Sissy Sister Husbands
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Shaming A Sissy Husband free porn video
SHAMING A SISSY HUSBAND by Throne
John was in the kitchen enjoying one of what he fancifully called his
'private pansy parties'. His wife Linda had left that morning for a
three day weekend visit with her sister, fifty miles away. He had taken
Friday off from his part-time job so he could, he told her, keep an eye
on the house. He didn't have to work more than three days a week anyway,
because of his substantial trust fund. And the job he did, managing some
accounts for his Uncle Fred's distributing company, was simple. The
customers he handled had been using Uncle Fred 's supplies for many years
and had no reason to look elsewhere. In fact, he could have done his
computer equivalent of being a paper pusher from the comfort of their
home, but he insisted on going to the office. That way he could visit
nearby towns on the sly and shop for the girly fashions he loved to wear.
Today he was fully in his female identity of Jemma. His body didn't have
any hair on it. He always told his wife that he felt more comfortable
that way, and had ever since he was on the swimming team during college.
She knew that he had never actually competed, being more of a glorified
equipment manager, which mostly consisted of making sure that the janitor
kept the locker room clean.
As Jemma he was wearing a red bra with breast forms sewn into it,
matching bikini-cut panties, a black garter belt and dark grey stockings.
He was a small man, slender, and his diminutive feet were in shiny purple
shoes with three inch spike heels. He'd had plenty of practice walking
in them, so it was easy for him to dance around the room to the music
playing through his headphones. He was listening to selected songs by
Queen B, as his favorite artist was nicknamed. John wiggled his shapely
butt and strutted around with his chin up, pretending he was a dancer in
one of her videos.
He paused to make sure his wig was straight. It was his only one, short
and blond, what's sometimes called a pixie cut. He wished he could have
more of them but the space he had for his secret wardrobe was limited.
There was also a walk-in closet for Linda's clothes. He loved to sneak
in there and admire her sexy outfits. She always looked terrific in
them, with her long limbs and nicely padded but not overly full curves.
John put his hands on the edge of the sink and twerked several times,
imagining a large audience watching him without suspecting he was really
a male.
That kind of illusion might even be possible, he told himself, since he
had gotten so accomplished at applying cosmetics. He picked up the hand
mirror he had brought with him and made a sultry face into it, eyes half
lidded, lips puckered. He loved the effect, which was supported by his
generous application of eye make-up, the shading that made it look like
his soft face had high cheekbones, and especially the full mouth he had
given himself with liner and then colored with crimson lipstick and
coated in gloss. He gave his reflection an air kiss, set down the
mirror, and resumed dancing.
His world at that moment was filled by the role he was playing. He
didn't even have to listen to the sounds of the outside world, of traffic
passing or his neighbor mowing the lawn. That was all canceled out by
the headphones and those insistent beats that had him undulating as he
held his faux boobs up from underneath and pictured adoring guys ogling
them. Not that he was gay or anything, he reminded himself. Sure, there
was a lot of forced bi in the stories he read on Story-Philia, by writers
like Thorn and ZZ. But he wasn't gay.
And then there was that story he had commissioned from his favorite
erotic artist, Dion Dinky. It was about a guy like himself with a
dominating wife and her hunky boyfriend. It was thrilling to see the
well rendered images of the cheating bride and her lover shaming and
controlling the crossdressing husband. But again, he told himself with
assurance, that was just fantasy and not something he would actually find
satisfying.
John continued his dance, writhing like a snake and licking his
fingertips suggestively. He had the music turned up loud enough that not
only didn't he hear the sounds from outdoors, but he also was deaf to the
front door opening and his wife softly calling his name. So it was a
heart-freezing shock to him when he did a particularly nimble spin, lip
synching the words to the current song, and found himself confronting his
bride, who wore a stunned expression. And there was some guy next to
her, an athletic specimen in a snug pocketless-tee and tight jeans.
The tranny husband stood there, swaying slightly, wishing he could vanish
and make Linda forget what she was seeing. He numbly removed his
headphones and shifted he feet, one arm across his fake breasts, mouth
hanging open.
John said, "I can explain," but it sounded less like a statement and more
like a question.
