Sissy Fag Cinderella

You feel like a Sissy Fag Cinderella, standing at the center of the party, totally charmed, chatting about hair
salons and the woman at Nordstroms who let you try a dozen different lipsticks and then persuaded you to get a makeover while in the store, with everyone watching! How you are in fact wearing the very makeup from that makeover! You love this kind of female stuff. You feel your pocket book dangling over your wide well exercised Pilates-pumped, well walked ass… you love walking like a girl…it feels so right, so……sissy!

The thought that you are such a sissy, all dressed up and at the party…makes your tiny little penis
stick up and your tiny little oversensitive nipples bud. You are a sissy fag, on a blind date as a
woman, presenting yourself as a well off middle aged career woman, fully perfumed, fully jeweled,
dressed by your stylist and hungry for cock.

You ask one of the women where the Ladies Room is and loving the fact that this is now your rightful destination, you head toward the “Powder Room” – it says “Powder Room” on the door. You are so happy you are giggling, and now you get to do what other women do, sit down and pee, then check your makeup. Oh..sitting down to pee…..not even man enough to stand and pee anymore. You think about how useless you are to your wife …your penis getting smaller, your balls shrinking… You enter the stall, and go about the entire process of hiking up your dress, pulling down the pantyhose, then the panties, feeling for your tiny dick…you actually have to dig for it hidden in the folds of your scrotum and loose skin.

You pee, wipe it dry just like a girl, tuck it back, and balance on those beautiful high heels you bought along with the makeup and the dress and the lingerie. You flush with your shoe and glance into the mirror. Pretty woman!.. pretty hair, pretty makeup, pretty face …..you love the nails, the cleavage, the smooth arms… your little nipples wake up and you feel… …a tiny sissy orgasm………perfect…just perfect. You put your lipstick back in your purse, and you wiggle out of the Powder Room, perfumed and moist and ready to prove to your Mistress that you really are a sissy fag Cinderella…

For more stories and sissy news, go to houseboys.net, Mistress Alexa’s original website.

Try on Makeup Before You Buy

Sissies – don’t you wish you could Try on Makeup Before You Buy – try on different brands and colors of lipstick and other cosmetics without buying…

What color lipstick (or blush or eyeshadow or foundation) would look good on you??

Have you ever wandered around CVS or Walgreens or Target and wondered what which shade of cheap lipstick you should buy? How can you possibly tell what would match your face?? Well here’s a way to try on the color without actually trying it on! Perfect for sissies who love to be humiliated but only in private.

iphone-red-girlIt’s an app.

It is available for iphone and android, and it is called ShadeScout.

ShadeScout lets you:

  • Virtually try on new shades in real time
  • Find all the makeup you need to make yourself pretty: lipstick, lip gloss, eyeshadow, eyebrows, bronzer, blush, and foundation – !
  • Try out different popular brands – like Mac, Clinique, Sephora, Revlon, Cover Girl, L’Oreal, and more!
  • Buy your favorite colors through the app, or on line.

Try on Makeup Colors – Lipsticks, Blushers, Eyeshadows

First find a color you want to see on your lips or your eyes or cheeks or skin. ShadeScout – using its cosmetics color search engine, displays all the available brands which have cosmetics in that color! Then you press “try on” and you can click down on whatever lipstick you want to try on!  When you find one you love, click on the little heart to save it….

Imagine you see a photo of a model wearing a color that you’d wear if it were a shade of lipstick or eyeshadow? Focus your camera on that perfect color, then use the real-time virtual Try-On feature to see how it looks on you, as if you’re looking in a mirror!

Looking like a sissy girl (or looking good as a sissy girl) is easy when you can make yourself up by trying on your favorite  luxury cosmetics brands… ShadeScout lets you find and virtually try on makeup, and even then Share your Pretty Face with your Mistress or with other Sissies!


Jamie’s Story – Part 3

 

Girls in Vegas (Finally)

 

We took a taxi to our hotel, Paris, and went to the check in counter.  The clerk looked us both up and down, and then said, “Welcome, ladies.  It is good to have you here.  Your suite is ready for you.”  Emma handed over her ID and credit card—my card, I noticed—and took care of the formalities.  “Why don’t you head up and I’ll have the bellman take up your bags.  I know you will have a memorable visit.”

 

We thanked them and started to head to the elevators, when the clerk called after us, “We had your flight information, so I’ve taken the liberty to send up a complementary gift.  I hope you enjoy it.  We always love having girls like you here.”

 

We waved thank him, and then I noticed the signs that proclaimed the Paris hotel as LGBT friendly.  I looked around, and I noticed a few girls who might have been crossdressers, but I couldn’t tell.  Emma had made all the arrangements and wanted to keep the itinerary a surprise, but I had to agree that she picked the right place.

 

I knew that the Pimp & Ho Party would also be at this hotel, and the advertisement and online chatter had made it clear that it was the most diverse such party anywhere.  There would be straight people, gay people, transgender people, white people, black people, and all other kinds of people.  In previous years, there was also representation of BDSM people as well as real pimps and prostitutes.  Basically, there were no rules except for trying to make others feel bad (unless they want to feel bad).

 

When we got to the room, we saw that there was a bottle of pink champagne waiting for us.  Emma opened it and poured us a couple of glasses.  “This is a toast to you, Jamie.  I can’t thank you enough for opening up to me.  A whole world of possibilities is now available.  I want you to know that I love you and always will, no matter what.”  We clinked glasses and savored the bubbly, but I had to wonder what “no matter what” meant.

 

The bellman delivered the bags and showed us around the suite.  It was large—a big sitting area with a sectional couch and ottoman, two bedrooms, and a huge master bath with a hot tub that could easily fit four people.  “Are you sure this isn’t too expensive, honey?”  I asked.

 

“Don’t worry about it baby.  It is all taken care of.  Don’t worry your newly pretty little head over it.”  I said OK while Emma tipped the bellman.

 

Emma said, “I don’t know about you, but I just want to relax today and take it easy tonight.  I’ve arranged an appointment for you today at 4—it is about 2PM now—to get you a makeup lesson and some clothes.  This will also allow us to confirm your sizes so you hooker costume fits perfectly for the party.  I’ll go with you to make sure everything is just right.”

 

I was delighted.  Finally, I’ll get a professional makeover and be able to appear as much like a woman as possible.  Emma told me to take a shower and clean my face—of any lipstick and anything else—and we would head out.

 

At 3 we caught a cab to Just You, a business specializing in male-to-female transformation makeovers.  Emma had been coordinating with Amy, the owner of Just You, for weeks and planned to use it as the base for dressing me and making me up.

 

We arrived a little early, and Amy greeted us enthusiastically.  “Emma!  I am so glad to finally meet you.  I have done everything we talked about, and I think that we will be ready for a great few days.”  When Amy finished hugging Emma, she turned to me, “Jamie—or should I say Jamie Littlecock?—I am so happy you are here.  Put yourself in my hands and I am sure that I can deliver on the vision that Emma shared with me.  You are going to be one happy girl, I promise!”

 

With that, Amy took me into the dressing room.  A previous client—who looked like a woman ready for a night on the prowl for men—waved goodbye as she left.

Amy said, “Jamie, what we are doing here is a complete makeover and dress to present you to the world as a sexy woman.  They way I work is to start from the very base level, so what I need you to do is to strip naked and stand on that little platform so I can see what I am working with.”  She pointed to a platform about a foot high that stood before a set of three mirrors, much like you would see in a tailor or dressmaking shop.

 

I looked at Emma to see if that was right, but Emma said, “Don’t look at me.  Amy is the expert here in helping sissies look like girls.  Do what she says—its what we came all this way for.”

 

As Amy and Emma chatted, I took off my blouse, camisole, and pants.  “Panties too,” I heard Amy say, so I took them off as well.  I stood totally naked on the platform and waited for Amy to turn her attention to me.

 

After a couple of minutes, Amy came over and examined me up close.  “Emma, you and Jamie have done a remarkable job.  Her body is lean—I think the word is lithe.  Well, almost lithe.  Her basic architecture is still like a man, but we can do a few things about that for dress up.  Really changing that will require more, uh, decisive methods.

 

“You have done a great job with her nails, hair removal, and skin care.  I love what you’ve done with the eyebrows and lashes. And I really love the tan—it shows that Jamie has been getting into her girly mindset for some time.

 

“I don’t see any real problems with passing her as a reasonably attractive woman.  I mean, she won’t be model pretty and anyone who really looks at her will see that she has the shoulders and frame of a man, but she will be a great looking sissy.  The main issues are the waist and what to do about her penis.  I see that she lives up to her name in that department, so this is a solvable problem.  You can keep her caged but that shows a bulge, you can cover it up, or you can leave it relatively free if you expect to use it while in woman mode.”

