sissy
- 2 years ago
- 12
- 0
I'm A Sissy? free porn video
I'm a Sissy?
by Cassandra Morgan
He arose early, while his wife Belinda still slept. He slid out of the
bed and, after a brief restroom stop, he dressed quietly.
HE headed to the kitchen and started the coffee. He put toast in the
toaster. He sliced strawberries for her yogurt. He boiled her oatmeal. He
folded the newspaper. He looked at the tray and sighed. It seemed there
should be one more thing. Maybe some jam to go with the toast.
Satisfied, he moved back into the bedroom. Belinda woke up and scooted to
the head of the bed. He smiled at her and placed a napkin over her lap.
No, he not a domestic, not a submissive. He is Cleon Reagan, a normal guy
who loves his wife. Maybe he's a bit OCD about keeping the apartment
straight, but there are worse habits. Besides, it makes life a little
easier for his big-time lawyer wife, right? Besides, as a freelance
writer, he can bend his time around more easily than Belinda can.
"Again?" Belinda said. "You're going to spoil me, Cleon. Or make me fat."
"You're perfect," he said. "Just enjoy it, okay?"
She nibbled at her toast. He went to the closet and, pondering, pulled
out a green dress for her to wear, put it on the foot of the bed. He went
to her lingerie drawers and pulled out panties and a bra. It was a summer
day, a little hot for pantyhose, but he took out a pair just in case.
She grinned. "How did you know I wanted to wear green, Cleon?" she said.
"You're so good to me."
"Just trying to help," he said.
"You always help," she said. "The ironing. The beds. The vacuuming. A
girl couldn't be married to a more helpful guy than you. If you styled
hair, you'd be perfect."
"I could learn," he said. "I bet they offer a course at the community
center."
She looked at me strangely. "Well, why don't we check into it? That
cooking class you took was good. You still make dishes from that, don't
you?"
"Yes," I said. "The lemon chicken I do was from there. And the recipe for
the game hens, mainly. I add basil, though."
"God, listen to us," she said. "We're like a couple of old women talking
about recipes."
"Why is talk about recipes always a woman thing?" Cleon asked. "A lot of
the great chefs are men. Paul Prudhomme and Gordon Ramsey and Emeril and
Anthony Bourdain and Guy Fieri."
"And Chef Boy-ar-dee."
"Oh, hush."
"Sweetheart, I'm just joking around. You can cook for me anytime you
want. Speaking of which, have you thought about tonight?"
"Italian?"
"Perfect. But filling. I better have a salad for lunch."
"Belinda, you don't think I'm strange ... because I do so much of the
housework, do you?"
"God, no. If you didn't do it, it would never get done. I'm not exactly
Betty Homemaker, you know. I'm the chick with the panties on the shower
rod."
He laughed. "Those are panties? I thought we were drying a parachute."
She threw a pillow at me at laughed. "Make fun of the ass," she said,
"and you don't get to play with the ass."
"Did I mention that I loved your ass?"
"More like it. Now wash the dishes, and I'll hit the shower."
Yep. It was going to be a clean morning at the Reagan house.
* * *
Belinda Reagan and her best friend, Jill Abercrombie, said at the lunch
table, picking at salads and enjoying the break. They worked hard at
Hersh and Dawkins, so lunch was always welcome.
"I like that dress," Jill said.
"This one? Cleon picked it out this morning. He has nice taste."
"God. You are married to the only straight fag I know."
"Jill! That's rude. And it's a bad word."
"Just kidding, kiddo. I'm just jealous. If I asked Logan to pick out my
dress, I'd probably come to work wearing a nightgown and tassels. The man
has no taste."
"Cleon does. He's the best cook I know. And he does the laundry."
"Damn. If he has a penis at all, you're the luckiest girl in America."
"Well, I'm not that lucky," Belinda said, holding her thumb and
forefinger a couple of inches apart and snickering.
"I know what you mean. Logan is like he always just came out of the pool.
The Incredible Shrinkage Man."
"Ah, who cares. The size of a man's...thing is so overrated. I don't
think it matters."
"Oh, it matters," Jill said.
"Jill? What are you telling me?"
