Back at the chalet Star said "Go have a quick shower, keep your hair dry we don't have time to style it tonight."
I came out of the shower and threw on our bathrobe whilst Star finished her make-up. I was still worried about ID, how was I going to get into a club. When she had finished she said "Come here and sit down facing me, I'm going to do your face for you for tonight, then we'll be half way to getting you in the club."
"Arm binders, dear. You're in level 2 bondage today and you know why. " I turned my back to Miss Marilyn and allowed her to begin immobilizing my arms in those horrible restraints. I also expected to be hobbled at the ankles and gagged. The leash was a given. My punishment for pretending I thought I should be working in the laundry room when a uniquely loathsome client was scheduled in my appointment book. So this morning, I had finished my hair and makeup, put on the seductive lingerie that had been set out for me and presented myself to Miss Marilyn, as ordered.
Every imaginable variety of sissy can be viewed at this convention, of course. This makes people watching the number one spectator sport, and it doesn't cost a dime, once you're inside. (Actually, hanging around one of the entrances watching the crowd arrive makes for a pretty good show in itself.) In past years, the new sissies fascinated me the most. The ones who were being put on display for the very first time. The ones who hadn't completed their first year as sissies. Many of them hardly feminized beyond what they were wearing.
I awoke the next morning feeling great. I may have lost all of my possessions but I had a girlfriend who loved me and I was having the best sex I could imagine. If she was little kinky I didn't mind, I was having fun.
I slipped out of bed and put the kettle on for morning tea. Star stirred at the noise the kettle was making and getting up went to the bathroom. I took the tea back to the bed whilst Star was showering. She came our looking far more alert than when she went in.
Yes, the concourse is crowded with the vendors' displays and presentations. All those articles, all those services supporting the culture of women who turn men into submissive slaves who look and act like girls. But there is a whole other category of offerings, not visible to the casual visitor. Access to these offerings requires proof of membership in one of three organizations or the accompaniment by a member.
I followed the two of them from the room, noticing how their lovely gowns accentuated their figures, as they rattled off instructions. I was beginning to feel sick with fear, moving slowly and hampered by the skirt and heels. I was going to get found out, I just knew it.
We entered a sitting room, where Rebecca unlocked a heavy case. The diamonds!! I’d almost forgotten about them in turning my thoughts to escape. I was pulled out of my thoughts by Elizabeth’s sharp snap.
The Sissy Rodeo is always held in Las Vegas, as you might have guessed. Lots of convention space, but more importantly, our gathering is well-suited to this odd town where ignoring reality is a practiced undertaking. In most places, this convention would be ranked well south of outrageous, but here, no one gives us a second thought. In Las Vegas, weirdness is as common as gravity anywhere else. Still, not everyone is drawn to the event. And yes, attempts will be made to draw males unaccompanied by a supervising female into femininity. But not aggressive attempts.
The competition in which Loretta defeated me is known as Satisfied Sissy. For those unfamiliar with the culture of training young males to strive to their utmost to imitate submissive girls, a few words about how the game is played: Two sissies are dressed in similar female outfits. Their clothing is always selected with an emphasis on feminine detail and absurdly intricate undergarments. The audience insists that every detail of their grooming be as perfect as possible.
It wasn’t going to plan. It always went to plan. Always. Except now, when it wasn’t.
The plan was to steal the Duchess’ diamonds on the day of the charity reception. It hadn’t been difficult to buy delivery details, and it hadn’t taken long to find a staff member to make the acquaintance of over a few romantic evenings and who would spill some details of her place of work.
The only downside was that the only plan I’d come up with was to impersonate a maid. Still the fee I was offered to do it would be enough to put up with that, and no-one would ever find out.
It was just impossibly bad luck drawing Loretta in the very first round of this year's competition. I know I can't beat him and even worse, this is the last time I'll be eligible to compete. I won't be classified a sissy next year. I'll probably be the newest bride in a sultan's harem. But for now, Loretta has already taken me into his amazing mouth and I haven't even begun to free his cock from his panties. I utter a soft moan of frustration as I helplessly ejaculate in response to the attentions of his lips and tongue.
It was my first job since leaving school, it wasn't much just cleaning tables and sweeping the floor in the snack bar of a holiday centre. But it was a job, and I was lucky to get it in the present economic climate. The hours were good, twelve noon to seven in the evening with an hour for lunch, to be taken between twelve and two and an hour for an evening meal, to be taken between five and seven. so in reality I was only working for five hours a day six days a week. It was minimum wage but two meals a day and accomodation bumped it up a bit.
"You look like you want me to stop. I really thought you'd last longer. Very well. We'll start wrapping this up. But we're not quite finished. I'm going to keep giving you more spanks until you tell me to stop. And how will you tell me when you've had enough? Darling, I'll stop spanking you when you beg sincerely to be my sissy. When you convince me that you want me to make you as girly as I possibly can. 'Kay? Understand the rules? Beg me to be my little girl and the punishment stops. Insist that you're still a boy and I'll just have to keep putting red marks on your bottom."
I awoke in the night sweating profusely and threw off the duvet. When I surfaced the next morning my sheets were soaking. As I changed the bed I thought it strange that I had sweated so much last night as I was feeling great this morning. Perhaps it was just something I ate.
So boring old Friday night morphed into a night of forbidden delights as we scripted the role-playing scenario that had appeared like a bolt from the blue from somewhere in Monica's imagination. There was no point in pretending I wasn't excited because my physical responses were screaming messages to the contrary. And Monica was excited too. It seemed like we were breaking sacred taboos by constructing a situation that clearly cast her in a dominant role and me in that of a submissive.