 

“We’ll leave it caged for now.  I will let you know tomorrow about what we will do for the party,” said Emma.

 

“That sounds fine,” said Amy.  My recommendation is to dress her up now and make sure she can put on basic makeup.  Then you come back tomorrow and we will dress her for the big event!”  Wow!  That means that from this afternoon forward I’d fully dress as a woman.  I felt so happy, but I immediately registered that my dick was straining in its cage.

 

Emma agreed with that plan.  “OK, Jamie.  The first step I like to do with my girls is put them in some proper shoes.  I want you to wear heels all the time from now on.  Unless you are in the bath or shower, or you are sleeping, you should be wearing the shoes I give you.  Do you understand?  Every step from now on will be in heels.  And it goes without saying that they stay on if Emma has any sex planned for you.  Do you understand?”  I agreed immediately.

 

Amy gave me gold strappy sandals with a high 4 or 5 inch heel.  I wasn’t used to wearing heels this high, and it showed.  “Walk back and forth in here a couple of times to get your sea legs, so to speak.”  Still naked, I walked a few laps across the room.  “Emma, you once again have my complements.  Jamie is a little wobbly, but she swings her hips and knows how to walk in heels.  Her ass looks high and round, and she has a great pair of legs.  We need to be sure to show them off when she dresses up.”

 

I felt completely exposed as Emma and Amy inspected and talked about me.  But I was thrilled as well, and loved the approval I was getting.

 

“OK, Jamie.  I want to start changing your hair and a few other things, but I won’t leave you naked.  Put on this robe and we will move on to the next steps.”  Amy handed me a pale blue frilly dressing robe.  I think the right word is chemise, and it felt heavenly—it was frilly and soft, and its every touch felt like a caress.

 

Amy sat me down and said, “Let’s find the right wig for you.  This isn’t necessarily the hairdo you will have for the big party—we will work on your evening look later—but I think we need to get you some nice hair for the next day or so.”  Emma had sent Amy pictures of me ahead of time, and Amy had already chosen a short blond wig with a pixie-like hairstyle.  “Here, let’s try this,” she said as she placed the wig on my head and adjusted it.

 

“I’m going to let you look in the mirror now.  I think you will like the effect,” Amy said.  I looked in the mirror and was stunned.  I hadn’t even put on any makeup and the wig made me look, well, pretty.  At least almost pretty.  Combined with me full lips, shaped brows, and tinted lashes, the effect was really transformative.  My heart leapt.

 

“I love it,” I said, as my eye teared up.

 

“I thought you would.  The color plays off of your natural skin tone and tan.  I think that this is a feminine, but sporty look that goes with your fit body.  A flowing or girlier hairdo would be out of sync with the rest of you.  This says that you are a girl who knows how to use her body,” said Amy.

 

“That will come in handy,” smiled Emma.  “You do look great, honey.”

 

Amy spun me around in the swivel chair.  “OK, now let’s get you some jewelry and get you made up.”

 

Amy told me that normally, she likes to do a makeover so that the subject doesn’t see the result until the end.  That is what she is going to do tomorrow, before the party, but today she wanted to show me how to make myself up so I could maintain my own makeup for the next day until the party.

 

Amy selected some pearl earrings and a short pearl necklace for me to wear alongside my “Jamie” and “Littlecock” necklaces.  Then she showed me how to put on a makeup base, how to use blush, and how to paint my eyes and lips.  “Tonight, I’m going for a wholesome, attractive look, like a woman who plays tennis at a country club.  You will be pretty and attractive, but not as dramatic as you will look tomorrow.  This look will be suitable for evening tonight, and all day tomorrow.  You can also use this when you go home and want to dress up there.  It is very versatile.”

 

That sounded wonderful to me.  I’d live a whole day as a woman, without looking like a whore all the time.

 

“The skirt I am going to put you in will solve the bulge problem, but we need to address the waist.  I’m going to put you in a corset that I’ve gotten ready for you.  Emma sent me your measurements and, looking at you now, I am confident that it will work.  Not only will the corset give you a much-improved figure, but also I normally tell my girls that it will improve their posture.  However, in your case I see that you have wonderful posture and that isn’t necessary.”  I silently thanked the universe for the barre classes; many people have noticed that my posture and general way of moving is better and more graceful since I started with that training.

 

Amy had me put my hands against the wall and lean out while she placed the black cotton corset on me.  It was a relatively narrow, stiffly boned underbust corset that covered the length of my waist. It was already a little tight when she initially put it on me, but when she started lacing it up the constriction was almost too much to bear.  I found it difficult to breathe and got a little light headed—I could definitely understand why Victorian women fainted in all of those 19th century novels.

 

The effect was immediate, however.  Emma’s eyes widened and she said, “Oh my God, Jamie.  You look wonderful.  The corset gives you a wonderful hourglass shape—it must have taken five inches off of your waist.”  She then broke out in what can only be called an evil grin; “You are going to have men chasing you all over the Strip.”

 

Amy was also pleased.  “OK, I’m going to break my own rule.  I want you to look in the mirror and see how this looks, because it is really remarkable.”

 

I turned and looked in the mirror, and almost couldn’t believe the (almost) woman that looked back at me.  I was tall, lean, shapely, and attractive.  My eyes lingered on the smooth legs, pretty nails, perfect hair, and small waist.  I would definitely fuck me.

 

“That’s enough.  Turn around and let’s finish the job.”  Amy chose a pretty lace bra and D cup breast forms for me.  “You need some big tits because of your broad shoulders.  These will work tonight, but we can see if you need something bigger tomorrow.”

 

“That’s right—Jamie definitely needs some big titties,” said Emma, still smiling.

 

She then gave me some pretty matching white panties, a white garter belt, and tan stockings.  I put them on and reveled in the feel of the lingerie and the weight of my new breasts.  I caressed them with my hands for a minute, and felt a mixture of joy at having them and sadness because I didn’t feel anything when I tweaked the rubber nipples.

 

“Sit down here and I’ll help you with your makeup,” said Amy, and she led me to her well-stocked makeup table.  She chose the foundation, blush, mascara, lipstick, and other makeup and Emma wrote down the selections so that I could buy my own stock.  When she was done, she turned me around in the mirror and asked what I thought.

 

I was struck breathless.  The face that looked back at me was feminine and beautiful.  The makeup did its job, but remained somewhat subtle.  “Jamie, let me show you what I did so you can do it yourself,” and she demonstrated her techniques for putting it all on.  None of it was very complex, and given my experiments with makeup over time and what I had learned by watching Emma, I was confident that I could keep the makeup fresh and replicate it in the morning.

 

“One thing you should know.  With most makeup, you need to wash your face clean every night.  I know you are on a vacation here and I made sure that these are high quality products.  It won’t damage your skin to go to bed with it on for a few nights.”  She added, “I can tell that you might not want to pause to wash it off before getting what you need in the bedroom.”

 

Finally, Amy brought me the dress that she picked out for me.   It was a light yellow sleeveless cotton dress with a form fitting upper body and light blue sash around the waist.  The skirt was knee length and was meant to be worn with a lacy petticoat, which came with the dress.  When I put it on, the skirt flared out gently, the dress fit beautifully.  The petticoat made the dress flare out gently in a late-50s sort of way, but not so much as to look like a costume.  It made me look like someone who was enjoying wearing a slightly unusual, but still attractive, dress while away from home.

 

“I think you will look pretty and sexy in this, but not too provocative.  Most people will think you are a woman, but those who know what to look for will see you as a crossdresser who is very well dressed.  I’m going to switch out your shoes to some pumps; I don’t think that the woman who would wear this dress would wear sandals while wearing stockings.”  Amy gave me some light blue pumps with a 4 inch heel; the shoes matched the waist sash on the dress.  She also picked out a purse in a similar color.

 

“Spin around a couple of times, Jamie,” said Emma, “I want to see how he skirt flies out when you spin.”  I did as she said.  The spinning felt flirty and wonderful, and the petticoat felt light butterfly wings on my legs.  I was in heaven.

 

Amy put a pink bow in my hair that complemented the colors of the dress but didn’t match directly.  “Ladies, I think you are ready to go out and see how lucky you can get in Las Vegas,” Amy was beaming as she spoke.  “Jamie, you look wonderful.  I hope that this is all you hoped for.”

 

I thanked Amy profusely, trying hard to keep my voice soft and feminine.  Emma stepped back and looked me all over.  “Jamie, you really look wonderful.  I am so glad you told me you liked to wear women’s clothes.  You were meant to look like this, really.  I love you so much.”  She actually gave me a little round of applause, as I curtseyed in response to her complement.

 

Amy said, “Emma, I want to show you one more thing.  Jamie, please go ahead and lift up your skirt and push your panties down to your knees.”  I didn’t know what was going on, but I did as she was told.  My panties were on the outside of my garters, as Amy had showed me, so that I could take them off but keep the stockings on for sex.  I lifted my skirt and exposed my penis cage.

