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I, Sissy By Cassandra Morgan The late-night glow of the computer screen was the only sign of life in the house. Molly had long since gone to bed, alone. It was 3 a.m. Casey Matthews knew he should get to sleep. But he wanted to read one more fiction, get to one more situation, feel the stirrings from one more author. This was story time for Casey. His hand dropped and rubbed himself, just for a minute. He wasn't going to masturbate, not with Molly in the next room. But shifting it from one side of his gym shorts to the other was allowed. The words on the screen captivated him: panties and breasts and lipstick. Especially, the word "sissy" was magic to him. He could not devour enough stories. He could not see enough images. It was a delicious kink, a captivating kink. It was a level beyond mere transvestism. It was the submission of kissing the glove, or kneeling, of whimpering. It touched him. There were so many authors who got it, who understood his soul. Oh, there were some stories he didn't like. The stories of magic and instant chemistry, of wizards and mad scientists. God love the target audience for those, but they weren't his flavor. The ones about diapers and age- play? They didn't excite him as much as the others, either. But when he found a story where the situation was mostly believable, a vicious mother-in-law or cuckolding wife, those stirred his loins. He shut down the computer. He got a drink of water. It was the middle of the night, but he wasn't tired. Still, he had to get some sleep before the travel agency opened in the morning. That was his life. He sold destinations. Lord knows, he had one in mind. Casey padded into the bedroom and slid into his side of the bed. He lay there. He felt Molly move. "I didn't think you were ever coming to bed," she said hoarsely. "Just finishing some stuff up," he said. "Go back to sleep." She rolled over. "Baby... are we okay?" "We're fine, Molly. I swear. Just some things on my mind. I don't sleep that much anymore." She put her hand on his chest and closed her eyes. "Well," she whispered. "That porn will keep you up nights. It stimulates a guy." Oh my God. She knew. He had been careful. How? "Molly?" "It's okay, baby. You can window shop at whatever bakery you want. Just get your buns at home." "Okay," he said carefully. "But I look at other things on the computer. I only look at porn every now and then." "Please," she said. "I've seen your viewing history. You're like a fucking librarian. Dozens of stories. Hundreds of stories. But it's okay. Guys look. I know that. So what is it? Lesbians? Threesomes? Interracial? Isn't that what guys like?" "Um...I don't like talking about this." Molly sat up. "You can look at this shit every night, but you won't talk to your wife about it? That's horse shit. It's not kiddie porn, is it? I'll divorce you if it's kiddie porn." "God no. Those people ought to be beaten. I swear, it's not kiddie porn." "Is it gay porn?" "Molly, stop it. It's not gay porn, either." "Then what is it? Bondage? You want to be tied up?" "Okay. I'll tell you if you promise to let it go. It's ... God, how do I say it? It's dominance and submission stuff, okay. Mistress and sissy. Okay?" She giggled. "Sissies? You like that shit? Girly boys in pink dresses?" She flipped her wrist. "Some of those girls look really pretty," he said. He caught himself. "It's harmless stuff, really. But , yeah, I kind of like reading about a guy being controlled. A wife in charge. The dynamic that it creates. Read it. It's hot." "Hot enough to keep you out of my bed?" "It's not a choice I make." "And yet, it's after 3, and you're just now getting to bed. Maybe I should make you wear a nightgown. Would you get any sleep at all?" I held my breath. Oh, please, my soul cried. "Casey... ARE you a sissy?" "I never have been, Molly." "That's not what I asked. Do you want to be a sissy?" My heart leapt. Did I dare say yes? Did I deny it to my last breath, the way most guys would? Did I surrender? "Sometimes," I said. "Kinda." "Really? Panties and lipstick? You want to submit ... to me?" "Maybe for a little while. Just to try it." She looked at me and nodded. "Then say it," she said. I looked at her. She was not blinking. I bit my lip. This was it, then. Either I embraced this, or I let it alone. "Molly, I want to try being a sissy," I whispered. "Please make me your sissy." "And who would be in charge of this marriage?" "You would, Molly. I mean, Mistress." "No, call me Molly. If I want a title, I'll tell you later. Do you want to wear girls' clothes?" "If you don't mind, Molly." She nodded. "And you'll keep the house clean?" "Yes ma'am." I probably shouldn't have said ma'am,but she didn't catch it. "And no matter what I do, you're okay with it. If I want to leave for the weekend to see my mom, it's okay? If I want a girls' cruise, that's okay? If I want to go shopping, that's okay." "Whatever you want. I'm just a lowly sissy." "This could be fun, Casey," she said pensively. She chewed on her thumbnail. "It could be a few months worth of diversion. Maybe more, who knows? Do I spank you? Cuff you? Are there support groups for sissies and their partners? I don't know how to be a mistress." "I don't know, Molly. There seem to be support groups for everything." She nodded. "We can try it, okay? If I'm not comfortable, we quit, and you go back to men's clothes. Back to being my husband. Deal? Now, what are you waiting for. Put on a pair of my panties and come to bed." So I got out of bed, and I went to her drawer. I reached in and pulled out a plain white pair. "No, not those," she said. "A lacier pair. More girly. Like you." I reached in and grab a soft red pair. She