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Abandoned By Cassandra Morgan "We need to talk." Are there any more threatening words in the language? Is there a sentence that can more quickly fill you with dread? Is there another collection of four one-syllable words that can change your life? I was on my knees in the kitchen, trying to clean a stubborn black smudge of uncertain origin. A boot mark? A food dropping? What it was, it had seemed so important a few seconds ago. Now, it was just another chore to be done in a lifetime filled with them. I am Sissy Sunshine. Sunny, if you please. Go ahead, laugh if you wish. But I am one of those, a dainty submissive under the guidance of a Mistress. This is not a weekend kink for me. This is my life, and it has been for years, since I turned it over to Mistress Vanessa. She controls me now, and I am grateful for it. She makes the decisions, and I marvel at her wisdom. Now, she was telling me that we needed to talk. We talked all the time, I thought. About what I was going to cook for dinner. About which of her clothes she wanted ironed first. Yes, about our sex lives. "We need to talk," she had said. And my mouth had gone bone dry. I rose from the floor and smoothed my dress. I followed her to the living room and sat on the couch, my hands - and their painted fingernails - in my lap. I looked at her, questioning, through my mascara. There was a time I was a boy. No more. Now I am a sissy, dressed in soft colors and lace and frills. My long brown hair hangs down the sides of my neck in pig-tails. My lips are coated with cherry red lipstick. Earrings dangle form my head. My feet are inside black heels, tall but not porn tall. I am wearing pantyhose. My breasts - yes, they're mine - jut out from my chest. I am her creation, lovingly shaped into her creature. I search her face for a clue as to what she wants to talk about. Am I in trouble? Am I going to be spanked? Not naughty, playful spanking but vicious punishment spanking? Is it another dinner party where her friends will sneer at me, or laugh? Is it a third party I am to gratify sexually? Her face gives nothing away. It is stern, unsmiling. Her lips, her wonderful lips, are tight. Her brow is furrowed. "How long have we been together, Sunny?" she asks softly. "Eight years, Mistress. Since our senior year of college." "And how long have you been my sissy?" "Six years, ma'am. Six years since you put me in dresses." "Ah, yes. That was a time, wasn't it? You fought it, as I recall." "I was stubborn, ma'am," I said. "I was a slave to my ego. I thought I was a man. But I love wearing dresses now." "Ah, but not all males are men, are they, Sunny? Some of them cannot wait to get into panties? To have the doctor slice their chest for breast implants. To get their Tramp Stamp tattooed on them? Betty Boop, Ha!" "The years have been good, Mistress." "They have, haven't they? It's amazing how we have both grown. At the beginning, I had no idea you were a sissy. I just knew that you liked to submit. You liked me being on top during sex. You liked when I used a toy on you. You liked when I scratched your back." "Yes, ma'am. I loved your dominance even then. And you grew, too. You became a goddess." She smiled. "Remember when I brought home your first cock cage? That silver one. It didn't even have a key." I touched my crotch. I felt the metal inside my panties there. "I remember," I said. "The dresses were the hardest thing. The panties weren't that tough, and even the bras went on you fairly easily. And that was before you had boobs. But you fought the dresses like you were at the Alamo. It was clear that you wanted them. But you fought." "It was... symbolic, ma'am," I said. "Once I put on a dress, I was accepting being a sissy. That was hard for me. Like I said, ego. And it didn't help that they weren't gowns and sundresses. Maid's dresses take a little out of you. They aren't just for fun. They're for work." "You were so cute, though. You made a lot better looking sissy than you did a boy." "Thank you, ma'am," I wanted to curtsey, but I was sitting down. "That's what makes this hard, Sunny." "Ma'am?" "Sunny," she said, taking a deep breath. "Part of me will always love you. Always. But I'm afraid our time is done." The tears came then, fast and furious. I cried like a baby, like a little girl who has lost her puppy. I sobbed and I whined so hard I could not catch my breath. "Baby, I'm sorry," she said. "But lately, I haven't been happy. Have you been? I think the magic, our magic has gone. I've thought so hard about this, and so long. I have trapped you into a life you never saw coming, Sunny. I want to free you." "I don't want to be free. I'm a fucking sissy. I'm your sissy. She signed. "Don't make this hard for me, Sunny." "Is there...is there someone else," I cried. "Does it matter?" she said, giving me my answer. "People are not built to stay together forever. We had eight years. How long did we really have? 10? 