His wife exploded. "I can't believe this. My husband is some kind of
fairy faggot. You dress up and prance around our home like some kind
of... of... sissy hooker."
The guy alongside her smirked at John's embarrassment. The husband
squirmed and took a step backward, bumping into the kitchen counter. He
looked left and right as if there might be some route of escape.
In a tiny voice he asked, "Uh, what are you doing home? And... who is
he?"
She snapped back, "I'm the one who should be asking all the questions.
But just so you'll know -- freak -- my sister got the flu and cancelled
after I was already on the road. And this is Carl, who was supposed to
come by later in the week to give us an estimate on some kitchen
renovations. He was free today and when I called him he offered to come
now. But it looks like what I really need is an estimate on a new
husband."
John pressed his smooth thighs together. "You have to understand, honey.
This is just something l like to do. Only once in a while."
"Yeah," she said with a sneer. "Like every time you can get away with
it. Right?"
Too upset to think clearly, he lowered his eyes and confessed, "Well,
yes."
That was when Carl stepped forward. He put his hand comfortingly on
Linda's shoulder and told her, "Hey, some guys are just like this. You
know... perverts. They get their kicks by being fruity. And secretly
gay."
"No," John insisted in a panic. "I'm straight."
"Right," Linda said sarcastically. "You certainly LOOK straight, John."
Carl laughed. "You can hardly call him John." He gave the humiliated
husband a hard look and asked him, "What do you call yourself when you
get dressed up?"
"I... it's..." He hung his head. "Jemma."
"Well, Jemma," Carl said with his hand still on Linda's shoulder. "Why
don't you apologize to your lovely wife for keeping your dirty games a
secret. Hmm?"
"I... I'm sorry, Linda. Can you just forget this and we can go on like
before?"
She thought about what a dull partner he was in bed, with his small dick,
lack of style, and inability to last more than minutes before finishing.
And now this, with him looking like he should be swinging around a
stripper pole. Her mind worked fast, calculating the financial end of
matters, along with his ability to work from home. There was all sorts
of potential. And the idea of controlling him was strangely appealing to
her.
Instead of replying to her husband she turned to Carl and put her hand
over his, asking, "What do you think?"
"You know, you can give him another chance. But only on your terms. He
certainly owes you that, after the way he's been lying to you for, well,
I guess always."
"That's right," she agreed. "What do you think my terms should be?" She
gazed into Carl's eyes and ran the tip of her tongue over her lips.
He smiled at her in wordless understanding. "Well, I think that Jemma
here should have to dress this way all the time, at home, to remind her
of how naughty she's been. And she should have to do whatever you say,
without any backtalk. She should do the housework and, if she gives you
any sass, you should punish her. I mean, if she doesn't want you to dump
her."
That last statement hit John hard. He had never had much luck with women
when he was single. Now he was desperate to hold onto the woman who had
accepted him and made him feel like a real man. The confidence she had
given him had made it easier for him to have his double life as Jemma.
He hugged himself and whispered, "I can do all that, Linda. But, I mean,
you don't have to make me dress up all the time. And..."
She cut him off with, "Oh? Rewriting my rules already?"
"No, no, no," he insisted. "It's just that..." John ran out of words.
He didn't feel manly at all. He felt more like Jemma, except without
even the confidence he had always mentally assigned to her. "I'll do
whatever you say. Without fussing."
"That's more like it," she approved.
When Linda didn't seem to have anymore to say, Carl broke in with, "Maybe
you should test him. Make sure he's sincere. And do it while I'm still
here."
She gave the big man an appreciative smile. Her hands went out toward
him and he took them. She said, "I really appreciate this, Carl. I hope
I'll be able to find someway to thank you."
"Well," he said cheerily, "I wouldn't mind staying for dinner."
Linda grinned and told him, "That would be fine. And we even have a girl
to serve the meal."
They both chuckled, while John stood there blushing with shame. While
John was at his most vulnerable, Carl stepped up close to him. The
bigger man looked down at his victim.
Carl said, "So what are we going to do to test you... Jemma? I'm
guessing that you have a stash of sissy porn on the computer." Before
John could formulate an evasive answer, Carl barked, "Don't you?"
"Well," John whimpered, "kind of."
