Pansy Husband Gets Punished free porn video

PANSY HUSBAND GETS PUNISHED by Throne "Ronnie, please come in here," Marla called from what had formerly been her husband's man cave. Now the room was her space, with comfortable furniture and stylish d?cor, one wall dominated by a long painting of a seraglio, with harem girls occupied in various tasks. The only reminder that this had once been his personal retreat was a glazed ceramic figurine of a nude woman, a forearm and a hand strategically placed to provide her with a minimum of modesty. In the past it had been a declaration of his male entitlement. Now it was a reminder of how much he had lost. His wife summoned him again and he was surprised to hear her once more using his male name. That was a rarity when the two of them were home alone. As he hurried to leave the bedroom, he stopped for a second to check himself in the full length mirror near the door. Ron was a short man with a trim but undeveloped physique. He had a soft face and blond hair that was thick and unruly. As unexceptional as all of that was, the rest of his appearance was remarkable. His features had been highlighted with cosmetics. Slim eyebrows darkened, blue eyes outlined and their lids lightly shaded aquamarine, cheeks touched with rouge, lips colored with deep red lipstick that had the newly popular matte finish. His earlobes bore stud earrings. Everywhere there might have been body hair there was none. He wore a sleeveless, midriff-baring top made of three tiers of ruffles. Riding low on his waist was a tiny skirt, similarly constructed. The two garments were made from fabric with inch-wide, horizontal, rainbow-colored stripes. His smooth legs were encased in pale pink stockings and on his feet were slip-ons that were a darker shade of the same color. He was naked under the skirt. How he looked upset him. His wife had begun making him over this way about a year ago, after she discovered the affair he was having. Actually, it was more like he was attempting to have it. He had been pursuing a buxom redhead for months without getting past the kissing stage, despite the expensive gifts he gave her and the cash he readily loaned her. It made no sense that he was failing, but a combination of obsession for the sexy woman, and uncertainty about his male assets, kept him trying. Ron had good reasons to doubt himself. Along with his short stature and unmuscular form, he was cursed with a tiny penis and haunted by a history of premature ejaculation. His efforts to have an affair were intended as an ego booster but their lack of results had the opposite effect. The woman he was after drained money from him while leaving his testicles untapped. His confidence had dwindled. Worse than all that, his wife had grown suspicious, hired a detective to check on him, and ended up with enough evidence to win three divorce trials. When confronted, Ron had broken down and agreed to do anything Marla said to prevent being ruined and left alone. She had surprised him by making only small demands. At first it was having him remove his body hair. Then she provided him with thongs instead of boxers or jockey shorts. Soon the thongs were exchanged for panties and she had insisted that he have his eyebrows thinned and both ears pierced. Before much longer he was wearing light make-up at home. During that entire period she had increasingly run his life, made him do housework, and had him speak in a soft voice. Those requirements were soon joined by making him use girly body language. Because she did all this gradually, while holding the threat of a financially disastrous separation over him, he was helplessly robbed of his masculinity. Now, as he entered the room he found her on the couch holding a mixed drink in a tall narrow glass, with a stirrer in it. Marla had on a crisp white blouse and tight fitting black slacks, along with red stilettos. She smiled sweetly and patted a spot next to her. Ron couldn't help but admire his wife's beautiful face and trim figure. He tried not to ogle her bust, which was overly full in relation to the rest of her. It was difficult for him not to think about sex because, along with all the other changes she had made in his life, she had also altered their physical relationship. Previously they had shared sex once or twice a week, with foreplay that consisted mainly of him fondling her boobs and sucking her nipples, and intercourse that was over almost before it began, due to his inability to delay his orgasms. After his unsuccessful affair, Marla rewrote the rules. There was plenty of foreplay, but all of it consisted of him massaging her body and even rubbing her feet. The main act was changed from penetration that failed to provide her with climaxes, to him using his mouth on her pussy, which guaranteed multiple finishes for her. His own satisfaction was limited to shameful hand- jobs, which she gave him while mocking his undersized endowment and reminding him that he was the cause of his own problems. Ron sat obediently, still wondering why she had used his old name, rather than calling him Veronica as he usually did. She removed the stirrer