Alpha Males with earth girl sissys part 4 final
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The Sissy's Shower free porn video
The Sissy's Shower
By Cassandra Morgan
It began as a fantasy, a whisper to my soul. A notion, a bit of whimsy.
Nothing more. And so I asked.
And the beast grew.
It turned into desire, into flames licking at my being. A want, a
temptation. Just that. And so I pleaded.
And the beast grew larger.
It turned into a need, into a thirst, into a hunger. It was an urge, a
wish. It grew into something raw, something all-encompassing. And so I
begged.
Please, Karen.
Let me be your sissy.
I don't know where the idea was born. Perhaps on a website. Perhaps in
pornography. Perhaps I liked the party dresses my sister wore. Perhaps
in the news items of the growing number of men who wished to be women.
But the lifestyle was mesmerizing to me. The clothes. The smells. Above
all, the submissiveness. I could do this. I ached to do this.
And so again, I asked.
"Jesus, Crockett," Karen snapped. "What kind of faggot are you?"
"This isn't about anyone being gay. I'm not gay."
"No. You just want to mince around in your own private Gay Pride
parade," she said. "You want to wear dresses and makeup and dance the
hokey-pokey. You want to scrub the toilets and clean the oven and iron
my panties. At least, the ones you aren't wearing."
"Karen....I just want to try it out, okay? What's the big deal?"
"Yeah? How many men do you think come back from cross-dressing, Crock?
Do you see rehab centers filled with ex-sissies going through
withdrawal? This is a lifetime deal, Crockett. This isn't a car you take
out for a test-drive. This is real shit. This is announcing to the world
that you're a pansy-ass. Forever."
"I'm sorry..."
"You're sorry? For what? For pulling out of our marriage and being a
girl? For leaving me alone? Am I supposed to fuck another guy now? Do
you want to watch? Do you want to tell all of your friends that I'm on
the market again, and they can take a number?"
"I haven't thought that far..."
"Crockett, how far have you gone into this? Have you been wearing my
clothes?"
I inhaled. "Once or twice."
"Jesus. You think you're married to a man who eats Cheerios, and it
turns out, he prefers Fruit Loops."
"I didn't mean to make you mad," I said. "I just wanted to be honest
with you."
"Mad? Oh, you have no idea what a bitch I would be, missy," Karen said.
"How about your friend Kevin? You want to watch me fuck Kevin? How about
Greg?"
Something hard flashed in front of her eyes. "How about Marie? You want
to see me fuck Marie? She likes girls, you know. She likes me. Maybe
I'll take Marie to the next family picnic. Think that'll go over well?"
I stared at the floor. I didn't want Karen to take another lover of
either gender. I just wanted ... to experiment. I wanted to wear a
skirt. Was that so horrible? I wanted to wear lipstick. Was that a
crime.
The thing about anger that people get wrong is this. It isn't one
constant rage. It's peaks and valleys. Something else would occur to
Karen, and she would be off on another tangent.
And here she went again...
"This all pisses me off, Crockett," she said. "It's totally selfish. You
want to give up our sex...and so you want me to give up sex. You want to
wear a dress...and so you want me to have a husband who wears a dress.
You want to role-play as the maid of the manor ... and so you want me to
swallow hard and be married to the maid of the manor. Being a woman is
more than stuffing falsies in a bra. It's waking up every moment being
weaker, and smaller, and more vulnerable. It's taking shit from men.
She paused.
"Hell, I'd try to understand if you really wanted to be a woman. If you
wanted to be Laverne Cox or Caitlyn Jenner or Cher, one of those drag
queens. If you wanted to have boobs and a vagina and marry a man. But
you just want to play-act."
"I don't think Cher..."
"Oh, shut up."
I started to laugh, and eventually, so did Karen. Cher as a drag queen?
For the moment, the storm blew over, and the tornado passed, and the
lava stopped spewing. We dropped the subject and moved on to the news
and the weather and TV and a thousand other small topics that didn't
really matter. We forgot about the grand Sissy Nation out there.
For a while.
But only for a while.
* *
There was no give in Karen, no compromise. And so, she would be looking
through a rack of dresses at Macy's, and I would run my hand over the
fabric. And she would be staring at me.
"Do you want to try it on?" she would ask.
"No, Karen. I'm sorry. It's just pretty. I think it would look great on
you."
"Right."
