A Simple Routine free porn video

A SIMPLE ROUTINE by Throne Al Devonshire had a simple routine for indulging his crossdressing desires. His job often sent him to other cities. Sometimes he even volunteered for those assignments. They weren't difficult, just contract reviews that required a personal touch to reassure the wealthy clients that they were being taken care of. Being away from his home in the Midwest, and his wife Debbie, was perfect for his needs. His spouse was gorgeous but he certainly didn't want her to see him all femme. He would have the privacy of a hotel room to dress up, mince around, admire himself in the bathroom mirror, and stretch out on the bed while he played with his undersized but very sensitive penis. It was foolproof. Some of the other account managers had been relieved when he offered to take his current trip. The company he would be dealing with specialized in representing Black celebrities, especially hip hop stars. They had cleverly located their offices on the border of a depressed urban area. It showed solidarity with the community, but at the same time wasn't so deep in that territory that it made outsiders uncomfortable. To further show their unity with the neighborhood, they encouraged visitors to stay nearby so that they would be putting money into a Black community hotel. That was okay with Al. Sure he was small and slightly built, with blond hair and blue eyes, a real slice of white bread. But at the same time he didn't mind seeing lots of Black females, enjoying the natural curves and self assured attitudes that many of them had. Another reason he needed to be anonymous was a scenario he loved to play with in his head. The one that he thought of as involving not his real self, but only his female persona. It was his deepest secret that he sometimes imagined himself with men. Tall, capable, strong ones. Men who could grip him by his narrow shoulders, their powerful fingers digging into his soft flesh, so that he could not escape. Not that he would ever want that to really happen. Absolutely not. All that was strictly limited to what he saw online and what he dreamt about privately. He had arrived for his current assignment, in South Central LA, the night before. The hotel was decent but far from fancy. There had been a scheduled meeting that evening with the client's representative, a tall Black executive in a costly three-piece suit. Al had given him the standard treatment, mentioning several details about the account's past growth and voicing thoughts about its future potential. That showed he had done his homework and that he was aware of their possibilities. It made him look good and flattered them. The executive had been very receptive and agreed to keep Al's employers in their current role. Then, jet lagged and in need of a good meal, he had taken a cab to a better part of town, eaten, and returned to his room to turn in early. He didn't want to start his crossdressing until he was awake and energetic enough to really enjoy it. Al didn't want to have to return home too soon. He wanted as many hours in the hotel room as he could get to turn himself from Al to Alice and stay that way. So he had used another method that worked well, which was magnanimously offering to give a short presentation to other higher ups in their company the next morning. It could be casual and wouldn't take too long, he explained, but was terrific for inter-departmental relations because it made everyone feel included. The executive was very receptive and the meeting was scheduled. Al was relieved not only that they had taken the bait, but that they had accepted his preferred time of day. So the next morning he left his room early and took a taxi back to the building where they had their offices. Most of the employees were Black, though he noticed several attractive white secretaries and one Caucasian junior executive, a nerdy type who openly deferred to everyone else. Al's brief talk went smoothly. At the end he asked if there were any questions and several were asked, all of which he was easily able to answer. Afterward he mixed with the group, enjoying a few nibbles off a snack tray, along with a glass of champagne. Al was careful with the alcohol because his tolerance was minimal. One strong drink and he would be tipsy. He spotted the lone white male again. Three of the females, two Black and one white, had him crowded into a corner. One of them was holding up a Vienna sausage on a toothpick. She pointed to the short beef snack and then nodded at the guy and said something. All three females laughed. Al wondered what that had been about but didn't have time to find out. Soon he was back at his room, with the rest of the day to himself. This was when the real fun began. Another part of his routine was that he brought along a hundred dollars in cash, purchased everything he needed while he was there, and then tossed it all. No evidence. Not even any receipts. He had scouted the neighborhood when he was arriving from the airport. He told his taxi driver that he might need to pick up a few items later, got a recommendation from the man for the local 24 hour Malmart, and even had him drive past it. The place was only a few blocks from the hotel and Al decided it would attract less attention to walk there than to take such a short cab ride. He put on a baseball cap that he had brought along, figuring that if someone from the meetings drove past it would make him less recognizable. Then he started off, enjoying the mild afternoon, and was soon there. The place was in a shabby neighborhood. In fact, it was directly across from an adult video store that included an adult arcade. There was even a midday hooker out front, a tall Black girl in a halter top, mini-shorts, and leopard print shoes with tall boxy heels. Al was looking sideways at her as he headed for the department store's entrance. Not paying enough attention to where he was going, he nearly walked into one of the two security guards flanking the doors. They were hulking, tough looking Black guys. Al stopped short at the last