12? I would have eventually taken you for granted, and you would have resented me. It's better to end it while we still care for each other." "Is in Sandi? Grace? Is it that bitch Lauren?" She was silent for a minute. "You don't know him," she said. "It's a guy? You told me you loved my little dick, and then you go chase a big one?" "Sweetie, it's not about Marcus, and it's not about his penis. It's about us. If I was happy with us, would I have found him? Marcus and I love each other ... for the normalcy of it all. He wants a woman. I want a man. We don't have room for a sissy." "I'll ... I'll be your maid. You can hire me. I'll keep your house and sleep in the maid's quarters. I just want to be close to you." She shook her head. "Sweetie, we aren't going to be rich. He fixes cars. We can't afford a maid." "I'll work for free," I cried. "No, you won't," she said. "You have to eat, too. You have to have a life. I love you, Sunny. Part of me still does, anyway. I don't want to see you turned into a domestic. Not unless you have another Mistress. Or a Master, maybe. You've liked cock. Maybe a Master." "That was for you," I said. "It was all for you. These...tits ... were for you. Getting fucked in the ass was for you. Every time. The butt plugs were for you." "Sunny," she said quietly, "You liked them, too. You liked all of it. Rolling your hair and spreading hair-removal cream on your body. Getting your boobs. Remember? I wanted you to just have Bs, but you had to have the Cs. You wanted everyone to notice." "What now?" I sobbed. "Do I go back to being a boy? Do I have the implants taken out? Do I throw the dresses away?" "Oh, Sunny. Those are your decisions. This is a fresh start for you, too. It's a world filled with adventure. Want to be a man? Okay. Want to be a woman? Okay? Want to be a pony and fuck a clown and cheat with a masochist? Well, that's okay, too." "So you're throwing me away? Like a gum wrapper? Like a soda can?" "Don't think of it like that, Sunny. We can still be friends. We can have lunch sometime. Someone has to tell me what to wear, right?" The tears came again. I was lost at sea. I was drifting in the gusting wind. I was in the desert, and there was nothing but sand. I was a sissy. Alone. * * * There are differences in sissies. Some like Mistresses, some like Masters. Some love to clean, some prefer to cook. Some come into sissidom as transvestites, and some have it thrust upon them. Some have been sissies - in the broad sense of the word - since birth, and some have to learn as they go. But this, most of us have in common. Most of us are obsessive creatures. Take eye-liner. It was the hardest item of makeup for me to learn, as for most of us. But we practice and we work and we fuss. Then we start again. We obsess until we get it perfect, because what good is being a half-assed sissy? Ever seen a sissy whose dress didn't fit just right? Well, we fixate on it until we drive our Mistresses crazy. And so it was that I packed slowly, taking my time, giving Mistress every possible second to change her mind. Logically, I knew it wasn't going to happen. This was a big decision for her, one that she was not bound to make recklessly. She was going to rush to her man and be Mrs. Suzy Suburbs. She was going to squeeze out puppies and join the PTA. She was going to belong to a country club. I packed one suitcase. I asked her if I could pick up the rest later. She said she would have them delivered, as if she had said her goodbyes and didn't want to go through it again. I was wearing my gray maid's dress. Oh, I had other dresses. My plainclothes, I called them, like I was some sort of undercover cop. But I found comfort in my maid's wear. Besides, I was going to Emily's house. Emily was a sissy, too, for Master Paul. He had agreed to let me stay in the maid's quarters for a time until I got my life together. That might cost me a blow job before it was over, but I had no choice. This is the problem with being a maid. There is no retirement plan, no 401K, no personal savings plan. You are beholden to the kindness of your Mistress to take care of you. It is an unhealthy dependence, if you weigh things on a financial basis. But the dominance lifestyle is about trust as much as anything. You really do turn over your soul to your mistress. Your heart, your security. Now, I had nothing. I was an aging sissy - 33 next birthday -who faced an uncertain future. The truth was that I didn't have the money to have my implants removed even if I wanted to. I didn't have the finances to buy boy clothes if I found work as, say, a florist or a hairdresser. So I would probably dress as a female still, and look around. A maids' crew? A waitress? Work in a nail salon? I didn't drink much, but I wished I had a whiskey now. No white wine, thank you. No Cosmopolitan. I needed a drunk's drink, something that would numb the soul. I arrived at Emily's place, and she hugged me. She led me to a small room, almost a closet. She had a medium