I would pick up a box of laundry detergent, and she would be at it
again.
"Do you like the way that one smells?"
"We just need detergent," I would say.
"Does that one have a stain remover?"
"I don't know."
"I would expect a sissy to know."
We would be watching television, and she would turn to me and ask "Who
do you think the sexiest Batman was?"
"Huh?"
"I mean, are you a Michael Keaton girl? Or do you like Ben Affleck? I
kind of like Christian Bell, but George Clooney is hot. You'd do him,
wouldn't you?"
"No, Karen. I wouldn't."
"You don't think so? Think about it. You've watched all the movies.
Which one makes your ass wet?"
"Please stop, Karen. I'm not gay."
"The hell you're not. You're Elton John. You're Freddie Mercury. You're
that guy on How I Met Your Mother."
"Neil Patrick Harris was on How I Met Your Mother."
"Yeah, gay people would know that."
"I'm not gay," I said. "I do have a desire to wear women's clothing. But
most men who do that aren't gay. You should know that."
"I'm not talking about most people. I'm talking about my husband. Or
maybe I should say my wife. That would suit you."
"Karen, please stop being mean. I've stopped asking."
Karen took a deep breath.
"But have you stopped wanting? How do I know that I won't show up and
catch you in high heels? Or in lipstick. Hidden desires don't disappear,
Crockett. They just find better hiding places. Look, I'm not trying to
be a bitch. But I really do feel like I'm being abandoned. I think
that's why all the women in those stories you read are horrible. I don't
want a pervert for a husband. I know that sounds harsh, but it's how I
feel. You want to leave my bed, and my relationship. I'm just trying to
hold on."
She looked at me.
"Why do you want to do this, Crockett? Tell me. Dresses aren't that
great. Breasts are heavy. Heels hurt. So why do you want to do this?"
"Karen, I really don't know. It's inside of me. I want you to tell me
what to do. I want to wear the clothes. I want to be pretty. I want to
serve you."
"You want a dick."
"I don't," I said. "Just please forget I said anything."
She shook her head. How do you forget?
* *
A few nights later, we were lying in bed. I was closer to Seattle. She
was closer to New York. There was a lot of space in the middle of the
bed. In our marriage, too.
I leaned over and touched her shoulder.
"Friday," she said.
"Huh?" I said.
"You can have Fridays. You can wear your dress and you can put on
makeup, and you can be Liberace's sister. I won't be here. I'll go to a
movie or something. I don't know why I'm doing this. I hope it helps
more than it hurts. But you can be a sissy on Friday if you promise not
to try it the rest of the week. I don't want you in my clothes."
"No," I said. "I won't be."
"No?" she said.
"No...ma'am?"
She nodded. "I want you to put on your bra for me."
I started to make her repeat herself, but I didn't. I rose and went to
the closet. I grabbed a workout bag where I kept my finery, and I dug
out a flowered bra. I put it on. The straps felt good.
Karen walked up to me and traced the bra with her fingers. "Do you like
that?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Put on your panties."
I went back to my bag and dug inside. I came up with a purple pair of
panties -- they didn't match the bra -- and slid them on. They felt
wonderful.
"Put on heels."
"I don't have heels, ma'am."
"Then put on a pair of mine."
I dug out a pair of red heels. I slid them on.
"Put on this gray skirt."
I did.
"And this black top."
I did.
"Now mince."
I walked around the room in an exaggerated gay stride. None of my
clothes matched. Karen laughed.
"Now sing...I'm a little teapot."
"I'm a little teapot."
"Short and stout."
"Karen?"
"Sing it sissy."
"Short and stout."
"Here is my handle, and here is my spout." She grabbed my penis.
"Ow."
"Here is my handle...""
"Here is my spout.."
I blew the line, but Karen grinned. She grabbed my hair and twisted it
into two short pigtails. She fastens scrunches. She applied dark
eyeliner. She had me open my mouth, and she placed two pills on my
tongue. "For your boobs," she said.
I shuddered
"Now say this: Fuck me, Donnie, you big-decked stud."
"Who is Donnie?"
"Just say it."
"Fuck me Donnie, you big-decked stud."
She clapped her hands. "This is really what you want? To be a mincing
sissy talking about dicks?"
"I just want you to be happy," I said.
"Bullshit," Karen said. "You want to be a whore giving $5 blowjobs in
the alley. And you're closer than you think."