"Well, you know Paul? In accounting?" She put her hands almost a foot
apart.
"God. You slut!"
Jill laughed. "You wouldn't put a knife in a sword scabbard," she said.
Belinda liked Jill, who was crude and bawdy and liberated, all the things
that she was not. Oh, she joked around. Belinda still didn't know for
sure if she slept around on her husband. But she might.
"Okay," Jill said. "So what does Mr. Tiny Dick do to make up for the fact
he's as close to having a vagina as a real cock?"
"Well... his tongue is pretty good."
"God, you married a male lesbian."
"Be fair, Jill," Belinda said. "He's very sweet."
"Does he like bondage?"
"Ha. I'd like that. I'd love to tie his sweet ass to the bed. But, no, we
aren't into that."
"Ageplay? Pet play? Bigs and littles? Clowns? Threesomes? Roleplay?"
"No, not really."
"What else is there? How about domination?"
"You mean like whips?"
"Yes ... Mistress."
Belinda laughed. "I don't know anything about that."
"You'd be good at it," Jill said. "You always think you're right."
"Hah. Tell me more."
"Well, if you were a Mistress, you could make him cook for you. And
clean. And dust the furniture. He'd be your sissy. You could dress him
like a girl. He'd lay out your clothes and draw your bath. He'd be the
wife."
Belinda thought for a minute.
Then her face lit up.
"He's already there, Jill. Except for the part about dressing like a
girl, Cleon is already a sissy!"
"What?"
"Think about it. He cooks. He cleans. He shops for groceries. He picks
out my clothes for work."
"Cleon? God, that's funny. Put that man in a dress, and you've won the
lottery."
"Oh, we're being silly. I'm not going to give it another thought.
But she did.
* * *
As luck would have it, he was on his knees when Belinda came home.
He'd had a spill, and there was a big blob of spaghetti sauce on the
floor. He was making sure he got all of it out of the corners when she
walked in.
"What are you doing on your knees, cutie," she said. "Did someone steal
your boyfriend?"
"Hah-hah," he said, standing. "I'm just cleaning up."
"Jill and I had an interesting lunch conversation today," she said,
putting her briefcase on the desk.
"Oh? How is Jill?"
"Horny. Like always."
He laughed. "Well, she's a nice lady."
"She says the same about you."
He looked at her. "That I 'm a nice guy?"
Belinda grinned. "Is that what I meant?"
He handed her the glass of Merlot he always had waiting for her. She
shook her head. "Can I get a martini instead?" she said.
"Sure," he said, even though he didn't know when Belinda started to like
martinis. She used to hate them.
He mixed the drink.
"I think I'm going to branch out with ... my tastes," Belinda said.
"Whiskey sours and brandy and gin."
"Well, how manly of you."
"You don't know the half of it."
He handed her her drink. She sipped it. "Damn, that's good," she said.
"Welcome. But the wine may go better with dinner."
"You always plan this shit out, don't you?" she said, looking at him.
There was something in her eyes that made him uncomfortable.
Something...assertive.
"I have to. The salad has to be served at the right time, and them the
bolonnaise, and the garlic bread. We're having dessert, too. I baked a
pie."
"Well, a woman's work is never done, is it?"
And there it was again, a jab at his sexuality. He looked at Belinda, but
her face betrayed nothing. He let it go.
He went to wash the dishes. Italian is always messy.
But now, something was bothering him, too.
* * *
The nicest way in the history of this planet to be awakened is always
sexually.
It was the middle of the night when he felt Belinda rubbing his back.
There there was something slick and cool on his penis, something that
felt half-liquid in its sensuality. He stretched, then opened his eyes.
She lay on on her side, a grin on her face, a glint in her eyes. He felt
stimulated. Erect. Ready.
He glanced down, and Belinda was dangling a pair of her panties over his
dick, touching the head with lace, lifting it off, lower it back
downward, teasing it and playing cat-and-mouse. She seemed intent on her
work, so much so that she didn't notice that he had awakened.
"Baby?"
"Shhh. Just relax. The Stuart Little enjoys it. See."
"What are you doing?"
"I'm getting your attention," she said. "Stuart seems to like panties.