from her drink and took a sip before setting the glass on the coffee table in front of them. How many times had he wiped the table's surface and polished its dark wood? How often had he cleaned this entire room and been insulted by having to dust the nude figure which was formerly a symbol of his independence in this space, and of his right to express his testosterone-fueled needs? Now he was almost always frustrated, his balls sore, and had even come to look forward to occasionally being granted a brief session with her hand, deeply mortifying though that was. "I've been thinking," Marla began. "Maybe you've gone through enough to have finally learned your lesson. We might be able to go back to the way our lives used to be." He almost blurted out something about them resuming regular sex. Even though she had revealed that he had never given her an orgasm with intercourse, he still had the hope of reestablishing normalcy in bed. But the last thing he needed to do was remind her of how selfish he could be, and how overly focused on his own desire. After all, those traits were what had led to his unconsummated affair. So instead of saying what he honestly felt, he answered in his wispy Veronica voice, "I'd like that, dear. And I'd try very hard to be the husband you deserve." "I'm glad to hear you say that, Ron. But I want to be sure before I make a final decision. The thing is, because you're at work five days a week, I need to have you swear that you haven't done anything to betray the trust I've built up for you. And you need to be absolutely honest, Ron. You know I could never tolerate any lies, not after what you did to me before." He wanted to remind her that the affair had never led to actual sex, but that was as humiliating to him as it would be irrelevant to her. No, he just needed to reassure her. And he felt safe doing that. After all, how could she know anything about the flirting he had been carrying on with his secretary Denise, who resembled his wife so much, except for her auburn hair? That had been the one part of his life that allowed him to cling to what was left of his male ego. The way he patted his underling's bottom. How he hugged her from behind with his crotch against her posterior, and his arms directly under her full bust. Ron had tried to steal kisses from her but she would simply offer him the palm of her hand, which he would press his lips against. There was also what he said to her. Ron got a thrill from making suggestive comments to the eye-catching young woman. He liked to joke that they were having an affair. Ask her where she wanted to be taken for dinner. Tell her about the lingerie he would buy for her and how she could model it for him. It was a fantasy, but one he hoped to make a reality. The e-mails he sent were even more extreme. If he could just be intimate with her, even once, it would restore his lost self-esteem. Everything that Marla had taken from him by recreating him as Veronica and altering their sex life, could be restored if he just got Denise into bed one time. Or coaxed her to let him lock his office door so she could give him a blowjob. Anything. Those thoughts got him aroused. He had often wanted to slip away to the men's room, hide in one of the stalls, and tug himself off. But another fact of his sexual personality was that, once he came, he wasn't able to perform again for about 48 hours. So if he satisfied himself that way, and he got home to find that Marla was ready to grant him a quick jerk-off, he wouldn't be able to perform again so soon. He had denied himself that solution and endured the agony of blue balls. Feeling confident, he answered Marla's question by saying, "I swear to you that I haven't done anything bad. Not even once. You've taught me a lesson that I'll never forget. I only want our lives to be like they were before." He tugged down on his skimpy top, which had a tendency to ride up. To make her feel empowered, he added, "But the decision is up to you." "I want to believe you, Ron. It's just that, if you had done anything that conflicted with our marriage vows, it would hurt me so much. So I need you to think about it again, and tell me if there was anything, no matter how minor, that you did even though you knew you shouldn't have. Your honesty means everything to me, so please be sure." Caught up in what he saw as his imminent success, he smiled and said, barely able to maintain the low volume of his voice, "I swear on everything I own that I haven't done one thing to disrespect you or our vows. Trust me, Marla. I will never lie to you again. Ever." "Thank you, Ron. I guess that tells me all I need to know." She seemed to remember some minor point and held up her index finger. "There is one little detail I neglected to mention." "Certainly, honey." His voice had gotten slightly louder. That felt so good. She picked up her drink, then took the stirrer and used it to tap several times on glass. Ron was trying to understand why she was making that sound and what the unspoken detail might be, when he heard footsteps in the hallway. He turned his head toward the door and was paralyzed with shock as Denise