nodded. "Those will do. Now, what do I call you? Kasi? That's a little close to your guy name. I don't want you to think you're a guy. Katie? Maybe? Kalie? Hmm. Let me think about it." I bowed my head. This was happening. Oh. My. God. I pulled the panties up my legs. They were tight, binding. But they felt like something out of the fridge, cool and smooth across my genitals. My heart was pounding. My mouth was dry. And I was in panties. Finally. * * * I had just gotten to sleep, at least, when I felt Molly's hand on my shoulder. "It's time to wake up, sunshine," she whispered. "Sissies work in the morning. Can you make the coffee. And forget that Hazlenut shit you make. Make real coffee. Not sissy coffee." I folded out of bed, and immediately, I felt the panties tugging on my morning erection. I padded in to pee. What should I wear? Molly handed me a white robe. I fastened it and went to the kitchen. I put on the coffee, and I slid two bagels into the toaster. I washed my face in the sink. Molly walked in, putting her earrings in, and saw me. She smiled. "Let me look at you, my sissy," she said. "Let's see. The panties look good. A little tight. You have to get rid of that hair today, though, Casey. And we need another robe. Maybe some uniforms for your morning chores. How do you feel about a maid's dress? My mom has a maid, and she thinks it helps establish the lines of authority." "Maid?" "Oh, come on, Casey. Don't guys like pretty maids? Tell you what. I have a blue dress in my closet. It's nothing special, but you can wear it today." "Um...should I?" "Let me put it this way: I want you to wear it today. You will wear it. You will work on your makeup skills. You don't normally wear makeup, so you'll find it difficult at first. Just keep trying and you'll get the hang of it. Now, we have to go shopping. We have to pick you up your own panties and bras and maid's dresses. We have to go by the doctor's office. I don't think your hair is long enough to go by the salon. Maybe a good wig shop." "The doctor's?" "For your boobs, silly. We should get you on hormones soon. It's almost bikini season." "Molly," I said, "I don't have to have boobs." "You don't have too, sweetie. You get to. That's the fun of it." "But I thought this was just a trial thing." "Yeah, but how can it be a proper trial if we don't have all the evidence? A proper sissy has titties, Casey. A proper sissy goes into a store, and everyone can see her chest, and they know. Besides, boobs are fun. When I was a kid, I couldn't wait to get my boobs. You'll be the same. You just wait." My hands rose to my bare chest. Boobs? How could I keep my co-workers from finding out? My family? Was it worth getting implants for a year and then having them removed? "You wanted this, Muffin," she said. "Hey, I like that. I'm going to call you Muffin, okay? Now, the mall doesn't close until 9. I'm going to try to break out of work a little early, okay. I want you sissified by tonight. Maybe in time to cook dinner." She snaked her arms around my bare midriff. "I'm adjusting, Muffin," she said. "I thought a lot about it last night. You have to be a good sissy for me, but I have to be a good Mistress for you. I think it will be fun. It'll be like I have a wife. Wait till everybody sees you! They'll be so jealous." Wait. Sees me? Huh? * * * By the time Molly got home, I had used her hair removal cream. Twice. I was getting fairly proficient in her lip gloss, but I thought I was going to blind myself while trying to use her eyeliner. I was wearing the blue dress, with a pair of her pantyhose. I handed her a whiskey sour as she nodded at me. "You still need to practice on your eyes, Muffin," she said. "Let me show you. See? Long strokes. Smooth. Subtle. Think 'I'm a sissy faggot" with every stroke. Wow. I cannot believe it. My husband is a girl. I'm a lesbian! That's funny." She looked at me. "If we do this, we are going to do do it right. I admit, I don't understand why my husband wants to be a sissy. But we won't do it halfway, okay? You want to be a pussy? Fine. Be a pussy. But there is no going back til I say?" I nodded, meekly. "Okay, now twirl. Stick your ass out. Blow us a kiss. Perfect! Now, you ready to go the mall? I figure we could grab something to eat out so you won't have to cook." "Give me five minutes to change." "I will not! You're a sissy! You'll wear your dress and be happy about it!" "But, I don't have a wig..." "So a sales clerk will know. So he'll talk about the fag he waited on. Big deal You're sissy enough for that, aren't you?" "But what if I run into someone I know...." "Then we'll invite them to dinner, silly. Muffin, this is you, honey. This isn't a costume. This isn't a role-play. This is my fucking maid. Okay? Get use to it." I hung my head. This was ... too soon. I had been into panties less than 12 hours. I wasn't ready to go "ta-daa" to the world and have them look at me in a dress. We walked to the car. Bill Johnson was watering his lawn. He started to wave, the he saw my dress. He let the hose droop, and the water poured over his crotch like he had peed himself. If I was terrified, it would have been funny. We headed first to a uniform store, where Molly informed the clerk we wanted to buy maid's dresses in a men's size. He looked at me. "For him?" I blushed. She said "Yes, can't you see the sissy in him?" He laughed. "We get a lot of men in here," he said. "So we have a good selection. Now, we don't stock the fetish shit. That tears in a week. We have good satin uniforms. Black. White. Burgundy. Blue. Gray. Green. Red. Pink. Polka dot. Yellow." "They're all so pretty," Molly said, tracing her hand across them. "What do you think, Muffin." "Muffin." I heard the clerk