I can’t tell for how long my vision has been veiled or yet where I am nor which orientation my body has in space. Restraining my every movement, the ropes dull my proprioception. As the blindfold comes off, I am thankful for the dim light in the room; and for the first image hitting my retina being you.

Naked.

Almost.

Your leather boots and gloves contrast with your body you flaunt so sensually when your pricked lips connect with the cocktail glass while your eyes pierce mine through the bunny half-mask. Instinctively, I attempt to open my mouth to comment on your display of sassiness with a moan. I am, however, quickly reminded of the rubber ball prying my jaw open. As if I could forget with the trail of drool trickling down my arched neck and into the cheerleader crop top.

I try to squirm free of the gag. As if that helped any—especially against the ropes that seem to strain tighter against my barely covered skin, imprinting their windings, sensitizing every nerve ending they caress. Every move tightens the intricate suspension that has me hanging belly-down from a ceiling I can’t even see.

Despite the constant reminders, my predicament is easily forgotten. Too snug do the fibers press against my skin, holding my legs in a spread and bent position while my arms are tied to my back.

The most stimulating loops are hidden beneath the skirt that would normally not even cover my erection were it not contained by the lacy thong and the ropes’ numbing pull. The ridiculous excuse for a triangle of modesty has long ago become translucent from the pre-cum that keeps dripping; aided by the bejeweled plug in my butt. The ropes that entrap me form a strategically placed knot on its base, ensuring constant pressure on my little boy-cunt.

Struggling to keep my eyes on yours through the exquisite, self-inflicted pain, I sense Master’s hand on my thick tushy, ready to swat me upon your command. The rule I read in your eyes is simple: don’t break eye contact. And yet, through the simmering soup of conflicting sensations, shutting down the visual stimulus seems to be the only option with a remote resemblance to coping.

In my mind, I keep reciting the mantra you taught me: Master is good to me. Master only wants what’s best for me. As for you, my lovingly cruel wife, follow an agenda you would never have dared inflict on me unaided.

The first thwack makes my eyes roll up, earning me an immediate second one, as the former obviously failed to remind me of where my eyes belong. It is quite the show you offer, I admit, as your finger tugs on your aubergine-painted bottom lip and your other hand dips into the wetness between your parted legs. A tempting ruse to direct my curiosity to your trimmed bush.

Tears form in my exertion-reddened eyes. You stand up and step toward me. With one hand, you reach behind my head to unclasp the ball gag on which I am still trying to articulate the same mantra, expressing what a devoted slut I am.

Gratefully, I gasp for air, a thick strand of drool falling from my mouth. Ever the watchful partner, your free hand is ready to catch it while the one that just freed my mouth grabs a fistful of my hair. With a firm yank, you pull my head up, undoing a few strands of one of the twin Dutch braids you so carefully made. With as much class as I allowed my saliva to drip from my lips, your soft slap spreads it over my face. The smell of your pussy juices fills my nostrils.

I don’t hesitate to suck on your slick fingers that you offer the little slut that blossoms in me.

Your hand slides out of my mouth and to my throat. Your enticing grip between choking me but leaving me enough air to just breathe makes me gasp hungrily into your kiss. The spit that’s congealing on my face must be stricken with the makeup that took you the better part of an hour to apply.

When you break the kiss, you capture my look with your dark eyes. The snipping of your fingers triggers Master to land another two slaps on my buttocks, rewarding you with a surprised yelp. This time, I wail the mantra aloud while still looking at you.

Tears slowly roll down my cheeks, carrying with them the cheap kohl you used on me. I know it because you deliberately chose the sluttiest you own.

It is what I am today: your little whore.

You kiss my forehead. Your soft whisper comes gentle and loving, showing me you care. “Damn, you’re even prettier than I would have ever thought.”

My whole body reacts to the compliment. You used that word: pretty. It’s reserved for women. Men are handsome but certainly not pretty. I love how it sounds. It makes me feel desirable, beautiful or… well, pretty. Reluctantly, I content myself with another moan of gratitude for your kind words while my cock keeps trying to break free from its soaking misery.

