All The World's A Stage free porn video

All the World's a Stage By Cassandra Morgan In the beginning, before the games became naughty, before we shed our innocence, our role-play was fairly vanilla stuff. Rated G, as in gee whiz. In those days, I was Robin Hood. She was Maid Marion. I was Rick. She was Ilsa. I was Hamlet. She was Ophelia. We would find some costumes, and we would recite movie lines, and we would imagine ourselves to be aspiring actors. Surely, our Little Theatre group could not hold us. Sure, we would be discovered. Later, as the world grew up and our imaginations swelled, our role-play graduated a bit. She had imagined what it would be like to be the guy in our role-play. She imagined what it would be like if I was the girl. In that period of time, I was Cleopatra. She was Julius Caesar. I was Scarlett O'Hara. She was Rhett Butler. I was Buffy. She was Angel. This was our R-rated phase. Molly would treat me like a girl, and I would giggle and try to act like one. There were no serious kinks, not yet, but we would fracture the dialogue. Oh, often we would stick to the script. But sometimes we would play, and adult-themed chapters would escape our minds. It was R-rated. No children allowed. And still later, as the world grew cynical and hard, our imaginations would provide an escape for us both. It was our x-rated days. We would both be guys, or we would both be girls, or we would both be vampires or zombies or, horrors, Republicans. I would be Alexander the Great. She would be Hephaestion (these were the Elton John and David Furnish of their day). I would Portia. She would be Ellen. I would be Ginger. She would be Mary Anne (that one got twisted.) We had the best time with those scenes. They were same-sex relationships, or Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck types of love. It was our X- rated period, and the costumes alone kept our attention for weeks at a time. Hell, by then we needed an escape from our dreary lives. And this caught our fancy. We could make a scene between the Lone Ranger and Tonto last for an hour if you counted the big kiss at the end. That's the allure of acting. You get to be someone else, living some other life for at least a short period of time. You can be any age, or any gender, or have any particular condition. Molly loved playing men's roles, for instance. And I felt at home in a nice dress. Sue us, but actors have been nominated for major awards for playing the opposite sex. All of which should convince you that it was completely normal for me to wake up wearing a dress. Wasn't it? We had been drinking heavily the night before, which we normally didn't do. But I woke up with drool on my pillow and a dreadful taste in my mouth. I looked down, and I saw my dark blue skirt rise over my hips, flashing my pale blue panties. I sat up, and I saw it was a maid's dress. I closed my eyes, and our scene of Mistress Molly and Sissy JoJo flashed into my brain. It was a funny little act, one that included a faux blow job on a faux street corner in the rain. I felt, and I still had the $20 bill in my chastity belt. Wait. I still had on my chastity belt, too. I stood up, steadied myself, then wobbled to the bathroom. My makeup was smeared, and I had lost my wig, and who knows where my heels were? My eyes were red and my mouth was dry and my head was pounding. I took off the blue maid's dress and started the shower. But I didn't have anything to change into. Sighing, I pulled the dress back over my head. I would find something else to wear when Molly woke up. But my uniform felt nice, and I liked the way the hem tickled my thighs. Eventually, I made my way downstairs. My blue heels were there, by the couch, so I put them on. I made two cups of coffee. I toasted four slices of toast. I took two Advil for my head. Groaning, I sat down. I sipped my coffee. About five minutes later, Molly came into the room. She reached toward her coffee and said, very sweetly, "Grumph." Or something like it. "Grumph to you, too," I said. She sat down. She reached for the Advil. "You're still a sissy," she said. I nodded. "Couldn't find anything else to wear," I said. "Not anything that feels as girly, you mean," she said. "Yeah. That." "What the fuck is it with you and these maid's dresses" you turning sissier on me?" I shrugged. "They feel nice," I said. "I might buy another one." "You buy another one, and you're going to clean the oven," she said. "Which one is the oven?" I said. "It's the one that's not a dishwasher," she said. "Oh. That one." We drank coffee for a while. I couldn't face the toast. It looked mean. "What time did Dave and Sophie leave?" Molly asked. "Oh. About two. Maybe three." "Freeloaders," Molly said. "I'll bet they ate all the Fritos." "How about Zorro fucking the Frito Bandito?" I suggested. "Too early," Molly said. "Now adjust your tits. The left one is higher than the right." "Oops." I grabbed myself and lined them up. "God, you're a pussy," Molly said. "Hey, now. Be nice to your domestic." She grinned. "I'm kidding. I like you en femme. I always have. Since you were Juliet." "You were just in your dyke phase," I said. "Still am," she said. "Would my maid like to kiss it and see?" "Later," I said. "Right now, I want my head to go down a couple of sizes, I feel like a character out of Peanuts." "Have we done a role play where Linus buttocks Charlie Brown?" "Wasn't that the whole point of the comic strip? Someone was always fucking Charlie Brown," "Yeah. Submissive bitch, wasn't he?" We giggled. I stood and straightened my dress. I had a terrible run in my right hose. Shit. Always a bad way to start the day. * * * The next day, Molly stopped by the uniform store and bought me two more maid's dresses -- a black and a pale blue. That would have been splendid, but an hour later, I stopped by the uniform store and bought me two more maid's dresses -- a black and a gray. That gave me five (two