cackle. "I think ... they're nice," I said in a low voice. "I think they're wonderful." "Well, if we were to buy you one for every day of the workweek, which colors would you pick? Think Rainbow. Come on. Pick." "Um, a black one. And the burgundy. Oh, and the white. The Yellow. And the dark blue." "I wouldn't get the yellow. I think it will make you look fat like the sun. Maybe the pink instead? Now, the dark blue is awful close to black. Is that okay? Would you rather have a red one?" "No, I like the blue." "We have hose and heels. Not stilettos, of course, but sensible shoes." "I think we'll get our heels at the mall. But I'll take a half-dozen pairs of hose, if you have them. Plain ones, black ones. Mix them up." "Sure. Um, we can...give a discount if you want." "Oh, yeah?" "Yep. Twenty-five percent off for a blow job. But he's gotta wear lipstick." Molly looked at me and smiled. "Want to save me some money?" she said. "No, Molly," I said. "Please no." Molly thought about it. Then she turned to the clerk and said "Maybe next time. Muffin is just starting out as a sissy. She's not ready for a guy as big as I bet you are." He shrugged. "Her loss. But I could probably do 33 percent off." "You're so sweet!" Molly said. "But not for her first blowjob, okay." "Limited time offer," he said. "And it's a generous one," Molly said. "I'm sure we'll regret it later. But I think I'll just pay. Will you take Visa?" We left the store and put the dresses in the trunk. Molly looked over at me. "Right about now, his cock would be in your mouth," she said. "You sure you want to pass?" "Molly! I'm not gay." "Who said you were gay? I'm not talking about you being someone's wife, Muffin. But as I understand it, suck cock is what sissies do. So you can get used to the idea now. I want to see my sissy suck cocks. I think it's part of the thrill of being a mistress. I want to see you get butt- fucked. So just get used to the idea, okay. I don't care if you're gay, or if you're playing along, or if you enjoy it or don't enjoy it. But sissies get dicked. And Mistresses get to see a show. If this is going to work, then that's going to happen." I looked at the floorboard and tried to push the images out of my mind. Oh, I knew. I had read enough stories where the sissy licks cock, or where she eats sperm out of her wife's pussy, or where she is penetrated. I knew it was a possibility. But would Molly really want to see her husband be taken by another man? The answer was: I wasn't her husband anymore. I was her maid. I was her servant. And I would shut up and do as I was told. This wasn't quite working out the way I thought it would. We went to the wig store. Long ones, short ones. Red, blond, brunette, pink, blue. A saleswoman had a fixed smile, but I could see disdain in her eyes as I tried on one after another. She called someone on her cell and started talking about this panty boy in her store. A framed photo was on here desk of her and a man dressed in cowboy outfits. It had a caption: "Gracie and Jerry Hit the trail." We shopped. I liked a short red haired style. Molly love a long platinum blonde, a bimbo look. She bought the blonde one. "She'll wear it out, dear." "Yes. That makes sense," the saleswoman sneered. "She has to," Molly says. "She's getting butt-fucked by your Jerry at noon." * * * It was 10 a.m and I sat in the cold, clinical office of Dr. Andrew Tewksbury. I was in a white dress - one of Molly's. We had discussed my wearing one of my new maid's dresses, but Molly didn't think that was right for a doctor's office. Molly sat next to me, flipping through a boob magazine like it was a hair fashion magazine. "Those are nice...what do you think of these?...Wow, that's a perky boob." Finally, it was time to go into the office. I followed Molly in. I took the robe the nurse the gave me and changed into it. "Hello, I'm Dr. Tewksbury," he said, grinning. "You can call me Drew." "Hi, Drew." "So," he said, looking at the chart. "You want breasts? You're transgender?" "He's a sissy," Moly answered for me. Dr. Tewksbury nodded as if we had just told him I was left-handed. He looked at his charts. "This will take a month to schedule," he said. "Have you decided upon your procedure?" "No, doctor. I thought I would get some advice from you." "Well, there are a lot of choices you will have to make. There are herbs. There are hormones. There are implants, both silicone and saline. There are bovine ovaries. There are combinations of surgery and injections. It really depends on a few things." "A few things?" "Well, how much of the male sex organs do you want to ... leave intact? How much of a hurry are you in? How much do you fear the possible downsides, such as leakage?" Molly smiled. "You know what I want, Doc. I want a magic wand where she would have titties right now, and they would be sensitive as real boobs, and she could still have her dick to rub up against her sissy boyfriends'." "I see," he said, blushing a bit. ".Okay, here's what I would want you to think about. I would recommend a combination for quickness and sensitivity. I would do the gummy-bear implants, which are pretty much a sturdy silicone that doesn't leak as often. Then I would bombard him with progesterone until I got the shape and size I wanted. It's really amazing the work they're doing these days. Your... sissy will have a pair of breasts she'll want to show off at your next dinner party. It won't take long at all." He turned to me. "Breasts are very nice," he said. "Most of our customers are thrilled by the work we do. I think you will , too. Have you thought about a vagina? We're running a special if you get boobs and a vagina at the same time?" "Um....no thank, sir," I said. "Just the breasts." I