by Tina Majors
After it was over I was told to jog home, and as with last time all I had for modesty was my t-shirt and my tiny thong.
As I left to their cheers and wolf whistles, I was totally dazed and blown away again by what had happened.
I could only wonder what the next adventure of degradation and humiliation would be at the hands of Yogi Sara, Yogi Tiffany, and who knows who else…
**
I knew I had about half an hour to get to my destination.
My bicycle was in good condition, a real smooth ride that could take me from A to B in an easy, quick style.
It wasn’t exactly top of the range of course, I didn’t have anywhere near the disposable income to be able to shell out for some super highly rated, feather light turbo road flyer that would probably cost close enough to the gross domestic product of a small developing country in the continent of Africa.
For me, it was a case of looking through the second hand bargains on my local online advertiser and finding what I could for less than a cool one hundred.
Which, as it goes, I did manage to do – and have some change left over to boot!
My trusted ride set me back seventy five (I used the remaining twenty five from my budget to go towards a service at my local bike shop, well worth the money to get it tuned up to really great working order) and was so far proving to be worth every penny.
It also came with a surprisingly high level bike lock thrown in for free, and I wasn’t about to miss out on that opportunity as a lock of this quality would normally retail at significantly more than I’d paid for the bike itself.
I shifted gear to match the fact I was now cycling up a bit of an incline and felt happy that my legs weren’t having to pump any harder and I could continue to basically cruise it on the way to my destination.
I looked up at the sky and the sun was out and to top that little bit of happiness off, there also weren’t any clouds.
This was kinda surprising as my iPhone app had suggested that there could be rain later in the day.
Well, if there was rain on the way I certainly couldn’t see where it would be coming from at this stage. Everything was looking up as I continued my journey.
I began to wonder about what kind of holiday I would like to go on next. I suppose money is always in a factor in thinking about where you want to go, because let’s get real for a moment, unless you are personal friends with Sir Richard Branson then a two week stay at the fabulous Necker Island is probably out of your price range, well, it certainly was mine!
But that’s not to say I hadn’t been on any plush holidays in my time.
I recalled staying in a rather lovely villa that was secluded, had its own pool (plus outdoor shower area), and all the comforts you would expect inside the villa itself. It was quite an expensive holiday in truth, but the privacy afforded certain luxuries and extravagances that you can’t (most of the time) get away with at your bog standard all inclusive four star package hotel holiday.
Of course, I had been on some decent package holidays too, on a variety of budgets from cheap as chips (a British saying popularised by an eccentric television presenter who assessed the value of old rubbish for a living – nice work if you can get it though, I must admit) to touching the higher echelons of my affordability scale.
I think there was always merit to be found in wherever I went, even in the foibles of individual hotels that perhaps were on the cheaper side. That is not to say that expensive places didn’t have their own uniquely weird approaches to certain things too, as I am sure you can imagine.
Anyway, as I say, I was pondering where to go next. I had never been to the Caribbean before, you know the likes of Jamaica or Barbados and they were definitely appealing to me for a variety of reasons I am sure you can work out for yourselves. I wasn’t quite sure if my budget would stretch to that at the moment, but maybe I pondered there would be a way of earning my keep while I was there, to cover the excess that was out of my financial reach?
Again, I am sure you can work out what I mean.
Perhaps I would have to keep the holiday closer, or maybe even try something snow based?
That could be pretty sweet, I thought.
I’d never been on a skiing holiday before, maybe I could give it a try and see what really goes on après ski.
Again though, ski holidays were notoriously expensive and many people only were able to go by supplementing their income by working as chalet boys or girls. I could imagine the appeal there, plenty of interesting adventures I am sure would unfurl themselves to me in such a situation.
What would I do?
Well, there were many options, and many exciting possibilities of what I would experience when I was there.
I shifted my gear into a lower gear as I began the actually quite steep descent down the hill I had just climbed.
It was a strange feeling to see the steeper drop on the other side, it didn’t make sense to me geographically but then again, geography was never my strongest subject at school, I don’t know what it was, I just found it really really boring. It made me think about how dull all the geography students were who I met at university; I wonder if they are all geography teachers now?
Probably boring the absolute pants off all of their students no doubt!
I didn’t let this unwelcome mental diversion ruin the great feeling of a downhill cruise.
Purists will explode in rage at a statement like this, but I love to let the bike do all the work when going down hill, so absolutely no peddling for as long as possible, let nature and mechanics take their course and enjoy the wind in your face and the feel of it flowing through you.
I found my speed increasing and I couldn’t help but smile for a moment as I looked around and saw all the commuters stuck in their cars, probably listening to some middle of the road indie dirge that was being played on a popular radio station or maybe even through their connected device, a bland recommendation from a friend or member of their family.
But who was I to judge someone based on their musical taste?
Live and let live and all that jazz (other genres are available!)
