Punished
Page 6
Suddenly I was being flipped over on to my front.
I actually felt a little scared and looked to Suzanne.
“Please, Mistress, help,” I cried.
“Oh shut up wimp,” Suzanne said. “Take what’s coming your way and enjoy it too!”
I could see Suzanne and Janet exchanging looks with each other as I was hoisted onto all fours and held in position.
I felt hands all over my body and my ass cheeks spread and a sudden cold explosion of lube on my puckered hole.
“Please! Please! Help, Mistress,” I shouted, totally panicking.
Suzanne walked over to me and slapped my face.
“I said SHUT UP AND ENJOY IT!” She admonished me.
Janet approached me. She had a large black strap on attached and in place, ready to go.
I looked around and saw the various yoga women, the ones that weren’t holding me in place, had got their phones out and were holding them up, recording presumably.
And then it began, I felt Janet grab spread my cheeks and ease the bulbous dildo into my ass.
I let out a long half-grunt, half-moan.
It was uncomfortable but I couldn’t deny that there wasn’t pleasure involved also.
Janet grabbed my hair and gave it a few tugs.
She began to increase the speed at which she worked the dildo in and out of my ass. She laughed as she hooked her fingers in my nose and demanded that I squeal like a pig.
“That’s it, that’s it!” She laughed, much to the shared amusement of the group.
The pegging session went on for some time and I began to feel my legs go weak.
“Hold the slut up, I’m not done yet!” Janet shouted.
Suzanne squatted down to my eye level and grabbed my face.
“Nearly there, keep it up my little sissy slut,” She said, almost affectionately, her tone equally encouraging as it was dominant.
With this I was determined to see out the rest of the fucking I was receiving.
I began to moan louder, and with a burst of energy actually found myself pushing back against the strap on and almost riding it myself.
I couldn’t believe what I was doing, or what was happening. I must have found my g-spot because I could feel cum spurting out of my little erection.
With this, I heard cheers and Janet took it as her cue to stop.
“Well, congratulations,” Janet said. “Congratulations to you Suzanne, and congratulations to you my boy. You may be a pathetic subby sissy with a little clitty rather than a proper cock, but you have clearly embraced your role and I definitely think this new regime has potential going forward.”
With that, Janet and the yoga women walked away and left me with my mistress, my boss, and the woman I clearly was falling in love with.
Suzanne picked me up off the floor and put me across her lap.
Instead of a spanking, she gently massaged my bottom.
“Now,” Suzanne said, “You performed well. Don’t think for a second this means you won’t be getting punished for staring at my crotch earlier, but I think just for now we’ll enjoy this moment of shared success. What do you think?”
“I think I am happy to be under your control, Mistress,” I said. “Anything you want, I will do it for you. I am your office sissy after all, and I am yours to do with as you will.”
I could feel Suzanne’s hand had wandered up her lap and towards my stiffening dick.
She wanked me slowly and gently before lifting her hand up to my mouth and gently fingering her cum covered fingers in and out of my mouth.
“There we go little maggot, eat your cummies for your boss and protector,” Suzanne said, lovingly, with just a hint of firmness.
I was in heaven! I could only imagine what would happen next in my new world as a full time office sissy to the incredible Mistress Suzanne.
Sissy Rules!
Feminization, CFNM Humiliation, SPH, and More…
By
Tina Majors
Perfect10 Books
All rights reserved with the author, Tina Majors (2019-)
Now before we hit that filthy, humiliating, frenzy of panty punishment, let’s have a little peak at what’s to come…
She clearly expected an answer and I was powerless in the situation – after all, she could easily report me for public indecency and ruin any future career prospects I might have back in the real world.
I knew I had to answer.
She continued to alternate between looking at me directly in the eyes and back down to the rapidly expanding stain in my crotch.
“Yes, please, thank you,” I stuttered.
“Not a problem. I’ll be back in a second,” She said. “And by the way, next time you come in I expect you to drop your wallet again and I expect to see a different pair of panties on you. I want to see a different pair on you every single Saturday morning too. And next time you come in you’ll call me Miss Ananbelle and you’ll leave a tip in the tip jar. Am I understood?”
She stood over me now, her nipples visibly stiff underneath her top, her hands on her strong thighs, her legs spread to show her excellent posture.
“I said, am I understood?” She asked, losing patience.
“Yes, of course, please, I understand,” I spluttered, totally panicked and desperate for the torture to end.
“Wow. Wow! You caved easily,” She laughed. “Well, that being the case I’m going to add another couple of caveats for you. You’ll call me Miss Annabelle and you’ll also curtsey for me. Nothing showy, but enough for anyone who happens to notice or know about these things to get what’s going on. And then as well as wearing panties to please me and exposing yourself in the queue, you’ll also present yourself to me in the disabled toilet – roomy enough for us both- when I’m on my break. You’ll drop your trousers, roll your top up above your nipples, and stand with your hands on the wall and your bottom sticking out toward me. Once I’ve inspected you, you will squat for me. I saw that you seemed fascinated with my magnificent derrière, so our goal will be to get yours up to scratch. Sissies needs lovely perky big bottoms to impress the big alpha men, don’t they? I said: don’t they?”