in black), which kind of put me over the top. Alice, the maid on the Brady Bunch, didn't have five flipping uniforms. So we were sitting round the kitchen that evening, eating pizza, when Molly turned to me. "So where are we going with this maid's stuff?" she asked. "To the Sissy Finishing School?" I asked. "Har-har," she said. "I'm serious. How into this shit are you?" "Well, I like it," I said. "I like it more than I liked the Shakespeare stuff we did. More than anything since our Gone With the Wind phase." "You were a sexy Scarlett," she said. "As Gawd is mah witness, I shall nevah be hungry agin," I said. "Eat your pizza," she said. "But seriously. Is this sissy play something you want to do in an extended role-play? You want to act this mistress- maid shit out for a little while?" "Could we?" I said. "The uniforms are sooo sexy." "Okay. We'll think about it. But I know this: You're going to have to get better at housework if we're going to do this. I love you, but I'm going to be a hard ass." "You don't scare me," I said. "I will," she said, laughing. "I'm serious. You won't like me all of the time. Like when I'm paddling your ass. When you're cleaning the toilet. It's going to be real shit, and I'm going to be a bitch on wheels. Aren't Mistresses supposed to be like that?" "I guess," I said. "I've never had a Mistress before." "Well, you have one now. Mistress Atilla. Or Mistress Terminator. Maybe Mistress Hannibal Lecter?" "How about Mistress Storm. That works." "Thunder and lightning going to hit your ass? Let's keep it simple. Mistress Molly works. Now get upstairs and shave your legs. The rest of your body, too. And put on a black uniform. Heels, hat, all of it. Makeup, too. Then get down here and kiss my feet." "Your feet? Can I spray them with deodorant first." "That's three whacks on your ass. Want to try for six?" I looked at her, and it dawned on me that she was serious. Shit. Molly was going to play this for real. I scurried upstairs. Suddenly, all of this felt dangerous. For the first time, I was nervous. Molly? Molly was intense. She was a Marine drill instructor, trying to break a new recruit. She stood in front of me, looking at me in my black uniform, the one I would wear tomorrow morning. "First thing, my sissy JoJo," she said. "You aren't Joey anymore. You're my maid. The sooner you realize that's your sole purpose in life, the better. You will rise at 6 a.m. and have my breakfast on the table by 8 a.m. That sounds like a lot of time, but it isn't. You have to make yourself pretty and make my food during that time. You can start your chores if you want. You'll cook -- breakfast and dinner and lunch if I'm home. You'll clean -- our clothes and our dishes and our house. You'll do laundry three times a week. You'll make the beds every day. You'll rub the toilets three times a week. If you have any doubts, then clean. "God, your hair is a mess. It's way too short to do anything with. So here's what we're going to do. We're going to dye it pink. With lipstick and earrings, there will be no doubt that you're a sissy boy. You'll wear heels the same color as your uniform -- we'll buy them tomorrow. You'll wear perfume -- lots of it -- every day. You'll practice your makeup until you can do it flawlessly. Fuck up, and you'll get paddled." She sneered at me. "You still think this is fun? You still want to mince around the room in a short dress and flip your wrists like you're a character in a gay movie from the 70s? You want to sing 'I Enjoy Being a Girl?' JoJo, this is hard shit. I'm not going to let you make a mockery of real maids and how hard they work. For the next few months, you're my sissy, no one else's. And you will be good at it." Months? My eyes widened. No one anything about months. No one said anything about Molly turning into Sergeant Fury. I just thought I'd wear the clothes and lounge on the couch. Molly -- Mistress -- looked at me again. She grinned and winked, the first human reaction she had had for hours. I relaxed. This was going to be okay. Wasn't it? * * On Monday, Mistress told me that my first role play was an introduction, a table of contents to my life. Plot exposition. A preamble. I was up before the sun, and as fast as I showered and changed, I was behind by the time I descended the stairs. Mistress wanted eggs and bacon, and I started. I screwed up breaking the first egg, and the bacon wasn't crispy like she liked, and the toast was burned. I got the coffee right, but I had to cook her food twice. Mistress didn't say anything when she came down, however. I was washing the dishes. I smiled at her hopefully. She shook her head. She was in Sergeant Fury mode already. "JoJo, I want you to put a load of laundry in. You can iron and fold it when we get back. You'll have to vacuum this evening after you make dinner and serve it. Tomorrow night, we're having guests for dinner. Let's say eight people, nine counting me." "Me?" I said. "You won't be eating," she said. "You'll be serving. It's what maids do. All the men will want your ass. All the women will want your shoes. I wonder who scores first." "Okay," I said. "Who is coming?" "The Red Sox," Molly said. "Seriously, if I wanted you to know, I'd tell you. Now, we need to address the way you talk to me. I need to be referred to by a title." "Mistress?" I asked. "Let's go with Queen. Queen Molly, goddess of the new world." "Do I have to say all of that?" She glowered at me. "I mean, do I I have to say all of that, Queen Molly, goddess of the new world?" She giggled. "Damn right," she said. "You know why?" I looked at her. "Because you're a pussy," she said. "A little fag boy." "Queen Molly, goddess of the new world, you know I"m not gay." "I would say you've reached a point in your life, sissy boy, where you're adjustable. You don't have to be gay to submit, JoJo. You just have to weigh someone's cock on your tongue. That's all. Say aaaaaah. God, I can't