sized room, and Master Paul had the grand room. A normal sized guest room was unoccupied in case visitors came. That shows just how little we matter. A bedroom stayed empty while his sissy Emily lived in smaller quarters. "How are you doing, Pumpkin?" Emily asked. "I'm wrecked is how I'm doing," I shrugged. "How would you be?" "I'd be pissed," she said. "I'd suck every dick on the docks to get back at him." "You did that Saturday," I said. "Yeah, but I had them wear rubbers," she said, giggling. "Seriously, I thought you and Mistress would last forever. Is it true? Did she find a man?" "It's true," I said. "She has a new fuck, and I don't even have to clean him with my mouth." "A shame," Emily said. "Yeah," I said. "No warning?" "None," I said. "I think that's why I'm still stunned. I can't believe it. I had a home for eight years, for almost my entire time as an adult. And then I got shot off my horse. I'm telling you, Em. There is no protection for a sissy. Remember the bullies of your life? Well, as an adult, the ones we love are the bullies." "Yeah. But the thing they take is a lot worse than our lunch money." * * * I wanted to like her. I really did. Nothing would have been easier if things had clicked between me and Mistress Silk. Out with old, in with the new. Just substitute one firm hand for the other. On your ass, don't they all feel the same? Emily had fixed us up, becase there is some sort of law that says when you have a broken friend, you have to try. Mistress Silk was Master Paul's friend, really, someone he knew from the clubs. She was a domme, a woman of strength and power who, I was warned, was not to be trifled with. She entered the room, and it was obvious at once, her nature was regal. She was a power queen gracing the rest of us with her presence. She air- kissed Paul, showing him respect, but she acted as if Emily and I were the household pets. She had an air of superiority, the bearing of dominance. She was the wife of every slick politician you have ever met. She took a glass of champagne from the tray Emily was holding. She looked me up and down. I stared at the floor and curtsied. Without a word, our roles had been set. We knew who - and what - the other was. "So you are Sunny," she said. "Yes, ma'am. Sissy Sunshine," I said. "And you did not please your last Mistress?" "Um, we broke up, ma'am." "Because you did not please her?" "Yes, ma'am." "Then try not to contradict me again, Sunny," she said sternly. "No, ma'am," I said, chastened. "So why would I be interested in another Mistress's refuse?" she asked. "I don't know, ma'am. I've been a sissy for eight years. I'm committed to it." "Eight years aren't a lot if you're acting at it, are they?" Mistress Silk said. "Tell me, do you clean?" "Yes ma'am, and cook." She nodded. "And your breasts?" "It's all me, ma'am," I said. "Impressive," she said. "Are you wearing a butt plug?" "No, ma'am. I didn't know how you would feel about that." "I'd feel that you were a sissy, sissy," she said. "Master Paul, do you have a plug in Emily." "Always," he said. "Unless my dick is there instead." "See?" Mistresss Silk said to me. "Sissies are plugged." "I'm sorry, Mistress," I said. "Do you have a diaper?" she asked. "Uh, no, ma'am. I have not been into age play," I said. "Well, I was misinformed," she said, looking at Emily. "Oh, ma'am.When you asked if she would be your baby, I thought you meant your sweetheart. Nor a baby baby." "Well, isn't this a screwup! Master Paul, might you please discipline Emily for me." "Of course. Emily, please prepare for a spanking." "Only a spanking, Master Paul?" "What else would you prefer, Mistress Silk?" "Well, she should be hobbled, perhaps. Her feet chained to a chair. Or she could be handcuffed into a closet." "I have to say. It sounds a litte extreme for one miscommunication," Master said. "Well, that's why it happens. You have to nip that shit in the bud." "Mistress," Master Paul said, "I am very strict. Very stern. But you have to have respect along with discipline or it doesn't work. My sissy is loyal to me because she trusts me. I believe in a velvet fist." "I thinkMaster Paul may be a pussy." she said. Emily gasped. My eyes widened. When Masters and Mistresses argued, it was like thunder on Mount Olympus. Mortals shivered at the sight. Paul just smiled. Rage was for lesser beings. "Does Master Paul want to wear a dress?" she went on. "Maybe it should be Paula. Or Paulette. Or Paulina. Why don't you submit to me, girly boy? Why don't you kneel with these other two faggots?" "Silk, you should leave. Your manners are atrocious. You overstep your status as a guest in my home. My sissy, and her friend, are human beings with dignity. You guide them. You do not treat them like shit." Silk looked at him and shugged. "Then I'll go, and I'll leave you three sissies to braid each other's hair. Maybe you can have a tea party." "Do come again, Mistress Silk. It was lovely having you here." He walked Mistress to the