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Missy And The Sissies free porn video
Missy and the Sissies
By Cassandra Morgan
The trouble with band meetings, of course, is that Larissa does all the
talking.
I guess she thinks she's entitled. She's the face. She's the voice. She's
the showman that all the little pimply faced nerds come to see.
That is, those few who do come to see.
We're a bloody failure, if you want to know the truth. If you've heard of
Larissa and the Knights, you're in a pretty small crowd. If you've
downloaded one of our songs, then we should come over to your house to
play for your birthday party.
Hey, we're talented enough, the five of us. But the music business asks
more than that. You have have the right look, the right face, the right
sound. You have to cut a song with a catchy enough hook that teenagers
think it says something to them. There are a million songwriters and a
million singers, and they never agree on a word.
Who plays live music anymore, anyway? Everything is samples, songs with a
30-year-old bass line or a 40-year-old chorus.
So I thought this would be our farewell meeting. For two years, we had
toured, playing every mall and village warehouse in the tri-state area.
We were going to be the Beatles. We were going to be U2. We were going be
Coldplay. In the end, we were a sour chord.
I flopped on a chair on the left hand side of the room. Jessie and Joe-
Joe, the drummer and keyboardist were on the couch. Andy, the lead
guitarist, sat in a chair next to Larissa, as usual. And Larissa, the
lead singer, stood beside Drake, our manager, in the middle of the room.
I'm Gage. I'm the resident smart-ass. Also, I play bass.
Should we sing that old song: "Na, Na, Kiss 'em Goodbye?"
"Now, lady and gentlemen," Drake began. "You know that things aren't
going well. We keep playing smaller venues for less money. These days, we
can't afford the electricity Andy uses for his guitar. We have to do
something."
"We could call it a fucking night," Joe-Joe said.
"Nice to know you guys," Jessie said.
"Hold on, hold on," Drake said. "The studio still has some money pumped
into you guys. We were wondering if we could try a different direction, a
different sort of music. A genre that can hit enough people to keep us on
the road. You know?"
"Rap?" Andy said. "I fucking hate rap."
"Country?" Joe-Joe said.
"Pop?" Jessie said.
"Gaelic yodeling to herd goats by," I said, and everyone shot me a dirty
look.
"If it was up to me, I'd stick with rock. The problem is that everything
has been done to death," Larissa said. "Boy bands. Girl bands. Emo bands.
Punk bands..."
"Polka bands," I offered.
The room was quiet for a while. I'm sure the others were doing the same
thing I was doing, mentally trying on the sound of country twang or pop
harmonies.
"Maybe Joe-Joe is right," I said. "Maybe we're just over. Maybe we should
go our own ways and wish each other luck."
Jessie nodded his head.
Drake shook his head. "The studio still has a contract on you guys.
Unless you want to be in breach, we'll give this one more try."
"How about a big band sound?" Larissa said. "I could be a diva like Amy
Winehouse? Or Adele? Smoky, sexy music."
"You'd be great at that," Andy said.
Joe-Joe rolled his eyes at Andy. What was fucking suck-up he was.
Bringing Larissa tea. Carrying her microphone. Agreeing with her all the
time. He was her bitch.
"In the Commitments, they did Motown," said Jessie. "We could do that.
Larissa could be our Diana Ross."
"We'd have to add more singers," Drake said. "We can't spend any more
money."
"I have it," Larissa said.
We all looked at her.
"Goth!" she said. "We could sing goth."
"Goth was over about the time disco was over," Joe-Joe said. "All that
dreary dungeon shit."
"Hear me out," Larissa said. "Goth was big with the disengaged. If you
were an outcast, you loved Goth. Remember Marilyn Manson? He was fucking
huge! All the kids with their dark makeup, their black lipstick and
zombied eyes. I'm telling you, we could do this."
"You know what? The best ideas are usually two ideas in one. We could
combine it with another form of music. Say, Glam."
"Glam? Like fucking Gary Glitter?" Jessie asked.
"Well, like David Bowie. Like Mick Jagger. Like the New York Dolls!"