wait to see it." I looked at the floor. I was trying to figure out if she was serious. I assumed I would find out. "Queen Molly," I said, "Goddess of the new world..." She frowned. "Nah, that's too cumbersome. Just call me Bitch Lady." "Bitch..." "Nah, just call me Mistress. Or Mistress Molly. Now let's go, Sissy Sperm Breath of the New World." I looked at her. She was laughing. We walked out of the door and stood in front of our building. Mistress made me circle the car three times, like a dog preparing to lie down. She wanted any prying neighbors to see what they would see. I sat in the back seat. She drove, and she headed downtown. She turned a Barry Manilow song on on -- "Mandy "-- and turned it up. In the history of the music, I have never hated a song worse than "Mandy" and she knew it. She drove the streets, singing at the top of her lungs about how he gave without taking. Eventually -- Terry Jacksons was singing about "Seasons in the Sun" in her radio station from hell --- we pulled into a small sex shop. Flesh and Fantasies. Molly got out and walked toward the door. She stopped and waved me in. I walked cautiously -- I was wearing heels and dress, for God's sake -- and entered the store. A male customer looked at me. He didn't blink. He just went back to looking at dildos. "May I help you?" a young salesgirl asked. "Do you work on commission?" Molly asked. "Yes, ma'am. A small one." "Well, today is your lucky day. We need lots of stuff." Mistress bought a collar and a leash. She bought locking heels and a locking maid's dress, locking handcuffs and a locking ankle chain. She bought a bull plug, which locked. She picked out a new chastity cage, a pink one that locked. She bought breasts forms, which didn't lock. Free boobies! She pointed to a bowl of pills labeled "nature's breast enhancers." "Do those work?" "Well, not really," the salesgirl said. "We're supposed to say they do but if I were you, I'd buy the sissy here some real estrogen." Mistress nodded and moved toward the cash register. At the last minute, she reached out and grabbed a pair of small handcuffs. She took another step, then grabbed a strap-on belt and a dildo. "I guess I need to splurge and buy some lube, too," she said. "Although the sissy doesn't deserve it. She likes it rough." The salesgirl laughed. "We have bras. Panties." "Nah," Mistress said "I'll buy those at Macy's. We're going to pick up some cheap earrings at the Mall. Where do you buy your makeup?" "Macy's is good. Dillard's. My advice, though. Don't buy the cheap shit. It's like melted crayons. These salesgirl looked at me. "Does she suck dick?" "Sometimes," Mistress said. "Then go to Flamingos. It's a bar over on the East Side. You may get lucky." "Sounds good. One more deal. Do you know a good endocrinologist? JoJo needs tittles." What? My head was spinning as we left. I didn't suck cock "sometimes." I didn't need a strap on. And, furthermore, titties? My God, this was going to be bad. We got home, and I made us a quick omelette for dinner. With enough hot sauce, it wasn't bad. I washed the dishes and folded the laundry. I ironed Molly's work clothes. I vacuumed quickly. After I was done, Mistress called me upstairs. "I'm calling a time out," she said. "How are you coping?" "i'm...I'm a little surprised with how demanding you have been." "That's the real deal, JoJo," Mistress said. "Is it too tough for you, sissy boy? You want to quit?" "No, Mistress," I said. "Good. Because it's going to get harder. Again, nine place-settings tomorrow night. Don't forget." "No ma'am." "Now lube your ass and bite the pillow. Mama wants to fuck her sissy." "Ma'am?...owwww. OWWWW. Shit." there was a pine tree up my ass." * * " For Tuesday, my role-play assignment, Mistress told me, was centered around my social skills. I was going to interact with my neighbors whether I liked it or not. Those were the eight invitations that Mistress had sent out. They were four couples who lived on our block. The Adams, who lived to our left. The Johnsons, who lived to our right. The Andersons, who lived across the street. And the Covingtons, who lived down the block. Mistress told me that I would be fully dressed in my pale blue uniform and full makeup as our guests showed up for dinner. Mistress had decided to cater the meal -- Italian -- but I was going to serve it. "Nine people is a lot," she said. "It would be more, but I asked Dan Jenkins to come as my date, and he couldn't make it." Date? What? This was too much. This was too wrong. I told Mistress that we should just shut down the role-play now before someone cheated. She just smiled at me. "JoJo, you'll probably cheat before I will. I know. We can call it our Race to Dick. First one with sperm on their tonsils wins!" "That's not funny," I said. "Neither was the Gilligan's Island, and it was on for years." I walked away, fuming as I went. Mistress was laughing at my comportment as I went. My God, she was into this Mistress crap, wasn't she? That afternoon, I was still responsible for my chores. I cleaned the refrigerator. I cleaned the oven. I mopped the kitchen. With about an hour to go, I stopped. I took a bath, and re-shaved my legs. I put on my uniform -- with matching heels -- and tried in vain to get my hair to cooperate. But it had just been days, and Mistress would not allow me a wig. I put on my makeup -- extra long lashes. I sprayed perfume on heavily. I posed to make sure I looked all right for my debut. What I looked like was a frightened domestic servant. Remember that moment when the heroine first sees the monster? That's what I looked like. The Andersons -- Mike and Dakota -- showed up first. I answered the door, and Mike immediately started to laugh at my attire. It's okay. Most men laughed at sissies. "Is this a costume party?" Mike asked. "Hush, Mike," Dakota said. I'm sorry -- what was your name? JoJo? Okay I'm sorry. We didn't realize the gays were going