entered the room. She had on a charcoal sweater and designer jeans that funneled into mid-calf length boots of oxblood leather. Ron's legs went weak. His voice failed him. Denise gave him a predatory smile and said, "Gee, Ron. I can't believe you forgot everything that went on between us. But just to refresh your memory I printed out a dozen of those naughty e-mails you sent from your computer to mine. And got a friend in security to make 8X10s of images from their cameras. It's fascinating how many times you hugged me. There's even one where your fingers are brushing my tit, which must have been a big treat for you. It won't be so much fun, though, if I hand all that evidence over to the company and file a big fat complaint of sexual harassment." "But... I thought you liked me." "I tolerated you. And got in touch with your wife. And am now in a position to destroy you. Unless, of course, you very sweetly apologize... and agree to continue living as Veronica at home. Along with following some new arrangements at work. When we're alone in your office I'll check to see which pair of pretty panties you have on every morning. You'll be calling me 'Ma'am', making the coffee, maybe painting my toenails. And kneeling behind me so you can get your head under my skirt and kiss... my... ass. Plus whatever else I tell you to do. Right?" He couldn't speak for half a minute. The hopelessness of his situation became clear. He lowered his eyes and nodded. "Yes. Whatever you say. Both of you." His voice had soften back to the Veronica level. Marla told him to keep speaking that way and to make it higher, too. She snapped her fingers and gestured for him to stand up. He rose and Denise took his place. The two women hugged briefly. Marla told Ron that there was more of what she was drinking in the kitchen, and that he should scurry off and fetch a drink for his secretary. "After all," she pointed out, "she and I have something to toast. And then the three of us will share a nice meal. Well, nice for two of us." She chuckled. "Now hurry up, Veronica. Get your pretty ass moving." Ron left the room holding down his tiny skirt, fearful because he was wearing nothing under it and Denise might see his bottom and privates. He found the blender half full of whatever concoction Marla had mixed, poured a glass for Denise and took it to her. Marla was on the phone ordering Chinese take-out. Of course she didn't ask him what he wanted. She never did any more. Not unless it was so she could be sure to get him something else instead. It would be about a half hour before it was delivered and she advised her husband to go and get changed into something else equally revealing and girly. "And no panties this time either," she ordered. Denise said, "He doesn't have anything on under that itsy bitsy skirt right now?" "Nope," Marla confirmed. To her spouse she said, "Show her, Veronica. First in back and then in front." He blushed furiously as he turned away from them and raised the skirt behind. Denise commented on how funny it was to see a guy whose body hair was all gone. Then he faced them and got hold of the hem in front. Wishing he could run away and hide instead, he still did as he was told and raised the garment in that more sensitive area. Denise gasped and then laughed out loud. "Whoa," exclaimed the secretary. "He doesn't have much down there. And it's bald like the rest of him from the eyebrows down. What a laugh." "His dick is hilarious. Also worthless. That's why, ever since I caught him cheating on me, or trying to, I changed the bedroom rules. Since then he can only use his mouth on me. It's not a bad arrangement. And I occasionally give him a pity hand-job. But now, because of the way he went after you, I'll have to end those. He can do his own yanking." She waved him away and, still red-faced, he slinked off to the bedroom. Ron went to his stash of female clothing to select something. He figured that, if he made it any more modest than what he had on, that would cost him trouble. So, as much as he would have preferred to spend the rest of his time with Denise in a robe or something similar, that wasn't an option. He sighed and began to make his choices. First came a belly shirt. It was orange and written across the chest was SQUEEZE ME. The fit was so tight that his nipples made slight bumps in the fabric. Then came a micro-miniskirt that barely hid his boy bits. It was pleated and was covered with splotches of loud colors. There were fishnet stocking with tight mesh. He picked those because Marla knew he especially hated them. It was one more way for him to demonstrate that he was being submissive. Finally came a pair of open-toe shoes with two- inch, blocky heels. They were bedazzled all over with cheap plastic jewels. His wife had found them in a thrift store and chortled when she presented them to him. He checked himself in the long mirror and blushed. Ron adjusted the hem of the tiny skirt downward but it made no lasting improvement. Every time he moved certain ways, reaching overhead or bending forward, he would lewdly expose himself. Trying to maintain is composure, he went to where