second and looked up at the scowling face of the one blocking his path. Trying to sound casual, Al said, "Oh... um... sorry. I was just... er... a little lost." The guard told him, "You was just... duh... staring at that ho over there. Wasn't you?" "I... uh... maybe just a little." He smiled weakly. "What you said, boy." The guard didn't move so Al went around him, his nerves vibrating. He pulled the hat down further and walked along a few aisles, trying to work up the courage to go to the departments he had to visit to get what he needed. Prickles of shame ran up and down his arms. Usually he spent about 15 bucks on a costume wig, maybe 10 for panties, and probably 15 for a padded bra. Then there were stockings. Those tended to be opaque because, although he had very little body hair, there was still some on his legs. How he wished he could shave them. As Al explored the store, skirting the Women's departments, he saw that the place was not kept up at all. The customers had obviously handled merchandise and then not bothered to put it back where they'd found it. The staff, it seemed, was equally unconcerned about anything being in the right place. There were wrappers from snack foods and a can from an energy drink on the floor. As he went by the lingerie area he spotted three female employees who looked like they were in their early 20s. Two were sexy Black girls with full busts and even fuller bottoms. The third was white but had made an obvious effort to appear 'ghetto'. Her blond hair was in cornrows, tight to her scalp. She had on huge hoop earrings and way too much lipstick. Grabbing his attention even more was her figure, which was zaftig, her big round boobs unfettered by a bra, the rear seam of her jeans vanishing into her double-wide rump, separating her rotund buttocks. All three employees were dressed more for the street than for work, with T-shirts that bore names and pictures of rap acts, tight jeans, and running shoes. He moved further away, furtively peeping at them from between racks of men's clothing. The department they were in didn't require a trio of workers, so one or probably two of them must be from elsewhere in the store, congregating there to socialize. Al was considering going to a different store, even though that would cost him extra time, when a large hand settled firmly on his shoulder. He turned his head and saw that same security guard glowering at him. "Yo," the imposing Black man said. "What you doing scoping out our women? You want some Black pussy, go pay that tramp out front. How about you spend some green or else get the f*ck out." Al looked at him, wide eyed and slack jawed. "I... Yes, Sir. I was just going to buy some things. I was..." He hurried back from the men's department into the women's, moving on reflex and not thinking about how he might be revealing himself. Al picked up a short wig, one that was all platinum blond and red-gold, in streaks. Under the guard's critical stare he kept going, snatching up a six pack of panties, a lace trimmed bra, and stockings. He turned a corner into cosmetics and was confronted by one of the two Black salesgirls. She gave him a leering smile and said, "Shopping for your girlfriend?" "My... wife," he extemporized. "Sure you are, sweet meat. And you need to pick some make-up, too. Right?" "I..." Of course he had intended to do that, though not for Debbie. "Just a few items." "And I'm betting she got the same skin tone as you," she added insinuatingly. He didn't like the sound of that but said, "Actually, she does." "Mmm hmm. Nice and pale pink. Got it." She took him by the upper arm and steered him to the cosmetics counter, just as the other two girls were arriving. Al wanted to break away and flee but that monster of a security guard was still watching and the last thing Al wanted was to run afoul of him, maybe even end up having to talk to the police. So he just nodded and mumbled something about needing lipstick. The white girl sidled up alongside him, carrying a pair of lacy panties she had picked up on her way there. She held them out to him and, not sure what else he could do, he shifted his other items to one arm and took the panties. She held them up so that when he accepted them, they were right alongside his face. Too late he saw one of the Black girls holding her cell phone, and realized she had taken his picture. Everything he carried would be visible, with the panties especially prominent. His lips quivered and he wished he could drop everything, pull his cap down over his eyes, and skulk away. But the other Black girl was suddenly grabbing him by the hips. She said, "Them panties you got might be too small for you, honey." Her hands were moving all around, as if to try to calculate his measurements that way. She even squeezed his bottom a few times, totally distracting him. She put her hand under his chin, leaned in, and puckered her lips as if she was going to kiss him. The other one took another picture. Then the one who had patted him down to check his panty size left abruptly. The white girl got directly in front of him. She smirked nastily and said, "Now listen, pussy boy. We know exactly what you're doing. You need a wig and eye shade and all that lingerie so you can play dress-up. Right?" He wanted to deny it but, as confused and intimidated as he was he blurted out, "Yes. Sort of. I mean, not a... not... too much?" "Aw, baby, don't be shy. A shrimp like you, all cotton white and blond haired and blue eyed, you gone make one cute chick." She chuckled. "So maybe we better help you pick some more of what you got to have." "I... have to leave," he said unconvincingly. "Right now." "Sure, ghost face. Go on ahead. Without your wallet. And cell phone." "My?" He used the hand with one pair of panties to pat his pants pockets and found them empty. The one who had pawed his hips and bottom had lifted his wallet, phone and keys, including the card key for his room. He was without his money, credit cards, and ID. His eyes were welling up with tears as he begged, "Please. Give me my things back. I'll give you the