to be here. We liked that Freddie Mercury movie." "Please, come in," I said. "Mistress will be right down." "Mistress? She's a fucking Mistress. I guess that makes you Queen of Sheba, Dakota. I'm the King of the Dead." "Might I get the two of you something to drink?" "God, yes. I need a drink after seeing a guy in a dress. Do you know Dennis Rodman? He has better legs than you do." "We'll have two Scotch and Sodas, please JoJo," Dakota said. "I'd like Sex on the Beach," Mike said. "But not with you." I made their drinks and thought about what a tough night this promised to be. The Johnsons -- Greg and Julie -- arrived next. Greg shook his head at me, and Julie kept this fake smile plastered onto her botox features. "Your parents must be so proud," he said. "I've met Caitlyn Jenner," Julie said. "She's one of you, isn't she?" I nodded my head. She was one of me if you forgot about her tax bracket and her country club and her idiot step-children. But why debate any of it? "Does Caitlyn suck dick?" Greg asked. "Do you guys compare notes?" "Might I get you two something to drink?" I asked. "What do you think, Julie? A Pink Lady, in honor of our server?" "I'll just have a Screwdriver. You want to screw the driver, JoJo?" The Adams came next -- Jackson and DeShawna. Jackson didn't laugh when I opened the door. He had these dark brooding eyes, and they never see me. DeShawna entered talking about Mistress's silver dress. "Good evening," I said. "Might I get you a drink?" "I'll have a Boilermaker," DeShawna said. "I'll have iced tea," Jackson said quietly. "If you don't mind." I walked away. I felt Jackson's eyes on me as I moved. The Johnsons brought up the rear of our fathering. They had brought red wine with them, and they decided they would rather have that. "Is your old lady punishing you?" Chris Johnson said. "I know how women can be." "No, sir. This was my idea." I admitted. "Damn, son. "Are you one of them RuPauls?" "I'm not gay, sir. I'm just ... a sissy. I think you'd call it that." "So should I beat you up and take your lunch money? It's what I always did to gaywads when I was in college." "That was you?" I said. "Yep. I'm supposed to to beat up queers. It says so in the Bible." "Sir, I think your Bible has verses mine doesn't." "What does that mean?" he said, blinking. "Leave the girl alone," Jackson said. "She's working hard so you can have a good time. Have a canap?." "Yeah, sissy. I'll have a can of peas, too." It went on that way for a while. Chris Johnson told Mistress he would be a real man for her if she needed one. Julie suggested there were options that didn't include men. Meanwhile, I kept flouncing around the room, refilling drinks, offering appetizers. The shrimp went quickly. The cheese and crackers not so much. These were my neighbors, huh? I shook my head. I was going to look forward to driving their property values down. * * Later that night, I was hurrying to get the mess from the party cleaned up. Every dish we had was dirty, and most of the glasses, and the living room needed to be picked up, and beer bottles were scattered around the den. I flitted across the room, hard at work. These weren't dainty chores. This was heavy lifting. Mistress watched me and smiled as I went through my paces. She was looking at her computer screen as I worked diligently, moving femininely across the room on my heels. I was lost in thought as I cleaned. "Hey, Sissy," she said, grinning. "You want to see something?" "Certainly, Mistress," I said, and I moved behind her. There, on her computer screen, was a photo of me mopping. I was in a black uniform, and my face was clearly visible. "What's that you're looking at, Mistress?" I asked. She grinned. "That's your facebook page," She said. "You've made some changes in your photos." I...what? "My facebook page?" I said. "I use that for work." "Well, won't everyone think you're precious, little girl," she said. "You've been outed, I'm afraid. The whole world is going to know you're a sissy. Aren't you proud?" "Molly!" I yelled. "Mistress," she corrected. I felt the shame rush through me. Look, I'm not going to lie. I loved this lifestyle. But I didn't want to share it with the world. Your closest friends, your family, your co-workers are all your facebook friends. Mistress was scrolling through the photos. One of me putting on lipstick. One of me vacuuming. One of me posing with my butt stuck out. There were dozens in all, all of me in my sissy mode. I stared at the screen, transfixed. How could I undo this? Mistress ran her hands down my side. "Does JoJo like her photos?" she asked. "Ma'am...they're private." "Not anymore." she said, cupping my rear. She kissed my neck. "Why would you do this to me?" I asked. "Because I can. Sissies like being humiliated. Well, bingo. Right now, a man is telling his wife that you're a fag." "Mistress..." "Hush," she said, squeezing my breast. "Mama needs some attention." "But I ..." "Let's go upstairs, JoJo." And so we did, and she kissed me on the mouth, and she tugged my panties down. My cage looked small in the light, not exactly intimidating. A gerbil, maybe, should be afraid. Nothing larger. Mistress dragged her fingernails across it. She flicked it. "Poor baby," she said. "Does Sissy want to be unlocked? She tugged on the plastic. "Please," I said. "But that would be wrong, wouldn't it?" She tapped it. "You haven't qualified for our Earl Release Program, jailbird." "Ma'am. Please" "JoJo could lick mommy," Mistress said. "Like she was trying to lick paint off the walls." I sighed. I kissed down her torso -- her breasts, her navel, her public hair. I blew softly on it. She spread her legs and gripped my head. "There...." she said. "Put your face in the swamp. Lick. Lick harder. Do the alphabet." Mistress and I had read that in a book. That when a man was licking a woman, he should use his *tongue to form the letters of the alphabet. I could work through