Punished

by Tina Majors

  I felt my hole expand and take it.

  It was so tight, but I was surprised how well I took it. I’d had a little bit of dildo and butt plug training with Sara, but this was next level.

  Gradually, Elizabeth began to lift me up and down on the cock, showing off her immense strength and of course my total suitability to be a sissy boy cock rider

  “Look at his face, he loves it,” Mrs Williams said as she grabbed my cheeks and made me look her in the eye. “Pure lust for big willies!”

  “Of course, now it’s time for us to let him do the work,” Elizabeth said.

  Elizabeth eased me fully down on the dildo and took a seat with Mrs Williams on the sofa and Sara continuing to record.

  I supported myself with my hands on the floor and the dildo deep inside of me. I gently rocked my bottom around in a circular motion before slowly beginning to ride the dildo up and down.

  “Congratulations, sissy!” Elizabeth said. “You are showing us what a good little slut you are, well done. Now here’s your treat…”

  With that, Elizabeth pulled a small electronic device out of her handbag. She gave Sara and Mrs Williams a knowing look and giggled as she pressed a button on it.

  Suddenly I could feel vibrations flying up through the dildo and straight into my ass. I let out a load, highly feminine moan of ecstasy.

  Mrs Williams clapped and looked delighted, along with the other two.

  “Elizabeth, this is magnificent!” She said. “Enjoy it little boy, ride the cock, get yourself off for us!”

  I needed no further instruction and began to ride the cock like a hungry slut. In between rides I was frantically grabbing my nipples, pulling and twisting.

  I was in complete ecstasy riding this vibrating cock.

  I could feel my dick on the verge of exploding and increased my speed, up and down, up and down.

  Elizabeth must have noticed because the vibration strength went up beyond recognition and within seconds I was spurting my hot cum all over myself, making a total exhibition of myself with my orgasmic moaning.

  Spent, I collapsed forwards and found myself lying face first, bottom in the air – a bottom with a huge black dildo inside it, covered in my own sissy juice.

  “Well, you have excelled yourself,” Elizabeth said. “But all this does is make me think that you have more potential to push yourself further as our little object of fun. And with that comes greater responsibility, greater commitment required, greater discipline. So don’t think for a moment it gets easier for you my little beta boy. Your journey is only just beginning.”

  I believed every word she was saying.

  Looking up at the magnificent women in front of me I could only watch in awe as they stood up and began to strip naked, their phenomenal, strong, curvy bodies on display.

  “Follow us, bitch,” Sara said. “Your evening is only just beginning…”

  Elizabeth and Mrs Williams began to walk out of the living room, closely followed by Sara, and into the bedroom, their bottoms swaying and jiggling in unison.

  Spent or not, I would have to l get my head back into this game if I wanted to avoid more punishment.

  Who was I kidding, I was getting more punishment no matter how well I performed!

  This was my life now, and even with the humiliation and degradation, I just loved it.

  SISSY CAPTURED!

  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…

  “Good,” Jen continued, “Now that we have officially established that, I am going to ask you another question. Are you wearing some panties today? Come on, don’t keep us waiting you little worm.”

  “Y-y-y—yes,” I stuttered.

  “Ha, brilliant, and of course I thought so,” Jessica said. “Now, describe them to us. And look us directly in our eyes as you do, no more of this head down mumbling from this point onwards, or there will be big trouble.”

  I described the panties as well as I could, and in as much detail as I could – I got the distinct impression that these women were not to be messed with.

  “They are high cut, riding up on the hip,” I said, “White with red hearts, thong at the back, fresh on today, very small all over.”

  As I was talking, I felt my dick bounce and twitch inside the panties.

  It almost felt like a relief to describe them out loud, to two of the exact kind of woman I had always fantasised about discovering my secret.

  As I spoke, I could see their eyes light up as they exchanged glances of recognition with each other.

  It looked like I was pleasing them.

  But what did that mean for me going forwards?

  “Well well well,” Stella said, “We really do have a thoroughly slutty little sissy boi here don’t we? And I can confirm that he’s got a little sissy dick to match, too.”

  Stella and Jen began laughing.

  Wicked, dominant, mocking laughter.

  I didn’t know how to respond, I felt totally undermined, humiliated, but at the same time absolutely turned on by these women who had suddenly appeared in my life.

  “Is that right, do you have a little sissy worm cocklet?” Jen asked me. “And is it stiff right now? I want you to describe, if so, exactly why. No detail spared. Come on, get talking or I’ll have you over my knee right here and now with your trousers round your ankles, those panties down by your thighs, and that bottom presented nude for a full on spanking, but not before I spread your cheeks and…

  SISSY CAPTURED!

  Feminization, CFNM Humiliation, SPH, and More…

  By

  Tina Majors

  Perfect10 Books

  All rights reserved with the author, Tina Majors (2019-)

  Morons!