I lowered my head. I didn't say a word.
* * *
We went on with the day-to-day details of our lives. Where did we want
to go for dinner? Should we have another couple over? Have you called
your mom? It's her birthday. There is a sale on milk at the grocers. It
sure has been hot this summer. Did the Reds forget how to play baseball?
How lame was the final season of Game of Thrones?
Only now we had Fridays. I could live with that.
I didn't mention being a sissy. She didn't mention how badly I had
ticked her off. We just existed. I worked at the library. She sold
insurance. And the calendar kept changing.
One night, we were having a dinner party. A few of the couples there
worked with Karen. A couple were social friends. You know the kind of
party. You start off with 12 people, and pretty soon, you have three
parties of four people each. Everyone falls into their one clique.
Then Karen was talking, in a loud voice.
"Guys, I 'preciate y'all coming," she slurred. "But I've got a little
bit of news I heard from the fairies." She giggled. She raised her
glass.
"My husband, Cricket, has decided he wants a little ...alteration in his
life."
I looked at her with wide eyes. No. She could not out me to our friends
and co-workers. Not now. I wanted the world to slow down. I wanted to
hit the mute button. But I was powerless to silence her.
"Cricket wants to be a girl," she said. "A cunt. A gash. I think she'll
be a good one. The pansy is halfway there already I bet he's wearing
panties right now. You guys should check and see."
There was murmuring now, and people were looking at me. I was shaking my
head, like a batter who didn't like the sign from the third-base coach.
"You see, Cricket wants to be a sissy," she said. "All the time. A
precious little fag boy in skirts. I know, I know. Why anyone would want
to be a woman in today's world beats the shit out of me. We don't get
paid as much, and we can get raped, and we have periods. We have to put
up with men's bullshit...even when they want to be girls. But Cricket
says she wants to join our team. She wants to wear a dress and high
heels and take it up the ass. You women better watch your husbands."
I blanched. The guests were staring at me now like I was a zoo animal
with two heads. Karen and I hadn't talked about this for months. Could
it still be on Karen's mind? Did bringing it up bother her that much?
"So I have a 'nouncement," she said. "Next week, right here, we're going
to have a Sissy Shower for Cricket. Bring her girly presents. Make her
feel good about growing tits. Cricket? What size do you wear in laundry
soap?"
I covered my face. I rushed from the room.
Karen looked where I'd gone and grinned.
"You folks have to forgive her," she said. "It's her time of the month."
* *
"I cannot believe you did that," I said later, when we were alone..
Karen shrugged. "I had knowledge in my head, and I shared it. You put
the knowledge there, so it's your fault."
"Karen, all of our friends think I'm gay. The rest of the world will
think it soon. They're out there right now buying panties and bras for
me. I can't face any of them again."
Karen shook her head. "Look, pansy. If I let you wear dresses, they were
going to find out eventually. If you wore makeup, duh, someone was
going to notice. I just accelerated the process. I'm sorry, I had a
little too much to drink, but it isn't like I performed a sex change on
you You gotta have balls to be a pussy."
"Karen, before, it was on my terms. Now it's not."
"No, now it's on my terms, faggot," Karen said, an edge to her voice.
"I'm the fucker in charge. Get used to it. If you're going to be a
sissy, well, I'm going to be your handler. What do they call it? Your
dominatrix?"
"Mistress," I said. "They call it a mistress."
"Well, if you're going to change your life, I get to change mine. I'll
be the bad boss lady of this house. I'll clear my throat, and you'll be
my bitch. And when I want you to stand at attention, you'll salute.
Sissies get spanked, don't they? Get ready for it."
"We don't have to do this..."
"Too late, Cricket," she said. "Right now, our friends are deciding
between a pink bra and a black one. I've sent everyone your sizes. So
congratulations. You get your way. We'll find you a nice husband, and
you'll have ass-sex for the rest of your life. You're a sissy forever.
They'll bury you as a sissy. Maybe they'll bury you upside down so your
boyfriends can still get to your ass."
I flinched. In my fantasies, Karen was always willing, always helpful,
always the same sweet girl I married. Instead, she was pissed, and I
guess she had a right to be. I was sorry I ever said a word, but not as
sorry I would get.
"Bitch," she said.
"Bitch," I thought.
At least we had that in common.
