any time soon." They stepped closer to James and he cringed. Barb reached out and flicked his chastity with her plump fingers. He jerked but didn't move his feet. The reality of how helpless and in our power he had become was really sinking in, so much that even a jerk like him couldn't misunderstand it. I explained, "If Gem doesn't want those pictures to go viral, and he has any hope of getting out of penis prison, he will do EXACTLY what he's told for the next several hours. For starters, Barb, you said he wanted to turn you into his private ho. So now you can turn the tables on him. You can make Gem be a dirty working girl for YOU. How about if you start with some trashy make- up? I bought a whole crap-load at the Dollar Store. Only the cheapest will do for our cheap little tramp." Barb's green eyes lit up with the desire for revenge. Hell hath no fury and all the sort of thing. She said, "Make-up would be good. Plus a brush and styling gel. Along with some ugly jewelry, although I don't imagine you'd have any of that." "Wellll," I said teasingly, "there MIGHT be some that I picked up at a yard sale last week, when I was putting this plan together. And it MIGHT be in that red, heart-shaped bag with the long shoulder strap, which I found at a thrift shop. I wanted our low budget street queen to have the low rent look that guys like to see. The look that says a slut is available and she does it for very little money." James was starting to look sick. He obviously hadn't expected anything this demeaning, this well thought out, this extreme. I pointed Barb toward the end table drawer where I had stashed my cosmetics purchase. Cathy helpfully went and got the purse, to dump it out on the coffee table, where she and Dora sorted through its contents, selecting the most showy and garish pieces. As Barb took the top off a tube of brightly colored lipstick -- magenta -- James begged in a strained whisper, "Please, don't." But it was far too late to appeal for mercy. She held his trembling chin in one hand and used the other to apply a heavy coat of lipstick to his mouth. Even I was startled by how much of a change it made in his appearance. And she was just getting started. His eyes got done next, with plenty of... everything. That was followed by rouge on is cheeks and a bit of highlighting. Then she went after his hair, teasing it up, arranging it, and spraying it into a sideswept wave. After that a LOT of jewelry went on, including dangly earrings that they pierced his earlobes for. He was sobbing, like a cheap hooker who had just been yelled at by her pimp. And he looked not at all like his male self. A few sprays of perfume -- budget stuff, of course -- finished his transformation. Barb said to him, "So, bitch, you took my five dollars. Now what do I get for it?" James' eyes, so wildly made-up, went wide. His mouth opened but no words came out. She said, "What's that? I get my pussy eaten for five bucks? Okay, but I want you to start at my feet and kiss your way up." She was already getting out of her short skirt and panties. Naked from the waist down, she went to the easy chair, sat her full bottom down, and slid forward until her wide hips were on the edge of the seat, her lightly furred peach easily accessible. The other two made him get down on the floor and crawl to her. Then she had him speak like a whore, saying things like, "Your pussy is getting me so hot. I can't wait to get my mouth all over it." She said, "Yeah, whatever, tramp. Just get busy before I take back my money and make you do it for free." Visibly unnerved, he nevertheless moved forward, kissed his way upward, and put his face between her plump pink thighs. James had to eat her, on and on, while she enjoyed both her stimulation and his humiliation. That cheap lipstick smeared and when he started crying his budget mascara ran. She made him slow down to extend her pleasure and his shame, but finally had a loud, hip-jerking climax. Someone handed her a cell phone and she used it to take several pictures of his face, to add to my stash of blackmail material. Next it was Cathy's turn. She reminded him again about that threesome he had planned to coerce her into. She asked Barb if she would like to help and got an enthused positive reply. The two of them made him go to the bedroom and get onto the bed before they laid down on either side of him. Cathy opened her blouse and revealed that she had on no bra. The girl is busty, with a capital DD, and pulled his face against her boobs, making him suck her nipples. At the same time, Barb reached around and teased his nipples with her fingers, through the thin material of his pajama top. He was squirming and moaning from the double dose of stimulation. "Awww, what's the matter, Gem? Can't you enjoy your three-way? Is it because of that nasty cage that's holding your dick so tightly? Is it uncomfortable? We'll have to be careful not to get you TOO excited." Contradicting her words with her actions, she started to nibble on his ear and whisper filthy suggestions about what she wanted him to do to her. Unfortunately for James, everything she requested involved his penis NOT being in chastity. He whimpered and started to cry all over again. She said with fake sympathy, "Poor baby. Poor sweetie. I feel soooo bad for you." They kept him there for about forty minutes, until he was begging them to stop the maddening foreplay. They giggled, tickled him and toyed with his hair. They even gave him a special performance, standing up, kissing each other and posing chest-to-chest to rub their breasts together. He was a wreck by the end. They made him sit on the edge of the bed and kiss each of them on the butt numerous times, which only added to his sexual frustration. His penis continued trying to get erect but the effort still proved to be futile. "Okay," I said cheerfully to Dora, "you're up to bat." "That's a good way to say it because, with James wanting to take me from behind, I'm going to turn the tables and make him my butt boy. Or rather, I'm going to take Gem and rape her ass." She went into her purse and pulled out