cash. That's what you people want most." As soon as the words left his mouth he knew he had said the wrong thing. In a strained whisper he said, "I'm sorry. I was just upset. I shouldn't have..." "You shouldn't have insulted me and my people." It was the white girl speaking, which struck him as incongruous, but he was too stressed to think clearly. She reached into one of the display cases and took out a tube of lipstick. "This is called Magenta Madness. I've been meaning to try it but it's too damn expensive. You can treat me to it, kind of as a apology. And here's one for you, love lips, called Hot Mouth Pink. Hah. It's from the same brand, called Flash. But I'm sure you don't mind spending mo money. Not if it'll make stuff come out right in the end." Were they going to back off if he purchased a few tubes of lipstick -- or at least that first one -- for them? His racing heart slowed down slightly. Sure, that was it. He would spend some money on them and they would leave him alone. The security guard was probably in on their scam. Extort the cost of two or three items from a white customer who didn't belong there. He simply looked too middle class, that was all. No one was bothering other white shoppers, guys who were wearing black, sleeveless undershirts and camo pants, girls who had on crop tops and painted-on looking slacks. He told himself to just play along and this would all be over soon. His wallet and such would be back in his pants pocket and he'd walk away with it costing him only20 bucks or so. That was how it would work out. As if to prove him right, the girl with his wallet and stuff returned. He was waiting for her to give back his possessions but instead she just snorted derisively in his direction. Then, to the other girls, she suggested, "How about if we get snowdrop here prettied up so he can watch the shop for us? You know, while we take a nice long cigarette break." "Yeah," agreed the white girl. "That's what he wants anyway. To get pretty and have everyone see him." Before Al could object the three of them crowded around him and herded him along toward the changing rooms. One of the Black ones opened his wallet and took out the hundred bucks, plus another hundred he carried for purchases too small for a credit card. She grabbed all the items he had picked, what they had added, and went to a register to ring it all up. Then she returned with the remaining money, held it out to him and, when he reached for it, snatched it away and made show of stuffing it into her bra. They hustled him to a spot in front of the fitting rooms and told him to strip. He froze. "I can't do that," he squeaked. "Someone might look back here. Maybe if I went into one of the booths and closed the curtain..." "Nah," said the white girl. "Nobody'll probably bother to look and, if they do, they'll just see a pervert getting his kicks." She got her fingers under his watchband. "And this won't go with your new look, so I'll just take care of it for you." Al meekly accepted that. Maybe if he said something to her she would ease up on him. He could mention that he didn't think she was too heavy. That some guys would appreciate her heavy boobs and queen-sized ass. Black guys liked girls like that, didn't they? But then he decided that it would go over as poorly as his earlier reference to 'you people', so he remained silent as he unbuttoned his shirt. Soon he was bare from the waist up and they were chuckling over his soft chest and scarcity of body hair. He got out of his shoes and socks, then removed his pants. As Al stood there in just his jockey shorts he was squirming inside with unease. One of the Black girls looked at his crotch and said disbelievingly, "Damn, what's wrong down there? Are those tighty whities too tight? Cause they sure make it look like you ain't got no real junk between your legs. Take them off and prove you really got some meat." Blushing furiously, he lowered his shorts, to the accompaniment of female laughter. He stood there, humiliatingly naked, with his immature genitals exposed. One of the Black girls grabbed a tape measure and said she had to find out just how long -- or rather, short - - his dick was. She made him hold it out. When he tried to stretch it a little she slapped his forearm and told him not to pull on his pecker. "Holy crap," she exclaimed as she lined up the tape with his member. "Don't even make it to five inches. Like four and an almost. Jeez. I mean this is, like, super small." "Please," he whispered. "May I cover up now?" "Well I guess you can, sissy, cause you paid for them sexy panties." She handed him the lacy ones from that photo they took. He stepped into one side and then the other, pulled them up his slender legs, and felt their caress as they slid higher and then reached his bottom. He was told to tuck his male parts down and back. When that was done they made him face one of the nearby full-length mirrors and he saw that it looked like he had nothing more than a female mound down there. Al tried to find a hint of mercy in the eyes of at least one of them, but all he saw was malicious mischief. He was handed the bra and slipped it on. "Look how easy he do that. Must have done it plenty a times before." Then came the stockings, which meant sitting down to roll them up his legs. The familiar pleasant sensation of them against his skin was undercut by having an audience. Someone said, "The right guy get a look at this one, might offer him a quick twenty bucks for some head." "Yeah. Get that wig on her and she could be sucking bombs and making money." "Shee-it, we could pimp her out in some alley." Their words awoke in Al visions of himself on his knees, men standing in front of him. The formerly warm fantasy now had a chill of reality to it. As much as he enjoyed playing pretend in his mind, the possibility of it actually happening frightened him. And what if it was Black men? He had seen them online, manhandling TVs like himself, using them freely. His stomach tightened up at the thought of a huge Black cock being shoved toward his face. "But right now we got to