The Harder The Better free porn video

The Harder the Better By Cassandra Morgan What is it that makes a moth attracted to a porch light? Is it the glow? Is it the warmth? Is it the brightness in comparison to its rather monochrome existence? Is in in his DNA? Why does a bear risk the wrath of bees by daring to taste the honey from the hive? Is it the sweetness? Is it the risk? Is it knowing that the pleasure outweighs the pain? Is it just the kind of creature he is? Such are the questions that enter one's mind in the face of his desire. It might make little sense on a rational level. You might be tempted to back away, slowly, before inviting the damage. But you cannot. Joey Johnson sat in the dimly lit bar with his wife, Gwen, and watched the colors bounce around him. It was another Friday night at Diversions, a good place for people watching, and the two of them sat, transfixed, at the show that was going on around them. There was a woman slow-dancing with a shorter woman, and every now and then the taller woman would smile and steal a kiss from her partner. There was a pair of men walking across the room holding hands. There was a woman with a horse-mask on, trotting across the dance floor, her reins flopping against her back.. And there, in the middle, stood a short figure in a pink dress, her hands over her head as she gyrated to the song Walking on Sunshine. She was wearing pink heels, and a ribbon in her hair, and she moved with a purpose. A smile was etched on her face. Ah, the sissies. Joey's mouth was dry as he watched, silently. The sissy was evidently dancing by herself, her hair bouncing in the low lights. Her makeup was as perfect as a doll's, and when she shook her head, her blond hair bounded from one side of his face to the other. She did not stop smiling, and after a while, she began to sing along with the tune, as if nobody, and everybody, was watching her. Nearby, there was a cluster of sissies, all bouncing and swaying, the colors of their outfits making them look like bobbing M&Ms. There was a freedom in their movement, an abandon, a beauty. Theirs were the faces of sheer joy. As was usually the case, Joey felt himself become aroused as he watched. "See something you like?" Gwen giggled. "Her," Joey said, a bit embarrassed over being caught. "They're ... pretty." "God. You and your girly boys. I'll ask again: why did you marry me anyway? I'm far too macho for you." "I married you because you're the sexiest, funniest, smartest person every born." "You left out 'humble,'" Gwen said. "Oh, that, too. Definitely humility is one of your assets." "Don't forget that I'm a bitch on the tennis courts." "Only there?" Gwen swatted his arm and grinned. This was what made their marriage work, the banter, the laughter. It was the most intimate part of their relationship. And the sissies danced on. Every couple of weeks, the Johnsons found themselves in Diversions, taking in the scene as if it was an art gallery. They didn't play like a lot of adventurous couples out there, but they talked about it, and they laughed about it. They practiced some mild fetish dalliances in their bedroom -- handcuffs, role-play -- and they talked about threesomes and the like. As Gwen said, it was only body parts rubbing against each other, like Eskimos rubbed noses. No big deal. Joey was now looking across the room, where a domme woman in black leather -- do they get a discount on leather if they're a domme? -- was talking to her sub. The sub was dressed in a light blue maid's outfit. She was kneeling on the floor, loving up adoringly at her mistress. Joey exhaled slowly. "Damn, what is it about you and these skittish little creatures?" Gwen said. "There's nothing," Joey said. "I just think they're odd. A curiosity. Men who are so girly they make your teeth hurt. They look like gummy bears, all squishy and the like." "And sweet." "Yeah, I guess. If you like that sort of thing." "Joey, how about that one? The girl in The Beauty and the Beast dress. Belle, I think her name was in the story. Do you like her?" Joey shifted his eyes to the right, and a tall sissy with pink hair was talking quietly to a man in a small booth. He handed her money, and she left. A couple of heartbeats later, he slid out and followed her toward the men's room. "She's not as feminine as the sissy in blue," Joey said. "But Verne the trucker seems to like her." "Yeah ... he'll like hr for about 15 minutes." On the floor in front of them, Batman was dancing with Captain America. Two large women who appeared to be transvestites were kissing each other with a hunger usually reserved for starving men. A woman was kissing the belly of a man in a diaper. A woman with handcuffs on her belt was checking out the men at the bar. "You know, Joey," Gwen said. "There are all these preferences on display. Why is it the sissies who you always seem to watch the most closely?" Joey swallowed. He looked at Gwen, then cut his eyes away. He exhaled loudly. And, for the first time, he said it out loud. "Because I want to be one, I guess," Joey said, his voice cracking. "You what?" Gwen was giggling now, her hand over her mouth. "Don't make me say it again," Joey said. Gwen laughed again. She looked out at the dancing sissy. She looked at Joey. She looked at the sissy again. And then she said 'No!' "Well, you can't be. Just fucking forget about it. Be a man." *** The music continued to play, but Joey didn't hear it. His world had been stripped of sound and color, and he could hear the sound of his own heartbeat. "I'm sorry," he said. "Jesus, Joey," Gwen said. "You don't