several sets of the alphabet before Mistress came. She smiled. She reached down and unlocked my cage. I wasn't a porn star, but I became hard at once. "Put it in me," she said. "Is it in yet? JoJo?" It was in, and I was pumping, and she wondered if it was in yet? So much for rocking her world. I came quickly. I blamed it on the lack of sex. I spurted deep into her. ."That's it, girly," she said. "Come hard." She smiled at me in my afterglow. I looked at her lovingly. "Now," she said. "I need you to lick me clean." What? My God, my sperm was in there. I wasn't going to ... She pushed my head down. She began to grind on me. I started to lick. I tried not to think about what I was doing, but it was impossible. "How does that taste, girly." "It's ... salty, Mistress." "JoJo," she whimpered. "Do you want me to buttfuck you with my strap on?" That was a horrible idea. That was invasive, and painful, and dominant. It was mean. It was brutal. "Yes, ma'am," I said. Afterward, we lay in bed. She was stroking my flat chest. "JoJo," she said. "Do you like this?" "Mostly," I said. "Do you?" "Yes. It scares me, but I like it more and more. I like being in charge. I like guiding you. I like deciding where we're going for dinner. I like telling you I have a boyfriend. I like looking at other men and wondering what they look like naked. I like humiliating you." I started at her. She looked at other men? Once again, I felt all control of my fate slipping away from me. I was a leaf in the wind, powerless, directionless, helpless. * * It was two weeks later that Mistress drove us to a small mall on the West side of town. I read the sign outside. "Dr. Pamela Roosevelt," it said. "Endocrinologist." Oh, my heavens. It was a boob doctor. This was happening too fast. We walked inside and sat in the waiting room. Eventually, a young woman called my name. We went inside. An attractive older woman in a lab coat and glasses stood. "Hi. I'm Pam Roosevelt," she said. Mistress took over the conversation from our end. She told Dr. Roosevelt that I was transexual, and that I desired breasts.. The doctor didn't flinch. She had me take off my shirt, and she felt my nipples. She talked about hormones vs. implants, and saline vs. silicone. She talked about natural growth, and how they would feel. She talked about cup size. If I decided on implants, she showed me where the incision would be. I looked at Mistress. I was scared. "Are you nervous, JoJo," she said. "Ma'am...this is so permanent." I said. "No, not really," Dr. Roosevelt said. "It's a simple procedure these days. I can get to you in three weeks time. And women have their implants removed frequently. If you're trans, then you've dreamed about this. About putting on a bra. About feeling them jiggle. They really are nice to have, JoJo." The next thing I knew, I was filling out forms. In three weeks, I would have a C-cup. There would be no hiding anymore. I would be a girl for all the world to see. Mistress smiled. "Finally," she said. "Toys I can play with." * * Time is a runaway train. I tried excuses, I tried delays. But three weeks went by in a flash. What's the saying? Time flies when you scrub pots? I had an overnight stay in a local hospital. When I came out of the fog, I had puppies on my chest. Knockers. Headlights. Girls. There is nothing sissier. There was no hiding them without wearing a tent as a blouse. Mistress loved to come up behind me and cup them. I loved to see men stare. Damn, they were fun. One day, Molly caught me dancing naked in front of the mirror. It was something by the Stones, and I danced fast just to watch them jiggle. I did a side-to-side shoulder shimmer. To and fro. Up and down. I understood strippers now. Talk about having bounce in your step. For a business woman, it is an insulting thing to catch a co-worker ogling your chest. Not for a sissy, though. A sissy doesn't say "eyes up here, bud." A sissy swells with pride. A sissy looks at her c-cup and wishes she had gone bigger. I loved Mistress nuzzling them. I loved buying the proper sized bra. I loved it when Mistress took me from behind, and my breasts would flop. I bought a new t-shirt: "Got milk?" It said. * * * It was a week later when Mistress informed me we were going out clubbing. That night's role-play, I was informed, was going to be in a bar. We were going to mingle at Flamingo's. Mistress said I could dress normally. She suggested my red dress and heels. My hair still wasn't long, but she could make short pigtails out of it. I dressed, and I was putting on my makeup when she walked up behind me. She reached down and quietly put a leather collar around my neck. It had a pink leash attached. She was taking me for a walk. We moved through Flamingo's, and heads barely turned. Flamingo's is a fetish bar, and around us, there were flavors of every possible kink. There were shackles and chains and whips and dresses and leather and vinyl. Men kissed men. Women kissed women. A man in the corner kissed a mirror. We moved through the crowd with Mistress holding my leash. We found an empty table. Mistress sat in a chair. I was directed to sit on the floor by her feet. "Do you know why we are here, JoJo?" Mistress said. "No, Mistress. I do not." "This is where you're going to perform your first blow job," she said. I shook my head. "We can't," I said. "I've never been unfaithful to you. I won't do that now. I will not suck off a stranger." "But you will," she said. "It's part of your sissy training. No sissy is complete until she gives head for the first time. I insist upon this." "Please don't, Mistress," I said. "I don't want to." "See. That's where our opinions differ. You say you don't want to do it, and I say who the flying fuck cares what you want? I guess we're at an impasse. But since I'm in charge..." "No. I won't do it." "Okay. Think of it like this. See that guy over there? The one in the blue shirt? You're going to suck his dick, or