- I am really restless. We have got to figure out how to put a little variety into these weekends.
This was Monica, commenting on the prospect of another Friday night just like the last thousand or so.
- But, baby, you know there isn't any money in the budget for theaters, restaurants and nightclubs.
After talking with Rachel and Mistress Gina I realised that I had made my mind up but it was with some trepidation that I sat down at my little desk in my office and draughted a letter to Mistress Ruth.
I was always a bit of an effiminate type but resisted the urge to dress up until recently in my late 30's. I had married and been through a divorce as my wife knew all along that i would rather be a girl than her husband. So when Danni came along I realised that I was ready for a perfect relationship. One where she controlled me and made me her sissy slut.
Oh God. What have I gotten into? I tried talking to her, she whipped my ass hard, and now I’m gagged. I’m stuck chained in doggy position. This can’t be happening. The car crash must have knocked me unconscious, and I dreamed about the beautiful girl Evie. Why has it turned into a nightmare? Wake up.
The Tattoo shop was close enough to campus that Brandon needed to worry about who might see him in there, but he was still anxious to go. He was a 'nervous' type of anxious because he really had no idea what Heidi had planned ... a Tattoo? a Piercing? She had teased him about many things. She was capable of anything. Brandon was also the 'desperate' type of anxious to get to the tattoo shop because he hoped that Heidi would take off the little 'addition' that she made to his uniform this morning.
In snow wrecked part 1. Tom crashes his car, and gets his phone filled with snow so it will not work. Walking to find help he is picked up by Evie who he was very attracted to, and she flirts with him. She calls him a tow truck while he takes a shower to warm up. After the shower Tom begins to make out with Evie, but just as he discovered she had a cock encased in a chastity belt the drug she had placed in his coffee took effect. Now for part 2.
Ruth unlocked the car and popped the boot, handing me the keys she said "Once you've put your suitcase away get in and follow the sat-nav to our destination." With that she got in the back of the car on the passenger side.
"This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.”
~ The Taming of the Shrew
“The Funding for America’s Resurgent Technology bill will guarantee tens of thousands of high-tech American jobs for the foreseeable future, and is not limited to Arrow Precision Technologies; its critics want to see these jobs shipped overseas.” That was the Leader of the House speaking earlier today on national radio. This is KDNS, broadcasting on 106.9FM…”
Snow. I hate snow as I lived in the North for many years and decided to move away from the mess it creates. If I had still lived in the North my reflexes may have saved me, but I’m not sure. Driving through the mountains on a back road at night I was going slow, but when the deer appeared in my field of vision I hit the brakes to hard anyway. Stupid. Before I can react I’m slammed against my seat belt, at least the air bag didn’t go off. Once I can think again I realized the car has skidded into a ditch filled with snow. The engine sputtered to a stop.
"Thy gown? Why, ay. Come, tailor, let us see’t.
O mercy, God, what masquing stuff is here?
What’s this? A sleeve? ‘Tis like a demi-cannon.
What, up and down carv’d like an apple-tart?
Here’s snip and nip and cut and slish and slash,
Like to a censer in a barber’s shop.
Why, what a’ devil’s name, tailor, call’st thou this?”
~ The Taming of the Shrew
The prospect of having a lover is making me reflective, Diary. Making me think about who I am and what I've become. I used to be a boy but now it wouldn't even occur to me to put on a pair of pants. Any woman would have several pairs of pants in her wardrobe, but not a sissy. Skirts and dresses exclusively for me. Appearing in public without my makeup, without my hairdo in perfect order? Not a chance. So what does it mean to be turned into a housebroken sissy? What have I allowed to happen?
I finally said it, Diary. I have started dreaming of being a girl, all the way down into my panties. I know there are surgeries that can accomplish this for me. I also know the process is hideously expensive. I've been trying to think of a way to introduce the subject to my wife, but I'm terribly nervous about this. I have reason to believe that she and the ladies of her bridge club like me as I am. A Housebroken sissy whose humiliation can entertain them when they hold their gatherings.
Unless you've been feminized by dominating women, you probably can't imagine how charged with sexual tension the experience can be. Try to imagine being forced to abandon the gender of your birth and to embrace femininity, to learn to be a girl and then learn to love it. Add to this the fact that sissies are commonly denied any form of sexual release for long intervals and you might begin to understand how the body becomes a type of capacitor storing its absolute maximum voltage but ready to discharge it in a millisecond in a white-hot plasma arc louder than a pistol report.
The bridge party that night took an unexpected turn. They used the stocks again to shave me - nothing out of the ordinary so far. Except this time I was able to appreciate how ingenious they were. Two pieces, one for the neck and wrists, one for the ankles. Lightweight, highly portable. Made to be fastened to any bed. Then I was dressed in women's intimate apparel, and taken downstairs and restrained in a chair, exactly as expected. Olivia set my hair in rollers while Agnes applied my makeup. Still following the script. I wouldn't admit it, but I liked this part.
I could hear them arriving, just fashionably late. The ladies of my wife's bridge club. I was upstairs in my bubble bath, lavender-scented this night. I knew exactly what to expect. They would gossip and enjoy a glass of wine and eventually, two or three of them would be selected to come up here and dress me. But first I would be shaved and powdered. And probably milked at least once. Then I would be dressed in lingerie that afforded not a shred of modesty, taken downstairs and secured in a chair to have my hair and makeup done.