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Review This Story || Author: kinkston

Sissy Is as Sissy Does

Part 1

A tiny black skirt hugs her tight rump; black garters set off her milky


thighs; seamed stockings veil her long legs like smoke. Her sheer silk


blouse is buttoned demurely to her throat, but her rosy nipples are


stiff beneath it; her hair is pulled back primly, but her lips are lush and


blood red. If heaven had a librarian, this is what she would look like.



Had I spotted this creature in a bar, I would gladly have bought her


champagne all night for just a single glance from the sultry eyes


behind those black eyeglasses. But I am not in a bar; I am in a faux


schoolroom in a professional house of domination I have never visited


before, wearing voluminous pink panties festooned with ribbons and


bows, with rows of ruffles across their sagging seat. And just in case


that doesn't make me look quite foolish enough, I have a towering


conical cap on my head that reads DUNCE in block letters.



And "dunce" is a gentle term for what I feel like as I write on the


blackboard, the chalk screeching in my fumbling fingers. My mistress


has written my assignment across the top: 10 THINGS SISSIES DO.



I can feel my face reddening as I scratch words out across the board:


SISSIES WEAR PANTIES, I have written, and SISSIES WEAR PINK. I am


just finishing SISSIES WEAR GIRLS' CLOTHES when Mistress pinches my


earlobe painfully.



"What does it say up there, shithead?" she asks, and slaps me hard


across the face. "The assignment isn't what sissies wear. It's what


sissies do."



"I'm sorry, Mistress." I raise the chalk and write SISSIES again, but the


scent of her hair stupefies me, her beauty blurs my vision. All I can


think of is how near she is and how I long to touch her. Glancing down


anxiously, I note that my panties are poking out in front, and an


embarrassing stain is soaking through the shiny satin.


Mistress sighs. "I guess some people just have to learn the hard way."


She seizes my earlobe again and hauls me to the old-fashioned


teacher's desk next to the chalkboard. "Bend across, naughty girl," she


orders. "Get that little fanny up nice and high."


I lie across the desk and grasp its far edge. My grip on it tightens as I


see her reach past the paddles, wooden-backed hairbrushes and


yardstick hanging from a rack on the wall for a thin, wicked-looking


cane. My heart hammers against the hard wood. I have been spanked,


paddled, even flogged, but never caned. 



She slashes the cane through the air experimentally and leers as I


flinch. Then she steps behind me, tugs my panties to my knees and


caresses my bare buttocks tenderly.



In spite of my terror, my cock stiffens against the desk. "Now," she


says, withdrawing her soft hand. "Let's see just how big a sissy you


really are."



I hear the swish of the cane a split-second before the lightning strikes.


The pain is a searing shockwave that starts just below each of my


asscheeks and leaps instantly to every point of my body -- my toes, my


fingertips, each hair on my head. Despite my manly determination to


remain still, I gasp. I try to ride the wave of pain, let it flow out of me,


but before it can even register it fully, comprehend it in all its electric


agony, the second stroke comes.




All my breath goes out of me and I clutch the desk for dear life. This


time the cane has struck higher, slicing straight across the middle of


both cheeks. My right leg rises, as if trying to kick the pain away of me,


but the pain just keeps coming, deluging me, drowning me. I shimmy


my ass, trying to shake it away, but it's no use; I can taste the pain,


and the sound I make as I try to spit it out is like the pitiful sob of a lost


child.



In response I hear my mistress snicker: "Now THIS is what sissies do." I


shiver as a fingertip touches my ass and delicately traces the welt I can


already feel rising there. "Sissies squirm and snivel like little girls.


When things get a little tough, they break down and cry, boo hoo hoo.


Are you going to cry for me, little faggot?"



"I'm not --" I protest, and that's when the third stroke tears into me. It


lands neatly between the first two, harder than either of them, and


obliterates my last shred of dignity. "Gahhh!" I hear myself cry as my


head flies up, knocking off the dunce cap. "Shit!"



Mistress seizes a fistful of my hair. "Oh, now that won't do," she hisses


in my ear. "Sissies don't curse like nasty boys. We're going to have to


do something about that."



She crosses to the far side of the desk and opens a drawer. I am so


relieved to see her lay the cane down on the desk that I don't even


care that she has taken out a pair of handcuffs, a collar and leash, and


a strap with a large ring in its center.



Sashaying back behind me, she snaps the cuffs snugly on my wrists


and pulls me upright by my hair. "Here's something for that nasty


mouth," she says, shoving the ring into it.



