I'm A Bimbo Now free porn video

I'M A BIMBO NOW by Throne I came home from work feeling upbeat and horny, looking forward to seeing my sexy wife Geena, even though I had another target lined up for my lust. As I entered the living room, she called out for me to come into the den. When I got there she was accompanied by several people I didn't know. There was a well dressed man sitting next to her on the sofa. Across from them in an easy chair was a brutish guy whose clothes were flashily tasteless. Open shirt with gold chains on display. Tight pants. Pointy shoes. And on the couch at the far end sat a woman with a huge bust and a tall wig. It looked like the circus had come to town. Keeping my voice level because I wasn't sure what was happening, I asked, "Who are our visitors, dear?" "Oh, this is Mister Caruso, one of those clients you have as a freelance account, separate from your main job." My mouth went dry. Caruso was a notorious mob boss whose account I'd taken on because it paid extremely well in exchange for complete discretion. The arrangement had worked very well, with me handling his finances from home and never meeting him face-to-face. The problem was that I'd gotten greedy and skimmed a huge amount of money to put into my own pockets. Obviously he had found out. Caruso spoke. "I can tell from your expression, Steven, that you know I discovered what you've been doing. And we both understand that I am obligated to respond in, shall we say, a very forceful manner. Agreed?" "Yes, Sir. But I intended to pay it all back. And I will. If you'll just give me..." He cut off my accelerating words with an upraised hand. "Steven. You imagine that I am going to eliminate you. In other circumstances that would be true. But when I came to your wife two weeks ago to ask some questions, she was as unhappy with your behavior as I myself. And we found that we were attracted to each other, so I do not wish to upset her. Making you disappear would be an inconvenience for lovely Geena." He put an arm possessively around her shoulders. "So we have come up with an alternative solution. One that will deal with the anger she feels about your infidelity, and will pay me back as well." "But most of the money is in a special account. I can return it to you on Monday." "You will do that," he said with a slight nod. "Everything you took from me, minus what you have spent on your mistress, about who I informed you wife. But there is also the issue of my honor, which you have insulted by stealing from me. And there is the need for us all to have an understanding about our relationships with each other. Especially for you to see that much has changed between yourself and this precious woman." He pulled her against him and, instead of being bothered, she smiled and kissed the five-o'clock shadow on his cheek. "So my associate Tony here," he nodded toward the hulking nightmare who was rising from the couch, "will escort you to the location where you will be settling your moral debt. He will be assisted by my employee, Sable." The busty figure also rose. She was taller than me, even without the outrageous wig. Her curvy figure was encased in a clinging red dress and her feet fitted into color-coordinated shoes with steep stiletto heels. Tony approached me and lifted his hand to indicate that I should stand. I got up shakily. He took my arm in a viselike grip and walked me to where Sable stood. She extended one large hand and said, "Sable Foxx. So nice to meet you. I look forward to working together." Caruso wanted to know, "Will Steven be okay?" "Oh yes," she said in a smoky contralto. "Short and slender. Smooth features. Small hands -- you can color me jealous of those. He'll do fine." Wait. Sable was no woman. She was a he. A man in drag. One of those repulsive queens. I drew away from her until Tony's hand around my underdeveloped bicep stopped me. The intimidating goon said calmly, "You and me are going into the city. I'll drop Sable and you off at her club." Caruso interjected with, "Which I have a financial interest in." Tony added, "And she'll get you started in your new job." "B... but..." I turned to my wife for help. She sneered at me. "Hope you had a lot of fun with your mistress, Steve. Mr. Caruso has already let her know that you will no longer be sneaking over to her apartment. She took it very well, I've been told." "Correct," Caruso said. "The young lady sounded relieved to be rid of you. And don't worry about her. I offered a lucrative position in another of my business interests which she was eager to accept." My life was being pulled out from under me. Tony steered me toward the door I had entered through so recently. I noticed then that there were two unfamiliar cars parked nearby. I was led to one, with Sable following. Tony got behind the wheel and I had to sit next to the crossdresser in the back. Her perfume was cloying. Eyelashes much too long. Make-up overdone. And that wig was blond but had highlights of red and pink. I shuddered just from being so physically close to such a creature. We drove in silence for a while before I summoned up the