"Then let's have a look at it, girl."
They followed the mortified husband to the computer. John sat in front
of the screen. He already had it on and the last thing that he wanted
them to see, that story he'd had drawn for him by the talented Dion
Dicky, was displayed. It was the first page, with the title boldly
displayed. SUBJUGATED SISSY. They made him sit down and begin slowly
moving it from page to page while they looked over his shoulders and
marveled at the action they were seeing. The luckless husband, called
John in the story, got caught by his wife, Linda, while he was dressed.
A male friend of hers from work came over to console her and they united
to punish the sissy spouse for his dishonesty in hiding his secret life.
The scenes included him getting spanked, made to serve as their maid, and
being generally humiliated. Then it changed to the bedroom, where the
newly enamored couple hit the sheets together. The next page showed
them basking in post-coital bliss while the poor sissy, wearing a floppy
round cap with a short brim, sort of 'newsboy' style, had to assume the
role of shoeshine girl, polishing and buffy the shoes of the man who had
just made him a cuckold.
Carl and Linda were fascinated. They decided that maybe they would make
some of those scenes become reality. A chill ran down John's spine, and
it wasn't just because he was half naked. He pictured the two of them in
bed together and worried that he might never be able to regain his wife's
respect, or even his place in her sex life. The man and woman behind him
went to each other and embraced. They even kissed, taking their time and
savoring it.
Linda told Carl, "You know, my husband has a tiny dick just like the
sissy in his story."
"Well, I couldn't help but notice how small the bump is in the front of
his pretty panties. How did you ever end up with a dud like him?"
She bit her lips and looked at Carl coyly. "Well, when I was in college
I was kind of a bad girl. Jumping into bed with any guy who had a big
cock. Later I wanted to settle down with somebody stable and, despite
all his shortcomings, my husband was that."
They talked as if John wasn't in the room with them, hearing every word.
Linda continued with, "He's always been a disapointment in bed. I mean,
besides that baby prick of his, he has no technique and can't last past
about two minutes. Worse," she went on, warming to her topic, "he won't
even eat my pussy to make up for all his other failures in that
department. Says it's not manly."
"That's a hell of an excuse, coming from a total Nancy-boy like him. Or
her. So that'll have to be part of the wimp's test, too. If he wants to
stay with you, he has to get his tongue busy between your legs whenever
you say, as often as you want it."
"Sounds good. Except that I still won't get proper penetration," she
concluded significantly.
"I understand," Carl sympathized. "We can relax for a while and maybe
talk about that over dinner. You know, while Jemma here serves us."
"I'd like that. But right now let's have the wuss show us what else she
has stored away on-line. Probably uses this stuff for her jerk-off
sessions while she's wearing her pretty underthings."
Carl ran his large hands up and down her body. She pressed herself
firmly against him and sighed. He said, "Maybe we should make him give
us a demonstation of his self-abuse technique. As part of his test.
Unless ordering him around and making him disgrace himself is getting you
too hot. Sometimes telling a weakling like him what to do and watching
him do it can effect a woman that way."
"Well, I am feeling kind of... warm."
He brushed his lips over hers, moved his hands lower, and cupped her ass
cheeks. "So there's one more thing for us to chat about over dinner.
It's going to be an interesting meal."
John was shifting his bottom nervously on his chair. When Carl told him
to show them what else he was hiding on the computer, and to make sure it
wasn't something tame, but the nastiest material he had in his cache of
smut, the sissy husband sniffled audibly. He went to Story-Philia and
found a recent piece of fiction by Thorn. He admitted that it was
something he had read several times. The interested pair, eager to find
even more to inspire their mistreatment of the hapless husband, decided
they should sit on the couch behind him and listen while he read it out
loud. John cringed and licked his lips, tasting lipstick and gloss. He
adjusted his bra straps, making those fake breasts shift around
convincingly. He fidgeted with his wig. But then his wife muttered
something about how he was stalling. So John had to begin reading the
sordid tale entitled SISSY'S BIG COMEDOWN. Here are some of the
highlights. And keep in mind that unfortunate John was speaking these
words while having to use his best, breathiest, Jemma voice.
Miracle
- 02.02.2022
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