"David Johanssen?" Andy said. "He was great."
"There were a lot of rockers who dressed like girls. Alice Cooper.
Manson. Boy George..."
"Axl Rose. Billy Kaulitz. Pete Burns."
"The guy from Tool. Did you say Bowie? Brian Viglione."
"Britney Spears."
The others looked at me. "Isn't she a guy?" I said.
"Look, this is fine and good as far as a discussion goes," Jessie said,
ignoring me. "But we aren't going to dress like drag queens to sell a few
downloads. I mean, with the others, with Boy George and Freddie Mercury,
the sexuality came first. I'm not willing to wear panties to a success."
"Fuck," Andy said. "To be a success, I'd wear them on my head."
"I have an idea," Larissa said. "How about if I dress as a dominant, and
you four are my submissives? You could bring me onto the stage in a
litter."
"Fuck that," Joe-Joe said. "You weigh too much."
"You're fucking weak," Larissa said.
"How about this?" Drake said. "We go with with the dom-sub thing. They'll
eat that shit up in the Goth world. But we'll dress you four in maid's
outfits. And Larissa will be in black leather with a whip. It'll appeal
to the bondage theme that a lot of goth music embraces. You'll be her
sissies!"
Along with the rest, I groaned. I officially hated this shit.
"You guys could all wear different uniforms. Joe-Joe, you could be in
black. Andy would be in red. Jessie in white. And Gage? You'd be in
pink."
Great. I'm the fucking pink power ranger? Just fucking great.
"We'd need names," Larissa said. "Joe-Joe, we could just shorten your
name to Jo-Jo. Jessie could be Jessica. Andy could be Mandy. Gage? How
about, I don't know, Cage? Or Sage? Sage would do!
Jessie stood up. "I'm sorry. You guys can count me out. No offense, and I
hope you sell a million records. But I'm not going to do this. Not in
public." He looked at Joe-Joe. He took a breath. "Look, I don't know how
many of you guys know this, but I'm gay. Okay? And it's fucking hard. I
don't want to make a fool of myself."
"Jessie, I understand," Larissa was saying. "I swear, no one knew you
were gay. But that's more of a reason for you to be in this band. There
are gay kids out there who need a star to identify with. Someone to show
that we're playing this for a laugh. Think of the good you can do. And we
can all have fun while you do it."
Jessie sat back down. "I don't know, Larissa. If I feel like you're
exploiting those gay kids, or me, then I'm out of here, okay?
"Fair enough," I said.
"Now," Larissa said. "What do we call ourselves."
"The Mermaids?"
"The Handmaids?"
"On Our Knees?"
"The Blow Jobs?" I asked.
"How about this?" Larissa said. "Missy and Sissies."
"Oh, my God," Andy said. "I love it. Missy for Mistress. That'll be
Larissa. And we'll be the Sissies!"
"Let's celebrate," Drake said. "Shirley Temples all around!"
* * *
We retired to the nearest bar because, after all, we were an American
band.
We talked about the decision. How as band members we liked it? What we
hated about it. Like got very few votes. Hated got a bunch.
"I don't want to be a simpering sissy," I said. "I just don't. And what
if the simpering sissies of the world are unionized? I would hate to get
in trouble with the Sissies Union."
"Damn right," Jessie said. "They'd ruin your souffle."
"Ah, give it a chance, guys," Andy said. "It may work."
"Oh, bite me," Joe-Joe said. "Suck up!"
"Well, I could call you suck-off," Andy snapped back.
"Why? Because I'm gay? You're going to go there?
"Hell, Jessie. I was making a joke. I couldn't give one shit less that
you're gay. So you suck dick. There's a lot of gay in music. Hell, it
wouldn't surprise me if Gage was gay. Or Joe-Joe."
Joe-Joe shrugged. "Well, you'd be right about me."
"You, too?"
"Well, Jessie helped."
I laughed. "So you two are ... together?" I said.
"We are," Jessie said. "That a problem?"
"Not with me," Andy said.
"Shit, me neither," I said. "We've got enough fucking problems wearing
dresses. Does this seem crazy to anyone else?"