With a swift motion of your wrist, you have Master slowly pivot me, displaying me for your inspection. My cheeks flare up at the thought of how I must look hooked to a contraption hanging from the ceiling, exposed to your visual evaluation, tied up for show; the good little sissy twink doll wearing the suspenders and garter belt that you chose. The striped mid-thigh-high socks were my pick. You were skeptical about me wearing them over the stockings but I can tell by your gaze I feel drinking in the beauty of your husband that you approve of the result.

“Oh my, will you just look at this,” I hear your lewd voice in my ear as you are standing by my side.

Having an idea of what you’re talking about, I blush and suppress an overly hungry smile. The last thing I want is for you to think I’m needy. I hiss in delight when your hand caresses the prominent bulge that protrudes from between the ropes' loops and threatens to tear the fabric of the expensive mockery for panties.

The glove on your hand tickles through the thin layer. It makes me wonder how much of my pre-cum it has absorbed while I keep ruminating my line to prevent myself from cumming prematurely. There’s little to no point in hiding anything from you, though, as you see right through my scheme and have Master thwack my sensitized booty with one hand while holding me in place with the other.

“Master is GOOD to ME!” I recite with the spanking’s ebbs and flows. “MASter only wants WHAAAT’S best FOOOR me.” Every slap elongates the groan I emit to aid my momentary relief.

When I face you again, you stuff my mouth with your fingers once more to feed me my pre-cum, holding my neck with your other hand. The taste fuels my desire to be used. You know how desperate it makes me for you and Master to turn me into your enslaved sex doll.

As you vacate my mouth, my wife’s loving warmth radiates from your gaze. I understand I am in a safe place, delivered to your mercy and the commands you give Master.

The moment your lips crash on mine, for a hungry kiss, Master’s hand grabs the front hem of my panties. He pulls it; gently at first but then with more violence. I moan into your mouth when the string stretches to a floss that cuts into my ass crack. Amused, you make out with me, thirstily slurping up my spit. Every time we break the kiss when I gasp anew from the panties squeezing my balls, bubbly strands of saliva bridge the gap between our faces.

Those breaks are welcome breathers to whisper my line under my labored breath. It is my token of appreciation and reminds me that I am subjected to nothing I would not consent to.

The sudden snap that finally relieves me from the wedgie Master was giving me comes with a wave of endorphins flooding my mind before the alleviation sets in. At last, my erection springs free. For just a glimpse, I break my mantra, allowing myself to revel in the moment a little too much.

Your piercing gaze still transfixes me. Elegantly, you stretch out your arm to receive the ruined undergarments. You kiss me again before you run the messy material over my face to wipe up my stained grool and tears. Then you stuff my mouth with the torn lingerie.

“Since you enjoy your own taste so much, my beautiful sissy whore,” you praise me with a voice sweet as honey and thick with love.

Your affectionate words nearly turn me into a molten puddle. I so desperately want to express my gratitude and reaffirm my love in a kiss but that wish has to go unfulfilled. You, nonetheless, read it in my expression and peck my forehead, showing me you understood.

It’s that kind of warmth that turns even the soreness from the ropes into a comforting cocoon sheltering me.

The moment of intimacy is broken when the knot pressing on the plug’s base is undone, reminding me of Master’s presence. Then, a tug on the embedded jewel. A muffled protest escapes my lips and I have to force myself not to clench on the steel that has been pressing on my prostate for all that time. I begin reciting the phrase again to remind myself that he and you have so much more in store for me—if I remain patient.

You are handed the heavy bulb that has just left me empty and frustrated. You present it to me, showing the sheer size of the thing that I would never have thought would fit in my boy-cunt—or yet how greedy for more it would turn me. Despite the momentary disappointment, I am aware this was just to prepare me for the main act.

So is the syringe that is inserted into my rectum, drowning my insides with J-lube.

The cracking of a bottle lid startles me. Wearing a knowing smirk, you step backward to sit on your wing chair again and treat yourself to another sip of your cocktail. Your expression morphs into a devilish grin as Master steps up to you to hand you the Feeldoe whose anchor he has copiously lubricated for you.

You thank him and spread your legs for my viewing pleasure. Even in the dim light the wetness coating your puffy nether lips glistens, testifying to your sexual hunger. The bulbous anchor sliding over your clit makes you shiver before you try to push it in. Its girth makes your eyes roll and your mouth fall agape. Once it’s secured in you, you stand up with an expecting smile across your face.