  What is it with some people’s absolute refusal to use cycle lanes properly?

  I’m talking about fellow cyclists here before anyone wrongly and erroneously assumes I’m part of the anti-bicycle brigade. I love to cycle as much as the next man or woman, but I do find it irritating when you get these absolute maniacs hell bent on causing as much chaos as they can in the lane that has been provided for those of us who choose to travel and help the environment by using two human powered wheels instead of gas guzzling plant killing cars.

  I’ll leave my environmental crusading there for now, after all the benefits of going green on your commute or trip to town are well documented by now. That’s not to say there aren’t some valid points and times when using cars is unavoidable over the course of an individual’s life.

  Also, have you noticed how expensive fully electric cars are?

  The cost is surely prohibitive to all but those with a significant disposable income or an employer who provides company cars with ethics as a focus of their provision ahead of tradition and ease of purchase (and even that is debatable these days).

  Anyway, I’ve strayed way off track there (ironically enough).

  My point is, I was bombing down the cycle path on a fairly busy road and this absolute moron biker flew past me and nearly sent me spinning into what could have been an incredibly dangerous and threatening crash into the metal barrier that separated the cycle path from the pedestrian sidewalk (or pavement for my mates on the other side of the Atlantic waterway.)

  Well, to say I was scared was a bloody underestimation and it was only my amazing balance that kept me vertical and moving those pedals.

  I hooted the moron with my loud ringing bell and even screamed to him to watch what he was doing, the absolute sod.

  I really hope he heard, because when it comes to road safety on the shared highway, us cycle men and women need to stick together and not turn into the kind of right wing stereotype that we would so often use to describe the drivers of petrol or diesel ca
rs.

  I think you catch my drift here.

  Anyway, I say it’s time for slow breaths and to move on.

  I pushed my bike up to the semi exposed bike lock storage area outside of the large studio, cinema, cafeteria and theatre that I was visiting for the afternoon.

  I moved the bike into the correct position and took off the dead lock from the cycle frame. I opened the lock and placed it across the frame and the steel horizontal lance designed to keep the vehicles in position. I secured the device and took a step back to check out my cycle – as I thought, it was a bit dirty and could do with a good power clean.

  I made a mental note to clean the cycle over the course of the next five or six days, or possibly certainly over the weekend.

  Well, I wasn’t making any guarantees, but I definitely would make time at some point if you know what I mean.

  I walked away from my secure bike and into the large, imposing community funded building. I walked towards the counter and placed an order for one drink, a frothy soya mocha with a sprinkle of dairy free chocolate mint flakes. I paid for the drink and took it to an available seat, of which there were many – which kind of surprised me to be honest.

  So I sat down and took a sip of the coffee. I won’t lie, it was a bit on the warm side, to say the very least. I felt a pang of regret that I had not taken the moment to meditate in order to assess and realise that the coffee would be too hot to take an enthusiastic sip from.

  I told myself I would move forward and grow from this situation and make an effort not to do it again in the future.

  It’s never nice to burn one’s mouth due to the consumption of a hot beverage or bit of grub.

  Understatement alert!

  I blew on my coffee between three and seven times and took a sip. It tasted good, it was a good coffee I knew it was. I felt happy and began to sense that I would soon forget about my initial sip which had caused pain and disappointment.

  I repeated the process each time before I took a sip of the coffee and then began to blow less times as the coffee found a cooler temperature.

  I must say again a big respect to the craft of the barista, it really was a flavoursome coffee, well put together, and this is coming from an individual who prides themselves on their taste buds when it comes to the fabled ground beans that make a coffee.

  Once I had finished my coffee I looked at the empty cup with its stained inside rim (coffee stained cups – always a sign of a solid cup, and I should know as I have been on highly regarded coffee courses designed for professionals from baristas to café owners to those in the coffee industry on a corporate level) and wondered whether to indulge in another cup of the fabled cocoa roast.

  In the end and after several moments deliberating I decided that, sure, I certainly would. After all I had the time to spare and it was always good to get that caffeine injection burning through my veins at a rate of kilometres per hour that would put a fully revved Porsche: Sports Edition to total shame.

  I stood up from the elegant Avant garde designed table that could easily have come from the BHS warehouse had I not had the eye to see that it was in fact an industrial supplier (I saw the small logo on the table leg) and strode over to the counter.

  The dude behind the counter had been replaced by another man, albeit they looked pretty close to identical.

  You know the score, coiffured haircut, ears pierced, and a tattoo of a retro car surrounded by an ironic flag design on the forearm.

  Well this particular guy was a friendly style of dude and went out of his way to talk me through the many numbered coffee on offer at this joint.

  To be quite honest, much – no, most - of what he was saying went over (or should that be osmosis?) my head as I wasn’t especially concentrating on him and his enthusiastic droning.