You ever wear any for Stuart."
"Damn it, his name is not Stuart Little."
"Well, it isn't Big Ben, either, is it? Let's don't discuss the size of
your dicklette, sweetie. Let's talk about the panties."
"Sue me. My dick likes the panties that women wear. They're erotic."
"Oh, they are. You should wear them sometime."
"I'm not like that," I said.
"Maybe you are, though," she said. "I bet Bruce Jenner wasn't into
panties at some point in life. Til he started to transition into Caitlyn.
You don't come by this at birth. You ease into panties. Just like I do."
He rolled over. This was silly. He was not going to have this
conversation.
"Oh, don't be that way, baby," she said, taking him by the shoulder and
rolling him onto his back.She kissed his neck. She slid on top of him.
She held his wrists down on either side of his pillow.
"Stop, Belinda."
"Now, pretend you can't move these wrists. Submit to me, sweetheart. Let
me have my way with you. Be my wife."
He wriggled. But her breasts felt wonderful against his chest, and her
crotch was grinding into his. He looked up at her. "I'm not a wife,"he
muttered.
She slid his penis into her. "Feel it, baby. Feel my dick in your pussy.
I mean it, imagine the vagina is yours. Imagine the dick is mine. Let it
go."
And he did.
And it was wonderful.
* * *
It was Sunday, and the afternoon was easy.
They sat in in outdoors' restaurant in the Garden District. She was
drinkig a gin and tonic. He had a white wine. Belinda found that telling
and said so. "You really are a hair-dresser, aren't you?" she said.
"What do you mean?"
"You know. A florist. An interior decorator. A ballet instructor. You
know, a fruit roll-up."
"Hah-han," he said. "Just because I had a glass of wine. I think wine is
nice."
She burst out laughing. "Nice? It's nice? My God, Cleon. Why don't just
ask for a penis in your glass?
"Well, I'm not as macho as you are," he said, trying give to her a hard
time.
"Fuck, Cleon. You aren't as macho as Johnny Weir. That figure skater."
"Oh, give me a break."
"Okay, let's play a game. Honest answers. In high school, did you play
football or belong to the glee club."
"No fair. You know I was in the glee club."
"Okay. And did you play baseball or belong to the pep club."
"The pep club," he said quietly.
"And when you were little, did you play with dolls or G.I. Joes?"
"Well. It was my sister's doll. Her Barbie. I never had a G.I. Joe."
"Uh-huh. Care Bears or Smurfs?"
"Uh, Care Bears."
"Gilmour Girls or Buffy?
"Gilmour Girls, he said quietly. "But Buffy was cool when Angel was on
it."
"Would you rather pick flowers or play in the mud?"
"No fair. I like flowers."
"Karate class or ballet?"
"Okay, you're cheating. I took dance."
"Would you rather bake or fix a car?"
"I'm not good on cars."
"Sew or hunt?"
"I don't kill things!"
"Jump rope or play tag?
"I'm not playing this game anymore."
"Hopscotch or basketball?"
"Not playing."
"A jewelry making machine or a jigsaw puzzle."
"I can't hear you."
"Damn. I should ask you if you prefer Tampax or Kotex."
"You're slanting all of these questions to make me look bad."
"Oh, come on. I am not. Your poor mom just raised one more girl than she
counted on, princess. Think about it. I bet you watched Chick flicks and
read romance novels and wore t-shirts with unicorns on them." She flopped
her wrist at me and giggled. "Let me ask you this: When you went to the
prom, what color was your gown?"
She laughed. I blushed.
Great. Even my cheeks were pink.
***
The next night, dinner was ruined.
Cleon had made a salmon, with clam chowder and a side of kale. Health
stuff. But Belinda didn't come home. Oh she would stop and have a drink
with Jill sometimes, but she always called to let him know she would be
late. Not this time.
The clock moved on, and he grew irritated, then concerned, then worried.
Seven digits on the cell phone. Was that too much to ask? He turned on
the TV to see if they said anything about a car wreck. He called her
office phone to see if she was working late. She wasn't.