"It's been done. Lots," Andy said.
"Not the way Larissa described it. She wants to go over the top with it.
Heels. Makeup. Pantyhose. I'm not that kind of queer," Jessie said.
"No. You're the kind that blows your boyfriend before a show," Joe-Joe
said.
"Dayton?"
"Dayton."
"Damn. I thought you guys were doing drugs like every straight rocker out
there," I said, grinning.
"Oh, we did the drugs, too," Joe-Joe said.
"We multi-task," Jessie said.
You get used to a coupling easily enough. Jessie and Joe-Joe were always
best friends. I knew why now. I was surprised I didn't catch on to it
before.
"How did you guys hook up?"
"By accident. Same bar, same night, same goals," Joe-Joe said. He
laughed. "It wasn't the first voyage for either of us, you know. We saw
each other, and it just kind of clicked."
"Then it kind of dicked," Jessie said.
I laughed. "I'm going to marry this man," Joe-Joe said. "But don't tell
anyone yet."
"No," Jessie said. "We're practicing for the honeymoon."
"I think he's gay," Joe-Joe said. "His dick tastes like shit."
"Old joke," Jessie said. "Besides, we both know I'm the bottom. It would
be your dick that tastes funny."
It surprised me how easy the conversation felt. They were together, and
they couldn't wait to talk about it. Frankly, it felt like they should
be together. You know? I wondered if that meant that the dresses would
come easier to them. Probably not. There's a difference between gay and
sissy. Now, they'd be both.
"How about you, Gage," Joe-Joe said. "You're the most effeminate looking
one of us all. Are you gay? Do you kiss old One-eye?"
"Not me," I said, holding up my hands. "Nothing against you two or the
way you feel about each other. But I don't ride the shaft."
"Not yet you don't," Jessie said. "You do a few shows in a dress,
precious. You'll make a friend."
"Oh, God," I said. "The groupies are going to change, aren't they?"
"Bet your ass," Joe-Joe said. "I mean it. You can bet your ass. As pretty
as you are, you're going to have all the young boys after that ass."
"You have any kinks?" Jessie asked. "You know about us."
"Well, not really," I replied. "I had a girl tie me up once. I kind of
liked that. She spanked me. I didn't care much for that."
"You wait, Gage. There will be some boy with your name tattooed on his
dick."
"Well, I hope he's got money," I laughed. "Because I need someone to pay
the rent."
* * *
Sometimes, a dress rehearsal really is a dress rehearsal.
I mean, we knew all the lyrics and all the chords, but what we didn't
know about was all the dressing shit. Men think women's clothes are
easy. Hah. They're pretty, and they're soft, but they are't easy.
It took me 10 minutes to figure out how to fasten a bra. Joe-Joe kept
ripping pantyhose. Jessie looked like a raccoon with his eye-liner. A
backstage film crew could have had a ball. Only Andy seemed to be good at
this.
It was kind of like he had done it before, you know?
The truth is, we were lucky. We all had long hair from our days as a rock
band. Rolling it was no problem. Joe-Joe wore pigtails. Jessie's hair was
up. Both Andy and I let our hair fall around our shoulders; His was
straight and black. Mine was long and brown, but I asked Andy to help me
put some streaks in it. We were willing to try.
Jessie helped me with my bra. Joe-Joe finally got a pair of hose on
without tearing them. Jessie still looked like a drag queen hooker from
Mars.
Then Andy shook his head.
"You fucking pinheads," he said. "You've got to remove the hair from your
bodies first. We're supposed be believable, you know?"
So I unhooked my bra, and Joe-Joe took off the pantyhose - and tore them.
We marched into the bathroom and spent 10 minutes rubbing Nair on each
other, then another 10 shaving the spots where the lotion did not work.
"Watch your hands now, Gage," Jessie said to me. "Don't feel my ass."
"You're safe," I told him. "Your fiance would drum on my head if I messed
with your precious ass."
"Damn right," Joe-Joe said. "But if he'd tap your ass, I'd watch."
Finally, we were ready. We stood in the mirror in our assorted colors.