courage to speak. "So we're going to...?" I asked quietly. "To my club, like your new boss said. Well, actually your new boss will be ME. Mr. Caruso has people who make sure he is not directly associated with certain of his interests. But then, you were one of those people. And you got your hand in the till to snatch some money. Naughty boy." "I... It's just..." "Yes?" "What kind of work will I be doing there?" I had a disturbing mental image of some sort of menial labor, like janitoring, to satisfy Caruso's sense of victory. Sable told me, "Listen, darling, the club is called The Golden Gown. Does that give you a clue?" "It's a fag place," I said, my distaste overriding my caution. "Well," she huffed. "If you choose to describe it that way. I prefer to call it a transvestite triumph. Entertainment for devotees and newcomers alike. Special services available upstairs, if you get what I mean." "You have hookers there? Guys in dresses who...?" She waved my words away with a scented lace handkerchief. "Please," she said, her massive bosom rising and falling dramatically. "You shouldn't disparage my friends and I. We do what we love." "Well, it makes me sick." Tony pulled into an enclosed lot and parked near an unmarked entrance. He got out and opened her door. I exited the car uncertainly, just wanting to get this over with. I knew I was lucky that Caruso hadn't had me killed. But what sort of nonsense was he going to put me through as an alternative? Something humiliating, I assumed. Just being around a bunch of overdressed fairies like Sable would be punishment enough. The driver opened the building's discrete entrance and Sable passed through. He glanced back and waved for me to follow. Once we were inside he turned to Sable. "Miss Foxx," he said. "Do you want me to mess this punk up some for the way he talked to you?" That brought me more forcefully back to the unhappy reality of my circumstances. I was trapped here. Also, I belatedly considered, Caruso had been left alone with Geena. She was infuriated with me for my infidelity and was obviously drawn to that criminal. Sable told Tony, "No thank you. We can't have our new worker mussed up. Not when she has to look totally pretty for the customers." "Hold on." I stared at her in disbelief. "You expect me to... to...?" "Let yourself be turned into a drag queen, to mince around among my clientele, and perform other duties as needed." "You mean...?" "As needed. Unless you'd rather I call Mr. Caruso, who might want to switch to some very unpleasant alternative." Tony had placed himself between me and the door. My stomach turned over. The TV moved on and I trailed her numbly into a dressing room. Sable gave me a genial smile and said, "Strip down, sweetness. I have a lot of work to do on you." With Tony hovering nearby, I didn't dare to disobey. As I unbuttoned my shirt he came closer. Each article of clothing I removed went straight into his thick-fingered hands. When it was time to give him my slacks, I reached into the pocket to retrieve my wallet. "No-no," he scolded mildly. "Unless you want to get your hand slapped." It sounded like that was a euphemism for something much more violent. As much as I didn't want to give up my wallet, with my cash, credit cards, and ID inside, or my house and car keys, there was no other choice. Then I had to remove my shorts and set them gingerly atop everything else. Tony left the room with all of it. Sable eyed me up and down, taking extra time to evaluate my genitals. I shuddered. "You're pretty average down there," she noted. "From what I've heard, Mr. Caruso is exceptionally endowed. But I don't want you to worry about how your wife might react if she gets to know him more intimately. Which could happen because he's charming in his way. And you did have a mistress. Still, let's not dwell on that. There's so much to do." "Please," I said in a faint voice. "Could I at least have a robe or something?" "Thank you for adopting a more civil tone. And the answer is NO." She left me an opportunity to stand up to her, which I was wise enough not to do. "Now hop into that stall shower over there." She came with me, took a large plastic squeeze-bottle, and handed it over. I saw that it was hair remover. She had me smear it all over myself, everywhere hair grew on my body. Then, to my horror, she donned rubber gloves so she could gently rub it into my eyebrows. Next she squeezed a generous portion onto my hair and massaged it in. This couldn't be happening. But it was. She even put and extra coat of the depilatory on my most private areas, front and back. I had to stand there and let the depilatory work while she went to a the long table mounted against the wall, with a mirror above it, where there was a vast collection of cosmetics. For about five minutes she picked items and set them together. Then she turned on the water and I was wetted with a cold dribble, from which I backed away. Sable adjusted it to something warmer and I stepped under the spray. As she had me scrub myself with my hands, all the hair on my body was washed away and accumulated on the drain plate. She