I'm going to suck his dick. It's your choice. You can make your Mistress swallow that guy's cum, or you can. You can watch as I leave lipstick on his dick, or you can leave lipstick on his dick. You do it, or you force me, and you'll pay.Which will it be?" Oh my God. What a choice. I can either suck my first cock, or I can force my wife to be unfaithful to me. Which would be worse? I can take that rod inside my lips, or I could watch Mistress -- Molly! -- do it. If I could absorb the indignity, I could spare hers. I looked up at her. "I'll do it," I said meekly. She smiled. "I knew that if only one of us was getting to taste dick, you'd want it to be you." "No ma'am. I thinking the humiliation is better for me." And so I walked across the bar. I sat at his table. "Well, hello," he said. "My Mistress said I have to suck your cock," I said my eyes darting about the room. "She did, huh? Well, yay for Mistresses." "I'm trans," I said. " I thought you should know." "I don't care if you're part chicken," he said. "Let's go to the men's room. This is going to be fun." I followed him inside. I glanced back at Mistress, but she was talking to a blond guy. Her hand was on his arm. The guy I was with -- Arnie was his name -- was short and pudgy and he smelled foul. He went into the toilet, put the lid down, and sat on top of it. I kneeled and unbuckled his jeans. I fished his cock out of his boxers. I took a deep breath, thinking about the line I was about to cross. I took the bulb into my mouth. I tried not to think about what I was doing. He grabbed my head to force himself deeper into my mouth. "Kiss it," he said. "Lick it. Swallow it." I moved his hands from my head and began to find a rhythm as I bobbed on him. Was this true sissidom? Would this happen often? Was I officially a cocksucker? A few moments later, he grabbed my head again. I was just starting to find a rhythm I enjoyed. But He came inside my mouth, and he held my head in place so none of it would escape. I swallowed it. He looked down on me and smiled. "Now that we're dating," he said. "I want you to meet Mom." * * * The next role-play that Mistress informed me of, she said, would be one of my most challenging. That along left me with a dry mouth. But she was right. "JoJo," she said. "What do you know about cuckoldry." My mind was blank for a minute. Then I looked at her. "Do you want to sleep around on me?" I said, my voice quivering as I spoke. "Ah, doesn't the world sleep around, Sissy? Isn't it just body parts bumping up against each other? We aren't pigeons, sweetie. We aren't meant to be monogamous." "Do you want to sleep around on me?" "Well, you sucked that guy off in the bar." "You made me do that," I said. "Tut-tut," she said. "I gave you a choice. And you wanted to suck his dick. So now it's my turn." "Let's stop this. Let's stop it now." She shook her head. "It's too late for that, munchkin. You wanted to be a sissy. You wanted titties. You wanted to wear dresses and blow guys in bars." I stared at her. "Don't fuck us up, Molly. Please." "Refer ot me as Mistress." "Please." "Well, in cuckoldry, there are three desires at play. The bull gets to fuck someone else's wife. His motivation is simple. He wants his rocks off. The wife, on the other hand, is more complicated. She loves her husband, no matter what you read. She wants to quench his thirst. And, of course she gets sex. But the cuckold, he's the fascinating part of the threesome. He loves his wife so desperately he wants her to be happy. But inside, there is this need to see another man with her. It's so intimate, so compelling. It's a very complicated relationship. It's not Ned is happy because Jethro is fucking his lady. It has layers and desires and urges. That's what I want for you, JoJo. I want you to realize you can't fuck me the way another man can. I want you to love seeing me fulfilled. I want you to play with your little dick while you watch." There was buzzing in my ears. I felt faint. But I was erect, and I knew: If this is something Mistress wanted, she would have it. What could I do? When Mistress found her man, he was an Italian man named Anthony DeMarco. He was handsome enough, but he dressed like an extra from the Godfather. Dark suits. Nice shoes. I wanted to tell him that Tony Soprano had called and would meet him at the Bada Bing. He was touchy. His hands were all over Mistress from the time he walked past the door. He barely acknowledged me except to refer to me, and I quote, as "that pansy creampuff." Now, I thought either "pansy" or "creampuff" would suffice, but he made sure to use them both to make sure I felt as badly as possible about the situation. Maybe I was just being jealous, I thought. I hadn't had vaginal sex with my wife in four months now. Naturally, I was going to resent it if some other guy did. "JoJo, my sweet," Mistress said. "I've been thinking. Are you ready for a pussy yet?" Anthony laughed. "She IS a pussy," he said. "Be nice, Anthony," Mistress said. "I'm serious. Do you want a vagina for Christmas? Would that make you more comfortable with me seeing other men? Anthony and I were talking about it last night, and I think you need to be a woman." I wasn't listening anymore, however. I was fixated on her and Anthony being alone the previous night. Was I already a cuckold? Had Anthony made it to the end zone? "Oh, JoJo. Don't be like that," it was as if she had read my mind. "We just played a little bit. We didn't do the deed.Well, not that deed. Maybe another deed. Just suffice to say we're all square about the blow job in the bar." "Sheesh, Molly," Anthony said. "Can we stop talking and get to fucking? I ain't got all night." "See how charming he is, JoJo. Real men are like that. You know that, though. You've had your tonsils coated." She took Anthony by the hand, and she led him to the bedroom. She unbuckled his trousers, and then his shirt. I swear, to that moment, part