 

Amy continued, “It is of course up to you, Emma, but one feature of this petticoat is that it covers up the bulge from the chastity device.  By the way, let me complement you on taking charge of Jamie this way—I’ve noticed that she immediately does whatever you want her to do.  I imagine there are millions of women who would like to see that from their husbands.

 

But what I meant to say was that the petticoat will also largely cover up her penis if you take it out of the cage.  Because it is pretty small and the waist of the dress is well above Jamie’s hips, there will only be a small, um, tent if it gets hard.  Nobody but the two of you will know that her dicklet is standing attention under the dress.”

 

“I see.  Thanks for the tip.  It might be fun to see how this works,” Emma said.

 

After confirming what time we would be back tomorrow, Emma and I departed the Just You studio.  Amy had called a cab for us, and we went back to the hotel.  When we arrived, Emma made a suggestion.  “Jamie, why don’t you go to the bar and have a drink while I go up and get dressed.  You should sit at the bar and see if anyone tries to hit on you—it will be fun.”

 

“I don’t know, Emma,” I said, starting to complain that I wasn’t ready to be alone en femme.

 

Emma cut me off, “Shut up, Jamie.  I’m not asking.  I’m telling you what to do next.  You are in no position not to do what I tell you.”

 

I retreated and said I was sorry.  I really was.  I felt a wave of regret come over me at not obeying Emma’s wishes.  I turned and headed to the lobby bar, and Emma went to the elevator.  I did my best to glide across the lobby in my heels.  I had long dreamed of arriving at a luxury hotel dressed as a woman and walking across the lobby feeling beautiful, sensing that eyes were on me.  Now I was here, and it really did feel wonderful.  I heard the ruffle of my dress and the click of my heels, and I thought I saw the gaze of some men as I made my way to the bar.  I smiled to myself, batted my lashes, and felt my face flush with excitement.

 

 

Girls’ Night on the Town

 

I finally reached the bar, and felt like I was floating.  It was still early evening and the bar was dimly lit.  There was a small combo playing jazz standards with a nice looking middle-aged woman singing.  The slow music set just the right mood and there were few people in the bar as I found a seat at the end of the bar.  I smoothed my dress as I sat down and slowly crossed my legs.  As I arranged myself, I raised me dress up to my knee because I liked to see my stockinged leg.

 

“What would you like, miss?” asked the bartender.  He gave me a big smile and I could feel myself blushing.  I ordered a cosmopolitan—it seemed like the kind of drink that a girl in Vegas would have.  When the pink drink came, I took a big sip and batted my eyes as I felt the alcohol start to take effect.

 

Just then, a man came and sat in the stool next to me and said, “Hello.  I couldn’t take my eyes off of you when you walked into the hotel and I just had to come over and introduce myself.  My name is Wayne—how are you?  May I buy you that drink?”

 

I couldn’t believe it.  I was out in public dressed in women’s clothes for the first time and a man was hitting on my already.  I looked at him and saw that he was a white guy in his mid 50s or so, with a nice suit, open collar, and short salt and pepper hair.  “Hi, I’m Jamie,” I said.

 

Wayne was nice.  He wasn’t all that confident, which I appreciated because I was so nervous.  If he detected that I was a man, he never let on.  We chatted about what we liked about Las Vegas, where we were from, and other small talk.  He was a lawyer or businessman—obviously successful from the cut of his suit—and was in Vegas for a conference that had just ended.  He was staying on for a couple of days to “see what happens” as he put it.  He ordered me another drink, which I loved.  I told him that I was here for a weekend with my girlfriend—meaning Emma—and that I was waiting for her before we went out to dinner.

 

He told me he stayed in the hotel and that he’d like to see me again.  He asked me my room number, and I told him that I didn’t feel comfortable sharing that with him this soon.  He said that he understood, and wrote down his room number and cell phone on a napkin, telling me to call him if I wanted to get together.  With that, he told the bartender to put the bill on his room tab and gave me a hug and kiss on the cheek.  As he did that, he whispered, “you know, you really look wonderful.”  I felt like I was in heaven.

 

Emma walked in just in time to see Wayne kiss me on the cheek and see him walk away.  Emma gave me a big smile. “Nice work, Jamie.  Play your cards right and you can get men to buy you drinks from this time forward,” she said.  “Or at least until the end of the weekend,” she added with a wry smile.

 

Emma looked wonderful, and much different than she had looked when she went upstairs.  She wore a short blue dress that I hadn’t seen and sparkly blue open toe high heels.  She must have known that she was going to wear those clothes, because her toenail polish and makeup highlights matched.  In general, she looked like a cougar on the hunt for some young men to fuck.  Her look contrasted with mine, because I looked more sweet than lusty in my white and pink.  I probably looked like a suburban housewife on vacation wearing her most attractive dress, but unused to nightlife.

 

I also noticed that Emma was wearing an ankle bracelet on her right leg and toe rings on the second toes of both of her feet.  I knew that this was a signal of a “hotwife” who was open to banging men other than her husband, especially black men.  I didn’t know if Emma knew this, too, or if she had just added this to her look.

 

“Emma, you look wonderful.  I don’t remember when you looked so sexy,” I said.  “But . . . uh . . .do you know that what you are wearing on your feet is a signal?  It says that you are looking for men to make love to.”

 

“You are so silly.  It should say that I am looking for some black cock to FUCK,” she said.  “If I want to ‘make love’ I have you.  If I want to get fucked by a real man who will make me cum over and over and leave me satisfied, I have to look elsewhere, don’t I?”

 

I felt that intoxicating wave of humiliation that always excites me.  I had to admit that she was correct but I hadn’t thought that sex with others is what we were looking for on our vacation.

 

“You look so cute when you are being submissive,” she giggled.  “Don’t worry, Jamie, I’m not on the prowl for dick tonight.  But I thought it would spice thins up tonight by inviting hot guys to come and talk to us.  Tonight, we are two girlfriends on the town in Las Vegas—and when girlfriends go out, they like for men to hit on them, regardless of where it goes after that.

 

”Also, you know how black guys get me excited, so I thought it would be fun for you to spend some time with some of them, too.”

 

I felt relieved.  But did I feel a little disappointed as well?

 

“I have a great night planned,” she said.  Let’s have another drink here and then I have reservations for dinner over at the Venetian.  We can just relax and enjoy some girl talk—you’ve earned it.  Then let’s see what happens after that—this is Vegas, after all.”

 

That sounded wonderful to me.  I was definitely feeling the drinks, but I enjoyed the opportunity to be a girl with Emma.  I was almost done with my second cosmo when Emma ordered two more.  She then turned to me and said, “I want you to go into the ladies’ room and take your cock cage off.  I think you deserve to have your little dick free under those skirts.”  I didn’t know what Emma had in mind, but I was grateful for the chance to take off the chastity device.  Emma took the key off her necklace and handed it to me, telling me to take her purse with me and to have my cage in it when I came out of the bathroom.

 

I did as she told me, and couldn’t believe how good it felt to be free of the chastity device.  The combination of the silky panties and the frilly petticoat under my skirt felt like heaven as I walked back to where Emma was sitting.  As if on cue, two black men came up to us.  “Hello, ladies,” said the taller one in a velvety deep voice.  “My friend and I are going to buy you those drinks.”

 

Emma turned and smiled.  She looked the two men up and down as if savoring a beautiful piece of art.  “Thank you so much,” she said with an open smile, “we would love that.”  She introduced us and we learned that their names were Balvin and Jerome.  They were both in their 40s or early 50s—it was hard to tell—with shaved heads and muscular bodies.  Both were well over 6 feet and Balvin was a little taller than Jerome, and was clean-shaven.  Jerome had a well-trimmed goatee and had an intense, confident look about him.

 

“You really smell wonderful,” Emma said to Balvin.  Placing her hand on his tricep, she leaned into him and took in a long breath through her nose.  “ I love your cologne.  Jamie, lean over hear and breathe in how good Balvin smells,” Emma pulled my arm over until I was pressing against Balvin, who put his arms around each of us.  I couldn’t help but notice that he did smell intoxicating.

 

“You are smelling my own special blend, girls,” Balvin said.  “I wear Calvin Klein’s Obsession for Men.  I know that it is kind old fashioned these days, but I started using it in the 90s and never stopped.  I also use cocoa butter every day, so you are smelling the mix of the two things.”

 

“MMMmmm.  It is wonderful, but you are selling yourself short.  You also have your own sexy man smell mixed in there,” said Emma, “The scent is pushing all my buttons.  I think you need to dance with me so I don’t fall down.”