door effortlessly. I wondered if she was aware she was being thrown out. And then she was gone. I was amazed. I had always that Mistresses were much kinder than Masters, softer, smarter. I always thought there was a gentleness in them lacking in men. But Master Paul was a nice man. Master Paul turned. "Well, that was uncomfortable, wasn't it? Now, Emily. I am feeling small because of that outburst." "Sir?" Emily said. "Hmight I help?" "Well," he said. "You could get your friend to suck my dick." And I did. * * * During the entire time I was with Mistress Vanessa, guys were just kind of out there. Every now and then, Mistress would want to see me perform. That was especially true in the early years, when the notion of seeing me submit was new to her. She loved that she could make me perform a gay act. In that way, she was quite the voyeur, setting up scenes like a Hollywood director. The first few times, I was disgusted and excited, all at once. The first time a guy came in my mouth, I vomited all over his balls. And Misress made me lick it all up. It was the single most repulsive act of or time togetheer, a horrible blend of my sickness and his ejaculate. But I got used to cum, so much so that the one time she took me to a glory hole to perform blind oral sex on a half-dozen men or more, I was able to keep my stomach calm. And, as Mistresses will do, she sort of lost interest in it. Watching really isn't that much fun, and she was rarely interested in another man's penis. Til now. Til she caught one she wanted. But now, I owed a debt. This man had taken me in. He had defended me against Mistress Silk. He had every right to ask a sissy for sex. How I felt about it did not matter. I was a sissy. So I took a pillow from the couch, and I kneeled on it I rubbed the outside of his pants, feeling the bulge. Then Emily was kneeling alongside of me. She unzipped her Master, then pulled out a large, heavy cock from his britches. She smiled at me and winked. "Big enough to go to work, isn't it?" she said. "Big enough for a dirty movie," I said. And then she leaned in and licked the left side of his shaft. I leaned in and licked the right. Together, we bathed his cock in saliva, our lips tantalizing close to each other's. She did her hummingbird's tongue on his knob whie I took a testicle into my mouth. We had never been in sexual congress before, but you might have thought Emily and I were a team that did this all the time. Neither one of us domiated his penis, and neither one of us knelt and watched. Instead, it was four lips and two tongues, each teasing his erection. And when he came, in desperate jets of sperm, we shared that too. Emily took most of it into her lips, forming a seal over the tip. Then she leaned in and kissed me, and snowballed it right into my mouth. She reached behind me and rubbed my anus with her index finger, then pushed it in, and I came. She sat back against the base of the couch, a glazed look on her face. I touched her penis, and she moaned. And I began to stroke it, like I had in high school with Billy Jordan before his mom caught us. I looked at the faraway look in her eyes as I jacked her without shame, without regret. And she came, too, and I licked it up, mixing her semen with Master Paul's in a lovaly swirl. For the first time all week, I did not feel as if my future had been taken from me. There is comfort in sex, in a physical release. It would not last. But it beat feeling the pain. For now, that was enough. * * * A week later, I sat on a barstool in Jorgenson's, the transexual bar on the South side, the one across from McGill's. A lot of men in dresses show up here, and a lot of men looking for men in dresses. Ocassionally, as I understood it, a Mistress happened by. Transexuals were nice people. They didn't raise a ruckus if lesbians happened in, or gay men, or even those into pet play. It was all an ice cream shop. Pick your flavor. I was wearing a modest blue dress, and my hair fell loosely around my shoulders. I don't know if anyone would think I was a sissy or just a plain trans woman. I didn't care. I wanted company and conversation. That's all. The bartender grinned at me. He put a margarita in front of me. "I didn't order this," I said. He jerked his head to left. A red-haired woman, slightly pudgy but with a sweet smile, wiggled her fingers at me. I lifted the glass in gratitude. Her smile widened. A moment later, she pushed in next to me. "Hello," she said with an accent from ... somewhere. "I'm Mary Ellen." "English?" I guessed. "Irish," she said. "You're a long way from home," I said. "Well, I would lay it on thick and say that I came this way to meet you, but you'd think I was trying too hard," she said. I grinned. "Hello, Mary Ellen. I'm Sunny." "Hello, Sunny. I just saw the Godfather. Sonny got it bad." "Different spelling." "Different anatomy." I shrugged. It was too soon in the conversation to admit the truth, or to tell her about Sissy Sunshine. I'd just got here. "So ... Mary Ellen. Do you know what kind of bar this is?" She nodded. "This is a bar that serves alcohol and conversation," she said. "Why don't we start with that?" And so we talked. She was in America selling beer. Harp, I think she said. She'd heard about a bar that was a little more open that most bars, and she'd thought she would come and meet a nice girl. She smiled. "I like girls," she said. "I'm bisexual, but lately, I've really been into girls." I sighed. "Mary Ellen, I'll be honest. I'm not a girl." "Oh," she said, her lips forming a perfect circle of surprise. "Oh, my God. You're ... She whispered. "...A transexual?" "No, not quite," I said. "I'm a sissy. Do you know what that is?" "I think so. A submissive? Someome who turns control over to her Master and has him spank him?" "It can be a Mistress," I said. "And the spanking up doesn't click with all of us. That's more for a masochiest." "And you...you're a boy?" "In a manner of speaking..." "I'm so sorry, Sunny. I didn't mean...' "Why are you sorry? You didn't say anything. I'm a sissy. So what? Do you want the rest of your drink back?" "Oh, God! Oh, no. I mean, can we talk? There is so much I don't know." "Shouldn't you be off chasing Miss America?" She glanced at the floor. "Pussy can wait," she said. "Half the people in the world have a pussy. But I don't meet a sissy every day." "Well, I'd like to meet someone with a pussy," I joked. "Well, you met me. " "So I did. Will you spank me?" She looked at me for a minute trying to figure out if I was joking. Satisfied that I was, she laughed softly. "No, but I have a strap-on in the room. I'll rip up that ass." And she laughed, and I laughed. We moved to a booth - the bartender raised his eyebrows as we left together - and spent the rest of the night making fun of the music, of the dancers, of the predators. "So were you always into dresses?" she asked me. I shook my head. "No, that was a submissive thing. Now, a great many sissies were crossdressers as teens. But not me. My former mistress wanted it. I was cleaning and cooking for her, and one day, she brought home some maid's dresses. So I starrted wearing them, and she thought I looked pretty good. It opened up a whole new chapter of control. She could humiliate me in front of my family, my co-workers, my friends, her friends, the neighbors. She posted picttures of me on the internet. She hung a photo in our living room. She really got off on it...back then." "Back then?" "She dumped me," I said. "Stupid girl," Mary Ellen said. "Not Mistress. Mistress is smart. I just wasn't...what she wanted." Mary Ellen put her hand on mine. "Look, Sunny. I don't know you well, and I don't know your mistress at all. But you're very sweet. And someone would be an idiot to dump you. It's her loss. She'll regret it. You'll make some girl a nice sissy." I was suddenly aware of her hand. It felt warm and comforting. She saw me looking at it, and she moved it. "I'm not a dominant," she said. '"I wouldn't know what to do." "Maybe we should just be friends," I said, regretting it as I said it. Mary Ellen was a sweet girl. I could do worse. "So, do you like Harp beer?" she asked. "That's what we sell." "I don't drink a lot of beer. Hey, you want to hear a joke. An Irish joke?" "Shoot." "Well, a knock comes at a door in a Dublin suburb. And this little old lady answers it, and it's the boss from her husband's work. "Yes?" she said. "Well, Mrs. O'Shaunessy. There's been a terrible accident at the brewery and well, the long and the short of it is that Mr. O'Shaunessy is dead." "Oh, my god. What happened?" "Well, he was working on a scaffold over this giant vat of beer and he slipped and fell in. And, well, he drowned." "Oh, Lord," she said. "It must have been a terrible way to die." "Oh, we don't think so. He got out four times to piss." She burst out laughing and I grinned. Then she told one. And I told another one. And she told one. And we kept drinking and kept laughing. Look, I like sex. Most of us do. But life is about more than bumping uglies. It's about friendship and good times. And I had found that. Mary Ellen was a good soul. I felt terrible I was keeping her from meeting someone, but every time I offered, she declined. She told me about growing up in Ireland. I told her about growing up here. She told me about a girl who climbed trees. I told her about a boy who took ballet. She told me about her first girlfriend. I told her about being a sissy. We stumbled out of the bar, leaning on each other, and I'm sure everyone thought we had made a sapphic love connection. No such luck. . We staggered into her hotel room, and I slept on the tiny couch and she slept in the bed. And it was the best night of sleep I'd had since getting dumped. And I didn't have to get up to cook for anyone. * * * I got a job! Not a great job, but a job! I was working for Maids R Us, a domestic service that did some private homes, some private functions, and a couple of the smaller hotels. We wore