the women were relaxing in the living room. They snickered at his foolish appearance and made him walk around, hands on hips. He was waiting to find out what his next indignity would be when the doorbell rang. It must be their dinner order. Ron looked around for someplace to go where he wouldn't be visible from the door. His wife told him he could go and answer it. He felt like his heart missed a beat. Ron took a few uncertain steps toward the door before she laughed and told him she would get it, and that he could go and wait at the kitchen table. Breathing a sigh of relief, he scurried off, wishing he had something on under that super-short skirt. As he stood in the kitchen nervously shifting his feet, Ron heard them chatting with the delivery person. The women soon appeared, smiling at each other about something he wasn't privy to. They set the handled bag on the table and began removing paper cartons and lidded plastic trays of food. When all those were spread out, along with the crispy noodles, condiments and fortune cookies, Marla got two bowls and a small plate. The females dished their food up into the bowls but made no move to offer anything to Ron. He stood there silently, grateful that they were ignoring him. As he watched them eat, the fragrances of their meals made him salivate. Not until they were full did they acknowledge his presence. Marla put the unused little plate in front of a vacant chair. Denise opened a small container and spooned steamed white rice onto the dish. Ron's wife told him to take the waiting chair, which was pulled out from the table. As he sat, Denise gave him a particularly nasty grin. She said, "You paid so much attention to me at work, Ron, that I wanted to do something to show you how I felt about it. Marla and I both hoped you wouldn't lie about the way you acted, and that we wouldn't be forced to do this to you, but that's not the way it worked out. Is it? You weren't honest with your wife so now we have to pay you back for that. Which is why I wore special panties. I put them on early this morning and have had them on all day. And I've been rather busy, which made me... perspire... a bit. And all this excitement with you has made me moist down there in another way." Denise sat and began taking off one boot. She removed the leather footwear and then did the same with the other leg. Then she stood, unfastened her slacks, and shimmied out of them. He sat there goggling at her bared hips and legs. But what held his attention the most was her panties. They were sheer nylon, with an open crotch. Through the rounded opening between her legs he saw her shaved mound and the slit down its middle. Denise moved sensually as she worked the gauze-like lingerie down her legs and stepped out of it. Ron wondered if she was going to make him wear them, with his genitals protruding through the opening. But she surprised him by sitting on his lap with her breasts touching his chest through her sweater, her bare bottom on his thighs. He tingled all over and his penis began to engorge. She held up the garment and said, "You wanted to get into my panties and now you're going to." She fitted them over his head with the gusset down the middle of his face, the opening in front of his mouth. Denise smoothed them over his features, taking her time and extending his shame. She patted his cheek and said, "Take a deep breath, darling. That's as intimate as you're ever going to get with me. You and your weeny wienie." She chuckled. "But you ARE going to have a sexual experience very soon." When Denise got off his lap, Marla told him to stand. Denise moved around behind him and pushed him gently forward until his thighs were against the table. She reached around to slip her fingers up under his cropped top and feel around until she found his nipples. Immediately she was teasing the two sensitive points and getting him more and more aroused. His wife came near to pick up the plate of rice. She held it under the end of his stiffened penis. Marla said, "Too bad I won't be giving you anymore hand jobs, sweetheart. You had better started practicing so you can do them perfectly for yourself. You should begin NOW. Get your hand on that puny pecker, Veronica, and start stroking." "B... but..." He whimpered. "Not with Denise here. Please." "Please and thank you. What you should be saying is 'Please may I jerk off in front of you two', and when we give you permission, 'Thank you for letting me tug my pathetic prick'. Let's hear it, Veronica." He took a breath and made himself ask, "May I please... jerk off... in front of you? Both?" "Of course, honeybun. How will you ever get to be an expert if you don't practice?" "Thank you for letting me tug my pitiful... little... dick." "You're welcome. Now get moving, girl." Ron got his fingers on his undersized member and started stroking it. His hips twitched and he bit his lips. The women thought it was hilariously funny and didn't try to stifle their laughter. Marla made sure to keep the dish lined up with the probable trajectory of his ejaculate. Denise blew in his ear and whispered a few obscene suggestions. It was all too much