want to do that shit. You want to mince around in a party dress all day long? You want to curtsy? You want all of your friends laughing at you behind your back? Calling you names?" Joey flushed. "You're ... you're right. Forget I said anything." "Goodness, Joey," Gwen kept on "Why can't you just be a crossdresser like every other husband out there? Put on a dress and watch TV like you did before we were married. It's okay. Why do you want this sissy shit?" "It's....It's something that is hard to explain," Joey said. "It's different than being a transvestite. It's ... deeper. You submit, and you commit. Isn't that what they say?" Gwen shook her head. She looked out at the sissy in blue, and she tried to imagine Joey dressed that way, all meek and feminine. "Joey," she said. "You know I love you. But this is just a curiosity for you, believe me. You do not want to do this. Get over it." "Could we ... try it on the weekends?" "Joey, look of them," she said. "Do you think they just dress up on the weekend? Look at their breasts. Looking at their hair-dos. Look at their makeup. What was the word you used. 'Commit.' You aren't committed if you do it just on the weekends." "Okay," Joey said, his disappointment showing. "Why don't you go back to wearing dresses on the weekends? I know you gave it up when we got married, but wouldn't that be a compromise?" "Gwen," Joey said. "Thank you for the offer. But putting a sissy in an ordinary dress is like giving a alcoholic a root beer. It doesn't quite do the trick. Being a sissy is the deep end of the pool." "This will pass, Joey. Next week, you'll be into something else." Joey nodded, but he knew better. He had read, and re-read, so many sissy stories on the internet, had downloaded so many images. He had flipped through the magazines at the fetish stores. Why couldn't he have one of those wives who feminized their husbands? Why couldn't Gwen take charge and put him in dresses? Hell, it was a kink, but it was his kink. But Gwen didn't get it. Better he should just forget it, if he could. "If you say so," Joey finally said. "If I say so?" Gwen grinned. She seemed half-amused by the conversation. "What? I"m in charge now? What I say goes? I'm the Mistress here?" Joey fell silent. He was talked out. After a long pause, Gwen took a sip of her drink. "Tell you what, Joey," she said. "Give me a few days to think about it. To read some stuff about it. There is so much I don't know about this ... lifestyle. Maybe there is a middle ground." "Yes, ma'am," Joey said. "Now, don't start with that 'ma'am shit," Gwen said. She laughed again. "At least, not yet." * * One would have to give Gwen credit. True to her word, she researched the hell out of the D/s lifestyle. She didn't quite get it, but she knew it was important to Joey, and she loved Joey. She went to Diversions after work and sought out a severe looking woman with a whip -- Mistress Anne, she called herself -- for a long conversation. She devoured the online literature. She read about sissy maids, and cuckolds, and bisexuals. She read about women who spanked their husbands, who had affairs, who smoked thick cigars. She read about the toys, about the affairs, about the submission. She scoured the pictures of maids with adoring faces. People really wanted this? People were drawn to it like a religious cult of some kind? And Joey was one of them? That seemed impossible. He was a little, well, effeminate, but not all men were linebackers. She leaned back. On the positive side, she thought, no one was getting hurt. Well, except for the spankings, that is. Clothes were just fabric. Jewelry was just decoration. Hell, she might like to be in charge. No more Chinese takeout! Shit, she hated Chinese food. Her house would be clean, she laughed. And Joey would be nicer. Or else. She began to play the idea. It would be a hoot to see Joey in high heels. Oh, and lipstick. The redder the better. And wait until their friends saw him. That would be a giggle. He would fetch her tea in the evenings. He would wash the dishes during the day. Joey and Gwen had never cheated on each other, but she'd love to see him flirt with the gang. Yeah, Chance especially. The image itself made her laugh out loud. Sissy Joey. No, Sissy Jo-Jo. More and more, it sounded like fun. * * On Saturday mornings, Joey and Gwen would laze around, reading the paper, talking politics, making fun of the television shows they watched. It was a weekend routine, time for them to spend goofing around. But on this Saturday, Gwen had slept in. Joey read the headlines while he waited for her. He started the coffee, and threw some wheat bread into the toaster. Finally, Gwen walked into the room. She walked straight to the coffee and poured herself a cup. She drank it black, which baffled Joey. How could anyone drink it black? "Morning, sleepyhead," Joey said. "Oh, I've been up. I'm just getting downstairs, though. Can I see the front page?" Joey shoved the A section of the paper toward his wife. They read for a while in silence. Finally, Gwen looked up. "Are you serious about this sissy stuff, Joey?" she asked softly. "Not if you don't want me to be. You're right. I'm sure it will pass." "What if it doesn't?" Joey shrugged. "It's my problem," he said. "Joey, I don't know how to be a Mistress," she said. "I think we learn as we go." "No backing out?" "Of course not," he said, quickly. "You have to give it a while. Right?" Gwen smiled. "And what if you change your mind?" "I won't," Joey said. "I'll...I'll sign an agreement. How much time do you want? A month? Six months? A year?" Gwen