Finally, at a quarter til 10, the door opened, and she staggered in. She
had obviously been drinking. He started to ask where she had been, but
she held up one hand, with her index finger extended.
"I can't talk about it, Cleon,n,"she said. "I don't want to talk about
it."
She brushed past him. She went into the kitchen, and broke off a piece of
fish from the pan. She chewed on it. "Kinda dry," she said.
"It was moist when you were supposed to be home," he said.
"Ah, shit," she said. "The little woman is pissed. I knew she would be."
"I'm not a woman," he seethed.
"Well, don't fucking act like one then. I had a few drinks. Big fuddy-
duddy."
"You could have called," he said.
"I should have," she said. "But the reception is awful at the Kit-Kat
Club."
What? She went to see strippers? That wasn't right.
"Well, let the strippers make your dinner," he said.
"Aw, baby, don't be like that. I just looked into another grocery store.
But I get my dinner right here."
She put her arms around him. Maybe it was that she was safe, and she was
home. He tried to let it go. He put his arms over hers.
"Something I wanted to say, kitten," she said to him. "But can I have a
cup of coffee first."
So he made her coffee, and she sat at the kitchen table. She took a
spoonful of the cold chowder and tasted it.
"Hey, that's good," she said.
"Want me to heat you up a bowl?"
"Please, Cleon. I'm sorry. I fucked up. Still love me?"
"You know I love you," he said.
She kissed him. He got her coffee from the coffee-maker and her chowder
from the microwave. He put both in front of her. He heated a small hunk
of the fish and put that there, too.
Belinda ate, and she sobered a bit. She smiled at him.
He smiled back. Life was too short to be angry.
"Baby?" she said. "Did you know that male strippers shave their bodies?"
"Not really," he said. "I don't look at male strippers."
"Well, they do. Like swimmers. Bikers. Runners. Body builders. It makes
you look smooth and sexy."
"Uh-huh?"
"I'd like you to do that."
"Shave my body?"
"Well, I have a cream you can use. You may have to touch up a bit under
the arms, but I think you would you look fine."
"I don't know, Belinda..."
"What's the big deal. It's not like you braid your chest hair or make
pig-tails under your arms. Your wife has just asked you to do something
she thinks is sexy, and that's too hard for you? Just be a man and remove
the hair. It's only a hairy t-shirt, for God's sake."
That didn't sound right. What did removing hair have to do with being a
man. But what was he going to say? He nodded. "When?" he said.
"Well, tonight would be good. I'd love to feel that body when it's
smooth."
And so he lost his body hair. For the first time since he was 12, he was
smooth.
Smooth as panties, you might say.
* * *
"You did what?" Jill's mouth hung open.
"I made him shave... all over," Belinda said. "The plan is working. I am
conquering the world."
"What plan?" Jill said.
"I'm going to feminize him," Belinda said."I'm thinking our dear Cleon
has ben a simpering sissy all along. I'm going to make him realize it."
"Do you want that? Do you want a husband who wears your dresses? You want
to fight him for the clean panties?"
Belinda laughed. "I don't really care if he's in women's clothes per se,"
she said. "But I want him to submit to me. If I want him to dress as
Barney, then that's how he's going to dress. Cleon likes all this girl
shit. Cooking, cleaning, ironing. Well, I'll make him dress the part. If
he wants to work like a maid, I'll fucking make him a maid."
"But it's so ... queer."
"And what's wrong with that? I would like a husband who has pretty nails
and sweet lips. I don't care if he's in a dress. Just think about how you
can control a sissy in a dress. You can humiliate him, expose him,
blackmail him. So delicious."
"God, you're a conniving bitch. It's what I love about you."
"I'm not trying to be a bitch. I love Cleon. I just think this is in
him, and we have to get it out. If he was a masochist, I'd buy him
handcuffs. If he was an adult baby, I'd get him diapers. Sex is just an
ice cream parlor filled with flavors, hon. If his flavor is pink, that's
okay."
"But he'd be a sissy!"
"Isn't he one now with all the cooking and cleaning? The only difference
is a skirt. "
"You gonna cage him?"
"Cage? What's that?"
"A cock cage. Don't you know anything? It keeps him from getting an
erection. It puts it in your control. I think sissies like cock cages."