 

Emma took Balvin’s hand and led him to the dance floor, giving me a wink.  The band was playing a slow jazz number, and soon I say her wrapped in Balvin’s arms swaying to the music.  Jerome had been quiet up to now, but he took my hand and said, “I’m not standing here with them out there.  We’re dancing too,” and he led me to the dance floor before I could think of anything.

 

We got to the center of the floor and he took me in his arms and held me close.  He was a little taller than I am, and I felt the whiskers of his goatee against my face.  His arms were like twisted steel and his body was rock hard.  He smelled as wonderful as Balvin, but with different cologne.  “Relax, baby—you are all tense.  Just sway to the music,” he said.

 

He was right, I was tense.  I closed my eyes and tried to give myself over to the moment.  As I did, I felt Jerome’s hand slide down to my right butt cheek and he pushed me against him.  I felt his cock against my hip—the first time I’ve ever felt another man’s cock against me.  He wasn’t hard, but he felt like a firm sponge.  I couldn’t tell how big he was, but I could tell he was thick and meaty.

 

I felt my own dick start to stiffen and I tried to roll my hips back.  Jerome pushed me harder against him and said, “Don’t pull back, baby.  I wasn’t sure at first, but I know that you have a little surprise under your frilly skirt.  I’ve always had a thing for white chicks with dicks, so you are with the right man tonight.”

 

I didn’t know what to say.  I had been locked in my cage for days, and I had a huge amount of sexual tension that was trying to get out.  I started to breathe harder and get more and more excited.  Jerome pressed me harder against him and started to grind against me as the band started a new, sultry tune.

 

I was just starting to respond when Jerome spun me around and brought me back against him with his arms around me and my ass pressing against his crotch.  I now felt his swelling cock pressing between my ass cheeks while his hands roamed across my stomach and down against my dick.  He took one of my hands and put it on his cock, pressed between us.  “Feel what you are doing to me, baby.  I can feel that your little sissy clitty is even more excited than I am.  Fortunately, your skirt covers up your little tent pretty well, so grind that ass against me.  That’s it.”  I felt overwhelmed by my instinct to get fucked, like I was a bitch in heat rubbing my ass against anything with a penis.

 

From my half closed eyes I saw that Balvin had both his hands on Emma’s ass and they were grinding away while engaged in a deep kiss.  I also saw her whispering something that made him smile and nod.  I felt a mixture of jealousy and gladness that she was enjoying herself as I closed my eyes again and tried to merge my ass with Jerome’s crotch.  His hands were strong and slow as they moved up and down my sides and I reached my free hand back over my shoulder and caressed the back of his neck (I silently thanked the Pilates and dance classes for improving my range of motion).

 

When the song ended, the band took a break and Emma and Balvin came over to the two of us.  I felt the spell of the moment slowly fade as Balvin said, “Jerome, these lovely ladies already have plans and we need to get going to that other thing.”  Jerome looked quizzical, but Balvin said, “You remember—that thing we have to do,” and gave him a conspiratorial look.  Jerome looked disappointed, and I just knew that he had expected to get some sex from me (I was kind of disappointed, too).

 

“It was wonderful to meet you guys.  I love meeting beautiful men like you,” Emma said.  She gave Balvin another kiss on the lips and a kiss on the cheek to Jerome—I couldn’t tell, but it looked like she whispered something to him quickly.  Both me kissed me on the cheek and Jerome gave me a squeeze on the ass.  “See you around, baby,” he said with a grin as he moved away.  Balvin and Jerome where chatting quietly about something and chuckling as they walked away, but not before looking over their shoulders at Emma and me.  “Wave, Jamie—they like you.  You never know—maybe we will see them again,” said Emma.

 

I was flustered, but we gathered ourselves together and went to the main entrance and got in a waiting cab to the Venetian.  “You are going to love this, Jamie.  The Venetian is amazing and there will be lots of eye candy—of all varieties.

 

“By the way, you are quite the mynx as a woman.  The first time you go to a bar dressed like your sissy self you get a potential sugar daddy to buy you your first drink, and then in no time you are grinding away with a fine piece of chocolate.  I think you like being a woman, don’t you?  Is this as good as what you dreamed about?”

 

I had to admit that the experience so far was better than my fantasies.  I also said that I think I understood why Emma liked black men.  “The contrast of his skin against mine, the feel of his body, the way he talked were all really exciting,” I said.

 

“What about his dick?  You didn’t mention that.  I could feel that Balvin had a nice one—at least twice the size of yours—under those pants.  I saw you groping Jerome’s—what do you think?”  I was embarrassed and didn’t know what to say.  “Come on, Jamie—dish.  Don’t you know that us girls always compare their mens’ cocks when the guys aren’t around?  Believe me, all the girls in your exercise classes know what you are—or rather, are not—packing.”

 

I blushed.  Could that be true?  Anyway, I said, “Jerome felt sooooo manly.  When he twirled me around, it was like I weighed nothing and he could control me however he wanted.  I could tell that his cock was really big.  I don’t know how big, but it was very thick in my hand and seemed a foot long when he pressed it against me.  Maybe bigger than any of our sex toys.”

 

“Well, its good that I broke it off because he might have broken you!” she said with a twinkle.  “Balvin made me totally wet, but I didn’t want to ruin my plans for us tonight.  Congratulations on joining the ‘I Love Big Black Cock’ club.”

 

We reverted to small talk for most of the ride until getting to the hotel.  Emma was right about the Venetian; I loved it.  The hotel was painted with a wonderful illusion of actually being in Venice, and it felt dreamy walking through the room that seemed like St. Mark’s square.  The crowed was attractive and upscale, and I saw many sexy women walking around, including a number of apparent cougars.  The average age was a little older than I had observed in other places, and there was little of the college/early 20s feel that seems to hold in parts of Las Vegas.  As a result, the men were mostly well dressed in nice pants or suits, well groomed, and possessing the confidence that comes with the years.

 

It was about 8PM when we got to the quiet northern Italian restaurant that Emma had selected.  The place was just right for us.  Emma had pre-ordered pink champagne cocktails for us, and the tall Latin waiter brought them to us right after seating us.  The lighting was soft and the background music was at just the right volume to keep conversations private without being too loud.  Both Emma and I ordered an appetizer and salad for dinner, accompanied with an expertly paired bottle of wine.  The dinner was relaxing and intimate.   It was if Emma and I had placed the power relationship to the side and were just enjoying being together as a couple of girls on the town.  Our table had a view of other diners and people walking through the hotel outside the restaurant, and Emma and I talked about what the other women were wearing, how the men’s butts looked, and what we supposed different people were off to do later in the evening.  The waiter was a fine looking and flirted with both of us, although he was clearly more attentive to Emma—and Emma clearly enjoyed it.

 

The evening would have been perfect if it had ended there, but this was Las Vegas and we weren’t about to end things at 10PM—the time it was when we were finishing our Sambucas after dinner.  I was fully enjoying myself as Jamie; I felt relaxed, happy, and amazingly comfortable.  This was true even though I was wearing a very tight corset and this was my first time in public in a dress or heels (though it was far from my first time with a panties and bra under my clothes!).   Just as I was reflecting on how right everything felt, Emma said, “Well, are you ready?”

 

“Ready for what?” I asked.

 

“For what comes next, silly.  Our big Pimp & Ho night is tomorrow, so don’t you think that we need to keep getting ready?”  I wasn’t sure what she meant—I mean, haven’t I been getting ready for months?

 

“I mean that we need to keep getting ready on the inside.  We are both looking hot, so I think we are ready on the outside.  But we need to get in the mindset of the sex trade, don’t you think?  I thought we’d ease into it by going to a strip joint tonight.  We can get comfortable with exchanging money for thrills.  What do you think?

 

“I don’t know, Emma.  I hadn’t anticipated that kind of thing.”

 

Emma’s mood immediately changed.  “How many times do I need to fucking remind you?  What you think isn’t important.  I was being nice to you by making conversation, but your place is not to disagree with me.  I’ll do what I want, and I’ll do with you what I want or I will expose you right now in front of everyone.  How do you think that will go over?”

 

The reminder stung, but I felt my dick get hard. Part of me—the deep down part of me—craved being put in my place.  “I’m sorry, Emma.  You are right.  I’m ready to do whatever you want.”

 

“Damn right you are.”  Just then, our waiter came over to complete the check transaction.  Emma looked at his nametag and said, “Hector, thanks for your service tonight.  I had a wonderful time, as did my husband here.  Let me ask you, could you tell that this panty-wearing bitch here was actually a weak, tiny-dicked failure as a man?  Or did you think she was a woman?”

 

Hector was unflapped, as though he had seen this situation many times.  “Ma’am, I wasn’t exactly sure.  My complements to you, because she looks good.  I could sense that something was a little different, though.”

 

He went on, “Actually, I was hoping that she was a guy in drag.  I’m gay and I love to hook up with femme men who play the woman in the relationship.  That’s why I came to Vegas—there are lots of sissy types here.  Is she available?”