thought about it. "How about if it's an open-ended contract? I'll fill in the date later. But you have to help me. If I'm in charge, well, I have to really be in charge. When I tell. you to do something, well, you do it. No questions. No arguments. Joey, I'm not one of those Nazi women in the stories. I'm not going to mistreat you." She paused. "Much," she added. "I'll try it if you'll try it, Gwen," Joey said. "Mistress Gwen," she said, her dimples sucking into her cheeks as she grinned. "Mistress Gwen, I mean." "Okay. Then make me a fucking omelette. With veggies and bacon and egg whites. Now, sissy!" * * * Joey's heart stopped. He beamed, and he bounced up and hurried to the fridge. He had gotten his way. He was going to be a sissy. Even the word thrilled him and terrified him all at once. "Joey?" Mistress Gwen said. "Jo-Jo?" Joey stopped. He looked at her. "The reason I was late this morning is that I've laid out some clothes for you upstairs. We'll get you dressed after you wash the dishes. Okay, precious?" Joey -- Jo-Jo? -- nodded. There were fireworks going on inside his chest, and his mind was in the middle of a glitter parade. This was validation. This was freedom. He knew that he was going to love being a sissy, losing all the responsibility, none of the stress. It was going to be easy! This was going to suit him just fine. After Jo-Jo had made her food, and cleaned up the sink, the two of them walked slowly upstairs. He walked into the bedroom, and it felt like a portal to another world. When he walked downstairs again, he would be a validated sissy. This was what he had yearned for. Only another sissy would understand. Gwen handed him a bottle of Nair and six pink razors. "Sissies have to be smooth," she said. "The Nair will get most of your hair off, but the razors will finish the job." Jo-Jo retreated to the washroom. He spread the Nair over his chest and legs, then rubbed it on and under his arms. His facial hair had always been sparse, but he rubbed it there, too. Then he dolloped shaving cream on his body and began to remove the more stubborn follicles. He loved that, looking at his leg with shaving cream on it, scraping the stubble away. When Jo-Jo was smooth, he dried himself off and walked into the bedroom. He looked and saw a black maid's dress on the bed. That was a little disappointing to him; he preferred the dresses of the princess parties.But if this was what Gwen had it mind, he would go along with it. First, she handed him a pair of pink panties. They were small, and lacy, but they were beautiful. Why didn't they hang pictures of panties in the Louvre? Jo-Jo slid them up his legs. They were silky and felt cool to the touch. He hardened immediately. Gwen handed him a matching bra, and Jo-Jo struggled to get it fastened. Finally, Gwen fastened it, then handed him two gel-filled filled breast forms. They seemed huge to Jo-Jo, but he would later learn they were only a B-cup. She put the bra on, and felt its gentle embrace. She loved wearing a bra. Then she reached for the maid's dress. "Not yet, Jo-Jo," Gwen said. "First, stocking and heels. That's right. Point your toe. Be gentle. Now. I want you to pose in front of the mirror. Go on. Pose." And so Jo-Jo, dressed only in his panties and bra, hose and heels, vogued in front of the mirror. It was cartoonish, the first awkward steps of an emerging sissy. But Jo-Jo liked it. She bent over and saw her cleavage. She stuck her butt out and wiggled it. She pantomimed a curtsey. "Oh, Gwen... Mistress .... I love the heels. The heels are great." Gwen was laughing and clapping as she watched. Finally, she had Jo-Jo turn around. She attached another garment, and Jo-Jo felt the pain. It was a corset, also pink, but it seemed to be about nine sizes too small. Gwen tugged on the laces, and then on the fabric. Damn, that was uncomfortable, Jo-Jo thought. Why did she need a corset? "It's... too tight, Gwen," Jo-Jo moaned. "Mistress Gwen." "Yeah. But it's so tight. I can't breathe." "This will give you a sissy figure, girl," Mistress Gwen said. "No pain, no profit. A lot of sissies wear corsets. It gives them curves, and it reminds them of their status." The pressure increased, and Jo-Jo was certain one of his ribs would break. She felt as if she was being mauled by a wild animal who was trying to crush her to death. Then she heard a "click." "Ma'am? What was that?" "That's your lock," Mistress Gwen said. "You have a lot of things that lock. Your heels. Your butt plug. Your cage. Your gag. Your uniform. I want you to know that this is who you are now. This is your life. For as long as I want." Gwen giggled. Cage? Gag? Plug? Who had told Gwen about such toys? Jo-Jo didn't want to be ... restricted. Hell, she wasn't a slave. She was just a sissy. She hated the cage. It pinched her, and it felt binding. She didn't like the butt plug. And why the hell did she need a penis gag? That wasn't her thing. But wearing girls' clothes was nice. Jo-Jo loved the feel of them, the look of them, the femininity of them. Though she didn't like that she would need a locksmith to get undressed. There were keys everywhere, for her corset and her cage, for her plug and her heels, for her gag and her collar. Hell, she wasn't trying to escape. But suddenly, she felt like she was trapped. It was an uncomfortable, pinching feeling. Especially her cage. That seemed...unnatural to her. Finally, Gwen seemed satisfied that she was as snared as possible. She handed Jo-Jo the maid's dress. "This is symbolic, Jo-Jo," Mistress Gwen said. "It says that it will be a long time before you're