a long thick dildo, attached to a strap-on belt. "I'm up to bat and here's my bat." The others grinned at her evil intent. James quivered and slid off the bed, getting onto his knees and clasping his hands before him. "Pleeease," he blubbered, "not that. Not in my..." "Your ass?" Dora asked gleefully. "But that's what you wanted to do to me. How many times do I have to explain this? It's called poetic justice." Barb handed her a jar of scented lubricant and said, "Here. Smear some of this on your target so he'll smell good EVERYWHERE." We all laughed at her joke and at how upset James was. Dora told him, "Just stay down there, lover-girl. I'm going to do you on the floor." She buckled on the belt and showed everyone how that dildo jutted out from her crotch. Then she stood in front of James and aimed it at his face, saying, "Give it a few sucks, sweetie. Maybe if you do a good job with your mouth, I won't peg you." It was unrealistic for him to get his hopes up, but he was beyond desperate. His mouth opened wide and she moved closer, so that he could get his brightly colored lips around the shaft. James sucked so hard his cheeks hollowed. He licked and kissed and spoke words of love to it. She let him completely disgrace himself, while I secretly took more photos, before she announced that she still intended to 'ram you up your poop chute, girl'. Dora opened the lube, got a big dollop of it on her forefinger, and greased his rosette generously. While he pleaded piteously, she took aim and began slowly -- very slowly -- inserting her fake cock into his tightness. He whimpered and yelped like the virgin he was. She buried it to the faux balls and began unhurriedly pumping him. Her hands gripped his hips. She grinned up at us and said, "You know, there's a part that goes inside me and it feels really nice. It might feel even better if I shove harder and faster." Hearing that, James began to wail, a sad ululating sound. She let him go on for half a minute and then started up again like a dog ramming a bitch. James howled -- sort of like a bitch -- as she drove him across town and back home again. By the end he was a mess and she managed to give herself a pleasant though not earthshaking climax. After that she stayed there, the plastic prick still up his fundament, while she leaned forward to deliver some phony sympathy. "Hope I wasn't too hard on you, babe. It's just that your cute ass gets me so hot. I'll bet that any girl with a strap-on would love to do your rump. And I know you love taking it that way. Right?" He found his voice long enough to tell her, "Yes, Dora. I loved the way you... raped... my ass." Our wild laughter assailed his ears. She reached under to give his balls a squeeze and then pulled out all at once, causing him to bark with pain. Dora went to the bathroom to remove the dildo and toss it into the bathtub, where James could wash it clean later. He didn't even try to get up off the floor. That boy was defeated. Broken. But not done. He heard the doorbell and jerked spasmodically several times. Talk about taut nerves. I went to answer and, of course, it was Shamika, a stunningly gorgeous Black girl with cheekbones to die for and eyes to get lost in. Not that I could get lost in her eyes. It's not like I'm switchable. Sometimes. Anyway, we hugged and I noticed a small shopping bag in her hand. Her slender, talented hand. She said, "Lead me to him." When she saw James she grinned maliciously. "There he is. The one who spread the rumor that I was cozying up to our boss. Said I was flattering the man and buttering him up. And sleeping with him." I told her, "We've all been paying him back by doing to him what he wanted to do to us. So what are you going to do? Ruin him with rumors?" She said, "No. I thought I'd focus on what he called me." She paused for effect before saying, "An ass kisser." Everyone was impressed by that. Especially James. He was also affected when she explained, "But I want to pretty him up some first, so I bought him a sexy outfit." When he heard that he looked ill. Shamika told our victim, "Strip out of those pretty PJs and you can slip into something extra seductive that I picked out for you. He ashamedly pulled the top up over his head, displaying his newly hairless chest, paused as if he expected a change of heart from her, and then pushed the shorts down, exposing his smooth crotch, and stepped out of them. Shamika was wildly amused by the chastity he wore. She reached out to tease his nipples and make his penis strain to get erect again. James stepped from foot to foot, trying to maintain a modicum of composure. It didn't work. She stopped and handed him the pink shopping bag, telling him to see what was in it. He reached inside like he expected to find a deadly spider hiding there. Instead, when he bought his hand out, he was holding a filmy black baby doll nightie. He gazed at it in horror. Shamika smirked when she said, "Put it on, beautiful." Close to tears -- again -- he lifted the little bit of nothing and let it slide down over him. I couldn't imagine anything more demeaning to his male ego. Next she made him get the matching panties and slide them up his smooth legs. Those were followed by pink plastic slippers with two inch heels and red plastic bows above their open toes. "You look like a young man's wet dream," Shamika commented, finishing with, "if the young man got off on sissies." She chuckled nastily. "Now strut around and show us how a girly boy walks." We all gave him instructions and soon had him swishing about, hands held out from his sides, wrists limp, chin up, lips pouting. His latest tormentress decided to freshen up his ruined make-up. I got her the stuff we had used on him and she selected a few items, went to work, and repaired the damage, at the same time making him appear even more slutty than before. She had on brief shorts and told him to kneel in front of her to remove them after he unbuckled and slipped off the flashy heels she wore. He sank down before her and went to work. With all of us watching, he soon had her naked from the waist down. Shamika