* *
In my life, I have heard of bridal showers. I have heard of baby
showers. I had even heard of golden showers.
But I had never heard of a Sissy Shower before.
It was a party, an excuse to drink Mimosas and laugh. I was in a sexy
black maid's dress for my coming out. Karen had seen to that. I was
wearing black flats (a concession to not being to walk properly in
heels), and there were pink ribbons in my hair. I was wearing lipstick
and eyeliner.
In other words, I looked like a clown in the Macy's Day Parade. I looked
like the saleswoman for used unicorns.
My hair was too short. My makeup was too garish. I had no idea what to
do with my hands except show off my fingernail polish. I was every
straight person's image of a sissy.
The guests didn't mind. Hell, they seemed to think it was a hoot to see
this girly-boy on parade. Most of them had heard about sissies, but they
had never seen one up close. And now, here one was, mincing and prancing
in front of them. You know how -- when you go to the zoo -- you want to
get as close to the bars as possible? It was like that. Everyone oohed
and aahed and told me how adorable I was. I just stood in the middle of
the room and tried to curtsy.
Grady couldn't believe I was wearing a dress. Bobby thought it was a
joke. Steve wondered what I was doing on Friday night.
This was the first day of my life as a sissy. I was touched, grabbed,
ignored, ridiculed.
At the party, there was champagne. There were Mimosas. There were
snacks. There was cake. There were games.
And then there were the presents.
Oh, my God.
The Jennings bought me a pink maid's dress. It was satiny and smooth.
The Abernathys bought me a butt plug. There was a jewel on the handle.
The Thompsons bought me panties, bras and hose. Nice stuff.
The Finches bought me a chastity cage. So did the Ledfords. Karen said
we could exchange one of them. She wanted to keep the pink one. She said
it matched my soul..
The Chandlers bought me a penis gag. And a bottle of whiskey to get
drunk with it.
The Walkers bought me handcuffs so, presumably, I could fight the law.
The Martins bought me makeup. Sephora. Good stuff.
The Washington's bought me a ivory-colored nightgown with a matching
corset.
The Sanders bought me a tool kit. I don't think they completely got the
idea.
And Karen, my own wife, bought me an ominous looking dildo and a pair of
realistic looking breast forms.
As they say, fun was had by all.
Are bridal showers like this? Do guests try to embarrass the woman of
the moment with sex toys?
I stood there, blushing. And the chant came, "Try it on...try it on."
I looked at Karen, and she grinned. I assumed she was talking about the
maid's dress, so I picked it up.
"Not that," Karen said. "The cage."
And so I picked up this evil bit of imagination, and I started upstairs.
Karen followed me. Ruthie Chandler told her to take pictures. Karen did
a u-turn and grabbed her phone. Everyone laughed.
And, yes, she took pictures. What's that they say? The camera takes away
four inches? It might have been with me. We took profile shots, close
ups, intimate shots. Fortunately, my cage was a extra-small size, with a
pink tube. Add the butt-plug, and you've got a set. I now had a key for
my chastity device, a key for my corset, a key for my collar and a key
for my plug. Is this what they mean by the Florida Keys?
We played a naughty Shower Game. In this one, one of the crowd -- it
started with me -- had to be blindfolded. Then he or she would fondle the
sex organs of a guest and try to guess their identity. Three different
guests successfully guessed Raheem before he was declared ineligible.
Two of the guests, fondling my microdick, guessed me.
Karen won the game. Four of the blindfolded contestants guessed they
were grasping her vagina. I'm not sure that was a compliment.
Not one of the crowd stood up for me, or suggested that this was all too
much. Not one argued against the embarrassment. Instead, they watched me
walk my last mile as a man of respect.
For a sissy, the grand surrender -- the time he put-on his dress -- is
supposed to be a private step. But I made it in front of a cheering
crowd. I could feel the smoothness of my panties. I could feel the
bodice of my dress. I could feel my lipstick. I could feel my breast
forms. Men grabbed my ass. Women touched my breasts.
I was a Sissy, all right.
And everyone, it seemed, knew it.
* *
I also learned how hard the sissy life could be. I rose early in order
to make breakfast. I loaded laundry while it was cooking. I washed the
dishes, then moved the clothes to the dryer. I scrubbed floors. I
polished toilets. I made beds.
And I was happy.