out of dresses. You're a "she" now. A "her." You're one of those simpering little girlies with a tiny dick that we see at the bar. There is no boing back now.." Jo-Jo stepped into her dress, and Mistress Gwen zipped it up. There was another click. Shit. How many keys were there? Jo-Jo didn't like this part. She wanted to free her inhibitions, not chain herself to a lifestyle. "Now, girl, sit down. I have to help you with your makeup. Pay attention, because you'll be doing this every day." "Ma'am ... are we going too fast?" Jo-Jo whispered. "This isn't a game, Jo-Jo," Mistress Gwen said. "This is real life. This is what you wanted. You traded in the old you for Sissy Jo-Jo. You can't back out now." "I don't want to back out, Mistress," Jo-Jo said. Soon enough, he would. * * For most of the afternoon, except for the corset and the toys, Jo-Jo was in heaven. She kept walking in front of mirrors, adding sway to her gait. She kept posing. She vacuumed. She dusted. She danced. This was her dream, realized, and she loved it. Until about 4 o'clock. When her feet started to hurt. She looked down her legs at her heels. She loved the way they looked, and she was walking pretty well. But all the complaints women have about their footwear is accurate, Jo-Jo realized. Her arches cramped, and the pain shot all the way into her calves. She sat to pull them off, then realized they were locked in place. "Mistress? Can I take off my heels? Just for a little while?" "Why would you want to do that? You have a nice set of legs, girlfriend. Show them off." "But they hurt," Jo-Jo said. "Being a woman has its own pain," Gwen said. "Besides, the gang will be here shortly. You don't have time to change." "The ... gang?" "Yes. Chance. Curtis and Debbie. Jerry and Theresa. The usuals. Didn't I tell you they were coming over?" "No ... no, you didn't." "Well, they need to see your changes, Jo-Jo. It's a new life, and your friends should get to see it." "Can I put boy clothes back on?" "Why would you do that, Jo-Jo? This is who you are now. No hiding. No games. Just honesty. You're a sissy. I think that's wonderful. So you'll serve drinks and appetizers to everyone, and they'll check out that ass of yours. It'll be great! You'll love it." Jo-Jo's eyes widened. He had realized his friends would see him, eventually. But in his mind, that would come in a few weeks, and they would gradually catch on. But all at once? Tonight? God! Whatever would they think of her now? "It's better this way, doll," Gwen said. "Rip the band-aid off. Walk into the spotlight. The shock will come at once, and after that, everyone will know who you are. It's for the best, Joey. If I didn't love you, I wouldn't stand there with you while everyone judges you. Don't you think all sissies go through exposure?" 'I ... I guess. But it seems too soon, too all-at-once." "It's an all-at-once undertaking, Jo-Jo. That's the fun of it." But to Jo-Jo, it didn't sound like fun at all. * * After Jo-Jo stepped out of the tub, she discovered a disadvantage to a feminine lifestyle. When a girl changes, she changes all the way. From her hose to her panties to her dress. Her makeup and her heels and her hair. It can be a pain in the ass... especially with a butt plug. She sat at the vanity, with Mistress Gwen helping with her eye makeup. "I think we ought to get this stuff tattooed on you, Jo-Jo," Mistress said."That way, you're always pretty. More and more women want permanent makeup." "Permanent?" "Well, you have to redo it every few months. But it's easy and it's consistent. Trust me, Chance would like it." Jo-Jo scowled. "What about Chance?" Mistress Gwen giggled. "You don't think I know about you and Chance?" "There is nothing to know. He's a friend. That's all." "He's your very best friend, though, isn't he? He's the guy you go out and watch ballgames with. The guy you meet for a beer. Let me ask you, Jo-Jo. Isn' t that kind of like a date?" "Not at all." "Maybe not physically. But you two have a bond. Best friends. Isn't it kind of gay to label a man as your best friend? You two have a relationship, sort of. Remember, sex is not a big thing, Jo-Jo. You can kiss his dick, or you can high five him after games. It's the same thing." "It is not." Gwen giggled. "He's very handsome, isn't he?" "I hadn't noticed." "Liar. He's your man-crush. You'd vacation with him on Brokeback Mountain. Maybe he'd break your back. Let him swat that tiny dick of yours around." Jo-Jo sat and fumed. This was an absurd discussion. Men could be friends with ... those feelings. Wings and beer didn't make you Siegfried and Roy. This was going to be embarrassing enough, walking out to meet her closest friends as a sissy. Even the thought of it made her ill. There had to be some way out of this. And then there was a knock at the door. Gwen left him there in the bedroom, looking into the mirror, trying to find any trace of maleness there. He heard voices from downstairs. Theresa and Jerry. Debbie and Curtis. Then he heard Gwen whoop, and he knew that Chance had arrived. "Guys!" Gwen said. "I'm so glad you came. Wait till you get a load of my other half. It'll knock you out." "Where is Joey, anyway?" Curtis asked. "She's here," Gwen said. "She?" Chance said. "Shh," Gwen said. "Ladies and gentlemen, I want to introduce you to Jo- Jo. This is her coming out party. Come in here, sissy." Jo-Jo stepped into the living room. She was dressed in a pale yellow maid's uniform with black heels. Her hair was in tight curls, and single pearl earrings were in her ears. Her lips and her nails were bright red. Her hands extended