looked at my chest underneath the robe. I tried to imagine breasts there. "Molly, what size are you two thinking about?" "Well, I like big boobs," Molly said. Maybe a double-D." "Those are awfully big," Dr. Tewksbury said. "I was going to say a B. How about we compromise on a C. I think her body type would handle Cs quite easily." "You're the doc," she said. "Okay, I'll give the first injections today. We'll set up surgery for next week. Get ready for cleavage." I swallowed hard. I was going to have tits before my hair grew out. I didn't feel ready. I felt like a train was rushing past me. Like I was standing in traffic. This was going too fast. I should stop all of this, I thought as the needle entered. So why didn't I? *** I had begun to wonder if I had made a mistake. A tragic, desperate mistake. I thought being a sissy would be like in the stories, that it would be all about lingerie and lipstick, that music would play while I cooked breakfast, that birds would sing while I set out Molly's clothes. But it was work. Constant work. There were always clothes to be ironed and beds to be made and food to cook and dishes to wash. Do you know how uncomfortable a butt-plug is? Do you know how humiliating a cock-cage is? Do you know how embarrassing it is to have to meet with your boss and ask to work from home so everyone won't see you in a dress? Oh, there was sex. My tongue got quite a workout..Molly's pussy. Molly's ass. Molly's feet. If I complained, she cuffed me. But not overnight. I had to get up to make the breakfast, remember? And there were the moments of humiliation. I came home one day from grocery shopping, and in the lounger in the living room, sipping tea, was my mother. My mother! Have you ever prayed that a giant hole would swallow you? I did. It was the most embarrassing moment of my life. "Hello, sweetness," she said. "That's a lovely dress you have on." "Um..mom, I can explain." "No need, sweetheart. Molly already filled me in about you coming out of the closet. As I understand it, you're what they call a faggot, right? Like that Michael Sam man who plays football. Or the guy who plays Spock in the movies?" "Well, I'm different than them." "Oh, you mean the dress? You're like that pretty Caitlin Jenner woman. I could not believe her age! She's so gorgeous." "I'm different than her, too, Mom." "Muffin is a sissy," Molly broke in. "She's one of those boys who wants to dress like a girl, walk likes girl, have tea and cookies and play with dollies." "A fag," mom said. "Mom," I said. "That's not a nice word." "No, most fags hate it," Molly said, laughing. "I think Casey was always a sissy," mom said. "He never played ball. He baked! I should have known." Mom stayed for the entire evening, through dinner and more tea and television. I braced for hatred, for rejection, but she seemed fine with me being a sissy, although I don't think she ever grasped what it was. But she promised to join LGBT groups. She even told me that if my troop was selling girl scout cookies, she would buy some. And she said she was sorry she had never bought me a Barbie. If you didn't think about the humiliation of my mother seeing me in a dress, all it all, it was a rather pleasant night. The next night was not. I was preparing dinner when Molly got home from work ... with company. His name was Clint, she told me. Clint was tall and handsome and smart and funny and sexy and hung and witty and a great athlete. Wait. Did she say hung? As I served them drinks, their body language suggested that they were more than friends. There was casual touching, and loud laughter at the lamest of jokes. "You know, don't you?" Molly finally said. "About you and Clint? I suspected something. I didn't know anything." "Well, you knew it was going to happen, Muffin. I have a fairly strong sex drive. I need a fairly reliable penis. And Clint has one. It's long and thick and wonderful, not like that little needledick you have. Just wait till you see it." "No thank you," I said. "Oh, Muffin, don't be like that. Be happy for me. And for you." "For me?" "Yes! You get some dick, too. You get to be the fluffer! You get to suck him till he's ready for it to go into me. Won't that be fun?" "Molly. Can I just go to my room?" She swatted me on the ass. Hard. "No, dammit, you cannot. You wanted to be a fucking sissy. Well, here's where you get to be one. Sissies suck dicks, and Clint's is massive. Now you get in there and be sweet before I spank your ass. You WILL do this." I lowered my head. I didn't want her to see that I was crying again. I walked into the bedroom. Clint sat on the side of the bed, his trousers off. His cock was indeed large and a little intimidating, a porn-star dick ready for its close-up. After all, I had never seen someone else's. "Hello, Clint, sir," I said. He grinned at me and spread his legs. His testicles dragged the sheets. His cock pointed at heaven. He took my shoulders, and I thought he was going to kiss me. But he had no interest in warming up. He simply pushed down on me, until my knees folded. I was eye-to-dick to my wife's boyfriend. He reached behind my head and pulled me to him. On my own, I would have gone slowly, nuzzling the tip, licking the shaft. But Clint pulled my head down until his penis entered my mouth like a sword in a scabbard. I gagged. He didn't let go. He was face fucking me. There was nothing sweet, nothing gentle. His cock hardened in my mouth, and he began to grind more furiously. I closed my eyes. "That's enough, slut," Molly's voice said. "That's my dick. You can clean it up later." Clint pulled out, and I was glad it was gone, and I was sorry it went. It was so big and so intrusive, and it lasted so briefly. Clint climbed over Molly, who