of me thought I was being punched, that she would get to the edge and them back off. But she stood there, fondling his cock in front of me. He laid her down, and he dragged his penis across her stomach. She moaned and shifted, and I could see her being penetrated. My breath grew short as I watched, mesmerized. He humped her like a high school sophomore, sliding in and out. I was crying, but I was erect from the excitement of it all, from the sensuality. "Ever fuck her like this, sissy boy?" he hissed. "Ever get so deep you were fucking last night's dinner? And I knew the answers. No, I never had. Molly's eyes were closed, and her mouth was open. She kept moaning. If this was role play, she deserved a fucking Academy Award. * * If it had been one time, I might could have lived with it. But Anthony became a regular at our home. I made his meals. I did his laundry. I endured his barbs. I suppose I was less than a man. He certainly treated me that way. He loved having me watch as he made love to Molly. They had anal sex -- Mistress never had it with me except when she was on top. Mistress didn't care for oral sex, so -- you guessed it --I filled in. I grew to have an appreciation for the erotic nature of our threesome. One day, Mistress approached me in the kitchen as I was preparing dinner. "Are you ready to continue things?" she asked. "I don't know," I said. "You don't know? Shit. Are you going to pay me back for all the money I've spent on you? Your dresses? Your shoes? Your boobies?" "What do you have in mind?" I sighed. "Well, this was Anthony's idea," she said, and I flinched. "He has a lot of working girls in his employ. We were thinking for your next role- play, well, you could join them for a couple of nights. Or longer, if you like it. You're young. Your ass has a lot of miles left." By now, nothing shocked me. I looked at her. "Really, Molly? You're going to whore me out?" "Damn it. It's Mistress. You fuck up again, and I'll cane you. I'm not big into corporal punishment, but I'll wear your sissy ass out. Try me." I stared at the floor. My lips were drawn tight. "Tomorrow, you need to find some. working girl clothes. Will drop you off on Willow about 9. See if you can make me $500. And just think of it. We'll both be getting dick at the same time. Only I'll be giving it away, and you'll be getting paid. Won't that be cool?" I grimaced. But the next day, I found a leather mini-skirt and a white blouse. No, not white, Mistress said. How about blue? It won't get dirty as easily. She found me some ridiculously tall heels. I got out of the car just after nine. Leon, my pimp, guided me to which corner he wanted me to stand. He told me he had rented a room and the Sandpiper Motel on the corner in case my men needed someplace to go. I put bubblegum in my mouth. And then I hit the streets. It was awkward. Men would stare at me, but I would look down, and they would back off. In almost an hour, I hadn't been approached. Anthony's black Lincoln pulled up, and Mistress was at the window. "What's your fucking problem, skank?" she said. "I ... I just can't." I sobbed. "Well, you better if you want to come home tonight. Now freshen your makeup and spread those legs. Make mama proud." I went back to the corner. I held my head up. I looked at the drivers of the cars as they went past. Finally, a Volvo pulled up. There was a child-seat in the back. "Hi," I said. "You looking for some fun?" The man was in his 40s. He grinned. "You a trans?" he asked. I nodded. "Yes sir." "Lots of you trannies around here," he said. "Get in." I climbed into the passenger's seat. He took me to an Alley behind the Kit-Kat Diner. "How much?" he said. "Fifty," I said. "A hundred for my ass. A hundred if you want to blow me." "Fuck that," he said. "Let's start with a blow job. We can move to the ass if you'll do both for $125." I nodded. He shoved his pants down to his knees, and I leaned across the center console. I sucked him with the gear shift in my ribs. Both were very long and very hard. Later, there were three college kids who pooled their money. There was a Shriner from Chicago. There was an old man who couldn't get it up, but who wanted me to suck him anyway. There was a fat guy who had me blow him while he ate a hamburger. There was a sailor in from out of town. There was a politician who wanted to wear my skirt. There was a boy scout troop leader. And a fun time was had by all. By the end of the night, I had made $317. It wasn't what Mistress had required, but she let me in the car anyway. She leaned back over the seat and looked at me. "So did you meet Richard Gere?" "Excuse me?" "Never mind. Did you have a good time." "That's not how I would refer to it." "Yeah, but you're learning a skill. If this maid shit doesn't work out, you can make a living. That must be good to know." I felt dirty. I needed a shower. Maybe two showers. I thought about the Johns of the evening. I thought about Mistress' words. What did she mean "if the maid shit doesn't work out?" Was she tiring of me? Was prostitution my future? What would I do if she dumped me? Whore? Get a job as a maid? Go back to being a boy? The choices weren't very good, were they? Maybe I should have gone home to meet that Arnie guy's mother. * * * On Saturday night, we had another gathering at our house. Translated, that meant there was another opportunity for people to make fun of me while I served them drinks. I was in a pink maid's dress that showed off a little cleavage. I had on pink heels and my hair was in a long braid. I moved amid the crowd. I could see Mistress on the far side of the room, showing DeShawna a ring that Anthony had bought her. She seemed happy,. I hoped so; I hadn't talked much to her all week. I had been busy cleaning her pipes while she was busy cleaning Anthony's. Julie Jonson approached me. She was mean by nature, so I braced myself. "So how do you feel now that Molly has found herself