get her wig on and give her some face paint." The garish wig was settled onto his scalp and pulled down snugly. They opened up cosmetics, colored his eyelids, thickened his lashes, highlighted his cheekbones, and outlined his mouth. Next came that Magenta Madness lipstick, which was applied generously. When they were done his mouth appeared to have grown two sizes bigger and his eyes were dramatically enhanced. They had made him look... trashy... whorish... available. "Now, girl, you can work in our place while we take a break. A long break. There's like six hours left on our shifts." His obvious discomfort made them chortle. "But we don't want you getting arrested for being all half undressed, so how about we get you into..." The white girl was speaking and she glanced around, then went and took a short bedroom robe off a mannequin. It was black, with golden dragons swirling over it, silky and diaphanous, with a narrow belt to tie it at the waist. "You put this on, sugar, and nobody going to notice how you a guy in panties and stuff." "And what you call yourself? You know, when you all dolled up?" "... Alice..." "Well, Alice, look what we borrowed from the camera department." It was a compact video camera, aimed at him. He was being recorded. From his wallet they took his driver's license and held it close to the camera so his photo would be clear, with his feminized self in the same shot. The girl holding it said, loudly enough to be heard by anyone nearby, and certainly by the sound camera, "This here is Mister Albert Devonshire, except that right now he's more like Alice D. Or I should say 'she' is. So stop by the women's departments and say hello to our new sissy salesclerk. She is so friendly." "We're going in the back now. If you need anything rung up, just press this button on the counter and one of us will come and help you. Otherwise, you're on your own, sister." "And you can put your robe on now." He donned the robe with mixed feelings, glad for any added covering but wishing they had at least let him choose for himself. As it was, he looked slightly less exposed but somehow felt more so. He was given a hard slap on his unprotected ass and then they strolled off. Al stood there, in that shameful outfit, without his money, credit cards, or ID, feeling utterly vulnerable. To add to his woes, the announcement from the girls had attracted unwanted attention. He spied a pair of guys heading toward him. They were tall and thin, with a swaggering, head- bopping walk. They had on black leather jackets and faded jeans, which he guesses was some new retro style in the Black community, or maybe just an eccentricity favored by these two. "Yo, sissy," one of them said without preamble. "I need some perfume shit for my bitch. You got some bitch perfume?" "Yeah," contributed the other. "And I got to have some heels for my squeeze. Some 'f*ck-me' shoes." Al reached over to take a sample bottle from the scents counter. He held it up and said uncertainly, "Um, this one is... good." It was an aerosol dispenser and he sniffed the spray exit. It was flowery and smelled cheap. "Would you like to... smell it?" "Sure, pansy ass. Spray some on your own white self." The luckless businessman aimed it at his wrist and, drawing his head backs slightly, shot the smallest amount he could on himself. The Black guy said that wasn't enough and had him spray more on his neck and then between his legs. Finally, the potential customer said, "Never mind. That shit stinks." The other one said, "But how about my shoes, pussy boy? For my woman. Let's go over to where the shoes are an you can model some for me." Al led them to the nearby women's shoe department, aware that they were right behind him and that his panty-clad bottom was halfway visible through the filmy robe, with the bottoms of his cheeks exposed below the short garment. When they got there the young Black guy's eyes went directly to the sluttiest shoe on display. Al read the stock number off it and went into the back room to fetch a pair. To his horror, the guys followed him in. He was alone with them in the cramped space. One got on either side of him, penning him in. "You sissies like to suck cock. Right?" "And stuff like rim a guy's ass." Al cringed between them. In a quavering voice he insisted, "I'm not gay. Honestly. It's just that these three girls, real viragos, made me do this and..." That was as far as he got. Suddenly the trio of female tormentors were crowding into the limited space. The white girl got right in front of him and said, "So you think we're a bunch of vaginas, huh?" "No," he whimpered, "the word I used was..." "Just shut up," she advised. One of the Black females looked at the two guys. "Hey, B-Truck. Yo, Chase. You two going to rape our sissy?" "Nah," said B-Truck. "Just having some fun with the boy bitch." "Yeah, but maybe I could just put my cock about halfway down his throat..." That triggered laugher from everyone but Al. The other Black girl suggested that the guys pull out their Johnsons so Alice could drool over all that meat. The males thought that was funny and promptly unzipped and pulled out their tube steaks. Al's eyes bulged. Even soft they were over six inches. The girls stepped in and gave that dark meat enough pumping to bring each one up to an impressive eight plus. The young women announced that Alice couldn't hit the six inch mark even when hard. In fact, they made sure to mention, he had trouble getting into the five range. One of the females held up the movie camera. Another suggested that the guys make Al grab their tools. "You heard her," B-Truck snarled. "Get your soft white hand on my crank." "Yeah," seconded Chase. "Get down on your knees, girl, so it look like you getting ready to use that pretty mouth on us." Al sank to the floor, facing the same direction as the guys. His hands came up slowly. He wrapped his fingers around those enviable pricks and held them. He was told to smile. The camera started to record his appalling humiliation. The white girl tugged up her top to give the Black guys a look at her big round