Jessie shook his fist in a rock pose. "Rock Gods!" he said.
"Goddesses?" I said.
"Jesus, this is silly," Joe-Joe said. "People are going to fucking laugh
at us. No one is going to get it. We're going to be one large gay joke."
"Fuck it," Jessie said. "I'm ready to come out anyway."
"Really?" Joe-Joe asked.
"Really."
"You know, if you come out, I'm going to be outed eventually, too."
"Yeah, I've been meaning to talk to you about that."
"Guys?" I said, posing. "I feel an overwhelming urge to dust. Does that
make me a bad sissy?"
"Andy dusts," Jessie said. "I've seen him."
"Yeah, Andy. You sure got into your dress easily enough," Joe-Joe said.
"Sure you haven't been practicing...for about eight years?"
Andy shrugged. "Okay," he said. "I'm a sissy. I have been for three years
with Mistress Larissa."
"Mistress Larissa?" I said. "Do you have to salute?"
He glared at me. "You don't know what it's like," he said. "We're in
love. She just ... likes control. You guys can get that, right?"
I frowned. "So this whole thing was a set up? The band as sissies? It was
your deal?"
"Not completely, Gage," Andy said. "I mean, we've been into this
lifestyle for a while. And Mistress Larissa thought we could make a
living performing like this. Drake was ready to try anything. Hell, Gage,
you look girly. We didn't know about Joe-Joe and Jessie being gay. But
two gay men shouldn't be that opposed. Come on, guys. Let's try it."
So we walked out in heels, wobbling up onto the stage. Was this how Kiss
felt the first time they performed in make-up? Was this how Bowie felt
his first time out in a skirt? When Boy George asked if people really
wanted to hurt him, did he suspect that people did?
"Girls, girls," Drake said as we plugged in. "God, Gage, you look great.
I'd fuck you and I know you're a guy." He passed out music sheets. There
were no new songs. Everything was an oldie with the lyrics tweaked to
match our image.
"I Want to Hold Your Dick."
"Duke Kneels to a Lady."
"Slave 4 You."
"Bend Me, Spank Me."
"My Momma's Dress."
"Stand by Your Trans."
"Boy, You'll Be a Woman Soon."
"Unchain My Parts."
I rolled my eyes. This was fairly funny shit.
"One thing, my sissies," Larissa said. "From now on, you will call me
Missy. As in Missy and the Sissies. You will call each other your femme
names. Jo-Jo. Jessica. Mandy. And Sage."
Sage? I was Sage?
But the music got me through. It always does. I could be in a gorilla
costume, and if I had a bass around my neck, I was happy. It would take
me a while to develop my onstage personality in heels. How much did I
move? How did I react to the lyrics? Did I have to stay away from the
edge of the stage or risk fans looking my dress.
Okay, I'm going to be honest here. I found the entire rehearsal quite
erotic. I looked at Jo-Jo and Jessica, and knowing they were having sex
added a bit of spice to the jam. Looking at Missy and Andrea was
intriguing. Who did what to whom there. Then there was me, a guy in a
dress, gyrating around the stage. The others said I was pretty. Ha. I had
been the cute one in the old band. Would I be the cute one in drag?
It was then that I noticed it. I had an erection.
Relax, Sage, I said to myself.
This was going to be an interesting ride.
* * *
The first real sign that the dynamic of the group had changed came
quickly
We took a break, and it was warm, and we were all sitting around.
"Sage?" Missy said pleasantly. "Could you get me a soda, please. Not too
much ice."
I looked at her. I looked at the refreshment bin. She was actually closer
than I was. Andy, her plaything, was standing right by it.
"Me?" I asked.
"Please," she said. "Be a love, my darling sissy.
So I pulled the shoulder strap over my head and stood my bass against the
amp. I passed her, then reached into the bin and pulled a soda out of the
ice. I turned and started to walk it back to her.
"Diet?" she said.
So I spun and walked back. I took a diet drink and shook it off. I
started back toward her.
"Oh, and can you put it in a glass for me, sweetie? That would be ever so
kind.