 

Emma smiled, “Well, Hector, I don’t know.  Maybe she will be.”  Emma wrote her number on a napkin and gave it to him, “We are going to the Pimp & Ho party at Paris tomorrow; call us after that and maybe we can work something out.”

 

Hector moved closer to me, so he was standing with his crotch very close to my face.  I could feel the heat coming off of his body.  He said, “Maybe I’ll see you at the party.”  He grinned, “You know us gay men can’t resist a good costume occasion,” he turned to me, “You aren’t the only one who gets to dress up, honey.”  He bent down and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, “It was nice to meet you, Jamie—maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.  By the way, I love your necklace.”  I realized he got my name from my necklace.  I couldn’t tell if he saw the “Littlecock” part, which was partially covered by my clothes.  Had the other guys tonight seen that, too?  I had forgotten I was wearing it.

 

I was speechless.  Although I love to play with fake dicks with Emma, I didn’t think of myself as gay.  However, I have now spent this evening flirting with two men at Paris and was now involved in possible plans with a tall gay Latino.  This was well beyond the public crossdressing fantasy I had thought about before.

 

Emma said, “You are on fire tonight, Jamie.  Just wait until you see the men at the club we are going to.”  She checked her phone for a text; “The limo is outside waiting for us—let’s go.”  I gathered myself and followed her to the main hotel entrance, where we got in a black limo.

 

Off to the Club

 

“You ladies look like you are ready for a good time.  Do you still want to go to the Palomino?”  the driver asked.

 

“Let’s go,” Emma said.  “I’m ready to see some hot man-ass tonight.”

 

“Great!  They have a big show tonight.  Married women like yourself seem to really like to cut loose at it.”  He must have noticed that we were both wearing wedding rings.

 

Emma explained to me that the Palomino is a club that she had read about online.  It was in a sketchy part of town, but was reported to have very good-looking men in their lineup.  “Especially black men,” she said, with relish.

 

We got to the club and I was nervous because the area did seem dangerous.  Getting into the club involved passing some bouncers that looked more like criminals and passing by some bulletproof windows.  The club had two sides—one with female dancers and one with male dancers.  We moved to the one with the men and ordered some vodkas.  Emma also ordered us a couple of shooters called, “screaming orgasms.”  Before drinking it down, she looked me in the eyes and said, “I could really use one of these.  I don’t think you have ever seen one of these before.”  Then she winked at me and drank the shot right down.  I followed her example.

 

As my eyes adjusted to the dark club, it looked like they were experiencing a break between dancers.  The club was about half full but lots of women were starting to stream in.  The crowd included a couple of bachelorette parties, and the girls were all excited and ready for some sexy fun.  A dancer came out and started to work his magic on stage.  He was a tall, muscular black man who was dressed in a faux-military uniform that he immediately started to take off.  His second song was a slow jam, and he stripped down to a thong by the first chorus as he worked his way around the stage.  The women in the crowd were not at all shy about shoving dollar bills into his thong as he worked his hips like he was slow-fucking the air.  He had a big bulge and at the end of the song he ripped open the Velcro sides of his “costume” and started moving around the stage to a more up-tempo song with his cock swinging back and forth.  As he would pause near women in the audience, he’d let their hands roam up his legs and hips—obviously the club had a loose policy when it came to touching dancers.  Some women got bolder and felt his cock and balls, and he was hard by late in the song.  You could sense the building excitement in the crowd as all eyes focused on that cock, which was perhaps the largest I had ever seen in person.  It was 8 or 9 inches long, thick, and hairless as the dancer obviously kept himself free of all hair.  His whole body glistened with baby oil under the lights, and the final song of his performance was spent walking around the tables in the audience as women shamelessly stroked his cock.  The brides-to-be enthusiastically stroked the cock, and I wondered if they were thinking about what they were likely not going to see any more of after they married.

 

“Look at how these women are going crazy for that guy,” said Emma.  “Do you see how many wedding rings were on the women reaching for that guy?  They looked like they were starving for what he could offer.”  I had to admit that I was struck by how openly lusty the women in the audience were.  They weren’t acting ladylike, worrying about their reputations, or acting reserved in any way.  It was like there was a collective sense of desire for hot, exciting, unbridled fucking without any constraints.  I could almost feel the groupthink take over, overpowering any inhibitions.  And I felt it come over me.  I wanted to see more big cock, and I wanted my chance to touch it.  And I wanted it as fast and as much as I could get it.

 

Suddenly, the lights flashed and an announcer said that the main part of the show was going to start.  It was as though the previous dancer was foreplay designed to excite the women in the audience and the change in lights and music served to jolt the crowd to a higher level of excitement.  The announcer welcomed the crowd and promised all satisfaction of the “deepest, darkest” desires.  The bridal parties squealed in approval and the announcer called out the brides to be for a special welcome.  He then made a point of welcoming all the married women in the audience, telling them that they would finally get what they needed here; the women roared in approval.  Finally, after building the crowd to a crescendo, a curtain opened and a lineup of 10 men started dancing.  Of the 10, 7 were black, one was Latino, and two were white.

 

The men danced around the stage and then jumped down and moved through the audience with women reaching and grabbing all the way.  The excitement remained high through several songs as the dancers did a number as a group and then individuals took their turns, starting with the Latino and the white guys.  The crowd was appreciative, but it seemed that they were all waiting for something.

A female announcer took to the stage, asking the women if they were having a good time and a couple of questions about were people were from.  Then she brought the two brides-to-be to the stage, who took seats on either side of the stage while wearing little bridal veils.  She then asked the girls if they were excited about getting married (they were).  Both the brides were white, and the announcer asked the girls if the grooms were also white (they were).  Then the announcer started teasing the crowd.  “What do you ladies want to see?” she asked.  There was little response.

 

“Come on, ladies.  You know why you came to the Palomino.  What do you really want to see?”

 

Someone shouted, “Big Black Cock!”

 

“That’s it,” said the announcer.  “What do you ladies—especially you married ladies—really want?”

 

The crowd roared, “Big Black Cock.”  Emma was shouting it.

 

“Damn right,” said the announcer.  “There is nothing else like it.”

 

Soon the whole crowd was chanting, “Big Black Cock—Big Black Cock—Big Black Cock . . .” I was chanting all along, and I have to admit I meant it.  I wanted it.

 

The announcer calmed the crowd down and then turned to the brides.  “All right now, you heard all these ladies.  They know what they want.  Now, you are both getting married to nice white men this weekend.  Let me ask you—what do you really want?”

 

“BIG!  BLACK!  COCK!”  They each responded, to the applause of the crowd.

 

“Well then, you are going to get it!”  With that, the curtain opened and four big, muscular, black men emerged.  They were already naked.  The whole crowed seemed to scream with excitement and gasp in amazement at the same time.

 

The men immediately focused their attention on the two brides, who each found themselves with two big swinging semi-hard black cocks grinding one either side of them.  One of the brides—a young woman with short red hair, glasses, and the look of a schoolteacher—looked embarrassed initially.  She was blushing and held her hands over her mouth.  Her eyes kept darting between her friends in the audience—who were shouting encouragement—and the bodies of the men dancing next to her.

 

The other bride was a good-looking blonde who looked both a little preppy and had the look of a pretty girl who was used to the attention of men.  Although she looked as though she belonged more in a country club than a strip club, she was not embarrassed at all.  Instead, she had a big grin and her hands were immediately massaging the legs and stomach of the men next to her.  One of her friends yelled, “Sarah—they must have known about your last Spring Break!”  Sarah looked back and winked, and then her hands went to the men’s cocks.  The dancers moved and thrust to the music like they were fucking her hands.  Their dicks immediately got harder, and the mugged to the crowd urging more cheers and encouragement.

 

The other bride was warming up also.  Seeing that she needed guidance, the men whispered encouragement to her and she nodded in compliance.  She slowly stood up and found herself sandwiched between the two muscled dancers.  One of them picked her up and held her with her legs wrapped around his hips.  The second dancer put his cock between her covered butt cheeks and thrust against her.  Soon the three of them were moving in unison as her hand reached back and wrapped around the neck of the dancer behind her.  Her eyes closed and it was clear that she was getting aroused at the simulated double penetration.

 

Meanwhile, the blonde was enjoying herself as well.  The men guided her off of the chair and set her on her knees on the floor with them flanking her.  A stagehand gave one of the dancers a large towel.  While the blonde was holding on to the two cocks on either side of her face, the smaller of the two dancers said, “We are going to give this beautiful bride a special treat.  However, we can’t show you everything and still stay legal.”  Then he gave his partner a corner of the towel and they held it in front of the bride and their cocks so that the crowd could only see the men from torso up, and all there of them from knee-high (or hip high, in the bride’s case) down.  It was clear, though, that the bride was sucking their cocks and bobbing back and forth between them.  The men gave running commentary:

“There you go, baby”

“Did you see that?  She took it all the way down”

“Oh yeah, lick my balls”

“Your husband is a lucky man”

 

All the while, the crowd was hooping and hollering. Many were yelling, “give ME some of that” or “bring that beautiful cock over here.”  I was amazed at the total lack of inhibition in the women.  They were totally and completely consumed with what they were seeing.  All the things that one can read about women not being as visual as men or being more reserved was clearly not true—these women were as bawdy and lusty as a frat party crowd being entertained by a couple of hookers.