boobs. They grinned and began to hump their hips, making their members slide back and forth between Al's curled fingers. The kneeling victim felt like his world had tilted off its axis and was spinning out of control. He wanted to scramble out of there, run away, and hide. But how could he, with no money or ID, not even his room key, and dressed the way he was? So he had to stay there while his image was recorded from several angles, the camera operator being careful not to video the Black males above the waist. There were also shots taken with his own cell phone. At last that portion of Al's ordeal was over. The Black guys made him put their cocks back in their pants for them, which wasn't easy with them being rigid and so long and thick. He had to undo their jeans, tuck them inside, and then zip and fasten each one again. By the time he was done he was quivering with fear and shame. The girls thought it was hilariously funny. As soon as the guys had gone, Al was put back to work, still a nervous shambles. He had to assist several more customers, including a tall Black man with a bad attitude who wanted a bra for his busty wife, an effeminate Latino fellow in his early twenties, who was openly flirtatious, and a middle- aged Black woman who needed a girdle and insisted she was several sizes smaller than she obviously was. When the shifts of the three girls eventually ended and they came out of the break room for the last time, Al's knees were knocking. They dragged him back to the changing area to give him a new look. First he had to strip down. Three new Black girls had arrived to take over on the sales floor, but they all ignored their work to laugh at him and make crude jokes about his helplessness and question his sexuality. "Lily white boy can't stand up to nice girls like you. What gone to happen when some leather-wearing fag-banger grab him and take him between a couple dumpsters? Guess a piece of sweet candy like this one gone enjoy it rough like that." As he was mocked, Al was also being given new clothes to wear. It was soon evident what the three mischief-minded girls were doing. His top was cropped just below his nipples and had no sleeves, it was black and across the chest, in swirling silver letters said SISTAH. The shorts were impossibly tiny, with a rear seam that pushed up between his buttocks, and they were made of camo material. Through their wide belt loops was passed a yellow plastic belt with tiger stripes. They were dressing him as a wanna be ghetto girl, much like the one of them who was white, except that the look was more authentic on her. Next came fishnet stockings to give him a whorish appearance, and then green, glittery shoes with square toes and two inch chunk heels. He had enough practice prancing around in shoes like that to be able to walk in them with a minimum of extra effort. They also touched up his face, adding liner around his eyes and extending it upward at their outer corners. His lipstick was reapplied with an intentionally sloppy hand, making it look like he had been using his mouth for something nasty. The girls even messed with his wig, using product and a brush to give it a disordered, just-fell-out-of-bed- after-a-wild-night look. They led him around the store so every person shopping there could get an eyeful. Some chuckled, others sneered, and a dainty Asian youth stared at him hungrily. When they got to the front door, that pair of security guards pinned him between them to pat his face and tug on his ears. Thoroughly shaken, he was walked out onto the early evening street. The foot traffic had changed. Now there were more nighttime people appearing, some of them disreputable types. Al was given a smack on the ass and told to start walking toward the end of the block. The girls dropped behind so that it appeared he was on his own. In those heels he had to take small steps, and found that he was rolling his bottom. His unmanly gait attracted more unwanted attention. Guys ran their eyes all over him, some with disapproval but others with lecherous interest. A few hookers scowled at him as possible competition. A van pulled up to the curb alongside him and two Black men evaluated him lasciviously. It was a long city block and by the time he got to the end he was quivering. His controllers signaled for him to cross to the other side and start back in the direction they had come. He went unhappily. Even the interior of the store had been better than this. Soon they were in front of the adult video and book store, with its arcade. Al tried to hurry past but one of the girls whistled to him and, when he looked back at her, she pointed for him to enter. They followed him in and he was appalled to find himself in the midst of leering porn consumers. The girls steered him toward the viewing booths. They spoke to one of the operators, who gave them a nod and a grin. He opened the entrance to the performance area in the middle of a circle of booths, then hollered something in to the two girls who were dancing. Al was pushed inside and the door shut behind him. He found himself there with two nude beauties, one Black and the other Latino. They came straight to him and took him by the arms, leading him to the center of the space, onto a slowly rotating, low platform . The pair danced around him, shaking their boobs in his direction and turning their backs to twerk at him. It would have been exciting except that he was feminized and there were curious faces staring from every one of the ring of windows. As the girls began to run their hands over him he heard the watchers laughing. Al turned one way and then another, but the girls stayed with him. One took his face between her hands and gave him an air kiss. The other got on her knees and played with the front of his shorts while pantomiming that she was giving him a blowjob. Too late he realized that she had opened his shorts and was tugging them downward. He tried to escape but the other dancer grabbed him from behind, her arms around him and her fingers diddling his nipples through that thin top. All at once the