for him. With his usual premature finish, he was all at once spurting his cream all over the rice. By the time he was done, Ron was panting. Denise got alongside him and took a spoon to capture the final drop that clung to the tip of his organ. She took the plate from Marla and mixed all the cum into the rice, making sure to evenly distribute it. Then she scooped up a generous portion of the combination and held it before the hole in the panties. "Yummy, yummy, Veronica. Time for your feeding. Be a good girl and open that pretty mouth nice and wide." He parted his lips and dropped his jaw. This was unthinkable. His secretary was going to feed him a heaping spoonful of plain rice, now combined with his sticky salty slime. He made a sick sound in his throat. The scents of sweat and vaginal fluids, from the panties, were strong in his nostrils. Denise steered the end of the spoon through the opening in the sheer nylon. He closed his lips and, as she withdrew the spoon, what had been on it stayed in his mouth. "There you go," encouraged Marla. "Your first taste of your own semen. How about if you're allowed to play with yourself all you want, but can only finish while one of us is watching? And then you will always have to eat up the gooey mess you make. Ewww. I know that once you squirt a load, you can't get it up again for like two days. So anytime we give you an erection check, if you fail we'll know you relieved yourself in private. And that will be the same as lying... again. I don't think you want to do that." "You... you can't make me eat... what you said you would." "Well, sweetness, that's up to you. If you prefer, you can just stay celibate. Let that goo back up in your balls until they ache. No problem. But to avoid that frustration and discomfort, you have to come to one of us and announce that you want to finish yourself. Which means you get to enjoy a snack fresh from the source. It will always be up to you." "One thing, though," offered Denise. "The two of us might be keeping your mind on your dick if we, for instance, lounge around in our sexy underwear." "Or have you wash our backs in the shower and then dry us off with a big fluffy towel." "We might even give you big hugs and then tickle your cute ears." "So it might be easier for you to get permission, whack yourself, make a puddle in the palm of your hand, and lap it all up." "But you don't have to. The self-control option is still open. No matter how much we tantalize you." "Or how horny you get." The women laughed uproariously. Then Denise had him sit back down, got another mouthful of rice ready, and held it under Ron's nose. She told him, "Come on now. Don't make that face. This is GOOD for you. Lots of protein. It might even make your little dick grow -- though I doubt it." Marla said, "Me, too. That thing is smaller than small and isn't going to have a growth spurt. It spurted all over that rice, but that's the only spurting it'll do. Veronica, tell Denise how much you're enjoying your special meal. Make us believe you want to finish every bit of that gourmet recipe." With the spoon hovering in front of his mouth and those fragrant panties still over his head, his mouth visible through the opening, he said, "Yes, Denise. I'm really (gag) enjoying my special (ugh) meal. It's so (choke) delicious. I want to make sure I get every last grain of rice and all of that (eww) special sauce." Just to be safe he added, "I'll even lick the plate if you let me." That set off wild giggling from his tormentors. The spoon went through the pussy portal in the panties and into his waiting mouth. Again he wound up with the rice on his tongue and had to chew it up -- "Slowly, Veronica. Masticate it thoroughly. You're so good at masticating." -- and gulp if down. By the time he had gotten over the revolting reality of that one, another helping was poised at his writhing lips. The women took turns feeding him the rest, making it last a good long time, chatting the whole while and insulting him in every way they could think of. "What kind of man dresses up like a total fairy?" "And jerks off in front of his wife and her new girlfriend?" "Getting his goo all over a dish of rice?" "Wearing smelly panties over his head?" "So he can sit there and be fed that rice-and-cum combo, through the access hole in the panties." "I mean, what kind of wimp-sissy-loser-pansy-pervert does that?" "Well, it would be the kind who can't even get laid when he's trying to have an affair. And his wife has to make him all girly as punishment. Plus he loses his rights in the bedroom. And becomes a pussy-licking sex slave. But is still stupid enough to get fresh with his secretary who knows he's married and who has his wife's phone number on file. A jerk who's a big enough idiot to deny he's in the middle of ANOTHER unsuccessful attempt to have an affair, when he should have the good sense to admit everything to avoid getting into even MORE trouble." "I'm sorry," Ron said around another mouthful of the salty, stuck- together rice. "I didn't think." "You certainly didn't," his wife agreed. "And it's going to cost you dearly. From now on, I'm going to