from her body in a feminine pose, and she shyly looked at her friends. "Ta-daaah," Gwen sang. And the laughter began. Jo-Jo was mortified. No remarks about how pretty he was, or how feminine. People were laughing. She felt the tears swell in her eyes. "That's some funny shit," Debbie said. "You almost had us fooled for a minute." "Joey, you look precious," Theresa said. "I thought this was real for a minute." "It is real," Gwen said. "Jo-Jo has become a sissy." "Right," Curtis said. "This is just like you two," Jerry said. "I almost fell for it. Are those real?" He reached and and squeezed Jo-Jo's left breast. "Guys, I'm telling you," Gwen said. "This isn't a joke." "Yeah, like Joey would be one of those mincing faggots," Curtis said. "You can't fool us, man." "Yeah? What's for dinner? Hand jobs for all the guys?" Debbie said. "Blow jobs for dessert?" "Hand to God," Gwen said. "Right. Let me ask you this: Are those breasts real?" "No, but..." "And does Jo-Jo have a boyfriend?" "Not really, but ..." "Then this isn't real, Gwen. It's a grand prank that didn't work. Now, let's eat. I'm starving." They sat, and Jo-Jo ladled out lasagna for the six of them. She brought in a basket of Cheese Bread, and she poured a Merlot. She kept curtsying, and she kept her eyes downcast. But the others had written her off a grand prank, and no one paid much attention. Jo-Jo was in the kitchen, stacking the dishwasher, when Chance came in. "Oh, hi, Master Chance," Jo-Jo said quietly. "Master? That sounds funny," he said. "Mistress Gwen told me to call you that." "Well, it's nice. For the record, Jo-Jo, I know this isn't a game for you." "You ... you do?" "Yes. While everyone else was laughing, you kept your eyes away from everyone else's. You were a maid serving dinner, that's all." "Do you hate me?" "No, Jo-Jo. I don't hate you. I didn't know you were gay, but ..." "I'm not. Not gay, I mean." "Whatever. We were friends before. I hope we can stay friends. It's no skin off my teeth if you want to be a woman." "Thank you, Chance." "Do I hug you? Shake your hand? What do I do?" "I'd kiss her on the mouth if I was you," Gwen's voice echoed from the doorway. She stood there, a lopsided grin on her face. "You know she's got a crush on you, Chance. I'd make my move." I spun and ran from the kitchen. A heel slipped from my foot as I scurried away. The party was over. Even when the five of them left, most of them acted as if it was a gag. To them, Joey was just pulling their legs. He'd be back in jeans the next day, wouldn't he? "Nice try, Gwennie," Debbie said. "You keep the boy in skirts. He's a lovely maid." "You'll see," Gwen said quietly. "You'll see. * * After everyone left, Mistress Gwen came into their bedroom. She was ticked, partially because Jo-Jo's coming out party had gone badly, partially because of Jo-Jo's shortcomings. "You're in deep shit, girly," Mistress snarled. "What ... what did I do?" "Well, you ran from the kitchen when you were supposed to be cleaning up the mess. You called Chance by his name at least once instead of Master Chance. And if you had been a little more subservient, they might have believed you were really a sissy instead of acting like one." "I'm sorry, Mistress. I'll ... do better." "Damn right you will. Now pull down your girdle and your panties. It's time for a spanking." A what? Mistress could not be serious. I was a grown man. Well, sort of a man, anyway. I didn't get spanked! But I did. Mistress Gwen peeled my panties and my girdle to my knees. She smacked me hard on my buttocks, then rested her hand there for a minute for the sting to settle in. She smacked me again, and again. The pain was searing, physically and psychologically. In all, she hit me 15 times, and before you assume anything, there was nothing erotic, nothing playful about it. It hurt, and Jo-Jo hated every second of it. When she was done, Mistress handed me the anal plug again. "Insert it," she ordered. "And tell me how it feels." Jo-Jo gasped. It was so invasive. The stories all make it feel like there is no problem with plugs, that you put them in and away you go, but this felt as if someone had driven a motorcycle into his rectum. "It feels ... big," Jo-Jo whimpered. "It's not. It's a starter plug, almost as small as. you can buy. Now quit being a baby and go wash the dishes." Jo-Jo pulled up her panties, then her girdle. She walked, feeling the soreness in her buttocks as she walked. She stacked the dishwasher with the plates and silverware, but the baking pan would have be hand- scrubbed. Construction crews should use hardened lasagne as a bonding element, Jo- Jo decided. No matter how hard she scrubbed, the pan would not come clean. She used Brlllo pads, and she scraped at the hardened crust with a spatula. Nothing worked. "You have to soak it, Jo-Jo," Mistress said. "You'll learn to be a better cleaning lady, though. Don't worry about it.' Damn it. This sissy shit wasn't all fun and games, was it? It wasn't dancing beneath the strobe lights. It was fucking hard work. And, for Jo-Jo, it would be this way for a while. * * Thursday night, and Diversions had drawn a fairly good crowd. It wasn't heaving, not like on the weekends, but you could drink and talk as you let the day wear off. Jo-Jo stood at the elbow of Mistress Gwen, dressed in a pink maid's dress, heels and full makeup. Her bra was prominent. This time, it was her who was on display for the gawkers in the joint. She was wearing a small pink collar, and Mistress held the other end, a symbolic sign of her superiority. "They're looking at you, Jo-Jo," Mistress