“Yes, they need perky bottoms for the real men,” I said, transfixed, unthinking, and in a stupor.
“Good. I see we’re on the same wavelength,” She said. “You’ll do your squats and if your form is off-point I’ll dish out some spanks with either my hand or a wooden spoon from the kitchen. Once we’re finished up with that I will honour you with the job of kissing my bottom, eating my booty like it’s groceries before focusing on my magnificent wet pussy and clit. You’ll bring me off before my break is over. If you fail, I’ll get Marcel the kitchen porter in and he’ll show you what a real man can do. And if I’m feeling especially vengeful, or simply if it takes Marcel’s fancy, he’ll stick his huge African dick in your mouth too and pump you full of his seed. Well, I know you’ll probably like that, but trust me this man-beast knows how to rock a woman, let alone a little sissy boi like you. Now, what do you have to say to all this?”
“Yes, Miss Annabelle, it would be my honour to serve you and I’ll do anything you want,” I said, trying not to draw attention to us. “I’ll do my best to please you and I’ll accept my punishments without complaining.”
The blood was returning to my dick and it began hardening against the wet stain on my chinos.
“Good,” She said, a smile on her face. “Listen, once I’ve finished my shift next Saturday morning, we’re going to go shopping. I’m on first name terms with a couple of the sales assistants at Debenhams. We’re going to go and get you kitted out with some new work out gear for all the squatting practice you’re going to be doing. And then once we’re done with that, we’re going to go to the beauty parlour on the top floor of the big department store and we’re going to make sure you’re suitably smooth in all the important places. Got it?”
“Yes,” I said, nodding, before quickly correctly myself, “Sorry, Yes, Miss A
nnabel.”
“Ha ha, good stuff,” Annabelle giggled. “See you next week my little-ickle slutty twerk queen in the making.”
Sissy Rules!
Feminization, CFNM Humiliation, SPH, and More…
By
Tina Majors
Perfect10 Books
All rights reserved with the author, Tina Majors (2019-)
My story is that I had recently relented to a lifelong desire to be dominated by a superior, powerful woman. I’d tried hooking up with dominant seeming types of women via all the usual methods – bars, apps, internet forums – but had never managed to nail that connection. The women either weren’t on the same wavelength as me or were nothing more than timewasters.
So, I had taken the decision to see a professional mistress.
I’d been to see her four times in the last three months and while I couldn’t deny that she was a magnificent looking woman who knew how to dominate a silly wimp and pervert like me (the various messy accidents I’d had and was punished for were testament to that fact), there remained the fact that I knew I was paying her for a service.
Still, it was better than nothing and I really got a kick out of following her instructions for what I needed to do in my own time to please her.
One of the big turn-ons was wearing women’s panties underneath my normal clothes, something I was instructed to do every day, with the rules forbidding me from making a sticky mess in them with my cum; if I broke the rules I was required to email her so that it could be added to my punishment list for my next visit.
But as I say, what I really craved was an authentic connection with a dominant woman who would take great pleasure in humiliating and dominating me purely for her own pleasure.
Well, as you are about to read, this is exactly what I ended up getting and I’ll tell you here every little detail of how.
**
I looked at my watch, which I prided myself on always being a reliable timepiece despite its bargain price from a low cost catalogue store, and it read half past two on the dot.
This was good, I was making good time so perhaps I could give myself a little break to catch a breath, after all I’d need to build up my energy stores for this evening and the dinner party I’d been forced to attend by one of my boring cousins who was always insisting on this kind of thing.
And anyway, wasn’t I entitled to a little me time from time to time, even given the nature of my position?
I figured that I was and decided to pick up a hot chocolate and a sandwich from a generic chain café.
I stopped in the street and looked around, after all they do say that in today’s world you are never further than fifty metres away from a coffee chain! Well, don’t quote me but in all my experience of high streets up and down the country I have never struggled to find the kind of establishment we’re talking about here.
Guess what?
Yes, that’s right, today was no different.
About twenty metres down the street to my left hand side there was a chain café waiting for my eager custom.
I began to walk towards it and wondered whether I should treat myself to a cake to go with the beverage and sandwich that I was going to buy.
A bit of flavour to go with the sustenance you could say.
I walked into the café and it was bustling, it would seem that a great number of my fellow shoppers had the same plan as I did, what a surprise – not!, but I wondered how many of them had the same personal situation as me, how many of them were living a strange fantasy world where their every action dictated by a fiercely dominant mistress.
**
I began to queue. I really hated queuing, and I mean really hated it.