 

This went on for a couple of songs.  The bride who was getting dry humped by the two studs looked as though she came from the friction.  She had given up all pretense of restraint and let the men feel her tits as she ground against them.  She was flushed and breathing hard when she went back to her friend with a sheepish smile.

 

The men made faces and noises as though they were coming with the blond.  When they dropped the towel and she returned to her seat, she wiped her mouth, kissed each of the men on the cheek, and slapped each of them on the ass.  For their part, the men’s cocks were shiny and well lubricated as they exited the stage.  One couldn’t be completely sure whether she had sucked them off, whether it all was simulated, or whether she was a plant from the club who blew the dancers to keep the crowd fired up.  Whatever the truth, the crowd responded as though she was a heroine to them all with loud applause and affirmation.

 

The announcer came back out and said, “Alright ladies!  Who is having a good time??!!  Who wishes she had men like this to go home to???”  The crowd roared in response.  “Who wants some of what these two hot bitches just got?”  The crowed roared again.  “Well, let’s keep the party going!! Give a big welcome to the stars of the evening, Mr. Thick and Mr. Long!!!”

 

To the loudest applause yet, two more nearly naked black dancers came out and started dancing to a song with a raunchy beat.  They quickly made their way down into the crowd and danced and strutted near the tables.  Women were intoxicated with desire for them at this point, and they had their hands all over their bodies.  Several women tried to suck their cocks as they came near, and some succeeded.

 

Emma yelled at one of the dancers—“Over here!  Come over here, baby!”  The dancer saw her and moved our way, which was near the bar.  Emma pointed at me and showed the dancer a $100 bill.  “Give my girlfriend here an extra special dance, baby, and I have something for you.”  The dancer smiled and placed himself right in front of me.  He smelled of sweat and baby oil, and his body was glistening as beads of sweat made their way down his rippling body.  He must have been “Mr. Long” because his cock looked to be over a foot in length.  Compared to me, he was also Mr. Thick because his cock was as big around as Emma’s wrist.

 

The beat slowed down and he danced in a very slow, sexy way in front of me.  “How do you like it baby?  Is this what you are looking for?”  He said to me.  I nodded “yes,” but felt very awkward and self-conscious.

 

“You can go ahead and give it a taste if you want,” he said.  “You’re friend has paid for it.”  I blushed and shook my head, but he took my hand and placed it on his shaft as he started to thrust.  I felt his cock get harder and bigger.  The male part of me was amazed at the idea that a man could actually charge women to suck his dick, and that they would yell in delight at the chance to suck it.  Such a thing was beyond my imagining with my little one.

 

“She wants to put her mouth on it,” said Emma.  “She is just shy.   She has never seen a real man’s cock like yours.”  The dancer winked at her and looked over to the bartender and held up his hand.  Knowing what to expect, the bartender tossed a can of whipped cream, which the dancer expertly caught.  He shook up the can and waved it to the crowd of women who where watching him—and me—all around us.  They all started yelling, “Yeah.  Do it!  Go ahead, suck it!  Suck that cock!”

 

The dancer took the whipped cream and sprayed it on the head and shaft of his dick.  “Come on, baby. Open up.  Dessert time!” he said.  I looked at Emma, who looked at me with a serious expression and nodded with a movement of her head that was clearly a command.

 

I opened my mouth and licked up some of the cream.  Then I licked more and started licking up and down his shaft. The licking was automatic—just liked I’d practiced at home with the dildo.  “Damn, girl—you are good that this!” I heard him say.  I then opened my mouth and took the front of his dick into my mouth.  I thought about trying to deep throat him, but after a couple of pumps he pulled his cock out and lifted it up.  With his other hand on the back of my neck, he directed my mouth to his balls as he laid his cock on my face.  I greedily licked and sucked both of his balls into my mouth as the ladies around me were clapping approval.

 

“Thanks, honey” the dancer said.  “I can’t cum yet though—still need to work the crowd.”  He kissed me on the cheek and made his way to another table, along with the attention of the crowd.

 

Emma, however, was right there with me.  “How does it feel to be a real cocksucker now?”  she said.  “You looked like you were meant to do that.  Totally hot, Jamie.  You are a natural.”

 

She then told me that my lipstick was now a mess, and took me to the ladies’ room so that I could fix my makeup.  “Hold your purse in front of you, Jamie.  Your little dick is making a tent in your skirt.  I doubt if anyone would notice, but a girl can’t be too careful, can she?”  I looked down and realized that I was indeed rock hard. “You must REALLY like sucking a big cock.  Well, I can understand that.  I do, too.”

 

The feelings were rushing over me in constant, confused waves.  I was turned on and very attracted to the ebony sex god who was dancing just for me.  I was disappointed that I hadn’t felt his cum on my mouth, and I wanted to find a way to satisfy that desire.  I was embarrassed at the idea that I was now a cocksucker, and remembered the saying that “it only takes one.”  I was amazed at the reality that I was now in a ladies’ room fixing my makeup like it was a routine thing for me, and shocked at how much sucking cock smeared lipstick across my cheek.  On the one hand, I didn’t feel like myself—at least the self I thought I was for the previous four decades of my life.  On the other hand, I felt like I was totally myself, doing and behaving exactly like I wanted to.  I was ashamed that I was being bossed around my wife, but I was also happy and grateful to her for bringing me to this point.  I know that, if left to myself, I’d still be wearing panties and jacking off alone to the idea of dressing in public and touching a black cock instead of doing it right out in the open.

 

Emma said, “I think that is enough of that for tonight.  I need you ready for tomorrow, and I think that this was just the right warm-up.  If this is the side of you that comes out in a white dress and petticoat, I can’t wait to see the whore side of you tomorrow.”  I couldn’t imagine what else could happen tomorrow, as I had already surpassed about all of my fantasies, but by this point I knew better than to try and control or anticipate.

 

We downed the remainder of our drinks and made our way to the exit, to meet the limo that Emma must have planned to meet us there at the appointed time.  It showed me that she really was in control of everything that was happening in this wonderful vacation.

 

Emma gave the driver directions to take us back to hotel.  “Well, that was a big night, don’t you think?  I’m going to be thinking of big black cocks all night, I think,” she said with a smile.  “And speaking of cocks, or in this case little dicks, I think that it is time to put your little clitty back in its home, don’t you?”

 

I was very disappointed.  I hoped that we would have some sex when we got back.  But I knew that she was testing me and I didn’t want to risk getting out of line at this point.  It wasn’t really a request.  “Yes, Emma.”

 

“Good girl.”  Emma took my chastity device out from her purse and, having me lift my skirt up to my shoulders—put it back on me.  When it became time to close the lock, she said, “Jamie—why don’t you do it this time.  I like the idea of you locking yourself up for me.”  I did the only thing I could—I reached down and closed the lock with a pronounced click.  Emma hung the key around her neck again and again, “Good girl.”

 

She then looked at her watch.  “Oh look—it is well after midnight.  Today is the day of the Pimp & Ho party.  So instead of ‘good girl’ I guess I should say, ‘good little whore,’ shouldn’t I?”  I agreed.

 

Jamie the Whore

 

She went on.  “Because that is what you are today, isn’t it?  You are a whore.  A bitch.  My little whore.  Aren’t you?”  I nodded.  “Say it, bitch.  Say what you are.”

 

“I’m your little whore.”

 

“That’s right.  You’re not a man.  You’re not a woman.  You’re not a crossdressing sissy anymore.  You are a whore.

 

“I’m not playing.  We came out here for a Pimp & Ho party, but I decided long ago that this was not going to be just playtime.  Lots of people are going to dress up and look comical, letting out some of the inhibitions that they don’t let out every day.  That isn’t what we are doing here.  You are my fucking whore, at least until the morning after next.  Do you understand?”

 

“Yes.  I’m your whore.”

 

“I doubt that you do understand.  Whores are stupid.  But you are going to understand by the time this is done.”  I was amazed at how Emma’s mood had changed.  Earlier, we had been two girlfriends out for dinner and having a sexy time at a strip club.  Emma had become a little dominant there, but now she was more so than I had ever seen.

 

“So I am going to start making you understand.  At their core, what do whores do, Jamie?”

 

“They have sex for money.”