There was a freedom to the mindlessness of most of my chores. The work
was hard, and even if you kept it up, there was always a floor to
vacuum. But at least I was in my maid's uniform as I did it. That had
been what I wanted.
"I appreciate you cleaning out the fridge," Karen told me one night. "It
was a mess."
I nodded. She had been nicer to me lately. I didn't know if seeing me in
a dress was routine now, or if she sensed my commitment to the
lifestyle, but the gay cracks had ended. We found ourselves talking, the
way we did in the old days.
I fell into a false sense of security. My life, such as it was, was of
my own design. I was happy.
Then one night, Karen turned to me.
"I want a boyfriend," she said.
"Excuse me?"
"A boyfriend. I want a lover. A cheat-treat. I'm tired of just having
your tongue to make me happy."
"I'll give up the clothing," I said.
"What does that have to do with anything?" she said. "I don't want to
fool around with fabric. I want cock inside of me. Yours doesn't seem to
work anymore."
"What can I do?" I asked.
"You can wish me good luck," she said.
"I'm serious. You're my wife."
"I thought you were mine."
"Karen. This is a step we don't want to take.
"Maybe one of us does."
"I'm so sorry," I said.
"Why? You were destined to wear these clothes. I know that now. You
might as well stop an avalanche with your bare hands as dress like a
guy. But while you're swishing all over town with guys staring at your
ass, I've been ... abandoned. You don't think that's fair, do you?"
"No, but ..."
"Cricket, I don't want to sneak around behind your back. I'm not that
big a bitch. But you have to agree to this, or it's going to break us
up. You have needs that have been met. I have needs that haven't. It's
not about being mean or punishing you. It's about human desires."
I nodded. "If you need it, you should have it."
She smiled. "Thank you, Cricket. You know, a lot of men like seeing
their wives with other men. Maybe you will too."
I wiped a tear. It felt as if I had failed her again. I guess I had.
* *
His name was Gavin. He worked with Karen at her office.
The workplace can be another life for a person. You have a different
existence, a different circle of friends, differing dining companions.
Sometimes, as with Gavin, there are different suitors. It doesn't matter
if one of the parties is married. How many workplace relationships do
you know of?
He had flirted with her, Karen said, from his first day at the office.
He had asked her to lunch, asked what she thought of this tie with that
shirt, asked her about her weekends with her husband. One day, Karen
told him about me, about the fact I was a sissy, about the fact we had
an open marriage (at least in conversations). She said she had just a
trace of guilt, but I was the one who started this.
He asked for her to go on drive in the country with him. She went. He
asked her to dinner. She went. He asked her to a concert. She went.
Hell, I might as well admit it. They were dating. They held hands, and
they kissed. I wondered if they were sleeping together ... yet. It
seemed like an eventuality.
The one night, without fanfare, he stayed. There were two cups of coffee
for me to prepare the next morning. The guilt I felt was mountainous.
I'll be honest. Gavin seemed like a nice enough guy, if I forgot about
the fact he was making the beast with two backs with my wife. If you
didn't think about it too hard, it became normal, routine. I ironed his
pants; he fucked my wife. Does that sound fair to anyone?
One day, they were still nude when I brought their coffee. I knocked on
the door, and Karen told me to come in.
She was splayed on top of the covers. He was beside her. As the cowboys
say, she had been rode hard and put away wet.
"Cricket," she said. "I need you to clean me up."
I turned to get a towel.
"No, baby. With your tongue. Take care of momma. It's what sissies do."
She spread her legs. She bit her lip. She nodded at me.
i exhaled. I knew what juices were down there. How low can a man go than
to lick the sperm of another man out of his wife's genitalia? But I did.
I climbed on the bed, and I lowered my head, and I tried not to think
about what I was lapping up. It was a bitter taste, salty and sharp,
and I continued to lick it up. You know. the Got Milk? ad? Sissies
should have Got Sperm?
Finally, I finished with her. I started to go to the bathroom for my
toothbrush.
And Gavin tapped me on the shoulder. He pointed to his flaccid penis and
grinned. He looked down at his penis.
I sighed. But I went to work, licking and slurping on his cock. It began
to stir, then it rose majestically. I put the head inside my lips and
began to bob, giving him an earnest blow job. Karen lay transfixed as
his cock penetrated my willing mouth like a piston.