a real man?" she said. "Mistress seems very happy," I said quietly. "I should say so. She's not a lesbian any more. I do hope she'll keep her touch, though. She's a pretty girl." "Yes, ma'am, I'm just the hired help." She laughed. "That's a hell of a move on your part, Sissy," she said. "You're married to Molly, and now you're the fucking cleaning lady. Talk about a downward spiral." "Whatever you say, ma'am." I picked up a try of crab puffs and walked into the crowd. My eyes were burning. "Ladies, gentlemen," a voice rang out. It was Mistress. "I want to thank you all for coming. As you know, our lives are journeys. Some roads are smooth, and some are rough. Sometimes, we grow, and sometimes we wither. It's part of our lives. And you know, sometimes, we find love." I perked up. Was she talking about me? "I've found a love, and I hope you'll all understand it. It's happened quickly, and frankly, it happened while I was married to someone else. But Anthony and I have grown very fond of each other very quickly. I'd like to announce that he's moving in. I hope to announce our engagement very soon, but the bastard is playing hard to get." There was a ripple of laughter. Me? I was crestfallen. My wife was in love with someone else. "Anyway, Anthony is moving in, and we'll need time to learn all about each other. It is with that In mind that I want to make another announcement. I know some of you have never understood JoJo and I. That's fair. It's an odd relationship. But as JoJoe grew as a sissy, and she found her own boyfriends, and we grew apart. It happens. I'll always be fond of JoJo. But I think our time together has been completed. So it is with great admiration that I'd like to say this: "I have agreed to sell JoJo to Jackson Adams, the sale being finalized immediately. Thank you JoJo, and I wish you well." With that she fell into Anthony's arms for a long kiss. There was a pause. And I felt as if I was falling. Below, there were rocks. I had never felt so lost, so abandoned. Sold? How can you sell someone in the United States? Why would Mistress want to sell me? Holy shit. I was a used car. I was a jug of milk. I was owned by someone else. I was a slave. Jackson approached me. He smiled. He reached and put my collar around my neck. He handed my leash to DeShawna. "Time to go home, JoJo," he said. "I'm very happy. The first time I saw you, I thought you were the prettiest thing ever." DeShawna led me through the crowd. I was bawling like a child. I slumped to my knees. DeShawna lifted me up. Jackson gripped my arm, and they led me away. It's funny now, but the last thought I had was this: "Whoever is going to clean up this mess?" * *' Jackson and DeShawna took me home. It was a bigger house than ours. They showed me my room, a remade children's room. They told me they would get my clothing from Molly tomorrow. They told me my chores would be pretty much the same, although I would be asked to learn to style hair. Jackson told me a big part of my job would be sexual favors. He liked ass. DeShawna liked having her ass licked. He was sure I would make them both happy. I began to work. The Adams left me alone for the most part, and I tried to lose myself in small chores. Then I walked into the den, and there on the couchsat Molly and Anthony. "Hello, JoJo," she said. I turned to leave, but Jackson grabbed my wrist. "Be polite," he said. "Hello, Mrs. Brewer," I said. Brewer was Molly's last name. "Molly was just asking if she could sub-let you for one day a week. Say, Saturday. Would you still want to work for her and Anthony?" "I would prefer not to, Mr. Adams." "Ohh, I feel a chill," Molly....Mrs. Brewer said. "Well, you did throw her away," Jackson said to her. "I most certainly did not," she said. "I got $30 grand for her. That'll pay off my house. I can always get another sissy, but to own my own home is special." I gritted my teeth. Then I had something to say. "Mrs. Brewer," I said to my former Mistress. "I want to apologize to you." "To me?" "Yes, ma'am. This sissy role-play was all my fault. I forced you out of our bed. I grew breasts and slept with men. I became a different person. You had every right to find someone of your own. I judged you too harshly. You were merely human. It was my fault I believed you were so much more." "JoJo?" Mrs. Brewer said. "Can we talk for a minute. Just you and I?" I looked at Mr. Adams. He nodded. I said yes. We walked into the kitchen. We sat. "JoJo, do you know what you will find at the core of role play?" she said. "It is acting. And at the core of acting is pretending. Think of the great movie roles of all time. Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca. Marlon Brando in Streetcar. James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause. They were pretending to be someone else. "That's what all this is, JoJo. It's role play. Adult role-play, I admit. But role play nevertheless. Pretending. I pretended to sell you. I pretended to fall in love with Anthony. That's all sweetie. I could never leave you." I was crying. "Pretending?" I said. "Yes." "I slept with men. You slept with Anthony. I got boobs." "I admit. It was a hard-core role. But the great stories are about growth and change and finding one's self. We did that, baby. Look at you in your maid's dress. Could you ever imagine not being in one of those now? Can you imagine me as anything other than your Mistress? I almost shit when you called me Mrs. Brewer. You sounded like you hated me." "I'll never hate you," I said through the tears. "Who is Anthony?" "An actor with the Little Theatre," she said. "Jackson?" "He's Jackson. He's. your neighbor. He only owns you if I say he can." I smiled. "I'm so sorry, honey," I said. "Me, too. Now get your leash, and I'll take you home." We moved toward the door. Molly looked at me. "By the way, JoJo. Have you ever thought about a bondage role-play?" (c) copyright 2019, Cassandra Morgan