Chrissie The Saga of a Lovestruck Sissy Maid
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Chrissie Falls Into Tracie's Trap - Chapter 11 free porn video
Chapter 11
Chrissie falls into Tracie's trap
The day went like the previous days since I had begun working at Derek's
brothel in Mayfair, except for the fact that I had a very erotic
interlude with mommy after she had been screwed by her first client. All
of the men who had booked me took me hard from behind which was exactly
what I needed. My body was on fire from the oestrogen dose I had been
given last night. Every man who was lucky enough to see me today got far
more than they expected. I sucked their cocks and balls with an
enthusiasm no real woman was capable of. I was so turned on I rimmed a
few clients, something no other hooker would do. When I had teased them
to the point they couldn't take it anymore I turned around on hands and
knees and reached down beneath me and guided their cocks inside me and
moaned with unabashed pleasure each time they thrust themselves deep in
me. I was experiencing hot hormonal rushes all throughout the morning and
afternoon. I didn't care that the men didn't even bother to proffer their
names or introduce themselves nor thanked me when they left. What
mattered was that they got what they wanted and would be coming back
again soon for more.
It was mid-afternoon when I walked into my assigned room after going to
the bathroom to clean the lube and cum that leaked continuously from my
love hole. The bow on the door indicated that the sheets had been changed
by the maids and my umpteenth client of the day was waiting for me. I
stepped in the room and gave a smile and hopped on the bed, as I always
did. I kicked off my heels and tucked my legs under and sat at my new
client's side and lifted the sheet to reveal a fairly respectable limp
cock, taking it in my hands all the while trying to appear innocently
curious. I could pull that act off pretty easily. I looked almost like an
attractive suburban housewife in my street attire and, even just wearing
stockings, heels, a suspender belt and a lacy bra, I still appeared like
an ing?nue. I am more of a Taylor Swift type than a Kim Kardashian. It
helps that I am more petite than most women, very slim but with a nice
figure and newly improved 34B breasts. I am naturally blonde and keep my
hair at shoulder length and I know how to perfectly apply makeup. I look
younger than 30 years old and I'm always asked for identification when I
buy wine at the shops. Nobody who hasn't seen my tiny penis and shrunken
testicles would believe I was anything but a woman.
I know that the hormonal rushes were bringing colour to my face and
making me glow. Tracie, a nurse at the clinic that Helen, my doctor and
mistress works at, gave me a massive dose of oestrogen last night after I
paid her ?200 in the back rubbish area of Helen's apartment building. It
was transaction I had no desire for Helen to find out about, because she
thought she had me totally under her control by doling out a weekly dose
of her choosing. The doses she gives me wear off after four days leaving
me feeling flat and craving my next shot. Control means everything to
Helen. She took over after my wife dumped me and she was the one who
chose Derek, the owner of the brothel I work in, to be my pimp. Helen
crafted me into what I am today. I was once a real married man, albeit
one who was cuckolded and walked over by his taller blonde wife.
After two years of marriage and unheeded complaints to my wife about the
constant embarrassment she caused me by her blatant promiscuity, she
introduced me to her friend and doctor, Helen, who listened to me for ten
minutes before leaving the examining room and coming back with two rather
large hypodermic needles. I was told to lower my trousers and underwear
and bend over, which I did without even asking her what she was shooting
inside me.
The shots worked to my wife's benefit perfectly. One of the injections
temporarily chemically castrated me, pushing all thoughts of sex out of
my head, and the other shot began to turn me into the sissy I am today.
The two worked in tandem with each. By castrating me she cut off most of
my natural production of the male hormone testosterone. The let the
oestrogen she pumped into flood through my body unheeded and hastened the
transformation I underwent.
I no longer complained to my wife about her lovers and instead became a
sounding board when she spoke about the lack of respect some men had for
her. I was so docile I didn't even care when men sniggered at me when I
walked arm in arm with her. I proudly took her to the same pub where she
drunkenly pulled a train with six men in the back room only a week before
and ignored the contemptuous looks of the patrons who witnessed it. Her
lovers got so brazen they came by our house while I was there and took
her to our upstairs bedroom for sex or even enjoyed a blow job while I
was placidly sitting in the same room. When my wife would ask me to make
coffee or tea for the man whose cock she had just sucked I would
willingly get up and do it, not expecting any thanks. I accepted that
they were my betters and deserved the pleasures my wife provided them.
Meanwhile, the female hormones began to work their magic on me.
Physically, I adopted an androgynous look at first. I began to discard my
masculine tendencies, crossing my legs at the knee instead of the ankle,
becoming more demure as each day passed and blushing when I was stared
at. It just seemed natural to let my hair grow out, pluck my eyebrows,
shave my legs and underarms and throw my boxer shorts out and start
wearing my wife's discarded knickers. I eventually needed breast implants
but from the start my breasts puffed up and my nipples grew and poked
out, becoming the most sensitive part of my body. My prick and balls
shrunk to nothing but I was beyond caring about that. The rest of my
body changed too. My hips filled out, my waist tightened and I no longer
needed to shave my face. I watched my diet and slimmed down to a UK size
8 and began shopping in the women's section of department stores. Instead
of men's shoes I began to buy and wear feminine flats. Two big thresholds
were crossed when I got my first pedicure and painted my toenails a deep
red and I discarded my masculine wedding ring and replaced it with a more
feminine version.