made me pick it up and drop it into a conveniently placed trashcan. I watched the symbols of my masculinity land atop used tissues smeared with make-up. It was so strange to look down and see my genitals as hairless as they had been before puberty. Then I had to massage my scalp, which resulted in my brown hair coming loose in my hands. After depositing several helpings of it into the waste container, I could feel that I was totally bald. A few quick strokes of my fingers and my eyebrows vanished. She gave me liquid soap then, heavily perfumed, and allowed me to wash away the residue of the hair remover. When I stepped out she passed me a large fluffy towel. I dried myself and then was led to a full length mirror. What I saw left me breathless. I was smooth and pink all over, my scalp nude and eyebrows gone. It was deeply unsettling. Sable took me by the hand and led me, like a child, to a large wardrobe. She opened the closet and sorted through multiple choices of outerwear before selecting one. Then she went into a nearby dresser to gather underthings. "Time to get glamorous, Steven," she said cheerily. "But we won't be able to call you by your boy name after that. So how about if right now we start addressing you as... Stephanie. Hmmm. I like that. Let's make it... Stephanie Starr." As I stood there in a daze she began dressing me. There was a bra with impossibly large cups, panties that I had to step into and slither silkily up my denuded legs. Then came stockings. She showed me how to sit and put them on properly. When I stood again I got another glimpse of myself, which made me feel like even less of a man. While I gaped at my transforming image, Sable merrily took two huge breast forms and stuffed one into each side of the foundation garment. Oh no! She had given me a ginormous set of tits. I was really beginning to look like a bimbo drag- queen. As she had me strut around they jiggled like the real things. That was followed by a shiny dress that caught the light and reflected it back from its sleek surfaces. It was a blue-green, the shifting color perhaps best described as aquamarine. As she helped me cram myself into it I realized it featured built-in padding at the hips and buttocks. Combined with the enormous boobs, that gave me an outlandish figure. It felt so weird to have those exaggerated contours. Before I had time to recover from that shock she put me into a pair of gaudy shoes, covered with plastic jewels and glitter. They didn't feature high heels but had tall platforms. I was able to totter around in them and, with a bit of practice gained some confidence, even though I still had to take small mincing steps. Sable instructed me in the fine art of keeping my wrists limp, sighing, wagging my bottom, and fluttering my eyelashes. Then she sat me down in a chair in front of that long mirror and went to work with the cosmetics she had selected. Foundation was followed by blush, plenty of eye make-up, lashes as long as hers, lipstick, lip liner and lip gloss. High arched brows were drawn on. There was shading to suggest elevated cheekbones, a narrower nose, and a pouting lower lip. My face was no longer my own. When I frowned, a stranger reflected the expression back at me. The coup de grace was a ridiculously large wig, pale blue, with bangs and a large bow above them, that she set atop my head. There was something inside it that, when she pressed it firmly down, made it stay in place. I got up and had to take another walk of shame, up and down the narrow room, arms slightly extended to the side, hands swaying, shoulders back, tummy in. I was at the spot where we had originally entered the room when a tall Black man, wildly effeminate, sashayed in. He said, "Ohhh. Who's the new girl with a cock? I mean, new girl on the block." Sable said, "This is Stephanie Starr." "Some guy is going to hitch his wagon to that star." He pumped his hips vigorously to make his meaning clear. "No," I said in desperation. "I'm not like that. I'm straight." The two queens exchanged looks. "That's right, Margo," Sable assured the newcomer. "Under all that glitz beats the heart of a married man. Condemned to live among the savage queens until his debt to a certain scion of sin is paid. And it gets better. His wife, who is hot looking - - you know, for a woman-by-nature, not by choice -- is hooking up with that big sinner." Margo rolled his eyes. "A straight TV in this place? Have mercy. When the boys who like to take us upstairs hear we got one of those -- let me catch my breath -- they are going to have a feeding frenzy." He pursed his lips in thought. "But maybe 'feeding' isn't the right verb." As Margo busied himself getting ready for the club to open, more of the swishy crew appeared. There was a short Asian guy who looked more like a girl than a guy even before he changed his clothes or touched his make-up. Then came a thin-as-a-rail specimen with a shaved head, two Latinos that quickly reinvented themselves as Latinas, and a plump number who seemed to be flouncing even when she sat to put her face on. My unease grew and grew as they openly gossiped