shorts dropped to his knees, hobbling him. The kneeling girl leaned back, pointed at his inadequate penis, and then held her thumb and forefinger about two inches apart. The standing one moved back, held up her pinky finger, and used her other hand to point at his crotch. The kneeling sex worker leaned toward him again to caress his thighs above the stockings and even massage his balls. They resumed teasing his body. Though he didn't want it to happen, his little dick got hard, revealing that even then it was laughably short and slender, with a tapering head. The kneeling girl feigned shock and disappointment. The guys behind the windows hooted and hollered encouragement. The girl with the extended pinky pretended to poke her pussy with it and then shook her head while frowning, indicating what a disappointment sex with Al would be. Then she went behind him again and pretended to jab her smallest finger into his bottom and pump it in and out. She smirked and gave a thumbs up, as if to say that this was what the sissy wanted. The dressed up businessman, stripped of his masculinity and dignity, could only stand there while the girls delighted in rubbing themselves up against him, using their bare bottoms to keep his tiny member hard. The top he wore was pushed up so they had better access to his receptive nipples. They got on either side of him and played with both his ears. Then they made him get down on his knees and kiss their feet repeatedly, followed by licking his way up their legs. He was given whispered instructions to 'make like you're eating my snatch' and, a few minutes later, 'do like you're munching my ass'. By the time his performance was over, nearly an hour after it had started, he was frazzled. With his shorts still at half mast, the nudes escorted him to the exit, to the accompaniment of wild cheers and insults. He tugged the short higher, but not enough to cover his undersized parts, and staggered out, right back into the arms of the three young women, who had been watching him through private viewports. They congratulated him on his success as a sissy slut. Then he was taken to the private booths, where they got permission to substitute him for one of the girls and hawk his availability. He finally got his short back up. One of the girls called out, "Come on, get a look at the sissy pervert. Tell him what you'd like to do to him. Show him your cock and check how much bigger it is than his tiny dick. Only twenty bucks for five minutes." Three guys lined up at once. They took two tens from the first and handed one to the girl Al had replaced. The guy got into the tight space provided, sat down, and whipped out a massive black cock. He ordered Al to yank down his shorts, which the helpless male had to do. Then, as the customer began to stroke his member into even greater dimensions, he started talking to Al. "Yo, punk. I had a cellmate looked a lot like you when I was inside. Had a baby kind of pecker like you, too. How about you be him and tell me what you could do for me, to keep me from smacking you around." Al's mind went automatically to his secret fantasies about being manhandled by guys. He tried to remind himself that those were things he didn't really want to happen, but the words came tumbling out in his seductive Alice voice. "Ohhh, your Black cock is so huge. I would kiss it and lick it and watch it grow. Then I would take the head in my mouth and suck it so slowly." What was he saying? Why was he inciting this former convict to want him? But he couldn't stop the flow of obscene talk. "Then I would get it into my throat. My deep throat." He went on and on, while his customer grinned and stroked. Al watched in horror as the guy grabbed a handful of bathroom tissue off the roller next to him, wadded it up, and used it to catch the spunk that blasted out of his tool. He held the mess out toward Al, who gaped at it through the Plexiglas. "Bet you'd love to lick this up and taste how salty it is." In a daze, Al managed to say, still sounding like Alice, "Yes, Sir. Yes. Sir." There were a half dozen other guys after that one. Each had his own fantasy to mentally play out with Al. One wanted to tie him up in elaborate bondage. Another saw him dressed in clinging latex. There was a spanker. A mutual wanker. One who wanted to dress him as a cheerleader. And finally an unshaven lout who identified himself as The Golden Shower King. By the time Al was released from the booth, he felt like he was losing his identity, or at least his male identity. And permanently dirtied. He was stunned and confused. The girls were seventy bucks richer, plus a few tips. As the girl who had vacated the booth got back in she fanned Al's face with her own paper money, gave him a broad wink, and said she had a few games she'd like to play with him, too. The three girls took Al to the front of the store, where there were plenty of sex toys for sale. One of them picked up a riding crop and playfully tapped his bottom with it. Another grabbed a butt plug and held it so close to his face that he went cross-eyed. She said he could try it on for size, if he wanted. The third one asked to see an item from the display case, which turned out to be a black strap-on. She held it up to her pelvis as if she was wearing it and asked him, "How about a foot-long, Alice? You can pretend it's your new Black boyfriend drilling you from behind. Wouldn't that be a thrill?" He tried to say something but couldn't even form words. His reaction convinced her that this was the perfect thing to buy. They produced one of his credit cards, had the dildo rung up, and made him sign for it. "Go on," she said loudly. "Sign your name, Albert Devonshire." She also announced his home city and state. "And dot the letter 'I' in your last name with a nice little heart, Awice," she finished, intentionally mispronouncing his female name to make even more sissyish. At long last they walked him out of the adult shop. One of them read the address of his hotel off the key card and said it wasn't far, and that she was sure he would enjoy the walk. Those