The mental changes were more significant. I became more emotional,
sensitive and subservient. It was easy to fall back into the role in life
I had with mommy who never had to lift a finger once she began to
feminise me. I took care of everything in the house, did the laundry and
ironing and basically took care of my wife just as well as any woman
would take care of their husband. The role reversal in our marriage
seemed perfectly natural. She is, after all, a beautiful woman with
sexual needs I can never fulfil. I allowed her the freedom to explore
life to the fullest whilst maintaining a household and providing an
income that gave her the security every woman deserves.
It took three years for me to be at the point where I enjoy wearing
heels, dresses and skirts in public and like the admiring glances I get
when I walk down the street. Now I am the only t-girl whore in what is
one of the most exclusive brothels in London. As of today my mother is
getting banged by a dozen or so men in her first day on the job in the
same house I work in, once again for Helen's sole financial gain. I am
far prouder of myself in my new identity than I was of the man I once
was, and I'm equally pleased that mommy is back in my life.
My manicured hands were bringing life to my new client's cock and I was
just about to lower my lips on it when he interrupted me and introduced
himself as Luke. I just looked up briefly, smiled in acknowledgement and
went down on him first taking each testicle in my mouth and sucking them
gently. As his cock grew while I licked and sucked it I could see that it
was just the right size to give me pleasure without stretching me too
much. Luke oozed confidence, as most well endowed men do. He is
circumcised, which I also like although there is a nasty pleasure in
pulling back the foreskin and licking the helmet of an uncircumcised man.
With the oestrogen rushing through my body in wave after wave all I
wanted was that feeling of absolute submission which every man had
expertly provided me so far today. I didn't really feel like having a
conversation. It's easy being a prostitute. All you have to do is give a
quick wipe after one man has gone and then see your next client and
submit to their will. It's the laziest way in the world to make a living.
No thought is required. Even though it was only my third day working in
Derek's brothel I was in the rhythm. It felt natural to me and Luke was
the first one who actually threw me off my game.
Men don't fall for t-girls nor do they even pretend they are anything
more than a sexual kink they explore occasionally. There's no real reason
for a straight man who is exploring a niche sexual need to even strike up
a conversation with the facsimile of a woman he is about to fuck. I am
realistic about that and, anyway, my sexuality is conflicted, to say the
least. My affair with my mother began when I was 13 and my first sexual
experience was what most men would consider to be the ultimate
humiliation, but only felt like the most natural form of adoration to me
in the world. Instead of doing what any red blooded teenage boy would do,
I didn't take what was offered to me to seal my silence and assure I
never betrayed mommy to my cuckolded father after I saw one his brothers
mounting her and listened as she begged him to fuck her harder. Instead
of taking sloppy seconds, I buried my head in mommy's pussy after she had
been freshly fucked and licked up the semen and her love juices,
eventually bringing my tongue up to her clit and bringing her to a
climax.
That was not a one-off with mommy. I did it again and again. When my
cuckolded father died I did eventually make love to mommy but the dye had
been cast in our relationship at that point. In her eyes and, more
importantly, in mine, I was never going to be the sort of alpha male
mommy was ultimately drawn to. We had the most bizarre relationship any
child and mother could have, but it was something we both revelled in. I
was the submissive son who catered to her every need. I became a young
housewife, dressing in her clothes and cooking her meals. We were both
the same petite size and, when we were alone together in the house, it
felt most natural for me to wear her skirts and blouses. I encouraged her
to perform the most degrading acts on me. After she overcame her initial
reluctance she began to enjoy the sight of me drinking her morning pee
and licking her beautiful rosebud clean after she had emptied herself.
She would flush with sexual desire after using the riding crop I had
bought her on my ass, bringing up streaks of red welts that made it hard
for me to sit down afterwards. She began the process of my feminisation
that lasted till I was 25. Helen restarted it two years ago when I was
just 27, this time with a little chemical help. My failed experiment as a
real man in the world only lasted less than two years.
The truth is I love submission and get off on my own degradation, mostly
at the hands of a woman and, to a lesser extent, a man. My mother brought
that out in me. The easiest way I can explain my sexuality is that I get
unbelievable thrills when I am taken by a man but complete submission to
a woman brings me ultimate satisfaction. My 12 year incestuous affair was
ended only by a sexual identity crisis on my part which I mistakenly
tried to resolve by marrying a South African woman who inherently knew
from the start that she could walk all over me. Now my mother is back in
my life and we are playing the game again by the same twisted rules, but
this time I feel no guilt or conflict in my submission to her. That need
in me has been ramped up by the oestrogen Helen began pumping into my
system three years ago. The hormones have almost as big a psychological
effect as a physical one. I am completely and utterly addicted to them
and the person who controls my intake of them controls me completely.