make sure that every time you dress up girly, it's going to be in the most ridiculous and unflattering stuff. You will look like a slightly demented tart with no fashion sense. Denise and I will squeeze every remaining ounce of male pride out of you and then fill you back up with super-swishy sissy ways of walking, talking, standing and sitting. Everything. And we'll love doing it." "Right," said his secretary. "And now that you've finished all the rice and cream sauce, you can make good on your offer to lick the plate." TWO WEEKS LATER. Ron was in the kitchen, dressed in a combination of several of the newest additions to his wardrobe. He had on a sleeveless mini-dress to which some alterations had been made. It fit snugly, its thin material tight against his flat chest. The dress was light green, with grinning, yellow smile-faces all over it. There were capped sleeves and a tiny pleated skirt, shortened until it was barely there, leaving his backside half uncovered. Under that he wore only pantyhose, tan ones with the crotch and the section over the crack of his bottom cut out. His below average genitals protruded shamefully through the opening and he was constantly aware that certain postures could cause him to flash anyone present. Ron's feet were in rubber rain boots, green ones with yellow cartoon ducks all over them. The footwear was several sizes too small and squeezed his toes together. His hair was brushed and sprayed to make it fuller and keep it swept up in the front. He had on a touch too much make-up and comically long false eyelashes. "Veronica," his wife called from the living room. "We're ready for our snacks." He picked up a plastic tray with one bowl of pretzels and another of corn puffs on it. His walk had become much more feminine, hips swaying and shoulders back. As he entered the room his wife laughed. So did Denise. And Tammy. Plus Amelie. Four women, each with a glass of white wine, were looking at the odd sight he made and not trying very hard to contain their reactions. "OMG, Marla," exclaimed Tammy. "He's even funnier looking than I expected. This is the kind of outfit no self respecting fruit would wear." "Honestly," agreed Amelie. "It's sad enough that you got married to a secret freak, but he doesn't even have any fashion sense." Ron could only stand there in front of his wife, secretary, and the two friends they had invited. Wearing the simpering smile that he had been taught to perfect, he fluttered his lashes, looking foolish and having the newcomers assume that he had dressed himself. Maybe they knew he hadn't. That might just be another of his wife's mind games. He served the snacks, bending forward at the waist in front of each guest, so that his bottom stuck you for whoever was behind him to see. As he asked each of them if they'd like something, he kept his voice high and lisped. His every movement was overly feminine. Marla announced several minor mistakes he had made earlier, while doing his chores around the house. Denise explained to the others that those errors had earned him a punishment. She went to the closet in the hallway and came back with two items: a very low stool and a butt plug. The former was only about a foot high. The latter was one solid piece, but featured four round sections that got slightly bigger as they descended, before narrowing drastically and ending in a flat base. The top section had a conical portion to facilitate it in entering a user. She held up the objects, like a magician letting his audience examine props. Then she set down the stool near the center of the room, where everyone could see it, and placed the plug on top, resting on its wide bottom. She gestured to Ron and then toward the stool. "Have a seat, Veronica," she invited. Ron looked sick with shame and apprehension. As he passed his wife she held something out to him. It was a tube of lubricant. He took it with a quivering hand. In a wispy voice Ron said, "Thank you, Ma'am." Remembering that she had instructed him to use plenty of sibilants, but to turn them into 'TH' sounds, he went on, "It's so sweet of you. This will make that ass- splitter slippery, so it slides in easily." "Not too easily," Marla assured him. "After all, you've only had smaller plugs until now." "Yeth," he lisped. "For thure." He knelt in front of the stool, his bottom peeking out under the brief skirt, and opened the tube. As he applied lube to the sex toy, the women watched intently and sipped their drinks. Soon the job was done and he could delay the inevitable no longer. Carefully setting the tube under the stool, he positioned himself over the plug and began to squat. When he felt the rubber end poking him in the target area, he reached down to locate the base with his fingers. Gripping it under the lowest of the bulging sections, he held it steady while he continued his unhappy descent. The tapered end of the device pressed against his tightness. He gritted his teeth, hoping to at least not seem weak in the face of discomfort. But it hurt too much as he sank down on it. Ron whimpered and sniffled. With an effort he crammed the first section inside himself. His