You thank Master with an elegant curtsy and motion him to lower me to a more suitable height. While the pulley is making me inch down, you approach me, the thick toy pointing at me like a threat—a delicious threat. Similarly to the plug before, I have my doubts that my bowels will be too willing to accept this offering—for now.

When Master pivots me so you can come between my legs, I notice that he is naked. Another rather scary discovery is the sheer size of his appendage. Ever since you and I first slept together, you were impressed by my erection. Your honesty was genuine; your eyes don’t lie.

I remember the first time you fondled me through my boxers, not believing what your hands were touching. How you nearly dislocated your jaw in astonishment when your eyes confirmed what your hands had touched. How you fell to your knees and couldn’t help worshipping my cock. I was flattered and embarrassed beyond measure at the same time.

And now I am facing a… weapon that makes my little wee-wee look like a pathetic cocklette. My eyes widen in fear while, in the back of my mind, my sissy instinct is getting excited about the challenge, releasing a wave of adrenaline to face this monster.

Distracted by those thoughts, the tip of the Feeldoe pressing against my entrance comes as a surprise. You tease my little hole so delectably. With all that lube and the preparation, you could just slip in. Instead, you choose to torture me by denying me what I crave so badly.

At the same time, I watch Master slowly stroke his meat with both hands. I observe how he peels back the foreskin, exposing a helmet that is glistening with his anticipation. I want to reach out and touch it so bad, feel its pulsating heat in my hands. I seek to understand what kind of tool he is wielding that dwarfs mine and coaxes the sub slut hidden behind my manly façade.

Alas, my arms are firmly tied to my back. Denied my well-earned punishment, I want to cry, like the little depraved slut I am. Thankfully, the panties in my mouth willingly swallow my sobs that would otherwise be far from dignifying.

At last, the rubber toy slips past my sphincter and invades my rectum. With ease, your hips connect with mine. A bright light of fulfillment radiates from my belly to my head and into my mind. The ropes stubbornly refuse to allow me any control over my body, preventing me from going limp and letting you pummel me silly. I am reduced to chewing on the fabric in my mouth and wringing out the moisture it has accumulated.

A violent yet pleasant yank on the braid that’s still intact makes me arch my neck. Master extracts the lingerie from my mouth and presents his erection to my blushing face. It stretches from my chin to my forehead. I need to cross my eyes to get a clear image of it and have to suppress my laughter from the sheer absurdity of the situation: me being pounded balls-deep by my wife wearing a silicone toy while I am suspended and tied, sticking my tongue out cross-eyed to welcome Master’s superior cock in my cute sissy mouth.

Teasingly, he lets his head slide over my tongue. He’s playing with me and my need to be spit-roasted. Trying to suppress my urge to object and, thus, earn myself an unnecessary punishment, I force myself to be patient and analyze the texture of his mushroom. The hard and yet spongy feel amplifies the sensations in my stretched ass.

As one of your thrusts pushes me forward, I have no choice but to welcome his cock between my lips. Being a merciful Master, he allows me all of three slow strokes to get adjusted to his girth before he grabs the end of both braids and forces his dick down my awaiting gullet. In my mind, I keep repeating the rehearsed phrase to help ease my spirit and relax my throat. Soon, being the good aspiring slut, sloppy schlucking sounds escape my throat every time he pulls out. My cheeks fill with abundant bubbles of phlegm before it spills out from the corners of my mouth and stretches into cobwebs dangling from my chin and his shaft.

The hardest part of this is to time my breathing with his face-fucking while holding back from moaning to your arrhythmic thrusts. The danger of it thrills me and heightens every feeling and has my mind melt in burning ardor.

To my great chagrin, Master pulls from my mouth long before rewarding my wanton throat with the creamy spunk it craves. I mewl with protest as I feel the toy slowly leave my backdoor too. Luckily, the onsetting frustration is, relieved by the long string of J-lube the Feeldoe drags along. A flattering air bubble bursts through the thick gunk as it flows down to my balls similar to an obscenely huge creampie.

It fulfills my repressed need to be a free-use slut, a cum bucket for anyone who dares desecrate my pure sissy body. This notion makes the desperation for my own orgasm grow.

Your hand scooping my drool from my face shakes me from my reverie. I open my eyes to see your loving, caring smile check in on me. My heart swells in my chest from the deep love you give me.