  In the end I managed to catch him wrapping up his epic coffee-logue by saying that his personal fave was the Egyptian crypto-Turkish flaccid squat bean that had just come back in to stock due to popular demand from keen consumers not happy with it being rotated out of the selection of available coffees.

  I said I’d go with that one and the server promised me that I would not be disappointed and would probably always want to purchase that specific bean from now on.

  I smiled politely but felt like he’d crossed a border into a kind of conceited malevolence with his last comment.

  Really, he couldn’t possibly claim to speak to my exact taste, no matter how good and great he thought that bean was surely he would have to accept that ultimately taste is a subjective matter and it could be the case that my buds just wouldn’t buy into this particular bean.

  Well I didn’t get into this with him because life is too short and it’s not really a nice move to dampen a person’s exuberance unless totally necessary. I paid for the coffee and waited patiently for eight minutes as he prepared it.

  Yes, you read that right.

  Eight minutes!

  Well I probably would have ordered the bog-standard filter coffee had I known he was going to take so long.

  What an affair just to get a cup of Joe (this is what many people would call a standard coffee, especially in the United States).

  Ultimately, he did complete the process and proudly passed me the cup.

  He looked at me expectantly and I duly obliged by sniffing the coffee and smiling.

  “Hell, that’s superb,” I said. And the thing is, I wasn’t even lying. It smelt fantastic and like the real deal.

  “Hey, broski, coffee is what I do, it’s what I life for, it’s who I am at my central core,” the barista said.

  Maybe, I concluded, maybe he was an boorish prig, but perhaps his arrogance was founded in something beyond hot air. He talked the coffee talk but he also walked the coffee walk.

  I really couldn’t wait to get stuck into this beverage back at my seat.

  So I turned around and sloped over to the seat, sneaking in a sly swig on the way no less.

  Good grief.

  Simple pleasures sometimes can be complicated in how they manifest, but the outcome is always something to behold. Purity in pleasure is not an illusion or jacked up hippy jive.

  The cocoa chugged through my frame and I couldn’t have been more joyous and more at peace with my zen.

  This day was shaping up well.

  Then, as if out of nowhere, two intriguing women entered the café and gave me the strangest of looks before walking over to the counter to place an order, occasionally looking back and smiling in a way that was odd, but I couldn’t work out why exactly.

  What on hell is that all about, I thought?

  I would soon find out.

  I continued to drink my coffee and daydream.

  **

  A few minutes later I became conscious of women close to me, standing behind me, their presence in my personal space.

  I don’t know how I knew, but…

  My stomach flipped.

  I felt nervous.

  I put my Android handset down and looked over my shoulder to see the two women who had come in previously and given me those funny stares.

  It was obvious right at the get go that my initial assessment of them was correct, two powerful and well heeled women in their late thirties or early forties, absolutely perfectly made up and immaculately presented.

  The women clearly had bombastic figures, and both must have been at least five foot ten, their luscious hair coming to beneath shoulder length.

  My eyes continued downwards and saw that one of them had what could only be described as enormous, succulent titties that would be unmissable from a across a motorway as they pointed straight out, loud and most definitely proud.

  The other woman had more petit breasts, but I could see that her nipples were rock hard and penetrating through her expensive looking silk shirt.

  Both women had trim waists and then juicier, powerful thighs that were supported up by long, shapely legs and calves.

  I became super aware that I was staring, droolin
g almost, in a most blatant way and brought my eyes back up to their faces.

  It had only been a moment, possibly they hadn’t realised?

  Wrong.

  Busted!

  “Hey, you, we’ve noticed you here before. You were sitting in this same seat last week, weren’t you?” The woman with the more petit breasts and spectacular nipples said.

  I didn’t have a clue how to respond, despite knowing full well that I had indeed been in this exact same seat at some point last week.

  I wondered why she was asking, but ultimately saw no harm in just owning it.

  “Yeah, that was me, and?” I said, somewhat nervously, but trying to be confident.

  Thing is, I kept involuntarily checking their bodies out, becoming totally wrapped up in these two magnificent women.

  But what were their motives?

  “Ha, right, we thought so,” Jen said. “Well, first, my name is Jen and this is my friend Stella, and we need a good old word with you.”

  With that, and before I had time to reply, both sat down at my table, either side of me.

  I felt incredibly self-conscious, not least because I had a full raging erection in my trousers, but also because their perfume had a classy bouquet that almost immediately had an intoxicating effect on me.

  I kind of felt dizzy?

  “Right,” Jen continued, “We were both here last week, having a cake and a catch up, when we happened to see something very interesting. As you bent over to pick up a something that you had dropped, we saw what could only be described as the frilly edges of a pair of rather skimpy panties stick out above your trousers-“

  Oh no.

  Oh no.

  Oh no.

  Immediately, I felt myself go pure crimson flush in the face.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  I thought I’d been so careful, but clearly not careful enough. I tried to bluff my way out of it but found my mouth just wouldn’t produce any words, certainly none that made sense.