crossed her heels behind his ass. He entered her, screwing her at the same pace he'd screwed me. The twisted joy on her face was wilder than I could ever remember her being with me. She bit her lip. She dragged her fingernails down his back. She moaned loudly. Had she ever been satisfied like this with me? I stared, unable to look, unable to look away. I wondered if that magnificent cock would fit into my ass. I couldn't help it. All of my thoughts seemed to be about sex. And then he came. It was like watching a carton of yogurt being spilled, there was so much of it. They jerked against each other as if trying to get every last contact they could get out each other's genitals. He collapsed. She whimpered one last time. Then she spread her legs again. "Tongue-time, Muffin," she said. * * * Tht night, we ended up at a party. Not just any party. A sissy party. I don't know where Molly had found it, but I'll give her this. She was doing her research. There were sissies everywhere. Pink dresses. White dresses. Sleeping Beauty dresses. They minced and pranced and sashayed and simpered. There was not a rigid wrist in the room. The Mistresses sat in a semi-circle on the leather couch sectional. They were dressed as if in a coven, dark and black and leathery. One of them wore a mask. Another carried a riding crop. The sissies kept fetching them drinks, appetizers, scraping, bowing. I had signed up for this? I was one of these creatures? A Mistress approached Molly. They air-kissed each other, then high-fived each other. They walked into the kitchen to exchange talk, abandoning me and the other Mistress's sissy. "Hello," I said. "I'm Muffin." "Muffin? That's so cute. I'm B.J." "Billie Jean?" "Blow job," she said, giggling. "Mistress Snow named me when, uh, watching me. I laughed. "Nice to meet you, B.J." She curtsied. I curtsied. She held out her arms. I embraced her. "How long have you been a sissy, Muffin?" "A couple of weeks. You?" "Oh, it's been a year and a half now." She glanced toward the kitchen. "I wasn't a very good man," she said. "I cheated on Mistress. But she had all the money, and she turned me. Exposed me at work, to my family, to my friends." "That's awful." "Not really. They were bound to find out. This just got it out of the way. Ha. My brother Ted? He walked in on me when I blowing his best friend." "What was that like?" "Oh, it was a nice dick," she said. I laughed. She certainly had adjusted to life as a sissy. She seemed comfortable, happy. "How about you? Did your Mistress force you?" "No. I volunteered." "Really? No one made you put on a dress? Lipstick? Heels?" "No, B.J. It was all my idea." "Then you should be so happy. It's a great life. No deadlines, no stress. Just keep Mistress happy. That's all." "I'm sure you're good at it," I said. She reached out and took my hand. "I'm sure you're good, too." I looked at B.J. She was so pretty, and her lips were nice, and her legs were amazing. I blushed. "You're sweet," I said. "Want to taste me?" she said. "Um, our Mistresses will be back in a minute." "Are you kidding? Mistress Snow is eight inches of dildo up your Mistress by now. You may have to drive home, because Mistress Snow is fucking her blind." I looked around the room. Other sissies were pairing off, finding corners. The Mistresses had all disappeared. I assumed they had taken the bedrooms. I felt a hand on my breast. I looked up, and B.J. leaned in and kissed me. Her small breasts pushed against me. Then my hand was on her tiny dick, and it was gently rubbing it. It was nice, so much unlike the forced sex from Clint. "Do you want me to suck you?" B.J. Whispered, pushing me toward the couch. "Not yet," I said. "I think I want you to fuck me." She giggled and turned me around. She ran a finger along the edge of my anus. "I have some lube in my purse," she said. I shook my head. "You shouldn't need it," I said. "Just put it in." And she did, roughly sliding it into my ass cheeks. Oh, I wish she had been bigger, and next time, perhaps I will have her use a dildo. But the intimacy was wonderful, her breath on my neck. She played with my flat breasts, and I found myself wishing they were larger. She kissed my neck, and I saw the lust in her eyes. She came in small spurts. I reached back and dabbed with my finger. I licked it, tasting the blend of her flavor and mine. It tasted like love. This was the best of life as a sissy. No, not the sex. B.J. Didn't have anything like the raw animalism of Clint. But there was a sweetness, a bond. Sissies united! Sounds like a soccer team, doesn't it? I kissed her again. If two guys are gays, and two women are lesbians, and two transgenders are transbians, then what do you call two sissies? Sissbians? Perfect. * * * It does not take long for a morning to become routine. I woke before dawn each day in the spare bedroom, and I quickly showered. I dressed with a purpose - no more relishing each piece of clothing as it went on my body. I padded to the kitchen and put on the coffee. Then, and only then, did I return to the spare bedroom. I worked on my makeup. A couple of pieces of jewelry, nothing ostentatious, with a maid's dress. By the time I came back out, the coffee was ready. A dark roast. Molly called the flavored coffees I liked - Hazlenut, French Vanilla, Irish Creme when I could get it - fag coffee. Later, if the dishes didn't stack up, I would make a fresh pot. Molly didn't eat a lot of breakfast. An English muffin, a bagel, toast. Maybe a bit of fruit. I put it all on a tray and took it to her. I knocked lightly on her door, then entered quietly. "No fucking eggs?" she said. Clearly, she was in a foul mood. "Molly. I've never seen you eat an egg." "So I can't have a fucking egg? Is