about how popular an unwilling un-gay participant in the madness to come would be. At the same time I could hear activity out front and knew the doors had opened and an audience was entering. All too soon the ladies -- I honestly couldn't think of them as men -- were ready to take the spotlight. But first the chubby one, who it turned out was named Chubby Largesse, occupied the stage. She was the MC and adept at delivering jokes, interacting with the customers, and even singing lines from popular songs with lewd and lascivious lyrics substituted. Then Margo went out and lip-synched to a song by a Black songstress from an earlier era. Others took their turns, Sable sang something heartrending, unaccompanied, in her own voice, and then Chubby, after making a few self-deprecating cracks about her weight -- "I had to run across the street for cigarettes the other night, in full drag, and the clerk in the store asked me how many months pregnant I was." -- and her supposed shortcoming in the penis department -- "I met this cute guy who he said he wanted to go down on me but it would be like sucking a pacifier, and he wasn't into the whole adult-baby scene." -- before he said he had a special announcement. Margo put a hand on my bare shoulder with too much familiarity and whispered in my ear, "This is it, baby. Just listen to Chubby and follow the leads she gives you." My aversion to being made to look that way was exceeded only by a horror of being seen by others. As Margo coaxed me out onto the stage an appreciative murmur ran through the crowd. I saw interested gazes and predatory stares from the more masculine types, as well as evaluating looks from the queenly ones. Chubby hooked an arm through mine and her enhanced bust -- padded-from-below man boobs -- bumped up against my artificially expanded one. She said, "Honey, you should have those things licensed as weapons. But seriously, ladies and genitals..." She laughed at her stale joke. "...what we have here is a new face at The Golden Gown. And a hell of a new body." To me she said, "Tell them your name, Candy Pants." "C... Candy?" I said in confusion. "Sorry folks, but she's a bit confused. Got bit by the bimbo bug. A terrible condition. All the brain tissue migrates to the knockers. Now try again, but without the airhead factor in play." I tried to remember. Instead of Steven they were calling me... "Stephanie. Starr. Stephanie Starr." "It took her a few tries but she got it." More appreciative laughter but also some questions being passed back and forth. What was Chubby going to announce? As if she intended their thoughts to reach that point at that moment, she told them, "The big news is that Stephanie here isn't on the stage of her own free will. She'd rather be home with the TV turned to some sports channel and a beer in her hand. You see, she got into some trouble and ran up a bill she couldn't pay. So whoever's waiting for her to cover that check sent her here to earn her freedom, so to speak. Deep in her heart, behind those big milk-bags, she's straight. And I know some of you start to drool at the idea of a helpless straight guy, all girly against his will, who has to do whatever your perverted imaginations think up. Hmmm?" There were a few disappointed sounding utterances but a much larger number of enthused ones. I was squirming inwardly, and not just from that tight dress, those difficult shoes, and that overgrown wig. Chubby went on, "So she will now pass among you, ladies and germs. Look but please don't touch. After all, she is a virgin, at least everywhere it counts in this den of iniquity." She goosed me between my padded buttocks. I moved to the edge of the low stage and saw two steps leading down to the main floor. Proceeding cautiously in those attention-getting shoes, I got down there and confronted a roomful of mostly hungry faces. Why had Sable given me such overlarge bosoms? It was like I was sending out a special signal to attract male attention. I wended my way between the tables and listened to unsolicited comments and invitations. "Somebody's smuggling fresh produce under her dress. Bigger than cantaloupes but smaller than watermelons." "What do you use for a bra, Stephanie? A couple of bowling ball bags?" "I know what I'd like to put between those sweater-stretchers." "Hey, birdbrain. How'd you like two guys at once? Head and tail?" They didn't touch me but what they said made me feel violated. And there had been that earlier mention of rooms upstairs. How far was Caruso allowing them to take me? I had a bad feeling that, instead of encouraging him to be lenient, Geena would push him to let me be misused endlessly. Circling the room seemed to take an hour, though I knew it was much less. By the time I returned to the stage, accompanied by hoots and whistles, Chubby was ready with a few more remarks. "Stephanie is available to any of our club members. Who gets her first will be based on your bid... and cock size." Chubby chuckled. "Which means I'll NEVER get near her. Oh well, not my type. But if there are any truck drivers in the audience, I work in all twelve gears." Sable