whispered. "They're thinking that you're a fag, a lesser being. The men want to fuck you. The women want to take you home so you can clean their kitchens. Isn't it great?" Jo-Jo lowered her eyes. She hadn't counted on the embarrassment that would come with exposure. There was no denying who she was, what she was. A tall man in a red shirt sat down on the other side of Mistress."I like your fairy," he sneered. "That's my husband," Mistress said. "He likes this shit." "Is he gay?" "A three-dollar bill," Mistress said, laughing. "You want to help to break him in?" "No, thank you," the man said. "But I'd like to buy you a drink." "Well, drinks are good," Mistress said, looking at Jo-Jo as if she was going to challenge him. "But I'm really here to watch my sissy dance. You want to dance with her?" "Um, maybe later," the man said. "Does she like men?" "Of course she does," Mistress said. "What kind of sissy doesn't appreciate men? Watch this. Jo-Jo, I want you to walk down the bar and introduce ourself as Sissy Jo-Jo. Ask if you can kiss them. Right on the lips. That'll be fun." "Mistress?" Jo-Jo's eyes widened. "Off with you, Sissy. Do your deed. Consider it a chore, like making the bed." So Jo-Jo approached a hard-drinking man with a full beard at the bar. Gwen saw her curtsy, and then speak. The man grinned and nodded. He leaned in and kissed Jo-Jo deeply, his jaw muscles working. She felt his tongue push into her mouth. The two separated, and Jo-Jo moved down the line. This time, it was a black man in glasses. He kissed her like they had just exchanged vows. He had large lips, but they were soft and warm. And down the line Jo-Jo went. There was a bald man in a suit who smelled like tobacco. A woman with red hair who tasted like Wintergreen gum. A man with a scar on his forehead who had sperm on his breath. Another sissy. Disco Stu, with all his gold chains. Somebody's Master. A short, pudgy man took Jo-Jo's hand and put them in on his lap as they kissed. A blond man with a goatee invited her to the men's room to finish the job. A man with bad breath. A Mistress who pulled her hair as she kissed her. In all, she must have kissed 15 people, and frankly, it wasn't the most unpleasant chore of the day. Jo-Jo, like a lot of sissies, loved to kiss. Did that make her gay when her partner was a male? Who knows? But she kept swapping spit, and after every three or four partners, she would re-apply her lipstick. "So which one?" Mistress Gwen asked when Jo-Jo finally returned to her side. "Which one?" "Yeah. If you were going to take one partner home tonight, who would it be?" "Why, you, of course," Jo-Jo said. "Liar. I think you like the blond guy. I want you to imagine it. You're on your knees. Tell me: How big is his cock? Is it hard? Savor that first moment, Jo-Jo. Nothing like a girl's first blow job." "Mistress, I don't want that." "Who gives a shit what you want, sissy? It's what I want, remember. I'm in charge here. If it amuses me, you'll blow every guy in the bar and send the pictures to your mother. Got it?" Jo-Jo nodded. She was lost in this strange, out-of-control free fall. She was silent in a world of shouters. Still, she imagined. And her mind took her places she didn't know that she wanted to go. * * Later that night, when Mistress and Jo-Jo returned home, Jo-Jo went to the small room they had set up for her. It was a child's room, to tell the truth, but because Jo-Jo had to awaken so early to start her chores, it had become her bedroom. Jo-Jo went to remove her makeup, but as she gazed into the mirror, she was transfixed by her made up eyes, her lipstick, her short wig. She wondered what she had gotten herself into, and whether she would ever get out, or if she even wanted out. And the tears began to flow. She fell onto the bed. She sobbed gently to herself for 15 minutes, until Mistress heard her and entered the room. "What's the matter, Jo-Jo?" "This is ... this is wrong," Jo-Jo said. "I can't do this. I thought I could, but I can't." "How is it wrong, sissy?" "You ... you wouldn't understand. This is ... perverse. This is ... selfish. I'm so fucking self-absorbed. It's been about what I want, not about what's best for our marriage. I should stop." Mistress smiled. "You aren't perverse," she said. "You have a kink. That's all. Denying it would be perverse. It isn't selfish. You're being who you are. Besides, I enjoy this, too. And you can't stop. I have your contract." Jo-Jo continued to weep. Her entire body shook. "Jo-Jo," Mistress said. "Am I too hard on you? I was told I had to be strict, that that was part of the life. I was told you need humiliation. That's part of it, too. I hate being a bitch, Jo-Jo. I hate making fun of the size of your dick. That's all in the instructions, baby." "You made me kiss men." "Men are great kissers, Jo-Jo. You kissed women, too. But there wouldn't be any humiliation if you didn't kiss men. There wouldn't be any shame if you didn't wear your boobs. You chose this, Jo-Jo." "I should quit." Jo-Jo said. "We talked about this, sissy. You can't quit. Only I decide when you quit, and I think that, deep down, you love this stuff." Jo-Jo sniffled. Mistress spooned behind Jo-Jo, stroking her hair. She gently kissed her neck. "My sissy," she said rubbing Jo-Jo's breast forms. "My sweet pet." Eventually, Jo-Jo stopped crying. She rolled over, face-to-face with Mistress. Mistress Gwen smiled, then kissed her. They began to touch, lightly. Then Mistress clambered up the bed. She squatted over Jo-Jo and lowered herself onto her mouth. Her dampness spread over his lips. "Come to