I reached below the bin and grabbed the glassware. I put some crushed ice
in the glass. I looked at her. "Lemon?" I said.
"Oh, that's a great idea. Could I have some lemon?"
So I mixed her a custom soda, and I brought it to her. She smiled, then
reached behind me and lightly thwacked me on my bottom. "Good sissy," she
said.
"Uh, Lar...Missy. You know we're just pretending, right?"
"Oh, Sage. I believe we should always be in character. We have no idea
who is watching, do we? So I'll act like I'm your Mistress, and you act
like you're my sissy. Right? All the time."
My penis twitched as she said that. Traitor. I turned and started to walk
toward my spot on the stage, still struggling with the heels.
"Got that, everybody? We are always in character. The four of you are my
lambs. I am in charge. We are going to have so much fun, girls. Now, it's
not on the playlist, but does everyone know how to play "Lola?" The old
song by Kinks?
We started to play, and again, my doubts went away. But this was strange.
Missy was acting like she was a domme and the rest of us were her subs.
This was a band gimmick, right? This was all pretend.
Right?
***
Every day, it seems that Mistress, or Missy if you please, grew more into
her role. And that forced me further into mine.
On stage, I became the biggest caricature you have ever seen, mincing, my
wrists flopping. I blew kisses to the men the crowd. I shortened my
skirts.
And somewhere, the lines began to blur.
Mistress put me in charge of keeping the Tour Bus clean. All the pizza
boxes, all the paper plates, had to be thrown away. The beds had to be
made up. The iPods put up. I was the maid. Andrea was more, well, a
personal valet for Mistress. She ironed her clothing, shined her shoes,
kept her makeup fresh.
And Jo-Jo and Jessica?
That was the strangest transformation to me. When they were closeted, in
the previous days of the band, they were as straight-acting as you could
imagine. They could have been out for a Rugby run, or chasing coeds from
the nearby campus.
But Mistress had gotten to them, too. They pranced. The flitted. They
might as well have been florists on their way to a Pride Parade.
You don't have to be gay to know this. There are degrees of sexuality.
There are gay men who are linebackers and weightlifters, macho men who
like their guys hairy and rough. And there are gay men who are as
feminine as bridesmaids. As were Jo-Jo and Jessica.
Mistress had them kissing during our shows now. Jo-Jo's old objections
about being used to make a statement were just a memory. Mistress seemed
to like shaking his money-maker at the crowd. The funniest thing. The
more showy that Jo-Jo was, the less some people believed it. There was an
article by an underground newspaper that wrote about us that suggested
Jo-Jo was so out there he had to be a straight guy having a laugh.
Jo-Jo liked it. She told me so herself. She liked being in a dress. She
liked the new order that had come to the band. She was okay with Mistress
running things.
And Jessica's penis?
She really like that.
As for me, well, I was getting used to the flowers coming to my dressing
room. I got several invitations, a few from well-known celebrities. I
always begged off and told them that Mistress didn't allow me to date.
But yeah, I thought about it. You know what you call a guy who doesn't
think about sex with another guy? You call him a liar. We all think about
it. No, I didn't plan on doing anything. But I was as curious about it as
the next gay, especially with Jo-Jo and Jessica swapping spit all night.
Mandy must have felt the same. She started prancing nearer to me when she
played, sharing a microphone, her lips inches from mine. You could almost
feel the crowd urge us to kiss. Mistress would see us and grin.
Meanwhile, our shows got tighter.
Remember the old Helen Reddy song "I Am Woman?" I sang lead on that one,
and the crowd seemed to act as if it was in on an inside joke.
We did "Single Ladies."
We did "I Feel Good."
We did "Under My Thumb."
We did "My Boy Lollipop" while Mistress played with a large vibrator on
stage. At the line that talks about her boy being sweet as candy, she
dragged it across my lips."
It was a hoot, for the band and for the crowd. Again, we weren't like
that trans group from Taiwan that was really trying to look like girls.
We were sissies out on a stroll, giggling and winking. And the crowd ate
it up. They threw panties on stage (some of them fit!). They sang along
with the lyrics.