Well, I’m getting my musical metaphors mixed up to a grand scale here, but I think you know what I mean. I applied a touch of pressure on my breaks, only a small amount, as I was aware that my speed was increasing to a point where perhaps I didn’t feel completely comfortable and one hundred percent in control.
The last thing I wanted was an accident.
I guess some people could say I was a cautious kind of a guy. I’m not sure I would agree entirely with that sentiment, but certainly you could say in this instance that my decision to slow down was an acquiescence to caution that would not have looked out of place if it was being taken by a rather cautious individual.
The thing is, I have seen the damage that serious cycling accidents can do and the level of bone shattering and skin peeling that can happen. Also I must in a moment of mea-culpa confess that I was not wearing a cycle helmet.
I was fully aware that a high speed splat on the road when hitting the kind of speed I was cruising down hill could have potentially fatal consequences.
When I remember my old friend Oxley, a fine cyclist and all round athlete in his prime, and what happened to him when he cycled too fast and was faced with an on coming truck on a country road.
No, he didn’t die, but in saving himself from a cataclysmic crash he managed to end up being projected over a farm fence and into a field full of cows.
Cows, friendly creatures right? Absolutely.
But Oxley ended up in a giant pile of manure with a broken leg.
He was there for five hours, almost entirely submerged, in pain and involuntarily retching due to the awful smell of the cow excrement. The sad thing is, Oxley was actually in training for a huge cycle event at university that had he performed up to expectation could have seen him offered sponsorship and the potential to go professional once he had graduated, or maybe even before that as in durin
g his studies.
What a shame, and I have always felt that he wasn’t the same person after.
I began to see a bitter streak to him that would reveal itself in jealous comments and mood swings that after a while got a bit tiring and made me not want to hang out with him.
We lost touch and I know only occasionally see an update on a poorly kept up Facebook account.
I Googled him and saw he worked for a debt management agency.
How depressing, and absolutely not a fate I would ever want to find myself existing in, if you can call that even existing.
Now, I wasn’t anywhere near a field of cows and their waste, but the point stood: I was going to choose caution over an accident, every single day of the damn week. I held the brakes until I was happy with the reduced speed and cruised until I got on the flat. I was only a few minutes away from my destination now and felt ready for anything.
Well, at least that’s what I felt at the time.
**
I pulled my bicycle into the driveway of the bog-standard suburban bungalow driveway.
This house looked normal, run of the mill.
I had been called over to look at giving a quote for some landscaping work in the garden, a past time of mine that I used to earn some extra money as I saved up to go travelling across South America.
This job was slightly different though.
It was recommended to me by Yogi Sara, who had continued to train me in the ways of sissydom.
This made me feel a little nervous about who the client would be, and what extent of knowledge she would have about my relationship with Sara.
I walked up to the front door and was a little taken aback as the door opened to reveal an absolutely incredible looking woman. She was a little older than me, probably in her forties maybe, but she looked incredible, absolutely pristine.
What was also noticeable was how she managed to combine being very curvy in all the right places with also being massively athletic at the same time.
How did I know this?
Well, it could be something to do with the figure hugging one piece leotard she was wearing, all in black with a pair of tiny gym short covering her lower half.
I must have been staring too hard.
“Keep your eyes on my face,” She said. “You’d better follow me before your jaw hits the floor, and no looking at my booty either.”
I couldn’t believe how she had just spoken to me!
But I already felt helpless and quite scared of this woman, it was like she knew exactly what buttons to press.
She walked into the garden and I must admit I did take a long look at her bottom. It was large and clearly she knew how to squat and spent time perfecting her technique.
Her long legs were muscular and well tanned. I was in heaven, but also somewhat unsettled by her aggressive approach to me, a total stranger.
“Right, this is the garden. I want an overhaul as per the plans in my email. I also want it done for free,” She said.
“Excuse me?” I replied, totally shocked.
“Free? Gratis? Zero cost? Come on, you don’t see what’s happening here?” She said.
I really didn’t know what the hell was happening.
This was insane.
A garden like this would be at least a thousand pounds worth of my time and effort to re-jig.
“Look,” She said. You may not be aware, but I happen to be friends with Elizabeth Masters, your neighbour…
And with this, I knew exactly what was happening and my heart did a total flip. Elizabeth Masters lived near me and had caught me being paraded in my garden by Yogi Sara. What followed was a double domination session that involved lots of face riding, spanking, and humiliation in front of Elizabeth’s own gardener, a rather buff and masculine man called Harris.
I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.
Well, Elizabeth and Sara – or it could have been either – must have filled this woman in on what kind of activity I got up to when I wasn’t trimming hedges.
“Ah, She said, I see the realisation is dawning on you now,” she said. “Well, let’s not bother denying anything and get right into things. Strip naked and don’t even bother resisting me or there will be hell to pay, and you know it.”
I did know it.
Elizabeth had threated to report me to the police if I ever disobeyed her, and I could safely assume that this applied to this situation too. Ditto Yogi sara.