“Here,” you say as you hold a glass of water to my lips. In just this single word, I hear the genuine concern in your voice. “Drink, love. You need it.”

Once the glass is empty and my thirst sated, you smile at me again, tousling my now properly disheveled hair.

“You’re so beautiful when you let yourself go.” Hearing those caring words, a lump grows in my throat that urges to burst out of me, sobbing.

As you place your hands on my cheeks again, you whisper, “What’s Master doing again?”

Being a good slut, I reply with an eager albeit shaky voice, “Master is good to me. Master only wants what’s best for me.”

“Good gurl,” you compliment with a smile.

I recite the phrase when he injects another shot of the sticky goo up my needy bussy. Again, when his cockhead pushes my anus open and demands passage through my sphincter. One more time, louder, when my ring of muscles gives up the struggle and swallows him willingly.

Slowly, my hungry boy-hole dilates for him as it adjusts to the intrusion. You’re holding my chin, capturing my gaze with your smile. Satisfaction is written all over your face from watching your little sissy whore getting his deepest desires fulfilled.

Before long, a masculine hand grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls it in sync with the slow but deep thrusts. Gradually, his cock snakes into my rectum, probing unexplored depths. Every time he pushes his member into me, I moan the next syllable of my mantra.

As his groin meets with my buttocks, the last syllable of the line escapes my mouth as an aching cry. He lets go of my hair and my head falls into your awaiting hands again. Tears swell from my irritated eyes and roll down my cheeks.

“You should see that beautiful, ruined face now,” you murmur, wearing a clement expression of pure love. “You’re so pretty when you’re being used as a fucktoy.”

Words fail me when Master resumes his long, slow and yet forceful strokes. I am reduced to throwing incoherent gargling sounds right at you.

The lust bubbles right out of my throat when you kneel down to play with yourself with one hand. The other is caressing my cheek tenderly. Our gazes are still staring back at one another as we watch our faces contort through the building sexual bliss.

I suffer with you through my ass being fucked like a lazy jackhammer as you deny yourself your orgasm. Once more, I want to squirm in disagreement but to no avail. The fact that I keep forgetting my predicament disheartens me.

You, on the other hand, enjoy seeing me simmer in my agony, for I am only allowed my own release together with you. A devilish glint flashes in your eyes before your mouth opens again from your hand keeping you just on the brink of orgasm. Unlike mine, your movements are not restricted by ropes tying you with aesthetically pleasing knots. Through jealous eyes I watch your body contort in unison with Master destroying my tight boy-cunt.

The growing despair for my release fills my chest while my moans turn into needy whining.

Suddenly, you stand up, leaving me in my little misery, exasperation now spilling from my eyes. I want to lament about how I feel neglected—while having my ass stuffed—but refrain from it. Shame fills my belly when I realize how depraved I must come across as.

Upon you lifting your hand, Master stops. This simple display of the power you have over my release is enough to force me to hold back my heavy sobs.

“Be a good sissy boy and keep it together, yes?” you calmly remind me of my place and run your juice-covered fingers over my face, rubbing the intoxicating smell right under my nose.

I nod faintly although all I want is to release my pent-up emotions through an unrestricted crying fit.

“Good gurl.” Those two words are enough to soothe me and ease my spirits. They hold the promise that the torture will soon find an end and encourage me to piece together my last bits of resolve.

It nearly breaks, though, when casually you stand up, turn around and step away. The fear that you may just be leaving me unfinished almost makes me resume my yammering. The moment you push the wing chair closer to me and sit on it, however, your plan dawns on me. I giggle in mad relief.

Once you’re sitting comfortably, legs splayed, you lift your hand again and Master resumes fucking my ass in his laggard yet powerful pace. I remain silent, priming myself for my release as I observe you diddling yourself.

With both hands, you spread your labia, exposing your engorged clit to my viewing pleasure. You let your finger run over it, flicking the swollen pearl. Our dissonant call-and-response choir fills the room. You close your eyes when your climax approaches, your changing tone priming me for the reward for the torturous edging you’ve put me through.

At last, I may give in to melting over Master’s cock.