sparkly shoes were making his legs and feet hurt. Against his will, he was marched down the street. It seemed like everybody they passed was on their way to the porn shop, and every one of them took note of Al, several making cutting comments about him. At the entrance to the hotel, the girls pushed him inside. The desk clerk saw them and Al hoped he might gain some reprieve, but the guy recognized one of the females and, after a brief pleasant exchange, they coaxed Al into the elevator and took him up to his floor. Once they were in the room, the girls had him strip again. The white girl with the cornrows took that dildo and slapped it against the palm of her hand. She asked him if he was ready for her to put it on and take his ass for a ride. He broke down crying, got on the floor on his belly, and implored her not to rape him. She laughed, which made her heavy boobs jiggle. "Don't worry," she told him. "You've been through enough already. We were just playing with you. Taking advantage of you being a sissy. Maybe I'll just keep this plaything as a souvenir." She tossed it casually aside. "Now why don't you get to bed? We're going to order ourselves some room service and party until dawn." He gratefully got out of the ghetto-style outfit they had made him wear. And the wig. He was even permitted to wash off his make-up. By the time he got out of the shower he had the next morning arranged in his head. He would get into his suit and grab a cab to the airport, fly home, pick his car up from the extended-stay lot, and drive home. His wife Debbie wouldn't suspect a thing. He could get back to life as usual. And as horny as he was after all the sexual stimulation he'd had, it would be relief to get into bed with her and release his pent up passion. The girls did, however, make him sleep in the panties, bra and stockings he had bought, which actually comforted him. In the morning he felt better. The girls stayed around until he was dressed and gave him back his wallet and phone and keys. They took the feminine items he had purchased, saying they would give them to some deserving hooker. The white gal said she was sure the dildo would get put to good use. He closed and locked his suitcase, then they all rode the elevator to the lobby. At the desk he checked his itemized bill and saw the girls had spent freely on food and drink. Well, he could say he had clients up to the room and the company would accept that explanation. The girls said goodbye as if they were friends, and not malicious vixens. He gave them a faint smile, relieved to be escaping from their clutches. The flight home went well. He made sure to erase the pictures they had taken on his phone. Before long he was at his house. It was still early and he could do his follow-up report on their home computer. But first he wanted to get together with Debbie. And by get together, he meant go to bed and have sex. He was pleased when she greeted him in a filmy nightie. She looked radiant and delighted to see him. The kiss they exchanged was more than warm and it ignited his libido. She told him to go to the bedroom and undress, that she would be right there. He was ecstatic. When she appeared, Debbie had a tall drink in her hand. He was stripped except for his jockey shorts. She turned out the lights, so that the room was romantically dim. He got out of his shorts, now that she couldn't get a good look at his meager penis, which he was always shy about. Debbie handed him the drink. He didn't really want it but was more concerned with maintaining the mood she had set. So he took a swallow, noticing how strong it was. Well, he told himself, at least it wasn't like when he was at that meeting and had to be careful with the champagne. So he took a second drink and then, with his wife's coaxing him, one more. To his surprise, the glass was mostly empty. His head began to buzz. Debbie hugged him, making sure to press herself against his member, reach down to fondle it, and get him hard. She quietly told him to lie on his back, and then got alongside him, propping herself up on one elbow. To his surprise, she took hold of his manhood and slowly stroked it, driving him crazy with arousal. "Oh, baby," she purred. "I'll bet you had a wonderful time on your business trip. Did you meet any interesting people? Like maybe some girls? Who worked in a store? Where you went to buy some girly things to wear? So you could play dirty dress-up games while you were away from me? So you could jerk off while looking like a queer? And probably wishing you had some guy there so you could suck his cock?" His dreamy mood evaporated. What was she talking about? Had she somehow guessed his shameful secret? He started to say something. She allowed him to blather on for a minute before she angrily cut him off. "Don't bother lying to me," she said, taking her phone from the bedside table and opening it. She pressed a few buttons and held it out to him. He was looking at himself, all made up, with a Black cock in each hand, a forced smile on his feminized face. "They also sent me some lovely videos. So don't try to deny that you're a perverted faggot." She was still stroking him. "Those girls sent me everything that they took with your phone, then called me and I gave them my web address, so they could send the rest , too." Despite her infuriated words, he was getting close to finishing. He needed it so badly. But he didn't want it to happen now, not while she was berating him. "So think about yourself in your panties and bra and slutty wig. I know that'll get you excited enough to lose control... Alice." She pumped him harder, several times in rapid succession, and suddenly he began to ejaculate. As soon as his cock twitched, she released it, so that even thought he was finishing, it wasn't satisfying. The first glob of spunk landed on his bare belly and she pushed him off the side of the bed. He hit the carpet hard and lay there on his back, as she sat up and threw her legs over the side of the mattress. Debbie glowered down at him. His wife fumed, "I should divorce you, you freak. You're