My teeth come down on leather, but I can feel metal underneath: a


ring gag. She buckles it tightly at the back of my neck, and now I can't


close my mouth; I can only goggle at her as she fastens the broad


leather collar uncomfortably tight around my throat and clips the


leash to the ring in front.



Drawing the leash across her shoulder, she gives me a smirk and turns


toward the door of the schoolroom. "Come, Missy. We're going for a


little walk."



She leads me out the door. My still-lowered panties promptly slide to


my ankles, reducing my gait to a mincing shuffle as we proceed past


other doors. My ass still feels like it has three strands of barbed wire


wrapped across it, but the sight of Mistress's magnificent rump slowly


undulating as she leads me lazily down the hall is so alluring that my


erection is back bigger than ever, bobbling absurdly as I stumble


wretchedly behind her.



A door to the right is ajar, and through it I can see an obese man in an


abbreviated French maid outfit bound to a St. Andrews cross, a red


ball-gag strapped in this mouth. A mistress in a leather corset and


thigh high boots is tugging at his nipple clamps.



My mistress pauses and grins at her. "Having fun? I am."



The mistress in leather looks out at me and laughs. "Oh my God. This I


have to see." She puts her lips to the fat man's ear. "Don't go away,"


she tells him in the singsong voice of a mommy cajoling a 2-year-old to


eat their strained carrots.



The fat slave groans as she carelessly lets the weights attached to his


nipple clamps drop from her hand and slinks to the door like a


supermodel down a runway. Now I recognize her; from a distance she


had tossed me a lewd glance when I first worked up the nerve to come


in off the street and request this session. In fact, I had asked for her,


but was told she was already booked.



Ooze drips from my erection as I see what I have missed; a sleek, sly-


eyed minx sheathed in shiny leather, with a spectacular figure that the


corset only accentuates. For the first time in my life I am standing


between two perfect 10s, and I am less than zero, a negative number.



"What is this, Take a Sissy to Work Day?" the leather mistress asks


mine, deviltry dancing in her eyes. "Where are all the real men


today?"



"Not here," my mistress assures her. "This one you barely touch and


he screams like a little bitch. Don't you, girly boy?"



She seizes my balls and squeezes. Through the ring gag I emit a squeal


that sounds like it's coming from some kind of vermin caught in a trap.



The leather mistress chortles. "I see what you mean. Shame, really.


When he first came in he actually looked kind of cute. I was even


thinking he might be the kind of guy I'd do a switch session with, be on


the bottom for a change." Her eyes twinkle as they appraise my aching


cock. "He's not even badly hung."



She comes heartbreakingly close to me and tickles the underside of


my cock ever so gently with a black-lacquered fingernail. "Too bad,"


she sighs, gazing into my eyes as I gawk at her helplessly, open jaws


aching. "We might have had some funÉ if you weren't such a sissy


faggot." And with that she clears her throat and spits straight through


the ring gag into my mouth.



The two women hoot with laughter, shoving each other in glee as her


spittle slides down my throat. Their delight only makes them more


beautiful; I almost feel proud for having brought them such joy. My


mistress whispers in the other's ear like a schoolgirl with a secret, and


the leather minx laughs even harder, nodding emphatically over her


shoulder as she reenters the room with the St. Andrew's cross.



The door shuts behind her, and it's only seconds before I hear a smack


and a muffled shriek behind it. My Mistress jerks my leash for my


attention. "Ooh, does that sound scary, sissy pants? Well, it's a stroll in


the park compared to what I have planned for you. Let's go."



She drags me through a doorway across the hall. I am anticipating


medieval instruments of torment, so I am surprised to find myself in


an ordinary bathroom facing a sink beneath a large mirror. In it I see


stockings and lacy lingerie draped about, and every available shelf and


surface crowded with cosmetics, combs, brushes, shampoos, creams,


soaps and feminine hygiene products. I have entered the private


province of women, where they are free to be just as slovenly as men.



Beneath the lip of the sink hang none-too-fresh-looking hand towels


and washcloths. My Mistress threads my leash through the towel rack


and pulls, forcing me to bend down awkwardly over the sink, then


winds it through several times.



Raising my eyes to the mirror, I look into the face of a fool with


startled eyes and a wide black ring wedged in his mouth. I clench my


buttocks, certain I am about to be spanked, probably with a


convenient hairbrush. So I am puzzled when my mistress loosens my


gag so that it dangles around my neck and starts water running in the


sink.



Taking a washcloth from the rack I am tethered to, she soaks it under


the running tap and starts rubbing it vigorously with a yellow bar of


soap. The light dawns. "Oh no. Please, ma'am--"



She pinches my nose firmly and holds the soapy washcloth to my lips.


"Open."