"Then we'll get him a cage. What he ... she desires."
How about spankings?
"Well, what would be the fun of being a mistress if I couldn't spank.
Like the other night, when she gave me shit for being late. I'd wear her
ass out."
"Boyfriends?"
"Oh, that would be hot, wouldn't it. Imagine Cleon blowing a guy and the
sperm shooting all over her face. God, I'm wet just thinking about it."
"Hah. You got a name for it yet?"
"Her. For her. I don't now. Cleonpatra? No, snakes might bite her. How
about Chloe? Only a few letters off."
"Belinda, I hope you know what you're doing. I wouldn't want to turn my
husband into a faggot."
"I think Cleon...Chloe would be into it. The unimaginative mind wouldn't
be. But he's open enough. If I could talk her into tasting cock, I bet
she'd be a natural. And that's the thing. To me, dresses aren't a big
thing. To me, she's already there. This will just make her happier."
"You know, a lot of guys do seem to like being girls better."
"Well, why not? We're God's perfect creatures."
"Yeah. Except for a few days a month."
"When we are hell's baddest bitches."
They laughed. They clinked glasses.
This was going to work.
* * *
That night, Belinda lay in bed and rubbed Cleon. On his chest. Under his
arms. Even on his bare pubic area.
"Doesn't that feel nice?" she asked.
"Kind of," he said. "Weird, but nice."
"Hold on," she said. And once again, she had a pair of panties in her
hands. The same ones as earlier. She had evidently been keeping them
under her pillow.
She rubbed it across his body, and he felt as if he were being
electrocuted. It was erotic to the point of being painful. "See?" she
said. "See what a smooth body feels like?"
"Damn. That's pretty erotic."
"Cleon... can you put them on?"
"What? Hell, no. I don't want to be gay."
"Look. This pair is made out of satin. Would sliding a bit of satin over
your ass make you gay? Would satin on your nuts make you want to to suck
a guy off? Don't be stupid."
He put his right leg through a leg hole, then his left leg. He lifted his
ass and tugged the panties upward.
"Happy?"
"Yes. How about you?"
"They ... feel okay. Pretty good, even."
"Better than those smelly old boxers?"
He thought about it for a second. He slowly nodded.
"Then we have a winner. I'll buy you some tomorrow."
"Buy me some?"
"Of course, silly. You admit they feel better, and they're prettier, and
they're softer. So why wouldn't you wear them?"
He couldn't think of a reason. It wasn't like she was asking him to wear
something impractical like a bra. Those are for boobs, and I didn't have
any. No one could tell if he was wearing panties or not. Besides, guys'
underwear came in colors these days. It wasn't like she was going to buy
lacy panties, was it?
Which, of course, she did.
She came home the next day with five pair of panties and - you guessed it
- five bras. They sold them as sets, she said. She said she knew that the
bras would feel silly with empty cups, so she bought a pair of breast
forms, too. They're so much better than the lumpiness you get when you
try to use tissues.
This was all so odd to him. A couple of days earlier he was still all
man. He just liked working in the kitchen. But now she had him in women's
underwear. She bought him an apron, a Wilma Flintstone apron, but it
didn't quite do the trick.
"I'll get you some outfits," she said.
And she did.
Maid's outfits.
* * *
"Damn it, Belinda. I'm not wearing those."
"Sweetie, they'll look great on you. You've always been the maid in this
marriage. You should have been wearing them all along."
"Crap, Belinda. Is this how you see me? As a transvestite? As a
domestic?"
"Calm down, Cleon. I see you as a gentle soul who is open-minded enough
for this. Think about it, baby. Which one of us is the more feminine? Me?
Hell, I don't know which end of a broom to hold. Or you? You're the wife
here, sweetheart. Lose all those negative connotations from when you were
a kid. Girls aren't less than guys. Neither are sissies."
"Sissies? I'm a sissy? A fuckig sissy?"
"Well, a little bit. But it's okay. The best qualities you have are
because of your sissy nature."
"Damn it. I am not a sissy."