light blue uniforms, and we did light cleaning. There were no kitchen duties, and I missed that, but there was plenty of cleaning and laundry. I took a small apartment - Master Paul invited me to stay, and Emily pleaded, but I didn't want a full-time Master. I am willing to have sex with men when my Mistress wants me to, and sometimes when I feel close to the Master, as I had with Master Paul the night that Mistress Silk came over. But I wasn't gay, at least not in the technical sense of the word, and living with a man as my superior would force me to be. When I moved in, it was obvious this wasn't the nicest environment. There were loud voices next door, There were women who worked next door who looked, um, like working girls. It was a little seedy, to tell the truth. But you live where you can afford to live. It had a bed, and it had a shower. I could make do. I poured a glass of wine. I sat on the beaten couch and thought about Mistress Vanessa. She was never far from my thoughts. I thought about the early days, when she convincd me it would be a kink to wear my clothes. When she pushed me toward chores. When she began to assert herself as the authority in our relationship. When I gleefully accepted her panties as my own. I smiled. I was so ready for submission. I didn't even know it, but every day I sank a little deeper. Panties. Bra. Nails. Makeup. Breasts. I marked the entire sissy checklist. Should I have resisted harder? The cage? The hair? Hose, heels, jewelry? I think there are sissies who are coerced into this life, who fight ever step. But I was a natural. I just saluted and, eventually took my place. Cooking. Cleaning. Ironing. Vacuuming. Dusting. And Mistress Vanessa grew stronger, more dominant with every bit of sissidom that I embraced. She loved being a domme as much as I loved being her sub. Humiliation. Exposure. Cunnilingus. Fellatio. Spankings. Time after time, I told myself I was just playing, that I could go back to being a boy any time I wanted. But that was a lie. Here I was, weeks after being abandoned, and I was still in panties. I still wore lipstick. I had sacrificed my friends who remembered me as male. Everyone knew me as a sissy these days. Especially the mirror. * * * The following Friday, Emily had been invited to a Sissy Party, so I came along. We wore our maid's dresses, like the invitations said. We showed up, and there were sissies everywhere. It's funny. When you get into this life, you feel like you're the only one. You're almost surprised when you meet someone like you. But now, there were dozens of maids, mincing and prancing around the room. It was comforting to see so many of us. There were sissies who loved men, sissies who preferred women, sissies who liked sissies. There were sissies who combined their hobby with others, age play and pet play. There were sissies who were little girls. There was one sissy who was dressed as an elderly woman. I couldn't tell if that's the way she was dressed or the age she was. Emily found a friend of hers. Melanie. She flitted off with her. Who knows where? I never did find out if she was having sex or just chatting. With Emily, either was possible. I went to get some punch. I poured it into a plastic cup and looked around the room. "You're new here, aren't you?" I looked up and a mocha colored girl with a big smile was standing there. She was wearing a white maid's dress, and the contrast with her skin was stunning. "I'm Lizzy," she said. "Sunny." "Sunny? Why do so many of us have a 'y' on our names?" "Kind of goes with sissy?" "Maybe," she said. "Mistress? Master?" "Free agent," I said. "God, that must be hard. I have a Mistress. Mistress Abby. Do you know her?" "No, I'm afraid not." "She's beautiful," she said. "But doesn't every sissy think her Mistress is gorgeous?" I smiled. "I always did when I had one," I said. "How long have you two been broken up." "It seems like minutes," I said. "It's been three weeks." "It's hard not having someone to submit to. I think our kind misses it more than anyone. We rely so much on our Mistresses to run things. If she's gone, what is there?" "You know what's hard, Lizzy? If you're a Mistress, you buy a sissy a drink and strike up a conversation. If you're a Master, you ask her back to your place. But if you're a sissy, by definition, you're not in charge. So at the bars, you're just prey. And when you meet someone, the sex is sort of expected, because you have defined yourself by what you like. So the sex comes in a relationship before the natural progress of conversation." "So what do you do? Fuck around?" "I try not to. I'm not particularly promiscuous for a sissy on the prowl. I was with my Mistress for eight years, and we only invited others to our bed when Mistress wanted it." "Are you telling me not to hit on you?" I laughed. "It would be flattering if you tried. But ... " She smiled. "It's because I'm black, right? Well, half-black. My mother." "No. I think you're beautiful. I just had