that right? What fucking good is having a fucking maid if she's a lazy cunt?" I stood there, shellshocked. I didn't say a word. "Nothing to say? I ought to paddle your ass," she said. "From now on, you ask me the night before what I would like for breakfast, or I'm going to pound you pink. You got it, sissy?" "Yes," I said, a tear rolling down my check. "Yes what?" "Yes, Molly?" "Try Mistress, you vapid skank. I changed my mind. You're thinking about getting your tits so much that you don't even fucking ask. Or is it that other sissy's dick? Are you thinking about cock?" "No, Mistress." "Hold on." She rummaged through her nightstand. She pulled out an old vibrator. I don't know if it was a gag gift or a college toy she hadn't thrown away. She tossed it toward me, it hitting the foot of the bed and landing there. "Put that in your mouth, fag boy," she said, his voice filled with venom. "Suck away. A sissy loves to suck." I picked it up. I looked at her. She did not avert her eyes. I put the tip of it into my mouth. "Deeper, whore." I pushed it deeper. I felt my gag reflex tighten up. "I want you to keep it there all day. And every time you think about eating dick, you remember that your Mistress has to eat, too. You fucking queer." The tears silently rolled down my cheeks. I felt ugly, insufficient. I had failed her. I had let her down. I disappeared from the room. I went to the living room, the farthest room from our - her - bedroom. And I wept. The dildo was still in my mouth. I was afraid to take it out. Did Molly...Mistress hate me so much? I was her husband, and then I wasn't. Did she resent me? I looked down at my dress. I was a fucking sissy. She was right to hate me. No, I wasn't gay, no matter what she called me. But that was just a matter of time. I was smart enough to know that. Mistress was getting to like humiliating me. And she was good at it. A few minutes later, Mistress came through the living room. She was in a hurry to dress for work. "Have you seen my black heels?" she asked. "I'll look for them, Mistress," I said, pulling the dildo out of my mouth. "Your'e not fucking wearing them, are you Muppet?" her voice was softer now. It was the closest thing I would get to an apology. "No, ma'am," I said. "I know better than to wear your shoes." She stood and looked at me. "Clothes day today?" she asked. "Yes, ma'am," I said. "Be sure you iron that green blouse of mine," she said. "I want to wear it this week." "Yes, ma'am," I said. "And try to look pretty for me tonight, okay?" she said, pulling me to her and kissing me. I automatically felt better. "If you're lucky, I might find a place for that dildo." She swatted me on the ass. I giggled. "Hey, while I'm thinking about us having sex tonight, I have a gift for you." "Ma'am?" She reached into her purse and pulled out a glistening metallic object. A bracelet? "Here," she said. "It's your new cock cage. I want you to wear it till tonight.' "Ma'am?" "Oh, come on. Sissies wear these all the time. That way we know you aren't playing pocket pool all day long. It'll let you store up for tonight. Just think about then, okay. You get sex with momma tonight." I looked at the cage. It looked grotesque, like a nightmare that had escaped from a dungeon. All Mistress had to do was to command me. But I knew this was for a deeper reason. Humiliation. I tugged my panties downward. I fumbled with it and figured out how it worked. I snapped the latch. "Hand me the key," Molly said. "Now pull your panties back up before the neighbors peek in. You aren't fucking the neighbors, are you." "Mistress knows better," I said. "Well, if you are fucking the neighbors, I'd better get to watch. Or I'll spank your ass in the Mall Centre. Got it?" "Yes, ma'am." "You know...fucking at least one of the neighbors would be fun. That Raheem is a fine looking hunk of ass. Right, Muffin?" "If Mistress says so." I said. "Well, I do," she said, laughing. * * * It was Sunday afternoon, a sissy's day of rest. The laundry was done, and the cleaning, and except for a light evening meal, there was nothing to prepare. Time to kick off the heels and relax. I laid back on the couch, and I felt the hair tickle at the back of my neck. I knew I should reapply my lipstick, but the couch was so comfortable, and it seemed I rarely got a moment to breathe anymore. I closed my eyes for a second. And when I opened them again, Martha O'Riley, Molly's mom, was standing in the room. I drew my breath in sharply. She stood and smirked. "Well, Molly, what do you we have ere? Is it a little fairy boy? My, Casey, you sure have changed." She giggled. "I call her Muffin, mom," Molly said. "Muffin?" Martha laughed. "Well, you ain't seen nothing till you're down on the muffin." "Aerosmith!" Molly said. "I know that song!" "So Casey is a fag now?" "Well, he's a sissy. But there are some fag tendencies, sure. He's getting new tits on Tuesday." "Is he getting a vagina?" No, I thought. "Maybe," Molly said. "We haven't decided yet. But he sure likes his butt plug, so we might." "I always knew it," Martha said. "Didn't I ask you if he was a faggot the first time I met him. So small, so girly. When he tried to get into your pants, he tried to get into your pants. To wear them." Molly giggled. "Well, he doesn't have to, anymore. He has so many nice dresses of his own." "Why do you want to be married to something like that freak, Molly? I mean, really!" Martha said. "Beats me," Molly said. "I used to love him. Now, I guess I love parts of our dynamic. I get to call the shots. That's nice. And the bitch is a pretty good cook. You have anything cooking for supper, Muffin?" "She has a nice ass. Molly, do you screw her?" "Mom!" Martha shrugged. "Someone ought to