I began to take my clothes off in the garden, feeling totally exposed and humiliated as I did.
Removing my trousers I revealed a high cut red thong that I had been wearing that day.
“Ha! Elizabeth and Sara were right about you,” She said. “Nothing more than an out and out little sissy boi. Well, I hope you asked permission to wear these panties, otherwise I believe you’ll be in line for an extra dose of punishment, won’t you?”
“Y-y-y-es,” I said. This was terrible, I actually hadn’t requested to wear panties today, something that Sara insisted I do – a text to state my request and confirm my status as a pure panty slut.
I knew I would be in for more trouble later.
“Oh, and you’ll address me as Mrs Williams from now on,” She said. “I don’t expect any trouble from you. Now, before you get to work on the early digging out work – which you will do butt naked so as not to spoil your little panties – I want to make sure you will be obedient and do exactly as I tell you. This garden is important to me and I will only accept the best standards. Now, get on your hands and knees and crawl behind me.”
“Yes Mrs Williams,” I said.
I dropped down and began to crawl behind her as she walked over to a bench in the corner of the garden.
I knew I shouldn’t but I couldn’t help look up towards her muscular, toned calves and thighs, her gently wobbling bottom, her small waist, her smart short blond hair.
This woman was incredible and in truth, I knew I was lucky to be serving her.
I only hoped that she would go a bit easier on me than Yogi Sara did.
“Right, stand up and face me, hands on your head,” Mrs Williams said.
I stood in front of her, hands on head. I went bright red as I realised that I had an erection. I knew I shouldn’t have been looking up at her admiringly as I crawled behind her.
Instinctively I went to cover my dick which had popped out the side of the tiny panties.
“Don’t you dare!” Shouted Mrs Williams.
She slapped my hand away and began to slap my hard cock.
“Don’t you dare cover yourself up without my permission ever again!” She said. “I own you while you are on my property and you will do only as I say! Understood? Or do I need to keep slapping this stupid little tiny sausage?”
“No, no, I am sorry Mrs Williams,” I cried out. “I won’t do it again, I am sorry, please, please, I promise, I will only do what I am told, you are my mistress, please!”
Mrs Williams stopped and began laughing.
“Well, didn’t take much to break you, did it?” She said. “Good, saves time I suppose. Now, just to make sure that the message is received loud and clear I want you over my lap for a proper spanking.”
Mrs Williams sat down on the bench and roughly pulled me over her lap.
What happened next was a long hard spanking.
When I began to cry out too much for her liking she pulled my thong off and stuck it in my mouth, shouting at me to keep the noise down unless I wanted more.
I could only wonder whether her neighbours could hear this – or even whether they were looking over their fences to witness my total humiliation!
“Now, I think that’s enough,” She said. “I don’t want you unable to do today’s work. Get up and show me your bottom. Hmmmm, it’s very red. I think I need to cool it down.”
She picked up a garden hose and began to spray my naked bottom with cold water. The cool water certainly helped with the pain, but then it seemed like she had a moment of inspir
ation.
“Boy, you remind me of a tart in a wet t-shirt contest,” She said. “Wiggle that bottom for me as I soak you! Yes, wiggle it, faster, faster! Ha ha, what a sight. You really do suit being a slutty sissy. Sara and Elizabeth were right about you. Now, bend right over so I can shoot some of this lovely cold water right at your hole. I’ve been inspired by some of the videos I’ve seen you perform in!”
Videos? Oh no, she really had been fully informed. Was there any humiliation of mine that she hadn’t seen?
I couldn’t believe it, this was incredibly degrading.
I was nothing more than a piece of meat for her entertainment.
I bent over and spread my cheeks, accepting the cold water spurt, much to her amusement.
“Wow, absolutely pathetic,” She said.
Mrs Williams stopped the water and roughly threw me to the ground.
She began to press her bare foot on my cock. It didn’t take long before it was hard again. She began to delight in calling me names. All of the classics, all of them focussed on my hard, but still very small, dick.
Maggot.
Noodle.
Pin-dick.
Wimp.
Beta boy.
In truth, this made me harder, more excited.
“Ooooh, do you enjoy the humiliation?” She asked. “Of course you do, you’re a beta boy, a total wimp loser who loves nothing more than being dominated and humiliated by an alpha woman like me. Maybe I should invite my neighbours over to see exactly what I am dealing with? What do you think?”
“P-p-p-p-please, no, Mrs Williams, I’ll do anything,” I pleaded.
“Right, well, let’s see about that,” She replied, a look of pure dominance on her face.
She walked over to me and grabbed me by my dick.
What was going on?
“You’ve got a minute to pump your useless cummies,” She commanded. “And as you pump I want you repeat everything I say. Understand? Any hesitation and I will be ensuring that the police hear all about the gardener who exposed his pathetic little willy to me on a routine quote. Ha ha, yes, I am not to be messed with. Now, are you ready?”