Mama," she whispered. * * The next day, Jo-Jo was in a better mood. She hurried through her chores, and her feet didn't hurt her that badly. But there was a lot of work to be done, and halfway through the morning, her back started to hurt. Then, doing the ironing, she burned her hand. Shit. Life was pain. "I told you to wear your corset, even when you do chores," Mistress had admonished. "That'll help your back." "Ironing is just so hard," Jo-Jo said. "I can never get the crease right." "Well, keep practicing. You only have 99 more years to go." "What?" "Maybe a hundred," Gwen said, laughing. "I heard from the warden that there will be no parole." "Mistress....how long, really? How long am I going to be a maid?" "How long does the moon come out at night?" Gwen said. "How long do dogs bark at the mailman? It's just the way things are, Jo-Jo. You need to forget about anything else. This is your life." "It's ... hard sometimes." "Is it supposed to be any other way?" Mistress said. "You begged for this, remember? Now, have you thought about what you're going to say to the endocrinologist when we see him this afternoon." "Is that today?" "Yes, Jo-Jo. Don't be thick. You know it's today. You've been dreaming about having your very own boobies, haven't you?" "But ma'am....that seems like a big step." "Well, at least a medium step, but maybe it'll be a big one. How big did you decide?" "I ... I haven't thought about it." "Well, I have. The gang didn't think you were a real sissy because you didn't have boobs. Well, as soon as we can make an appointment, you'll have them. A blouse full of them! Cs. Maybe Ds. You'll have cleavage. Dolly Parton will call you to compare bras." Jo-Jo swallowed. "Then, in a year or so, we can get you a vagina of your very own. Or does Chance prefer you with Tiny Toon?" "Please stop giving me a hard time, Ma'am." Mistress laughed loudly. "You are such a dumpling, Jo-Jo. You might be the best maid ever. Now, clean the oven and work on the toilets. They haven't been scrubbed for a couple of days." This was hard for Jo-Jo. Who said that being a sissy meant so much damn work, every damn day, all damn day. Who decreed that the sissy would be the damn cook and the cleaner and the concubine all while the Mistress watched television? But out loud, Jo-Jo said nothing. She merely went to work. * * The doorbell rank at 7 p.m. Jo-Jo no longer had any hesitation about answering it. This was who she was. The world could see, if it looked. Jo-Jo answered, and Debbie and Theresa were there. Jo-Jo curtsied and invited them both in. "Still with this shit?" Theresa said. "It wasn't funny last time." "Ma'am, no one is joking. This is my role in our relationship. I'm a sissy." "Right." The women stepped past Jo-Jo, and they embraced Gwen warmly. "The boys are parking the car," Debbie said. "You remember boys, don't you?" "Oh, yes," Gwen said. "I used to be married to one, but things changed." The three women giggled. "I've got to tell you, Gwen. You're pretty dedicated to this joke," Theresa said. "Yeah. You've gotten Joey into dresses twice now." "She goes by Jo-Jo now," Gwen said. "And it isn't a joke." "If you say so. So, does she have real boobs yet?" "On the 13th. You could call Dr. Kilgore and check her appointment if you want." "Not on a Saturday night! Does she have a boyfriend?" "Well, she's kissed a few guys. She hasn't done the deed yet." "No vagina?" "Girls," Gwen said. "She's still new at this." "Right," Debbie said. "You see why we don't believe you." The doorbell rang again. It was Jerry and Curtis, and Chance had joined them along the way. Jo-Jo curtsied and invited them in. Jerry seemed distant, and Curtis was aloof. Only Chance smiled. Jo-Jo brought out beers and chicken wings. There already was dip on the coffee table. The men looked at Jo-Jo. Curtis shook his head. "Man's working pretty hard to make us think he's a fag," he said. "Leave her alone, Curtis," Chance said. "He isn't hurting us." "Think he'd like us to hurt him?" Jerry laughed. 'Now, boys, settle down. Let the girl work," Gwen said. "Girl!" snorted Debbie. "Are you a girl now, Jo-Jo? Are you one of us?" On it went, with Debbie and Theresa trying to beat Gwen to the punch line. For almost two hours, they scoffed at the idea of Jo-Jo as a sissy. They acted as if, at any minute, Joey would return and everyone would laugh at how they had been pranked.' But Jo-Jo knew better. There were foreign objects in his ass, and a shackle on his penis, and lipstick on his mouth. He was in a new Burgundy maid's outfit with matching heels, and his hair had been pinned up. His earrings bounced against his cheeks as he walked. "She's kind of convincing, though, isn't she?" Jerry said. "What's the old saying?" Curtis said. "Once it's cool, twice it's queer." "That's how we settle it," Debbie said. "How?" "She can blow someone," Debbie said, triumphantly. "If I see that, I'll believe it." "You'll be quiet?" Gwen said. "I will. Everyone will. A man wouldn't suck off another man for a joke." "Curtis?" Gwen asked. "Not Curtis," Debbie said. "He's spoken for." "Jerry." "Off-limits," Theresa said. "That leaves Chance. You want to get lucky, Chance?" Gwen grinned. "In front of everyone?" "Yep. Otherwise, no one would believe it." Jo-Jo stepped backward. This wasn't happening. Days ago, she had known that, soon, she would have sex with a man. But not in front of a crowd of friends. Not Chance. Not now. God no. "Chance, take your pants off," Gwen said. "What man turns down a blow job? You'll like it, I promise." Chance, backed into a corner, stood. He grinned, then