screw someone," she said. "If she was my sissy, I'd screw her." "If you must know, yes, I do. A good sissy needs ass sex. And I'll be honest. I like it." "I did, too, with your father." "Daddy?" Martha shrugged. "He didn't wear dresses, but he like the bottom." Molly's hands covered her mouth. She giggled. She turned to me. "So, ass boy. What's for dinner?" "I ... I can make pork chops," I said, thinking that the soup and salad I planned earlier won't be enough. "I hate pork," Martha said. "Do you have chicken?" "I ... I can run out and get some," I said. "Good girl," Molly said. "Maybe some asparagus. And a nice wine. Chianti, mom?" "Very nice," Martha said. She looked at me. "Or would you like flaming cock, sweetie?" "Chicken is nice," I said, slipping my heels back on. I grabbed my purse by the door and immediately felt self-conscious. I walked outside, where everyone under the sun could see me. I drove two blocks to the market. I walked the aisles, feeling every eye on me. That was silly, I thought. I passed well enough. I was just a maid going to the store for her employers, right? A man in a blue baseball cap passed me, and his eyes lingered on my ass. "Looking hot, mama," he said to me. I blushed and kept walking. "Blow me?" he said. I kept walking, briskly. I bought the groceries and paid. I left the store, looking at the sky for rain, and I turned the corner. And there they were. Three of them. The guy with the blue cap and two others. "Hello, faggot," Blue cap said. "Suck any dick lately?' I tried to circle to my left, but the three moved in a web in front of me. I tried to turn around, but one stepped behind me. They were large men, with buzz cuts and tattoos. "Please," I said. "Please? Please what. You want to suck our dicks, too." The guy on the left laughed. "You do, don't you?" And then something hit me on the back of the head. And there was pain to my left side. And my stomach. I tasted blood. I was on the ground, curled up, the groceries spilled. One guy kept kicking me. This was going to be bad, I thought. This was how a redneck treated a sissy, I guess. Then there was shouting, and I heard fists hitting skin, and footsteps were crossing the gravel. I looked up and a man in a white shirt was chasing the punks away. "And there's more of that, asshole!" he yelled. His name was Brutus. Well, that's what his friends called him. Really, he was named Bruce. He had been passing the alley-way when he saw the beating. And he stopped it. He was ex-special forces, I would later learn. Three thugs wasn't a good workout for him. So he scattered them. Now he was tending to a cut on my forehead. He dabbed it, and it stung, and I knew he had alcohol from somewhere. I sat up. "Relax," he said. "You aren't going anywhere for a while." "But I have to get home and cook dinner," I said. "The chicken." "Forget about cooking anything," he said. "You may have a cracked rib. You're certainly bruised up." "But the chicken..." "The chicken didn't survive, I'm afraid," he said. "Of course, it didn't have a head." I laughed. My side hurt. "See," he said. "And what might your name be?" "I'm ... Muffin," I said. "Muffin? Like Bran? Why were those three punks after you? Are you rich as well as beautiful?" "I'm afraid I'm not either. Some guys don't like sissies, I'm afraid." "A sissy?" "Yes. Sorry you saved me?" "Don't be daft. What's a sissy." "Well, actually, it's a submissive. I was born a guy. Does that tell you anything." "Like Caitlyn Jenner?" "Everyone says that. No, not quite like her. But you can make the comparison for a start. With sissies, it's more of a servitude role..." "So you're gay?" "No, that's not it, either. I'm just a sissy. You know that kid whose mamma dressed him in grade school, the one that played with the girls, the one that took dance? That was a sissy. Now, make him subservient, make him do the cooking and the cleaning, and you've got me." "Oh. You're Cinderella." "Bippity-Boppety boo," I said. He laughed. "I guess we had better get you home. Can you stand?" I got to my feet. I wobbled. He put his arm around me. "You're having trouble standing," he said. "It's the heels," I said. He grinned. I'll give Mistress credit. When we got home, she didn't say a thing about the ruined dinner. She got me to the couch and she looked at my forehead. "Poor sissy," she said. "My poor sissy." "Didn't fight them, huh?"' her mother said. "There were three of them ma'am," Brutus said. "She couldn't have fought them." "You did." "Well, I've had training," he said. "Just be glad Muffin is okay." "She's a guy, you know," Martha said. Brutus smiled. "I know," he said. "She's also a human being. So let's be nice." He turned back toward me, then walked into the kitchen. He came out with a bag of ice. "Does she have to work tomorrow?" he asked. "No, not really," Molly said. "She has a job at the Travel Agency, but she can do it from home. She was supposed to have surgery on Tuesday, though." "She's going to be sore enough. I'd postpone if it isn't life threatening." "No, she just wanted bigger tits," Molly said. Brutus blushed. "I'm sure that can wait until she feels better." "Yes, I'm sure it can," Molly said. "I'll call the doctor tomorrow. Now, we're going to order pizza. Would you like to join us." He looked at me. He nodded. "Why wouldn't I join such a pretty girl?" he said. * * * Brutus was right. The next day, I felt as if I had been worked over with a lead pipe. I never got out of bed. Mistress made her own coffee, and she even brought me a cup. She was sweet, and she was concerned. Of course, she did give me a little ribbing about my Knight in Shining Armour, suggesting that I might want to swallow his javelin at my next opportunity. If this was