 

“That’s only part of it.  No, they give themselves over to others.  They sell their most intimate parts for money, taking whatever they can get.  But then what do they do?  They give the money to their pimp or madam.  They really give over their whole selves to the pimp, who makes all the decisions.  The pimp or madam takes total charge of the whore—tells the bitch what to do and how to do it.

 

“The whore no longer owns anything.  Not money, not possessions, not even her own body.  It is all at the service of the pimp.  And when the whore steps out of line, the pimp punishes her.  Severely.  All the whore has to do is provide money to the pimp in whatever way the pimp wants.  The john rents the whore, but the pimp owns her.  Now do you understand?”

 

“I think so,” I said.

 

“THAT is the fucking problem.  Stop trying to think, whore.  And you don’t understand, so I am going to tell you.

 

“You are a whore today.  In fact, you have been my whore for a long time and you didn’t even know it.  You have been working hard for the last 20 years or so and you have done a reasonable job of building up the family savings.  We have a nice house, and we have a secure retirement.  We have enough to do nice things, like go on vacations to Vegas.

 

“I thought that this is how things were, too.  But now I know it was all wrong.  I thought I had married a man, a man who would love me and who had the ability to take care of me.  But then you came home with your sissy confession.  And then I became phone friends with Alexa and learned all about what you are really like.  And I decided that if you wanted to be a whore, then that is what you would be.”

 

The limo driver was shaking his head.  “What are you laughing at?” asked Emma.

 

“I would never let my wife talk to me that way,” he said.

 

“Of course not.  That is because you are a man.  I didn’t marry a man—I married this little bitch here. And now I am going to tell her how much of a bitch she really is.  Keep driving until I am done, and if you have 50 bucks Jamie will suck your cock.”  The driver declined, thank God, saying he was going home to fuck his wife when he gets home.

 

Emma told me, “So I decided that if you were my whore, then I was going to get what I want.  Think back, Jamie—when have you spent money in the past couple of months?”

 

I had to admit that I hadn’t spent anything except for getting gas when going back and forth from my exercise classes and appointments—Emma had taken care of that.  “That’s right.  You know why?  You don’t have any money.  I have taken everything out of our joint accounts and placed it into my own name.  Everything that I could get signed over is signed over to me.  I left you some money in the joint account, and we have been using that for everything leading up to this trip—the travel, the meals, the spa, my clothes—everything.  They way I figure it, this trip will drain the last cent you can get to.”

 

I couldn’t believe my ears.  I had spent a career building up a nest egg.  I thought that I was actually done with the rat race.  If I wanted, I could retire with Emma now.  I looked forward to the rest of my working career as adding icing to the cake.  Now Emma was telling me that I didn’t have anything.

 

“Of course, I couldn’t control everything.  You still have some retirement accounts in your name and the house.  But I refinanced the mortgage and took out all the cash I could and spent the shit out of your credit cards, so you also have a ton of debt that pretty much cancels out anything you may have.”  I was reeling.  Could this be true?

 

“So if you think about it, you have been my whore for 20 years.  You worked your whole life up to now just to give everything you earned over to me.  And you aren’t done.  You are now really my whore, and you better get me my money.”

 

Emma took out a couple of papers from her purse.  “ I know that there is still a little part of you that is trying to think your way out of this.  A part of you that still thinks that you control part of this, or that it can’t be real.  So look at this and let it sink in.”  She handed me a letter from our financial advisor, Randy, and copies of our main account statements.  They showed very small balances in all the accounts with my name on it, and the letter stated that Randy had executed all the trades and transfers of our assets to Emma’s accounts, according to Emma’s wishes.  I knew that Emma had signature authority on our accounts and a blanket power of attorney from me, so I knew that she had the ability to do all of this.  It was real.  I had worked all my life, gone to school, paid off loans, invested wisely, grown my wealth, almost joined the top 1%.

 

Now I had nothing and Emma had everything.

 

“That’s right, Jamie.  I see that it is sinking in.  You have nothing.  Your accomplishments have led to nothing for you.  You thought you were working for us, but you have been working for me.  I have everything, and you are nothing but a whore.  Say it.”

 

It came easier than I ever could have imagined.  “You have everything, I have nothing.  I am nothing but your whore.”

 

“That’s right,” Emma said, looking out of the window.  “Now you have only one job—to please me.  A whore lives for the approval of her pimp or madam.  That’s all that matters.  So please me, Jamie, and I’ll take care of you.”  She didn’t have to say the second part—displease me and I’ll throw you away like a piece of trash.

 

Up to now, every pain and humiliation had been part of a whole fantasy scenario.  I had been grateful to Emma for setting it all up—grateful for making my fantasies come true and pushing them even farther than I imagined.  I loved her for it and I was excited about the time we were sharing.  But up to now it was, well, pretend.  I always had the idea that we would go back to something like we had experienced before.  Sure, I’d now be open with my sissy tendencies and we would deal with some new developments, but I imagined that they would bring us closer.  I thought the “Pimp & Ho” party would be a spicy climax to this fantasy.  But now things had suddenly become real in a way that I hadn’t anticipated.  I wasn’t playing whore, giving a rest to the stress I feel from making leadership decisions at work every day.  Emma was right, now I really was a whore and completely at her disposal, regardless of what happens after the next 48 hours.

 

“You always thought you were so smart, Jamie.  But all along you have become nothing but my whore.”

 

We sat in silence for a while as the limo drove down the Strip.  Emma signaled to the driver to take us to Paris, and a doorman opened our door when we pulled up.  As we got out, the driver said to Emma, “Can I take a rain check on your offer?”

 

Emma said, “You bet, honey.  Jamie will give you a blowjob anytime you want.”  I was speechless.  I just followed her into the hotel and up to our suite.

 

Not alone

 

As we entered our room, I could see that things were different from when we left.  There was some unfamiliar luggage in the place, and some used liquor glasses.

 

“Is everybody here?” Emma called out.

 

From the second bedroom came an answer.  “You bet, baby.  Give me a sec.”  It was a man’s voice.  I’d heard it before.

 

Walking out of the bedroom was a black man.  I recognized him as Darrell, the limo driver who had taken us to the airport from our home?  What is he doing here?

 

Another black man, much younger, also came out of the bedroom.  I recognized him as one of the men from our gym back home, part of the weight lifting group that Emma hung out with.  Then I realized that I had seen Darrell there, too.

 

Without even looking at me, Darrell came up and gave Emma a deep, opened mouth kiss.  “I missed you, baby,” Emma said.

 

“Did you miss me, or did you miss this?” he said with a smile as he grabbed his crotch.

 

“A little of both, I guess,” Emma said.

 

The other man came up and gave Emma an equally big kiss, accompanied by a squeeze on the behind.  “I hope you missed me, too, because I definitely missed that nice round ass,” he said.

 

“You know I need your cock, too, Edward,” said Emma.

 

“I hope you both had a good trip,” said Emma.

 

“It was fine.  The upgrade to first class was a nice surprise.  I think that the stewardess wanted to fuck Edward.  We should probably thank Jamie for the flight,” said Darrell.

 

“You don’t thank Jamie for anything.  Jamie is my whore now, and it is her job to please me and whomever I tell her to please.  She should be satisfied with that and doesn’t deserve thanks.  She should thank you for the opportunity to do something for you.”

 

Emma turned with her arms around the two men, one around each man’s waist.  They were all smirking at me.  “Jamie, this is Darrell and Edward.  You should recognize both of them from home.  You just paid for their trip out here to be with me.  And you paid for their room, their drinks, and anything else they want while they are out here.

 

“You know that I like black men.  Well, the fact of it is that black men like me, too.  It has always been that way.  They tell me it is because of my ass.  So you might as well know now—I’ve been fucking Darrell since before we got married.  You don’t think that I could be satisfied with your little dick after the fucking I was getting when I was single, do you?  I mean, you’ve been dancing with some black men, watching some fine black men at the club, and you were even sucking a black man’s cock earlier tonight.  So you must understand.  You just can’t compete with the way that Darrell fucks me.  His dick is huge and he knows how to use it—he makes me cum every time.

 

Edward here is a friend of mine. He’s a cop back home, and I started fucking him a couple of years ago.  I was speeding to get to Darrell’s once and he pulled me over.  I sucked his dick, so he didn’t give me a ticket, and we have been at it ever since.”

 

“That’s right.  I’ve never seen a woman that loves fucking a black cock more than Emma here,” said Edward.  “She has some good pussy, and is always ready for more.  That’s why I bring my friends around, because she is more than any one man can handle alone.”

 

All three of them chuckled at that.  Emma said, “Darrell and Edward know all about you, Jamie.  Lift up your skirt and show them what you have under there.”  Ashamed and confused, I did as Emma told me, and they all had a big laugh at my little dick in its cage.