he unbuckled his belt, unfasten his slacks and let them fall. Then he shoved down his boxers and stood there, proud of what God had given him. Then he sat back in the big brown chair. "Jo-Jo?" Gwen said. "You're up. Of course, Chance will be up momentarily." Jo-Jo turned, as if looking for an escape route. She was like a bird in a yard, looking desperately for a way out. Mistress Gwen took her hand and led her to Chance. "Now kneel, sissy," she said. Jo-Jo's eyes pleaded with Mistress's. She didn't want to to do this. Chance was her friend. Her other friends were watching. There was too much difficulty in the moment. Mistress pushed down on her shoulders, and Jo-Jo slumped to the floor. Chance's penis looked ominous and threatening, like some sort of weapon. "It's time, Jo-Jo," she said in a loud whisper. "You know you want to." She gently shoved Jo-Jo forward. Jo-Jo's eyes were wild, darting around the room, praying for respite. Eventually though, Mistress pushed her forward. Jo-Jo exhaled. She closed her eyes. She surrendered. And she kissed it. She was shy at first, skittish, but the head was soft even as the rest of his shaft stiffened. She took the bulb into her lips and let her hair fall down over his crotch. He placed his hands gently on her head. "It's okay, Joey," he said. At first, Chance's penis felt foreign, invasive. But it was warm, so warm, and it felt right in her mouth. She began to bob her head slowly, then faster. The truth was that Jo-Jo liked this. Damn it, she did. Had she always been gay? Was there a streak in her that made her want this? She nuzzled his testicles. She went from this side to that one, licking the shaft. She would try to deep throat it, but she kept gagging. And she sucked. My God, she loved sucking it. It was the best sex act she had ever had. It had underlined her status as a sissy; no one would ever deny it again. Then Chance pulled away, and he ripped her lips from his dick. She tried to chase it, to recapture it, her lips snapping at it like a fish's. But Chance wanted something else. "Turn over, sissy" he said. "I want to fuck you." And there, in front of all of the guests, in front of Jo-Jo's wife, Chance positioned her. He knelt behind her and fished out her plug. Then, he slid it into her backside. And she screamed. It was too big. It was too soon. She felt as if she were being ripped in half. She hated it! The stories said the ass gets used to a penis, and it adjusts, and it's nice after a few moments. Not for Jo-Jo. This was agony. She had never taken to her plugs, and now, the real thing felt as if she were being impaled. Chance kept pumping, as if he knew she would grow to enjoy it. But she didn't. It was pure torture. She would do anything to make him stop. When he was done, when he had come into her rear and it had dribbled down the backs of her legs to the delight of the crowd, she touched her ass. There was blood. Evidently, Chance had torn something inside of her. "Too bad," Curtis said. "I might have liked some of that." Debbie swatted him on the arm. "You can go fagging later, big boy," she said. "For now, you buy your groceries at my store." Jo-Jo rose and limped to the bathroom. Mistress followed her. "Anal sex is a pain the ass, huh?" she giggled. "It's ... it's not funny. I'm hurt. I'm bleeding." "Oh, stop your whining. It's just a little tear. A little salve, and you'll be fine in the morning. Blame me. I should have pegged you to get you stretched out more. Next time, you'll like it better." "Next time?" "Maybe the time after that. Face it, sissy. Your ass is open for business." * * * The thing Jo-Jo had learned was that being a sissy is a one-way trip. Did you ever meet someone who used to be a sissy? Someone who had gone to rehab meetings and returned to normal? The other lesson for Jo-Jo was this. No matter how pretty, or how soft a sissy looks, her life is a difficult one. She works constantly, and she suffers through the cliches, and her submissiveness invites people to take advantage of her. So what was between Jo-Jo and happiness? One thing: Surrender. It was her attitude that was wrong, Jo-Jo realized. She should stop bitching about her chores and dedicate herself to them, because Mistress wanted them. If Mistress wanted to see her have sex, well, that was her right. She was in charge. The key was submitting, really submitting, embracing the tough moments with the good ones. That night, Jo-Jo lay with Mistress and waited for the pain to subside. Finally, she propped up on her elbow. "Mistress?" she said. "Yes, Jo-Jo?" "Thank you." "For what?" "For all of it. For the clothes and the life and the lessons. For all of it." "You're welcome, pet." "Mistress?" "Yes, Jo-Jo?" "Are you going to take a lover?" "Me? I hadn't thought about it, really. Why?" "I think you should. I think you deserve good sex as much as anyone." "And how would you feel about that?" "It would be hard, too. Everything in this life is hard. But I'll know that you're happy." She giggled. "So, you wanna watch?" Jo-Jo blushed. "That would be nice." Mistress rolled over. "But I'd get all sticky down there." "I'd....I'd clean you," Jo-Jo said. "And my lover?" "I'd clean him too." "Well, that's a nice offer. What if I have two lovers? Two large, muscular men. Would you clean them both?" "Y...yes, ma'am." Gwen laughed loudly. "Sissy, you may be onto something. It would be difficult for you, but you'd find a way to get through it, right?" "Yes, ma'am." "Jo-Jo, remember this," Mistress said. "A sissy's life is like a penis. The harder the better." Copyright 2020, Cassandra Morgan