and Margo appeared and put themselves on either side of me. They linked their arms through mine. Hushed discussions were going on at several tables. I felt like a prize animal at a livestock auction. With those udders I might have been a milk cow. Tony came out from backstage and looked over the buzzing crowd. A tall man in a three-piece-suit stood up and waved to him. Tony went to his table and conferred. He checked with two other obviously interested parties. But it quickly became apparent that the first one had bid so high that no one was about to compete with him. Maybe he had pooled his resources with the other two men at his table. Or he might simply have been filthy rich. Either way, I was his and, I feared, his companions', for however long they were paying to have me. No money was exchanged. Tony led them through a door alongside the stage. The two TVs holding me took me backstage for a quick touch-up. They wanted the merchandise to look its best. It all seemed impossible. Only hours ago I had gone home to my stunning wife, while anticipating a tryst with my mistress. Now here I was in this kinky nightspot, with no body hair, bald, dressed like a drag queen, sporting that humongous wig, boasting a pair of fake knockers in the gallon-plus size, my face unrecognizable under all that make-up. My wife was with a rapacious hood whose advances she welcomed. And I was about to be served up to a trio of leering men who had been eying me with bad intent. This was not my idea of a good time. After some more blush had been put on my cheeks -- to give me that 'shy about being deflowered look', as Sable put it -- I was led onto the stage, where I was greeted with ooohs and aaahs of mock condemnation for the wicked acts I was presumed to be about to perform. Then I was ushered off the stage and through the door where the high bidder and his friends had gone. I ascended a short flight of steps slowly in my hooker shoes, moving like a man on the way to his execution, though it was more like I was heading for the execution of my manhood. At the top of the stairs my two guides kissed me on the cheeks, adjusted my massive breast forms, and pointed me toward a red door at the end of the corridor. I continued unhurriedly, hoping desperately for a last minute reprieve. There was no call from the governor, no heroic rescue, not a sign of a hidden escape route. Instead, I knocked lightly on the door and it was opened by one of the three well dressed men, though not the leader. This one took me by the upper arm and guided me toward a bed with brass scrollwork head and footboards. It was covered by a pink bedspread. The leader was sitting on the edge. He gestured for me to come closer, which I reluctantly did. Looking up, past my twin glories, into my eyes, he said, "Call me Mike. Are you really straight? And you've never done anything like this before?" In barely more than a whisper, noticing that I was keeping my voice high and soft without thinking, I told him, "I'm married. And this is the last thing I want to do." Instead of taking pity on me he grinned sadistically. "Wow," he said, exhaling the word. "I never thought I'd get this lucky. And you're worth everything I'm paying you. Or rather, I'm paying the club." He chortled. "Now let's take our time and make this last a long while." Mike patted his lap. I went and sat down on his thighs. To make myself feel like I wouldn't slip off, I put an arm around his shoulders. He nodded. "See? You're learning to get into this already. But don't worry. We'll make sure you don't like what happens to you... straight, married, virginal- where-it-matters, Stephanie Starr. Let me begin with that milky white neck." He pulled me close against him and put his lips below my ear. I tensed. His mouth went about an inch lower and I felt his tongue roaming up and down. It was disgusting. The sort of thing the type of male I despised would appreciate having done to them. I cringed away from him but there was nowhere to go. My reaction fired his libido. I felt Mike's straining erection against my thigh, through that slutty dress. He nibbled on soft skin and made me whimper. I was doing precisely the right things to coax him along, which was the opposite of what I intended. He stroked my bare arm and pushed up with his hips, making doubly sure that I registered his stiffness. One of the other men came over and knelt in front of me. He put both hands on my calf and massaged it, working higher by fractions of inches. The third one sat across from us on a comfortable chair and watched avidly. He was playing the voyeur of the group, at least for the time being. Mike licked my ear. The kneeler passed my knee. My earlobe got bitten, just hard enough to make me moan softly. Exploring fingers touched my inner thigh, frighteningly close to my genitals, which were in snug panties, tucked down and back but still accessible. I sniffled, which inflamed Mike's lust. He inquired, even though he already had to know the answer, "Frightened, Stephanie?" "Y... yes, Sir." "Good. But don't let that distract you too much when you're in front of me with