 

“I wasn’t sure whether to believe you, Emma,” Darrell said, “but she is as pathetic as you described.  I’m glad we found each other, or you would be a very unhappy woman.”

 

Emma told me to make drinks for the three of them and wait by the bar in the suite until told what to do.  Emma and the men sat on the couch and chatted about the past few days.  Emma asked after Susan, the woman from my barre class who had complemented me on my lips.  Darrell said, “She will be here tomorrow.  She is looking forward to the party and seeing what you have done to Jamie here.  I think that she is totally ready to fuck some young dudes in Vegas.”

 

“That’s my Susan,” said Emma.  I couldn’t believe it.   Susan, my friend from my exercise class, was coming.  I had enjoyed girl talk with her and thought of her as close.  Now it turns out that she knew all about me, and probably knew about me all along.  I wondered who else from our lives back home was in on the not-so-secret secret.

 

After more talk, Emma turned to me.

 

“Jamie—go into our bedroom and put on the nightgown that I have put in the closet for you.  I also want you to wash off our makeup and get ready for bed.  You have 5 minutes, and then you are going to sleep out here on the couch.

 

“Darrell and Edward are going to fuck the shit out of me in our—I mean, my—bedroom and then we are going to sleep together there.  They have the beds in the other bedroom and I don’t want  you messing the sheets up for them, so you need to sleep out here in the living room on the couch.  It is too bad that this place doesn’t have maid’s quarters, but this will have to do.  Try to ignore the sounds that will come from the bedroom and get your beauty sleep—you have a big day tomorrow and you need to look your best.  I, on the other hand, need some real cock in me and these two guys are just the ones to give it to me.”

 

I was almost catatonic.  Like a robot, I did as I was told.  I changed and washed, but not without looking at myself in the mirror and seeing a middle aged sissy.  Maybe I never was a man, but I certainly wasn’t one now.  My wife had been fucking other men for our whole marriage and I never knew it.  I knew that she liked black men and black cock, but I thought that was a wistful memory of sex before marriage, not an every week reality.

 

I came out into the living room and the three of them were half undressed.  The men had their cocks out of their pants and Emma’s breasts were exposed.  The cocks weren’t quite as big as those of the dancers I had seen earlier in the evening, but they were still huge and thick.  I couldn’t help but admire them.

 

Emma’s panties were off.  She came over to me with a glass of water and a pill, “Here Jamie—this is a sleeping pill so that you won’t stay up all night thinking about what is happening to you.  Drink it down.”  I took the sleeping pill.

 

“Good job.  Now, I have one last job for you tonight.  I’m going to bed with these guys and I am pretty sure that I’m going to get my ass fucked tonight.  So get down on your knees and lick my ass until I tell you to stop.  I need you to warm me up so I can be ready to take a big dick up there.”  Right away, I dropped to my knees as Emma bent over the back of the couch.  I ate her ass for all it was worth, thinking about how a big cock or two were going to slide up there in just a little while.  Was she going to experience double penetration?  Or suck one cock while buttfucking the other?  I licked away and never wanted it to stop, until I started to feel a little wobbly.

 

“That is one thing you are good for, whore.  You are good at licking ass.  You should feel good about yourself for that—you aren’t entirely worthless.

 

Have a good sleep.”

 

They went into the bedroom and soon there were loud moans and the other telltale signs of fucking coming from the room.  Part of my brain was aroused and struggled to stay awake and listen to more.  But the pill took over the rest of my body, and I shut down and fell into a deep sleep to the sounds of my wife screaming at another man, “Fuck me.  Fuck me.  I love your big cock.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Roleplaying: You want to be the housegirl for a lesbian couple in an urban setting.

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"It's just straight prostitution here,"

Sorority Houseboys Give Women What They Need
By ZACH ROSENBERG
Thursday, April 5, 2001
PHOTO/ROB KATZER

Houseboy Greg Lizak packs leftover food for the 50 sorority house members he works for. Lizak considers his job “a novelty.”

Greg Lizak’s watch flashes 6:25 p.m. – it is time to put on an apron and start scrubbing the pots and pans.

He has already taken care of today’s meals – setting and clearing the table for 50 hungry women. Earlier, he fixed the garbage disposal and swept the dirt off the floor. Later, Greg expects to change another light bulb.

“It’s a learning experience in how to deal with women, and it’s very interesting and eye-opening,” Lizak says. “You see them at both good and mediocre times.”

Lizak, a UC Berkeley senior, is a houseboy in the Delta Delta Delta sorority house. He performs basic maintenance duties and handles personal requests. He sneaks the occasional midnight snack to house members studying the night away and carries heavy luggage on hectic moving days.

But the kitchen and dining room are where he reigns.

He serves prepared meals, and his own two hands wash and dry every dish. And before turning off the lights, he takes one last glance to see that the kitchen is in order.

Although the work becomes routine, for Lizak and other houseboys, working in a sorority has its lure.

Sigma Kappa, Alpha Delta Pi and Delta Delta Delta are three of several campus sororities that employ houseboys.

Getting room and board in Berkeley is as hard to come by as a date on Sproul Plaza, and for students like Adam Clark, Steven Geddes and Lizak, housing, and even potential dates, come with the job.

Lizak says being a man in the midst of about 50 sorority house members is “a novelty.”

Each of the three houseboys spend 10 to 12 hours a week catering to the Greek females. While they expected to take on the usual maintenance duties, living in the house has opened their eyes to the web of daily sorority life.

“It’s just straight prostitution here,” says Geddes jokingly, a UC Berkeley sophomore and one of two Alpha Delta Pi houseboys. “No, really, it’s basically a maintenance job with flexible hours, and for the most part routine, but fun.”

Houseboys frequently observe the power plays between house members, become privy to secrets and establish friendships with the members.

“It’s better than a spy novel,” says Clark, a Sigma Kappa houseboy who commutes to San Francisco State University. Over time, a bond forms between some houseboys and house members. Sigma Kappas refer to Clark as “one of the girls,” and those at Delta Delta Delta gave Lizak the affectionate insider nickname “Naked Boy.”

“We treat them the way they’re supposed to be treated—respectfully,” says junior Sophie Khem, a Sigma Kappa member.

Likewise, the houseboys get a taste of the women’s personalities and learn many of their individual habits, Lizak says. Similarly, Clark says his understanding of the female perspective has helped him get “in touch with his feminine side.”

A strong feminine presence in the houses, however, can overawe the men. In an amusing but genuine tone, Clark points out that he copes with their attitudes when “all their menstrual cycles line up.”

The houseboys, however, are not the only ones to make observations.

“There is one I call ‘Conscience’ because she will usually point out if I am seen around with a girl,” Lizak says. “(Their) knowing of what you are doing and if you do not come home at night took some adjusting at first.”

While the sorority members willingly introduce the houseboys to other women, dating within the house is not permitted. Many “house-moms,” older women responsible for managing the house, warn the houseboys to keep “a respectable distance.”

While Geddes admits he would like to date some of his housemates, the residential contract he signed prohibits him from doing so. Clark, however, says he has dated house members, but tries to steer away from it to avoid uncomfortable living situations.

Khem says her relationship with houseboys never crosses the line of friendship.

“They know what they are doing here,” Khem says. “The relationship between the houseboys and the girls in the house is strictly professional.”

While most houseboys say their relationship with the sorority members varies, Geddes says both sexes live together comfortably.

“Everyone seems pretty open and friendly and, if anything, they are worried that they might be asking too much,” Geddes says. “Some don’t like seeing me sweep, and some of them point out spots—it just depends on the person.” Houseboys can participate in sorority events and trips, but rarely are Lizak and the others “gutsy enough” to bring dates along. They refrain, however, from taking part in female-dominated activities such as sunbathing and gossiping.

Some houseboys only stay to complete their duties and then adhere to their own responsibilities. Generally, the houseboys prefer to eat dinner apart from the house members to get a head start on the cleaning.

This daily routine is also broken by unusual situations the houseboys find themselves in..

Clark remembers when a former houseboy filled the part of the house “protector” when he chased away an intruder.

Admitting that the only thing he has chased away was a mouse, Lizak says the fun elements of living in a sorority are the daily interactions and small mishaps. Once, a member burned popcorn, prompting the fire department to respond.

Some of the house rules, however, can impose on the houseboys’ freedom, while at other times overall subservience can wear on them. On average, houseboys live in sororities for a year, leaving with a positive outlook.

“I have an oversized romantic idea of them being my girls,” says Clark, adding that he feels like an older brother at times.

A houseboy’s job benefits include food, board and a small stipend of approximately $100 a month that pays for some social life expenditures.

Additionally, the houseboys admit that being around women is also attractive.

“When I say I live in a sorority in Berkeley, everybody goes, ‘Yeah! All right! Way to go Adam!,’ ” Clark says. “I try to say that I leave them alone, that we’re just friends, but no one believes me.”