"Cleon, do me a favor. Every time you think of the word "sissy," think of
"submissive" instead. That's all we're talking about. You still get to
cook and clean and do laundry. The shit you love. You'll just do it... in
a dress."
"I don't love it. I do it because we need it."
"Cleon?"
"Okay, I like it. But I'm still not a sissy."
"Cleonm, we can call names all day. But you and I both know that you want
to put this dress on. You want to see how it feels. You want to pose in
front of the mirror."
"No," he whispered.
"Cleon?"
"No," he said, the sound weaker.
"Chloe?"
"Yes," he whispered.
And so he pulled a maid's black dress up his body, past his hose, past
his panties, past his bra. He looked at his wife, who was looking on
approvingly. She tugged at his hair. "It needs to grow some," she said.
"But we won't need a wig, I don't think. Not if our lipstick is good and
our mascara is right and we wear the right earrings."
She would mention one accessory or another, and he would flinch every
time she did. But it was all part of the same package, wasn't it? He was
going to be her domestic. He looked at her. Softly, he asked the question
he should have asked long ago. "Am I a sissy?"
"You always have been, Chloe," she said.
He looked in the mirror. His legs stuck out the hem of his dress. His
lips pouted. His breasts protruded. It was the perfect sissy photo.
And he was so hard he could not move.
* * *
The next few days were learning ones for Chloe.
Oh, she had the chores down pat. The only difference was that she had to
be dressed as a woman while she was doing them, and that took a girl some
time. The makeup especially.
But it was different in the bedroom. For one thing, Belinda loved to run
her fingertips over his nipples, as if that would make them grow. Well,
combined with those pills she was taking, maybe.
Belinda had also taken to playing with his ass, rubbing it and prodding
it. One night, she came out of the bathroom wearing a penis panty, a
panty with a large, built in dildo. That night, Chloe found out what
pegging meant. Belinda penetrated her hard and with malice.And when she
was done, she put a small butt-plug there to remind her wife that she had
been there. And keep it open for next time.
Chloe hated anal sex... for about two minutes. And then she was in
heaven. If you take the taboo off it, it really is all nerve endings and
juices. Guys aren't wired to receive, but when he relaxed, when he could
go with the flow, he was surprised how much erotisim can start in the
ass.
They had couples over, and Chloe was instructed to serve. No choice, she
was told. And, so, while she was embarrassed, she brought drinks on a
tray while Belinda showed her off. There was Ted Anderson and Martha. Joe
Hedwig and Nancy. Amos Jefferson and Keisha.
It was always the same. The men laughed and the women cooed. But later,
the women talked and the men started to flirt. Belinda? She saw it all.
She knew that the women wanted him to make their beds, and the men wanted
him to mess them up. That was okay. Chloe was becoming aware of her
sexuality, and open to the fact that a man or a woman could lead her
there. It was liberating.
Finally, it was a Sunday night when Logan and Jill came over. Logan
stammered his hello, as if he had been instructed what to say. Jill
looked at Chloe and shook her head.
"Remember when I said I didn't want to make my husband into a faggot?"
Jill said to Belinda.
"Yes," Belinda laughed.
"Well, guess who became one all by himself."
They all looked at Logan. He shrugged.
"And just think, Chloe, she's called you a faggot cocksucker. And Logan
gets there first."
Chloe giggled.
"Time to prove her right?"
And he fell to his knees. Logan approached him and unfastened his
trousers. He seemed proud of his cock as he stood in the middle of the
room. Chloe folded to her knees. It wasn't quite as small as Jill had
indicated earlier.
He took Logan's cock into his lips and just held it there, testing him.
After a while, Logan started to rock, then gyrate, then he was fucking
Chloe's head. Chloe swabbed what she could, kissed what she could,
tongued what she could. And when Logan came, sweet and sticky and
wonderful, she caught as much as she could catch.
Want to call him a faggot? Want to be embassed for him? Fine. He could
deal with it. He spread his arms before Belinda, as if embracing his
mistress, his mentor, his guide. She controlled him. She thought for him.
She owned his heart.
He was a sissy.
And the last person to realize it had been him.
(c) 2015 by Cassandra Morgan
Vera
- 24.02.2022
- 22
- 0