my cock waiting for attention. You don't want to upset me. I've been known to spank girls who don't cooperate. Comprehend?" "I do. Yes. Please don't spank me." I was close to tears. The thought of being put over Mike's lap and having my buns smacked was terrifying. Of course, being face-to-knob with his cock would be much worse. But I figured the former might be avoided while the latter could not. The guy in front of me located my three piece set and teased it expertly. I breathed harder. Please don't let me get aroused, I silently requested. My salvation -- if you could call it that -- came from Mike being ready to use me. The two men slid me off his lap and eased me down onto my knees. Mike pulled my face forward into his still covered crotch. His raging hard-on pressed against my nose and mouth. He made me kiss it several times. Then he stood, got his belt and pants undone, to lower them along with his shorts before he sat once more. Now I really was face-to-phallus with his long thick member. "All right, Stephanie, you big-boobed bimbo. Start by giving it a sweet kiss on the tip. You don't have to spread your lips yet. There's some of that clear stuff leaking out, so just use the end of your tongue to gather it up. A first taste. That's my princess. Queen-to-be. Kneeling sissy. Straight man whose wife, from what I've been told, is most likely getting her brains banged out right now. Let's go further. Put your lips around the head. Not even the whole knob yet. We have lots and lots of time." I did that, encircling the soft bulb with my softer mouth. He made me gradually take in more, so that the wide corona went past my writhing lips. I had to use my tongue on the receptive frenum underneath, which made him purr like an alley cat, deep in this throat. I expected him to be deep in MY throat soon. Still he didn't hurry. It went so slowly, every second an agony of mental torment, until he was halfway buried and I had overcome my gag reflex. It was shameful that my body hadn't rejected him. Instead it accepted for some reason, and before long he was in my face so far that his ball sac rested on my quivering chin. Mike relaxed for a full minute before easing me back off his rod. He gave several instructions and then just observed as I pampered his pole like the whorish dragster I resembled. Those big faux jugs were against the edge of the mattress. Every time they shifted it rubbed them against my real nipples, providing stimulation I did not want. Mike was progressing toward a big finish. The good news was that this ordeal would soon be over. The bad news was that it would end with me getting a mouthful of his spunk. The worse news was that there were still the other two men to accommodate. I tried to stay focused on doing the best job I could, as much as that revolted me. At least I might get through this without the spanking. His breath hissed through his clenched teeth. He jerked his pelvis once. Twice. And blasted a heavy load of cream into my mouth. I swallowed reflexively but still got plenty of the salty taste. Then the later spurts paddled under my tongue and I had to gulp those down consciously. ICK! Mike kept me there, suctioning the final drops out and adding to his pleasure as he grew flaccid inside my mouth. At last he pushed me off him, had me kiss his balls to display gratitude, and edged to my side. He stood to pull up his pants and underwear, then went to slump on a couch along the far wall. He said to the guy who had been handling my legs, "Your turn, Burke. Don't hold back. We may never get a cherry like this, just waiting to be popped." Cherry? Popped? That meant taking a virgin's maidenhead. But I didn't have one of those. I only had... "Come on, Stephanie," said Burke. "Get your pretty ass -- and those monster tits -- up on the bed. I'm taking a ride up your tunnel of love." "No," I squeaked. "Please. Not that. Couldn't I just do for you what I did for Mike?" "Hear that?" said Burke. "Her first night and she's already offering blowjobs." He let out a barking laugh. "No, easy-ass. That's not what I want. This is going to be deep and hard. Fun for me but not for you. So up you come and get on all fours like a well trained bitch." In a trance of disbelief I assumed the position. He hiked up my dress in the back, the butt pads going with it. Then he yanked my panties down with one rough move. From the drawer of a bedside table he took a tube of lubricant, put some on his fingers and spread the chilly stuff over my tightness. Next, as I looked back over my trembling shoulder, he put more on his already rampant cock. Whereas Mike wanted to make it last, it appeared that Burke got his special thrill from making it fast and violent. He told me, "Get ready for me to go in the out door." He set the end of his tool against my bung. "To race to the end of the Midnight Highway." His cockhead pressed demandingly against my pucker. "And to turn you from an innocent to a woman of the world." Burke shoved. The wide head of his randy rod passed through my clenching ring, making me howl. Mike licked his lips. The remaining man took a deep