nothing but a homo sissy jerkoff." She stood, her face a mask of fury. "But it might be more fitting if I keep you around and make you be Alice every minute that you're in this house. Of course, I don't want to have sex with some queer-bait, so the most you can hope for is that I'll let you play with your little pee wee. Which, by the way, has never been enough to get me off. Especially not when you finish almost as soon as you get inside." Debbie's expression radiated contempt. "So if you want to stay married, and not have those pictures and videos spread all around, I suggest you start doing exactly what I say without ever questioning any of it -- right now. Agreed?" He looked up at her, traumatized but still able to respond. The thought of anyone else seeing that incriminating evidence paralyzed him. He whispered, "Yes, Debbie. Whatever you want. Absolutely." "Fine. And one of the first things I'm going to do is call an old friend of mine from my single days. He's a real man with a real cock. And he knows how to use it. I've been missing that. Soon I'll be getting good sex again and you, if you're lucky, will earn enough of my mercy that I'll allow you to pull your miniature prick." She finally relaxed enough to laugh at him. "Around here you will walk and talk and behave like the pussy you are. At work you will have panties and stockings on under your office clothes. And maybe a tight panty girdle, too. And you'll always sit when you take a pee." Again, he told her, "Yes, Debbie." His voice was pure Alice. He envisioned himself having to dress and behave like his alter ego all the time while he was there. It was overwhelming. But there was no alternative. SIX WEEKS LATER. Debbie was all dressed up to go out. Her former lover who she was back with, Tony, was coming to pick her up. She had Al dressed in one of his new outfits. It was a baby doll nightie with matching panties, stay-up stockings, and fuzzy slippers, all in pale pink. His hair had grown some and was combed and teased and sprayed into a field of short points. He had on cosmetics, of course: heavy mascara, plenty of eye liner and shade, blush, lip liner, purple lipstick. His ears had been pierced and, as a reminder of his urban experience, he wore big, gold, hoop earrings. And then a Black girl showed up at their front door. She was a knockout, with short hair worn natural. Al had to meet her in full sissy mode. "Alice," Debbie said to her sissy husband. "This is Shawanna. She's a student out at the college. The sorority girls have found that they can make money and have fun being sissy sitters. So she'll be minding you all evening. I expect you to obey her every word, just like you do for me. Can you be a good girl for her?" He meekly answered, "Yes, I can. I'll be very good." Shawanna was amused by his pansy appearance and docile attitude. He wasn't her first. And Debbie had told her that he was straight, so the Black girl had made sure to wear a sexy get-up that showed off her generous curves. She licked her full lips and gave him a vicious grin. The sitter said, "I'm sure Alice will be on her best behavior. After all, she doesn't want me to have to take down her panties and give her a long... hard... spanking." Al swallowed with difficulty. That was something even his wife hadn't done to him. Debbie said, "Well, you two have a good time. I'll be out with Tony, getting properly laid. That man is hung like a horse, knows how to use what he's got, and can keep it up for an hour." "Whew," enthused Shawanna. "A one hour man. Not like Miss Sissy Missy here." "No, but I've been training Alice. She can play with her little dicky for that long, unless something gets her so excited that she shoots. But she knows she's not allowed to finish without permission, which would cost her some sort of indignity afterwards." "I see a lot of that, sissies not being permitted to get themselves off, on the job. Mind if I make her diddle herself for a while? Play with her nipples and like that?" "You wouldn't mind? That would be perfect. So long as my little Alice doesn't squirt. She's had to go without for... How long, Alice?" Al lowered his eyes in shame. "Two weeks, Ma'am." Debbie snickered. "I'm thinking of making her get in the jackknife position, on her back, bent double with her knees on either side of her head. That way her baby-size pecker will be aimed right at her mouth. I'll let her play with herself until she's ready to burst, and then she'll have to beg to be allowed to shoot right between her pretty lips." The Black girl threw back her head and laughed. "Well, I'll get her all primed for that. Sure would like to be here to see it." "Maybe you will," Debbie said. "This could be Alice's lucky night. But right now I hear Tony pulling up out front. I won't wait for him to come to the door. I'm too eager to get his monster cock inside me. So Alice, you be a perfect princess for Shawanna. And I'll see you later. Maybe Tony will come in to sleep over, like he did last time. And maybe you'll get to play with yourself, and even finish... with him and me and your sitter all watching you. I'll bet you can taste that semen already." She went out the door laughing softly to herself. The sitter gave Al a devilish look. It was going to be a long night for him. But at least he might get to finally empty his poor aching balls later. Even if he had to do it the way his wife described, it would still be a physical relief. Completely mortifying, but a relief. He was almost looking forward to the opportunity. As if he was beginning to respond positively to his submissive shameful role. How could that be? Had he changed so much since getting home from that fateful business trip? Since having his simple routine go so wrong? And how much more might he be changed in the weeks to come? The months? That was the scariest part. ********* (This story grew out of an outline supplied by the imagination of Devin Dickie. I had a lot of fun expanding on that and adding plenty of twisted details. If you like his 'bad' influence on me, check my earlier effort, SISSY STREET SCENE.)