the fairy tales, and I was the fairy in question, then you know how this would end. I would lose a glass slipper, and he would find it and kiss me and we would live happily ever after, or at least until we turned into grumpy old folks at the Early Bird Diner. But this isn't the fairy tales, sadly. Oh, I flirted like I had invented it. Molly grinned, because I wasn't particularly good at flirting. But in the coming days, I would rest my hand on his arm, and I would giggle at his jokes and gush when he did the simplest of tasks. It didn't matter. I could have taken out an ad and said "Brutus, can I blow you?" and he would have ignored it. "You know I like you," I said one evening when he was over for dinner. "I know," he said. "But I'm not like that. Nothing against people who are, but I'm not." "I understand." "Want me to leave?" "Brutus, you're my friend. I owe you so much. I want you here as much as possible, and eventually, I'll get over this little crush. Okay?" He smiled at me, sweetly, brotherly. "Take your time," he said. "It's flattering." Elsewhere in my life, people weren't quite as understanding. Martha, of course, suggested that I wanted to be attacked, that somehow, I got off on the pain. She was a bitter, sad woman. Molly acted as if it was a storm that just happened, that came and passed. Only I knew the hatred that was involved in it. People didn't like how I lived my life, they didn't like that I was a sissy boy, and so they wanted to cause me pain. They could have killed me, or crippled me. Why? Because I wear dresses. Molly was nicer to me, though, less prone to fits of rage. She had dumped Clint - that was inevitable - and as a result, she was kinder to me. We still didn't have sex, but there was a warmth that felt nice. One night not long afterward she was in bed and called for me to come to her. She lifted her arm, and I scrunched inside, and we lay there platonically, just being comfortable with each other. "Do you miss it," she said. "Your old life?" "Sometimes," I said, looking up at her. "I miss being your husband. I miss the closeness we had. You were my best friend. I miss sharing thoughts without being so careful of being respectful all the time. I miss kissing you." She leaned down and kissed me. It was sweet. "Do you regret this?" "I did . For a long time. Oh, immediately, I loved being a sissy. I loved the panties and the dresses, even the chores. I loved having a place, a defined role. Hell, I even loved blowing Clint. But then things got... mean. I felt like the world was rubbing my face in what I am." "Baby, I was just trying to help you get into the humiliation. The spankings, the cock cage, the lunches with your mom and mine, that was all part of it." "I know. I don't blame you. You were molding me." "Should I keep it up?" "You better," I grinned. "Who knows when I might be naughty again. She smiled and kissed the tip of my nose. I held her for a moment more. I let her go. "Where are you going?" she said. "I have to go to my room. Breakfast in the morning." "Fuck breakfast," she said. "Ma'am!" I said in mock indignation. "What about your sissy?" "Fuck sissy," she said. And she did. * * * The soreness in my ribs passed. The stiffness in my back, too. We rescheduled my breast surgery. The night before, I had a panic attack. I pleaded with Molly to call it off. But she held my hand, and eventually I calmed down. And eventually, we went through with it. And after the sutures healed, I liked my girls. I thought they were perky. And it certainly gave me a reason to wear a bra. B.J. came by to check them out. She gushed, and compared them to hers, which were smaller. She reached out and cupped one of them. "Careful, cutie," I said. "You'll turn me on." She laughed. She really was a good friend, and no, it's not because we occasionally had sex. We shared the same soul, the same secrets, the same view of the world. If you break down the word sissy, it's short for sister. In slang, it means a boy who acts effeminately. Well, we were true sissies, then. We were indeed effeminate. And we were sisters. I got out of the hospital, and slowly my chest healed. I went back to my chores. My mother still came by - to see her "daughter," she said. Martha was still evil. One day, I was in the market. To buy fruit, although that sounds a little redundant. Then there was a larger body frame walking beside me. I smiled. "Hello, Brutus," I said. "Which Brutus to you mean?" he said. "The bad guy in the Popeye cartoons? Or the guy who stabbed Caesar?" "I mean the one that saves sissy girls from getting their asses whipped," I said. "Oh, that one. He's a fucking coward." "He is?" "He is. He was wildly attracted to this sissy, and he was afraid to make a move on her because he was afraid his buddies might laugh. Fucking wimp." "Is he still a coward?" He stopped. He looked at me. He grinned. "I'm not a coward any more," he said. And he cupped my chin, and he kissed me. Right there among the pineapples and the peaches and tangerines. I think the grapes were embarrassed. As they say, he kissed every lip on my face. I sucked on his tongue. I bumped my teeth against his. I could feel him growing against my leg, and I smiled. "You know I have to do something about that," I said. "Gee. I wonder what you might mean," he said. And we both laughed. He kissed me again. His hand stroked my ass, as if to make it a promise. Who knows what will be? Did we have a future together? How about Molly? Our marriage was open now, but was there room for us all in one apartment? I knew this. Standing there in the grocery, my man draped over me, my heart singing, I was the happiest sissy there ever was. Soon, I would be happier. Three times. (c) 2015 Cassandra Morgan