breath. I sobbed and hung my head, bid farewell to my innate masculinity, and said hello to the irreversible reality of having been used as a sex receptacle. Burke slammed himself the rest of the way in, to the hilt. I wailed and quaked but he had a firm grip on my naked hips. His pelvis pumped and he went in and out like some piece of machinery whose governor had failed. It was rapid and brutal, like a prison rape. He slowed at some point but the damage to my psyche was already done. Then his tempo increased again but with a hint of control. He growled and I knew what came next. He came. Inside me. Defiling the last bastion of my male ego. Emptying his testicles into my bowels. Not until he was utterly sated did he withdraw. I dropped forward and lay there panting, clutching a pillow. Mike said, "Two down and one to go. What's it going to be, Jess?" The third controlling man declared, "I'm going to make her tug me off, right into her own face. I can't resist seeing them do that. It's fun when they pretend they hate it, even though there's always a chance they secretly get off on it. But this one, Sissy Stephanie whose hot wife most likely cuckolded him while he was getting his tailpipe stuffed, I absolutely KNOW she doesn't want it." To me he said, "So how about if you sit on the edge of the bed..." He was struck by sudden inspiration. "No, wait. Change of plan. There's a lavatory in here. So you can sit on the toilet and jerk me off into your face. You don't even have to open your mouth. After all, you took one helping there already. No, I want to get the entire mess on your bimbo-style, drag-queen-perfect, eyes and nose and lips. I'll be careful not to get any on that super-slut wig. Let's go, Stephanie. Sit and stroke." I got where he wanted me, running on automatic by then. He dropped his pants and stood before me while I occupied my lowly 'throne'. Cupping his balls with one hand, I used the other to pump his root, keeping it aimed directly at my contorting features. He sneered down at me and uttered a few insults. "Make me cum all over your draggy face. Get it in your eyes. Make sure it goes all over your lips. And then don't stop it from running down to your chin." He was exciting himself. With an effort he drew back, extending my suffering for an added quarter hour. Half hour. His cock was dripping. Balls pulled up tight. Hips twitching. He snarled something that sounded like a curse but was unintelligible. Then it came, right into my face, jet after jet of hot white sauce. It got all over my features and inevitably slid down in thick trails. When it was over he stepped back. Told me to get up. Motioned me to go to the mirror, where I got a clear look at my cream-covered face. Jess told me, "Give your reflection a big kiss." I did it, creating smeared lip prints. "And don't ever forget what you're seeing right now. I know I won't." I wouldn't either. One of the men must have sent a signal because Sable showed up. She looked like she'd had some action of her own, but that it had the opposite effect of what I endured. The drag queen seemed energized. The three men took pictures of me with their phones, an added insult to my already beaten down pride, and then left. Sable said, "Your wife just called. She wanted us to tell you that she had a fantastic time with her new bedmate." "Will she be coming soon to get me? I can't take much more of this." The confident crossdresser came over and gave my big boobs another straightening. I got unsteadily to my feet and she tugged down my dress. The wig, because of whatever was holding it to my scalp, was still upright and centered. "Poor baby," Sable said with what sounded like genuine sympathy. "You still haven't figured it out. You're not going home tonight. We have you for the entire weekend." "But I'll be a complete wreck by then." "No, that will take much longer. Still, you will be here every weekend from now on, until my boss says otherwise. And from the report I got from your wife, I doubt that will be anytime soon." She shrugged. "But hey, you can rest up during the week. We'll draw some manly eyebrows on you and, once the wig is worked off, give you an ugly and obviously fake hairpiece that some customer left here. Then you can go to work and spend your days thinking about coming back here. And your weeknights, from what I gather, in lingerie while you listen to your wife getting properly banged by a real man. You're going to be paying for your betrayals 24/7 for long time." "How long?" I asked nervously. "Stephanie, you don't want to know." That was not the answer I would have preferred. I sighed. Someone knocked on the door. A voice called in to us, "Ready for your next dance partner, Stephanie?" Sable answered for me. "Give us five minutes. Better make that ten. This drag-bimbo made a complete mess of herself." "Okay. The gentleman will be waiting... with his paddle and other toys." How about that? I wasn't even going to get away without a spanking. ********* (I have new short-short stories on the free site Deviant Art, with a variety of themes. My page there is under the name Subthrone. ENJOY.)