pucker tightened around the narrower space between the two wider parts and assured that it would not slip out. He still had three sections to force past his rosebud. Over the next half hour, with the women alternately cheering him on and booing when he lost his nerve, Ron was able to get the plug completely inserted. That left him sitting on the low stool, his knees raised and his skirt held up by his thighs, so that his male parts were blatantly shown off. He sat there squirming, unable to keep still, which added to the pain in his stretched rear entrance. At the same time that the plug was hurting him, it also caused plenty of stimulation. His nipples tingled and got stiff, making twin bumps against the fabric of the dress. He started to breath harder, exhaling audibly through pursed lips. "What's the matter, Veronica?" Marla wanted to know. "Is that big plug getting your sissy ass all excited? I certainly didn't expect that to happen. Not at all. What a surprise." "Maybe you need to let off some pressure," Denise suggested. "You know. Pull on your little clitty. That's sort of an escape valve for when you need some relief." The women who were behind him came around and joined the others, so that they were all facing him from the long sofa, with an unimpeded view of his penis and balls. He wanted to press his legs together but that went against the training of the last 14 days. He was supposed to be not only feminine, but naughty. He lowered one hand and experimentally touched his dick, sending a current of erotic energy through his body. But it was mortifying. He didn't want to be seen by the two newcomers while he tugged himself. Tammy and Amelie leaned forward, eyes on his crotch. He sobbed and diddled his tiny tool. Then he forced himself to act like he was enjoying it and having an audience. "Look at it," marveled Tammy. "It's like a cock, only way smaller." "So small," seconded Amelie. "Just a pink... a pink..." She searched for a metaphor. "...ladyfinger cookie." Marla was ready for his approaching ejaculation. She brought over a cobalt blue dessert plate and held it under the end of his penis. "Here you go, Veronica. For when you give yourself a pansy climax. Shoot your sissy spunk all over this. Come on, honeybun. You can do it. Keep pumping your little plaything." The muscles in his pantyhose-clad thighs twitched. "Play with your nipples through the dress, doll-baby. That's right. First that one. Now the other one. Good girl." He moaned loudly. "You're almost there. A few more yanks on your winkle." He tensed up and was abruptly spurting onto the plate. "Ohhhh. That's my darling. That's our pansy princess." Ron sagged into post-orgasmic depletion. His shame was ego-crushing. As his wife held the plate under his nose he saw the spatters of cream he had made on the dark surface. The distinctive, salty smell of semen was strong in his nostrils. "Well?" Marla wanted to know. "You're not going to leave this plate with such a yucky mess on it, are you? After all, it was you who got all that sissy sauce on it. Now be a good Veronica and lick up your squirts. Go on. Everybody's watching. I know how you love the attention. Yummy cummy in your tummy. Tongue out and eyes open. We all want to see you do it. And we want you to watch so you don't miss a drop." Looking distraught, his breathing shaky, Ron poked his tongue out and she brought the plate closer, near enough for him to reach. He tasted his own ejaculate and got queasy. The women made appropriately disgusted sounds. He sat there in his exaggeratedly girly outfit, on that tiny stool, with the butt plug securely wedged inside him, his flaccid penis drooping, and proceeded to lap up his spend with half a dozen slurps. It left him dizzy with shame, the taste thick in his mouth. "And there you have it," declared Marla. "Veronica the Pansy," Denise added, gesturing to their victim with a flourish. Tammy said, "That was incredible." Amelie wanted to know, "Can we do it again sometime?" "What I was thinking," Marla suggested, "is that since my Veronica is so into dressing this way and being humiliated, plus showing off while she does it, we could make this a regular event. At least once a week. And we could work together to figure out the tackiest outfits for her to wear and the most entertaining performances for her to give. How does that sound?" It sounded terrific to everyone... except Ron. He sat there on his stool of shame and pain, sobbing quietly, looking quite defeated and emasculated. Yet he slowly straightened and assumed a very girly pose, as if he wanted to be the center of attention. He resumed his simpering smile. Just as he had been taught to do. He would be subservient to his secretary every day at work. A slave to his wife at home. And he knew that he would regularly find himself in situations like this one, with these avid onlookers gloating at his predicament, over and over and over again. ********* (This is sort of a companion piece to my SISSY HUSBAND GETS PUNISHED. I wanted to play around with the same general theme to see what else might develop. Hope you liked them both and will leave your thoughts.)