We were a hit!
This was the most fun I'd ever had in music, and I couldn't tell whether
it was because of the outfits or the crowds. We didn't play any better
than we did before, when we were a guy rock band, and to tell the truth,
Mistress didn't sing any better. But they loved her.
She would cavort around the stage like Pat Benatar or Madonna or Miley
Cyrus, and every eye in the joint was on her. She would flash her cat-o-
nine-tails (a whip, silly) or her rubber paddle, and the crowd would
scream for Mandy or me to get pounded. She would flash a butt plug, then
point to me, and the crowd would call my name, and then she would point
to Mandy, and the crowd would scream hers.
A reporter from an LBGT magazine came by to interview us with a
photographer. The arenas got bigger. The pay got better.
This was life in the fast lane.
* * *
For 10 months, we toured. My sister came to see us with her husband.
"That's my brother," she shouted, pointing me out. "The cute fag!"
Performing was fun, lipstick and all. I got to west I moved about the
stage, and there was a small group of guys who followed me around from
town to town. Flirt with them, Missy said. So I did. Every show, I would
pull one onstage to dance with me. One night, after our dance, I kissed
one of the. And that became a thing. Sage's guys.
And things changed.
Jo-Jo and Jessica got married. Quietly. Sweetly. They both wore wedding
gowns.
Mandy had always had a cocaine problem. It grew worse, and he started
missing rehearsals, and then shows. Mistress warned him that if he didn't
straighten up - a strange command for a sissy - then she was going to
replace him with a sissy named Vanessa she had met.
And Mistress and I? We became closer.
It was after a show in Lexington that she called me to her dressing room.
She opened a bottle of wine, and she talked about stress, and she talked
about beauty.
"Sage?" she whispered. "I need sex."
I nodded. Of course she did. She was beautiful and passionate and
creative.
"...But not with you."
Huh? What?
She rose and opened the door. She called out. Sure enough, Drake - Drake!
- came to the door. She hiked up her skirt, and he undid his fly, and
with their clothes on, they screwed right in front of me. "Should I
leave?" I whispered.
"No, sissy. Hang on."
It didn't take long. Drake was a quick cummer. He had a nice dick, but no
lasting power at all.
He moved off of her.
"Now, sissy," Mistress said, spreading her legs wider. "I want you to
lick me."
I was powerless. A day later, I thought of a dozen protests I could have
made. Not even sissies have to lick up sperm, do they? But I did. I
knelt, and I licked through her matted pubic hair, and I licked the raw
pink lips of her vagina. I could taste him there, a flavor I would have
thought would be the ultimate deal breaker. But I found it arousing. I
plunged my tongue deeper, again and again. Finally, she shivered and put
her hand on my head to stop me.
"That was so sweet, sissy," she purred.
"Now him."
Somehow, I knew that was next. I felt it. I put his soft cock in my
mouth, and amazingly, I felt it stiffen. It was glorious. It was
wonderful. No wonder Jo-Jo was gay. No wonder Jessica was a bottom.
I could be coy here. The truth is that I liked dick. Licking and kissing
and fondling and sucking. I liked cum. How long had this been inside me?
Since the old days of the boy band? Since my experiments in bondage?
Since the first time I put on a dress? It didn't' matter. I was awakened
now. I was a sissy. Her sissy.
That night changed everything. With Mistress's blessing, I began to take
select members from the crowd into my bedroom and suck their cocks. The
high-rollers. The record execs. The people in charge of ratings lists for
the magazine. I could suffer any boring personality if it came with a
magic penis.
And Mistress?
She was still stubborn, still strict, still controlling. In other words,
she was an angel.
There are nights when she pegs me, when she slides on her dildo panties
and penetrates my ass, that she will start to sing. It's an absent minded
act, something I'm sure she's barely aware of. She'll be moving in
rhythm, deep inside of me, and her sweet voice will come out, and it
sounds magical. Those are the best moments of a sissy's life, when her
Mistress is in control and happy.
The song she sings?
"My Girl."
(c) 2015 by Cassandra Morgan
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