Along with your rising voice, I allow my own orgasm to surge. I watch as you arch your back and tense up in search of release. Observing how you build yourself up, I fall in love with you all over again. I can’t help a happy smile when your body relaxes to let your peak roll through you in spastic waves. With every renewed jerk, your condensed zest squirts into my awaiting face.

Just as the first jet sprays me, I, too, let my assgasm overwhelm me. My aching balls contract along with Master’s thrusts as I shoot heavy spurts of hot, creamy cum right on the floor. Every one of them is accompanied by a scream expressing my held-back release.

Master pulls out just before I fall from my high, and with him, another splotch of fake goo. Feeling the spunk spill from my gaping hole heightens the feeling of being a well-used cum slut.

Lost in my post-orgasmic haze, your order for Master to bring me down to the floor passes unnoticed. I am mildly startled by the cool feel of the hard tiles. While Master unhooks me, you caress my face and whisper soothing sweet nothings that I don’t hear but rather feel, flooding my heart with calming warmth.

Master unties my legs, making sure to hold the ropes strained while unwinding them to keep me aware of the role distribution. This tension serves as an anchor for me to pull me free of the murky clouds in my mind.

Finally coming back to my senses, I kneel in front of Master, arms still tied to my back with another rope. The imprints on my legs radiate a comfortable warmth, sparking my devotion to being sissified again.

Being a good boy whore, I stick out my tongue to receive Master’s reward for having been a sleeve for his cock. You help me remain in my position by pulling my messed-up hair.

Master and you are so good to me. How do I deserve so much endearment?

The question vanishes from my mind over the admiration of his massive meat hovering over my face as he strokes it teasingly. Caked with a thick layer of my ass-lube as it is, I won’t have issues sticking it down my gullet.

I don’t hesitate to engulf his shaft until my nose connects to his belly. The lubricant’s hint of sweetness fires my nerves anew. A moan hums right into his meat while I force myself to look up at him through watering eyes, watching his face distort. The expression of surprise over the unexpected depth of my throat throws him off guard.

Just when his eyes roll up, I pull his cock out, the mixture of the lube and my phlegm dangling from the shaft in heavy strings. Using the goopy mess coating my hands, I slowly pump him, sticking out my tongue hungrily. He tilts his head back in response and yields the first generous spurt of his precious cream.

It lands across my face. The next streak of his prize jettisons out and lands on my cheek and forehead, making me giggle. I appreciate how you’re holding my hair and pulling me back so his cum won’t land in my curls. You know how I dislike that.

Three more times, his giant snake spits at me angrily before the jolts become fewer and longer apart and the last drops fall on my crop top, guilding it with a pearl necklace. A few weaker twitches run through Master until he stumbles, nearly losing his footing.

He kneels beside me and tousles my hair with a soft smile on his lips. Abashed, I blush, not sure how to feel about this display of affection from him.

Before my mind can get too crazy about it, you cup my face between your hands and lick Master’s cum from it. In long, slow laps you clean my face. It has a ritualistic feel as if we had rehearsed this many times although it’s a first for both of us.

You place your hand on my throat once I am clean and let your mouth hover over mine. Instinctively, I open it and present you my tongue onto where you let the bubbly globs fall.

Hungrily, I swallow Master’s load and present you my empty mouth. Master and you chuckle in delight, complimenting me on being a good sissy. I smile from the bottom of my heart.

You, kneel beside me and give me a deep kiss. Lazily, our tongues dance with lips formed to soft, sore pouts.

You break the kiss to offer me a glass of water Master just brought. How and when he fetched it escapes my attention, and just brush it off as unimportant. It doesn’t even occur to me how parched I am before I gulp down the first sip and won’t stop until the glass is empty.

It’s in this moment that a sense of fragility rising in my chest washes over me. Ever the observant lover, you grasp my change of energy.

Gently, you untie the last rope, taking your time and never letting it loosen as slowly, my arms and upper body are freed from their constraints.

The deep feeling of intimacy it transports soothes my spirits. Through the rope, you and I are connected. The way you undo the knots transports your deepest love and care.

Once it’s only my hands still tied and our connection is about to break, you whisper the words that I was craving to hear for so long.

“You were a good whore.”

Finally freed, I collapse into your arms, breathing deeply, calming my alerted nerves and my spirit, basking in the warm feelings of love it evokes in me.