told him, "Time to eat some pussy, Gem." He said, "Eat...? Not your... bottom?" She said, "Girl, you're going to eat booty pussy. Not the one in the front." She turned her back to him and bent slightly forward, shoving her sleek bottom at his face, getting it so close that it filled his field of vision. James sniffled and his lower lip trembled. Shamika reached back to grab his ears and pull him forward until his features were lost in the warm valley of her posterior. Her oh- so-touchable ass. She had a leather vest on and from one of its pockets she took her cell phone. With the hit of a few keys she started music playing. It was something urban, with a deep thumping bass part. All of a sudden Shamika was doing lewd dance moves, thrusting her hips back suggestively, rubbing her butt into James' face repeatedly. "Wild," said Cathy. "She's twerking. She's twerking on his stupid face." Shamika continued her pelvic action. She released his ears but he had the sense not to retreat. He put his hands on her satiny hips to keep his face where she wanted it. It was a long song and she didn't let up until the final beat had faded away. Then she backed up, making him move in reverse on his knees, until his shoulders were against the wall. Now she advised him, "You'd better start showing my ass some respect or I'm going to make you very unhappy, girl." With a sob, he got his nose and mouth all the way into her nether crevice and, judging from the pleased sounds she was suddenly making, he was using his lips and tongue as required. We all smirked at him, happy to see the former pest getting his comeuppance. Again. Shamika ground her butt against his features in slow motion, telling him he was doing a good job. In that nighty and those flashy sandals, with his hair fixed up, James looked like the perfect sissy slave. He managed a few smothered syllables but mostly he just kept serving her. She told him contemptuously, "That's all you're good for, Gem, eating pussy and ass. You're such a loser that no girl wants your dick in her. We should just keep you in chastity from now on. We'd be doing a favor for the women of the world." Shamika reached down and began to finger her clit, going on, "I'd rather get off by myself, with a little help from your tongue in my booty, than have you make one of your feeble attempts at screwing. That's right, you poor excuse for a man, don't stop sticking your taster into my rump. From now on your tongue is your sex organ." She laughed cruelly and frigged herself harder, making her pant open-mouthed. I recognized the signs of her approaching orgasm. Not that I'm saying I was used to being around Shamika when she was going to cum. I'm also not saying that I wasn't. She hit the jackpot and banged her sitter back against James, slamming his head against the wall several times before she peaked and then began to relax. When she stepped away from him his lipstick was smeared again and, this time, his eyes appeared sort of glazed. He was muttering to himself, like he had gone to pieces. The cumulative effect of all the abuse we had heaped on him was showing. James' self confidence was shattered. For the next hour we girls sat around gabbing while our sissy servant fetched drinks and snacks. We made him pose and curtsey and lick his lips and play with his nipples. He never regained his mental equilibrium while all that was going on. In the end Shamika told us to bundle up his male clothes and throw them into a shopping bag, making sure his wallet and keys were with them. She would take him home -- in the trunk of her car. James was upset at that revelation but he only stood there, looking oh so girly, and watched his clothes, along with his money and ID, go into the bag. Then all of us crowded around him and walked outside. He was shamed to be outdoors in that revealing lingerie. People drove by but they couldn't get a clear look at him. Shamika opened her trunk and we dumped him inside, atop some old newspapers and dirty rags. She slammed the lid and told us, "I'll take him to the apartment complex where he lives and drop him off... five parking areas away from his door. I figure it'll take him about a half hour, maybe an hour, scampering from one hiding place to another, to get where he wants to be. I'm going to go park out front and, if he wants his stuff back, he'll have to kneel alongside my door and ask very politely, in a sugary feminine voice." We thought that was a terrific way to end James' evening of paybacks. It's been about six weeks since then. We spread the word that he's a perv who wears panties under his clothes, and that he will go down on any female who demands it and never expect any reciprocation, or to have real sex with them. Quite a few girls tried it and he did what they expected because we still have our stash of blackmail material. The latest news is that this one girl, Bertha, a heavyset blond, liked his oral service and his suddenly shy demeanor so much that she told him he's marrying her. They're engaged and she keeps him in cute panties all the time at her place, where she made him move in. Bertha has an oversized ass and she loves to sit on his face, making him supply her with unrushed anal adoration. He's still in chastity, so his sex drive is being redirected to whatever contact she allows him. The poor boy might get addicted to being her obedient oral overachiever. She also likes to play dress-up with him, as if he was a living doll, and, since I was the one who told her about his availability, she invited me to come over some night to see him in his finery, which tends toward the juvenile. She said I could bring anyone I pleased, and I know which four young women that will be. Can't wait to see our Gem all prettied up like a little girl (tutus and jumpers and T-shirts with images of princesses and unicorns on them, a big paper flower in his hair, which he's not allowed to get cut) while he meekly obeys his bride-to-be. I wish them many years of wedded bliss. Well, bliss for her and servitude in drag for him. Sometimes the jerks of the world get what they deserve, and more.