That's why it was perfectly natural for me to surrender myself to Helen
after she told me my wife was pregnant and leaving me for another man. I
didn't flinch when she decided to whore me out to Derek nor did I mind
that she solely benefits from the money the men pay to enjoy me. The most
important thing in my life is the weekly hormone shot she gives me.
That's what I live for.
Tracie, who gave me my first illicit dose of oestrogen last night,
despises Helen for some unknown reason and I suspect she fully realises
her potential power over me, because she has access to the same hormones
as Helen. I stupidly told her that I am now working as a t-girl
prostitute and she probably figured out that it was for Helen's financial
benefit alone. She saw me last night in the cheap black maid's dress that
Helen has me wear when I come home from the brothel. She sneered at me
when she saw my name was embroidered in white thread above the left
breast of the short smock.
Tracie doesn't have the same charisma, presence or beauty that mommy,
Helen or my wife has, but she is attractive in her own way. She's got a
calculating and devious look about her that's a bit off-putting, but
she's pretty and sexy in a trailer trash sort of way. Dyed blonde hair
with roots showing, a bit too skinny and only an inch or so taller than
me and I'm 5'5" in stockings. To compensate for her height she wears
heels that a bit too high and cheap jeans that are too tight. In a sexual
way, she looks dirty. She's the kind of woman a man wouldn't consider
fucking unless they wore a condom or two. Nevertheless, she seems to have
ideas above her station and I think her intent is to take control of me
away from Helen, which would be a significant step down for me. She has
one thing in her favour, though. I think she understands my addiction
better than anyone else and she could provide me with as much of what I
want or more.
An addict would sell almost anyone out to feed their addiction. Short of
betraying my mother, that truth holds true for me. The pleasure I am
experiencing today is only the result of the hypodermic needle that
Tracie stuck in my ass last night.
I was lost in a hormonal rush when Luke interrupted my ministrations on
his cock once again. I was so deep in the pleasure zone his voice barely
registered in my mind at first.
"You suck cock like you were born to do it," Luke said in a husky voice.
"Now get up here and turn over so I can fuck you like the sissy you are."
I was almost dumbfounded that he spoke to me. My other clients were
silent and took control without needing to give me instructions and they
didn't mention my ambivalent sexuality. It would conflict too greatly
with their heterosexual identity. Luke was the first man I had been with
who seemed unabashed by desiring someone who wasn't genetically born a
woman.
"I'm going to fuck you like a sissy bitch deserves to be fucked," he said
as he drew me up and used his strong arms to flip me over on my stomach.
"Lift your ass and spread your cheeks and get ready for my cock."
I did as I was instructed. Without the support of my arms I just fell
face first into the pillows. It was the sexual position I was most used
to. I felt his cockhead probe around the rim of my hole before entering
me and then a hormonal rush overtook my body and I writhed in pleasure as
he put his entire manhood inside me.
I almost lost consciousness as he rode me. I couldn't resist surrendering
to his command and the harsh slaps he administered to my ass only made me
crave more. Our bodies were both drenched in sweat when he gave a final
grunt and push and emptied his heavy balls into me.
Little shudders ran through my body as I could hear Luke dressing in the
background as my face remained buried in the pillow and the throbs of the
hot rushes began to abate. Instead of throwing a couple of ?20 notes on
the bed and leaving like every other man did, he sat next to me, fully
dressed and touched my face, as if to awake me. I turned my head and
opened my eyes and stared up at him.
"If you want every day to be like today, then you better think about your
future," he said. "You are one hot bitch and a great cocksucker. Helen
did a fine job on you but now it's time to move on."
"What are you talking about?" I asked, suddenly coming to my senses and
overcome by a sense of dread. "Who are you and why do you know about
Helen?"
"Tracie tracked you down and sent me over to sample your wares," Luke
said, taking a smart phone out and snapping a picture of me. "I left you
a slip of paper on the dresser with an address on it. Meet Tracie there
on Saturday at noon. If you are going to be whored out then you at least
deserve to be shot up every day with a good dose of sissy juice. Helen
has you strung out like a junkie. That's how she controls you. Tracie
will drill some love juice in your ass every night and every day you'll
be a cock hungry whore just like you are today."
Luke stood up and gave me a long look, studying my nude body as if I were
some sort of specimen. I could see him looking lustfully at me and felt
both embarrassed but proud that he found me attractive.
"Once Tracie takes over then I'm not going to have to pay to fuck your
fine ass," Luke said, reaching into his pocket and taking out a pink ?50
note and tossing it on the bed. "I'll still tip you for the privilege,
though. You and I are going to be the best of fuck buddies."
With that he left the room, and conflicting notions began to swirl in my
brain. I had to deal with all the consequences that were coming my way,
not least the situation between mommy and me, but the thought of getting
a daily dose of what I needed made me begin to consider an alternative
future. To a junkie the next fix is the only thing that is important in
life and it doesn't matter who the dealer is who provides the drugs.
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