a Mistress set limits for me for years. Now I have to set my own. It's easier to do with another sissy. I'm easing into being a single sissy." She put her hand over mine. "My mistress has a dildo. I could make you very happy." "Ah, shit, Lizzy. I'd love to. You really are stunning. But I'm not here for sex." "You may be the only one." "Well, go get your girl on, Lizzy." She stuck her bottom lip out in a pout. She turned. Then she turned back and leaned in, kissing me on the cheek. She skipped across the room. I watched her ass as she left. Damn, I thought. First Mary Ellen, now Lizzy. Momma ain't getting any sex at all. Maybe I could be a nun. Sister Sissy, that would be me. I'd be the sissy with the heels on under her habit. * * * Mary Ellen had a deep, throaty laugh. It wasn't the gentle tinkle of a lot of women. It was raw and bubbly/ We sat a Jernigan's, the chain restaurant, having potato skins and salad. "Stereotypical, right," she said. "I'm Irish, so I have to have potatoes. And I sell beer." "I'm from Cincinnati, and I love Skyline Chili," I said. "You can't avoid stereotypes." "Which is why you like fruit?" "Oh, kiss it,' I said. "Offers, offers," she said. "You're such a fucking flirt," I said. "It's mean to be a bulldyke and make fun of the sissies." She laughed. "A bulldyke? Me?" "You. I don't see you as the femme in a lesbian coupling. I see you as the top, so to speak. " "And why do you say that, sissy boy?" I wrinkled my nose. "You're just ... earthy. In control. But it may be that I like dommes, so I see that side of you. Call it my schoolgirl crush." She looked at me. "You have a crush?" "G-rated," I said. "I know you like girls." She played with her food. "What if I didn't?" "Excuse me?" "What if I was open to a relationship? With a sissy? How would that work?" "Oh, Mary Ellen, we've talked about this. I have a dick, sweetie. It's little, but it's there. Which means that a v-jay isn't." "Listen to me, Sunny. I've thought about this, okay. You're a girl. No doubt in my mind. You can call yourself a sissy, and identify as a sissy. But you always wear dresses. You always wear lipstick. As for the dick, well, it's not like it's obtrusive. Our sex would be like two lesbians. I'd expect you to ... lick me a lot. I'd want to kiss your nipples. I'd want to peg you. "Look, I wouldn't abuse you," she went on. "I wouldn't want to shackle you. Or beat you. Maybe a playful spank, nothing more. If you want me to pee on you, I would. But that's up to you. But I'm crushing on you, too. I have been since that night at the bar. Remember, I told you I was bisexual? Well, you're wired for a bisexual. So be my love. Give us a try." I looked at her. Tears filled my eyes.Damn. I was a crying again. What a, well, sissy "Are you sure you want me?" I whispered. "I'm sure. And it's okay if you don't have a pussy. Hell, you ARE a pussy." I giggled. She laughed. She took both of my hands into hers. "Listen, Sissy Sunshine. I'm asking you to be mine. Will you wear my cock cage, sweetheart?" I smiled. "You know I will," I said. "Forever?" she said. Forever is a long time. I had learned that. I had learned love comes with limits, that after eight years or so, your lover can turn on you and toss you aside. I had learned to take each day as a holiday, every hour as a blessing. I looked at her. "For a long time," I whispered. "No," she said. "For forever." * * * Her apartment was on the east side, a two-level townhouse. There were jeans on her floor, clutter in the kitchen. Hell, Mary Ellen needed a sissy. I leaned down to pick up the jeans. "What are you doing, sissy girl?" she said, scolding. "I was just straighening up, Mistress," I said. She smiled. "Mistress? Well, I suppose you can call me that. Until our rules are defined, at least. But I don't want you doing chores. Not yet." "What would you have me do, Mistress," I asked. "Me." She walked over to me. She cupped my cheeks in her hands and pulled my face to her. She kissed me softly, sweetly. I melted inside. She pushed me down a bit, until my face was on a level with her breasts. I kissed them through her blouse, Once I removed her blouse, and her bra, they were plumb and pale. through her bra. The nipples were brown. I suckled like a newborn. She rolled her head back. "God," she moaned. "Now lower." I sank to my knees. I reached up her skirt and ran my hands over her panties. I looped my fingers in the waistband and tugged htem downward. She stepped out of them, but kept her heels on." I hiked her skirt up, then pushed her onto a lounge chair. Her public hair was trimmed, but it was full. I kissed it and blew on it gently. She guided my face into her. I licked it longways, then tongued her clitoris. Sex had been so long ago, since Emily and Master Paul that night. But this wasn't the sweet fumbling of strangers discovering each other. I felt I knew her, and she knew me. She was a bit heavy in the ass and thighs, a bit in the belly. But she was built like a woman, not