I was beginning to enjoy myself. I remembered all of Karen's gay barbs,
and it struck me that she was right all along. I surrendered. I sucked
deeply, until Gavin moaned, and then plunged downward again. I raised my
head, and the beauty of the male penis struck me. It could be hard or
soft, tangy or sweet.
I licked his testicles. I gripped the shaft with one hand, and furiously
began to suck.
He trembled, and then he came, deep in my mouth. And, for whatever
reason, I felt satisfaction.
"Good girl," Karen said sleepily. "Good girl."
* *
After everything, I still loved Karen.
Oh, she could be demanding. She liked her handcuffs. She liked her
paddle.
She also liked to make me blush. We would sing karaoke, and although I
was in a dress, she would introduce me as her husband. I'd sing time
Warp or Strictly a Female Female, and I'd stick out my ass and draw
laughter. We'd go dancing, and I'd end up blowing a guy in his car.
It was all a "commitment" to being a sissy, Karen said.
Oh, I was committed. Everyone knew. We would go out, and even the
custodians would laugh. I would work as a maid for our neighbors, and
the women would want to see my panties and the men wanted to take them
off.
Yes, it was humiliating. But sissies know that's half of the fun. We
liked men to give us a hard time ... as long as they were hard.
**
For my birthday, Gavin and Karen pitched in and paid for my permanent
makeup tattoo.
I know what you're thinking. Permanent? As in fucking forever?
Well, not quite.
Permanent makeup fades, the way any tattoo fades. But who wants faded
ink on their face? Obviously, you're going to get a second tattoo. Maybe
a third. But the saleswoman showed us photos of women who have been
tattooed for 10 years, and it still looked good.
Hey, the concept of waking in the morning and looking good already
appealed to me. I didn't like taking it off when I had been drinking. I
didn't like the way it ran when I cried.
And so I did it. Eyeliner and lipstick. And I'm happy with it. I'm
pretty.
Sure, there are downsides. My mother noticed my makeup the first time
she saw it. But by this time I was dating guys -- so was Karen -- and I
don't think I had a stitch of male clothing in my closet. It forced me
to come out to my parents. It turned out to be a good thing.
Karen and I were closer, too. She liked shopping with me. She liked
pegging me when Gavin wasn't around. (I preferred Gavin's cock, though).
She liked gossiping the way sister wives do. She liked me going down on
her during her period.
There were our naughty afternoons, when we would smuggle home a raunchy
magazine and -- page by page -- we would rank the dicks. She liked
circumcised. I liked black. Either way, the photos would leave us
drooling like Pavlovian dogs.
Hey, we had loved each other. And across the lines of gender, we still
did. We always would. I was hers.
* *
Look, you don't have to be gay to be a sissy. But evidently, I was a bit
of both.
Karen and I relaxed the rules of our marriage. She saw Luke and Raheem.
I saw Tyler and Nate. But mostly, I saw Mr. Clean. Together with our
kitchen counter, were having a deep and meaningful relationship.
It was hard, being a sissy with a social life. The hours are endless,
and there is always something that needs doing. A button needs to be
sewn on. A pot needs the pasta sauce scraped off. A toilet has backed
up.
But I found the life rewarding. It wasn't just because I styled my hair
or I ironed a dress. There was a bending of the will to accept Karen as
the rightful leader of our home. Hell, if she wanted me to dress up like
Pennywise the clown, I would have done it. The way the clothes felt was
just a bonus. The real reward was in the surrender of one's self.
The way I look at it, I really was destined to end up as a sissy. I
always was submissive. When I woke up in the morning, panties were the
natural thing to put on. My red lips needed touching up. My body felt
wrong without breasts (yes, I eventually grew my own).
Eventually, Gavin moved in with Karen. It was a natural evolution, and
it made our mornings sweeter. Three times as sweet, you might say.
In the end, Karen accepted me. She fought it, I'll give her that. She
thought she wanted the male me, not the sissy. But I was better for her
when I was feminine.
As for the world finding out about me at that coming out Shower Karen
arranged way back, well, it turned out to be a good thing. I didn't have
to have a dozen little outings. I didn't have to answer the same
questions over and over. I merely had to be who I was.
And find out even more exactly who I was. Really, isn't that the point?
(c) copyright 2019 Cassandra Morgan
Sherry
- 02.04.2022
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The First 150 Rules for sissys
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Introduction of Sissys
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