Hated the process, hated the boredom, hated the attempted queue jumpers, hated the slow servers not even taking a second to consider that some people might be in a rush.
Well, no one is perfect and I certainly acknowledge that there are far worse things to get worked up about in this world we all inhabit.
I looked up and down the queue – I was halfway up it – and saw the usual assortment of people: shop workers on their short lunch breaks, parents looking back and forth to their kids sitting impatiently at their tables, couples discussing their next stop post coffee refreshment on their day of shopping for the latest fashions to wear later that night, and of course the old timers who would no doubt spend an age asking over and over again whether or not their type of speciality coffee that they had just learned about was stocked.
I’d better stop talking about this before I get wound up again, but yeah, it’s safe to assume that I don’t like queuing.
Gradually and not before time I found myself moving towards the front of the line.
As I move towards my server, much to my annoyance I dropped my wallet! Without thinking I bent over to pick up the assortment of identification, bank cards, and loyalty cards that over filled my wallet to bursting point. It was only when I stood up and began to place my order that I realised that the server, a woman in her early twenties – a redhead with her hair pulled back in a high ponytail and a prominent set of breasts underneath her tightly fitted polo top, looked rather flushed in her face, flushed but at the same time somewhat amused.
Oh no, it couldn’t be could it?
Had I exposed my secret as I bent down, totally unthinkingly to pick up my dropped wallet and the items inside?
Had the tall, smart young woman seen my crisp white thong poke out above the waistline of my skinny fit maroon chinos?
I felt my face flush bright red and I totally forgot my planned order.
“S-s-sorry, just trying to remember-” I said, my face on fire at the possibility that the woman had seen, and the thought that she would be telling all her colleagues, and then later her friends, about her experience of serving a man who for whatever unknown reason was wearing women’s underwear.
In a moment that psychologists would have a field day with no doubt, I involuntarily looked down at my crotch and saw that my state of humiliation was also a state of excitement.
I looked back up as quickly as I could, hoping that she had not picked up on this dead giveaway to my guilt.
“Perhaps you’d like a cold drink to cool off a little? Would you like some ice with it maybe sir?” She said, the corners of her mouth turning up into a smile.
I knew she had busted me, and utterly humiliated I went along with her and took a cold drink with ice.
As I walked away, I wondered whether she would be checking for any signs of visible panty line in my trousers. Then I remembered I was at least wearing a thong so that wouldn’t be an issue.
Unless the thong had stayed high up on my thighs after bending down in a squat position?
I sat down at the table, still hard as a rock, my tiny little cock straining away desperately inside my pants. I couldn’t be sure but I felt it was likely that it had escaped the small frontage of the thong and if I was to have an explosion it was sure to seep through to the front of my trousers and cause an unseemly stain.
I imagined that the server would come over and sit at my table, that she would take a seat and put me out of my misery.
Just how much had she seen, and what did she plan to do with that information?
Totally illogically I began to wonder whether she knew my mistress, whether this was all a set up. I knew such talk was crazy, but my senses were so heightened I couldn’t rule anything out. And just at that moment I looked up and saw her picking up the empties at the table opposite me.
She half turned towards me and smiled, shaking her head as she did.
She knew what I was.
And then my jaw dropped as I watched her drop down to the pick up some cake wrappers under the table. I saw her jeans ride down, her rather perfect bubble butt 1ooo squats a day bottom forcing its way out. She was wearing a thong that matched mine, or near enough.
She turned again and smiled, revelling in how entranced I was.
She bounced up and down a little
on her heels before standing up, facing away from me. I could see her ass cheeks clenching and then unclenching underneath her trousers, and as she did this I felt the stream of hot cum flying up through my stiff erection and directly onto the crotch area of my trousers.
My face flushed and my body stiffened, and the server watched every moment.
This Goddess of a barista walked over to my table, revelling in her superiority over me.
“Would you like me to get you a wet cloth for your accident sir? I don’t think your mommy will be pleased if she sees that will she?” She giggled, fixing me with a stare.
She clearly expected an answer and I was powerless in the situation – after all, she could easily report me for public indecency and ruin any future career prospects I might have back in the real world.
I knew I had to answer.
She continued to alternate between looking at me directly in the eyes and back down to the rapidly expanding stain in my crotch.
“Yes, please, thank you,” I stuttered.
“Not a problem. I’ll be back in a second,” She said. “And by the way, next time you come in I expect you to drop your wallet again and I expect to see a different pair of panties on you. I want to see a different pair on you every single Saturday morning too. And next time you come in you’ll call me Miss Ananbelle and you’ll leave a tip in the tip jar. Am I understood?”
She stood over me now, her nipples visibly stiff underneath her top, her hands on her strong thighs, her legs spread to show her excellent posture.
“I said, am I understood?” She asked, losing patience.
“Yes, of course, please, I understand,” I spluttered, totally panicked and desperate for the torture to end.