"Please--" I repeat through gritted teeth.



"Open wide and say 'ah,' you little pantywaist. Are you going to make


me fetch the cane?"



Shuddering, I open my lips. Mistress thrusts the washcloth deep in my


mouth and starts kneading my tongue with it. Relentless, she jabs the


cloth into every corner of my mouth, coating my palate with it,


scouring every tooth.



I splutter and gag as caustic foam fills my mouth. "Mmm, isn't that


yummy, panty boy?" my Mistress jeers. "Want some more? Well,


you're going to get it." Pulling the washcloth out, she commands:


"Stick that tongue out. All the way, wimp."



Miserably I hold out my tongue, which in the mirror I can see has gone


from pink to a bilious ocher. Mistress rubs the bar of soap directly on


it. Lather comes up and I feel tears welling in my eyes as I struggle not


to withdraw my tongue. Not only is the taste horrible, but the soap


has a pebbly texture; there's some kind of abrasive in it.



And now Mistress is pistoning the bar straight in and out of my mouth.


"Suck it, bitch. Pretend it's a nice juicy cock."



Suppressing my desperate need to retch, I slobber and slurp


obediently. Finally Mistress relents, and my vision clears enough for


me to see cascades of yellow froth running out my mouth. "Please


may I rinse--" is all I manage to get out before the ring is strapped back


between my teeth.



Mistress untethers my leash and pulls me upright by my hair. "Now we


have to make you nice and pretty," she says cheerfully. Choosing a


lipstick from a nearby shelf, she paints a thick O in lurid red over my


gaping lips. She applies the lipstick to my nipples and writes across my


chest with it. In the mirror I read the large letters backwards: SLUT.



Mistress pulls my panties back up to my waist, smoothing the satin


and primping the bows and ruffles with such elaborate care that my


erection returns and resumes trying to jab a hole through them.


"There, don't you look pretty?" she declares.



I don't; in the mirror I look like a tranny clown out of some obscene


nightmare. But there's no time to admire myself; my leash is taut and


Mistress is hauling me out the door.



It's a lot easier to walk now without the panties hobbling my ankles,


but I almost wish they were still there to slow me down. My fondest


wish is that I'll get to return to the classroom, put my nice dunce cap


back on and finish my lesson; I think I could get an A plus now. But we


seem to be headed somewhere else, and the prospect fills me with


dread and excitement.



Sure enough, Mistress leads me straight back to the leather minx's


chamber and opens the door. Inside are enough torture devices to


revive the Spanish Inquisition, but the only one I'm noticing is the St.


Andrew's cross to which the fat man in the maid outfit is bound.



The leather mistress has tucked his little skirt and apron up, the better


to target his exposed genitals with the flogger she's wielding. He


squeals and writhes as she strikes with pitiless accuracy. I feel for him;


my own balls are still throbbing from my own mistress's death grip.



The leather mistress stops beating her victim long enough to smirk in


his face. "Look, we have visitors! See, I told you if you were a good


little piggy I'd have a special treat for you, and here she is: your new


girlfriend! Isn't she cute?" She flicks the flogger across his genitals


again. "Isn't she?"



The fat man's eyes meet mine for the first time, and a current of


tangled emotions flows between us in a flash: disgust and desire,


sympathy and shame. Hastily he nods, sweat pouring down his face to


mingle with the drool escaping his gag: "Eff, Miffweff."



My own mistress shoves me to the floor in front of him. "On your


knees, slut. Time to learn there's more to being a sissy than dressing


up in Mommy's panties."



She winds the free end of my leash adroitly around the base of the fat


man's scrotum, forcing my face to within just a few inches of his


bulging purple balls. Beneath his sagging belly his little wiener dangles


before my nose, and his man musk fills my nostrils. He is


uncircumcised.



The leather minx hands her flogger to my mistress with a grin. Her


hand freed, she reaches down to fondle the fat man expertly, and in


no time a Cyclops eye emerges to stare me in the face.



Hypnotized, I am caught off-guard when the flogger lands painfully


across the seat of my panties. "Get busy, whore," my mistress


commands. "You said you wanted to rinse out your mouth. Well,


here's your chance."



"And don't forget to swallow every drop like a good little cocksucker,"


the leather minx adds in her singsong mommy voice.



And so my lesson is complete; at last I truly know what sissies do.


Leaning forward, I proffer my soap-slimed tongue through the ring


gag, as if for some unholy Eucharist.






Review This Story || Author: kinkston
Back to Content & Review of this story Display the whole story in new window (text only) Previous Story Back to List of Newest Stories Next Story Back to BDSM Library Home