like a supermodel. Voluptuous, they used to call it. "I love your body," I whispered. "You had better," she said. "It's the only one you get. Unless I say different, my sissy." "Yes, Mistress," I smiled. I could have licked her for hours, but evidently it had been a while for Mistress, too. Soon, she shuddered, and she started calling out the names of Saints. Her kink, she would later tell me, left over from her days in Catholic school. "Come with me," she said softly. "I want to hold you." And so we went upstairs to her bedroom, and we lay entwined in each other's arms. She played with my butt, rubbing and poking. "Baby?" she said. "I want to fuck you. Is that okay?" I nodded. I bit my lip. She reached into her night stand and pulled out a double-headed dildo. From her lesbian days, I imagined. She lubed me, then she inserted the short end into herself. Then she guided the tip into me. We lay on our sides, and I could feel her nipples against my back. She penetrated me, and my heart soared to be taken. I had gotten lucky. I had found love again without surrendering my nature. I had found happiness. And a bonus? My God, did her apartment need cleaning! * * * I was in love. No other way to say it. I thought about Mary Ellen ever second of every hour of every day. Her smile. Her laugh. Her lips. Her ... other parts. To give her credit, she was adjusting to the role of Mistress very well. She wasn't overbearing, and she wasn't a pushover. She asked me to do things, but always with the expectation that it would happen. And sexually? Well, she experimented. She bought a butt-plug for me, for instance. She bought a panty dildo for her. No third parties. Not yet. But I slept in the same bed as her. There were no maid's quarters. She let me penetrade her, and even complimented me for having a dick that was't overbearing. Lying in bed, I would find myself touching her. Her arms. Her belly. Her legs. Her ass. Just my hand on her skin was eough. This was how sissidom should be, a partnership where each sought and found their levels. She was the Mistress, and I would never challenge that. But I was the sissy, and she respected that, as well. One night, we were leaving the movies, holding hands and not giving a shit who objected, and I ran into her. Mistress Vanessa. She was waiting to go in with her date, a large man. Marcus? She excused herself, then walked up to me. "Hello, Sunny. How are you?" Mistress Mary Ellen looked at me, then disengaged and walked to a nearby bar to leave Mistress Vanessa and me there on the street. "I've missed you," she said. "I've missed you," I answered. "But not too much," she said, looking in Mistress Mary Ellen's direction. "You seem to be with someone, too," I said. "Yes...that's true. Sunny? Do you ever think about the old days?" "Mistress?" "I think about them. The whole deal. Being in control, touching you, your lips." "Mistress...don't." "I'd leave him," she said. "If you want to try again, I'd leave him. I .. I still love you." I exhaled. How many nights had I dreamed she would say that? How many doors did I want for her to open? "I'm ... with someone now, Mistress," I said. "I would never hurt her." "Not even for me?" I looked at the sidewalk. I let silence answer. I still loved her. I still remembered the feel of her body. Part of me was tempted. This was not a fair choice for a sissy. "You threw me away," I said. "And now you're going to throw me away?" "Ma'am, the choice was yours. I would have been there forever. I don't think it's fair for you to call me back. What happens next month when you want to be someone's wife? Or the month after when you want a sissy in diapers?" She didn't say anything for a minute. "I made a mistake, Sunny. I have regretted it every day for months. Don't hurt me back just because you can." "I'm not trying to hurt you, Mistress. But Mary Ellen is my mistress now." "Is she good to you?" "She's wonderful," I said. She nodded. Bit her lip. "Then make her be good to you, okay? Make her open a bank account for you. Make her share ownership of her house, her car. Protect yourself." I was crying softly. Once again, Mistress Vanessa and I were splitting apart. This time, it was my call. I hated it. She embraced me quickly. "You're the best sissy ever, Sissy Sunshine," she said. "Please think kind thoughts of me. We were good for a while." "Yes, ma'am, we were. I hope we can see each other again." "I'd like that. Now go. Go to your Mistress." * * * I walked into the bar. Mary Ellen was there with a glass of Harps and a small glass of whiskey. "Boilermakers?" I said. "You must be trying to pickle your liver." "I ... I thought you were gone." "You think you can get rid of me that easily?" "But Vanessa...." "Is yesterday. You are today. And tomorrow." "I am?" "You said forever," I said. She smiled. Nodded. "Forever," she said. "You know, a good Mistress would kiss her sissy right about now." And she did. It felt as if it would last forever. (c) 2015 Cassandra Morgan