Hey Sissy Boy
Sissy Boy, thought about you last night with your little pimple dick while Earl pounded his massive dick into my hot, juicy, greedy pussy. It was fun dressing you in the red silk panties, matching bra, blond wig and slutty red lipstick making you look gorgeous. Must say, when you got the thigh hi’s on you do have great legs that look hot and sexy in the stilletto heels. To bad you don’t have a great dick, but do have a great mouth perfect for sucking dick, any dick. Love it when you are sucking cocks and making all those sloppy sounds. You even moan with joy of having cock in your mouth.
Hell, you even suck your thumb and whimper when Earl and I are at our non stop fucking while you are watching and playing with your pimple dick. You like sucking so much it may be time to take you to the adult book store and shove you into their back room.
WOW….look at all those cocks sticking through the holes in the wall, like a fucking, sucking buffet. This is it sissy ass, I am going to watch you suck off every dick while some of the guys pull down your panties and begin fingering your sweet little pussy ass hole. That’s it Sissy Boy, bend over when sucking all those dicks, swallowing their cum while your sissy ass is fucked.
March 16th, 2007 at 3:44 pm
you’re fantastic…
March 17th, 2007 at 11:24 am
Hi Skyler:
I really like your idea of taking little sissy fag queerboys like myself to some out of the way and seedy adult bookstore, while they are dressed in some humilating outfit… for me, that usually consists of the classic French maid outfit and of course, with a nice thick coat of ultra red lipstick. What would make things even better is if you pocketed the proceeds from all the services I would provide.
I’ve actually written a fantasy along these very lines… about me being made to work at such an establishment as a “hostess helper”. You see, there are a few places around where I live (northeast) that have girls that dance there, but there are also small booths where you can get what is called a “couch dance”… basically the girl will sit on your lap for $20 (for four minutes).
Anyway, my fantasy involves me, dressed in my French maid outfit, working in a special booth located in the basement of one such establishment in particular… the dancer would escort unsavory men down to my booth and negotiate what the “client” would want. She would handle the financial transaction and then leave or watch, as the client has his way with me.
Once I am finished writing this fantasy, I plan on making several dozen copies and leaving them, anonymously, at these local adult bookstores.
Anyway, I’ll post the finished product to this website so that you can get a chuckle out of it.
I think that you are most beautiful and have a wickedly mischevious sense of humor.
hilly
March 17th, 2007 at 12:12 pm
Hi Skyler:
I’ve finished part of the aforementioned “Adult Bookstore Fantasy”, and have included it here…
The pretty blonde from the evening before, her name on stage anyway, was Sky and it was with her that I would be training for this, my first full day at Carnival. By the wrist, she led me down the stairs onto the ground floor where there was the adult bookstore section, the stage, the video booths and “red light” district. The “red light” district was a section of windows and doors were pretty girls displayed themselves behind glass. Male clients would then have the opportunity to browse and if they were particularly interested in becoming better acquainted with one of the ladies, after some discussion related to finances, would be permitted to enter the appropriate door and the shades would be drawn and their, presumably, quiet conversation could begin.
My heart was pounding too fast and my knees were weak as I contemplated myself behind one of the windows.
As it turned out, my worries were for naught as it was through the door next to the restroom where I was lead.
This door opened onto another set of narrow stairs that went down into pitch black darkness.
Sky had to feel for the light switch it was so dark.
We descended down, her heels and mine, amplified by the cinder block walls of the below ground level cellar.
There was all manner of boxes and things stored down there. I only had a few moments to look around before being lead through another door, which was my final destination for the evening.
It was a small booth, lit from above with a bare bulb and was maybe five foot square in plan. Along two of the adjacent walls was attached bench seating. As it turned out, neither of these seats was for my use however. Instead, I was to kneel on the folded towels Sky produced from her canvas bag.
After seeing that I was properly situated, meaning handcuffed and on my knees, and with my make-up just so, Sky departed and closed the door behind her.
Perhaps it was a half hour that passed before I heard the sounds of heels on the wooden steps and, unfortunately, another set of foot steps that were very loud and heavy and clumsy sounding.
The door opened and in stepped Sky and the man with whom she was leading by the hand.
He was quite large, both in height and girth, and smelled simply awful.
Sky took a seat and her companion took the other. There was no long lasting awkward silence as it wasn’t long before Sky introduced “Mr. Smith” who was one of “Carnival’s best clients” to me and me to Mr. Smith as “Sissy, Carnival’s newest hostess helper.” She explained to Mr. Smith that my job was to assist Carnival’s “premier” clients to unwind after a long and tiresome week. As I was only a hostess helper, I was not a full fledged employee of Carnival and as such, would accept no tips in the form of money. Rather, my compensation was the satisfaction of meeting new people.
Sky suggested to Mr. Smith that he looked a little warm and would he care to take to remove his pants.
In fact, Mr. Smith acknowledged that “it was a little warm down here”.
Soon, his pant were about his ankles.
Sky offered that Mr. Smith looked tense and would he enjoy having a thigh massage.
Mr. Smith was indeed tired and yes, would rather enjoy having his thighs massaged.
“Sissy, Mr. Smith would like a thigh massage,” Sky said with a sly smile.
I looked at Sky, obviously perplexed.
She burst out laughing, having had read my mind. “You don’t need hands, silly Sissy! Use your face! Give Mr. Smith a thigh massage with your face!”
“Here, let me help you get started.” She pushed my face down into his lap and then maneuvered my head side to side, up and down, side to side, up and down…
The smells at a distance were unbearable, up close they left me light headed and dizzy. I believe that I fainted on at least two occasions.
“Mr. Smith, Sissy… please excuse me, I have to step out for a moment,” a prior engagement she explained. “Besides, I’m beginning to feel like a third wheel around here! So, I’ll just leave you two alone to become better acquainted.
“Mr. Smith, would you like to listen to any music?” From her canvas bag once again, she produced a small CD / radio combination and some CD(s). “Let’s see, there’s classical, rap, punk, easy listening and… let’s see… rock. We even have some ballroom selections.
Mr. Smith opted for easy listening.
The pretty blonde was pleased with his choice. “Very good, easy listening to relax the day away…” She put in the CD and instructed him to hit the play button one the door was shut.
When I next made the acquaintance of Mr. Jones, and she asked the same question, I began to guess that this was some sort of code. Easy listening meant something equivalent to the client cumming in his thong underwear without any real oral service, or in the case of Mr. Jones, another Carnival favorite client, almost cumming in his underwear courtesy of a “relaxing thigh massage”, but needing to be finished through self masturbation.
After Mr. Jones took his leave, the pretty blonde lady returned and gushed that she’s been hearing very favorable comments from the customers. She even had comment cards which she read for me. From Mr. Smith: “Sissy is a lovely thing, I look forward to spending more time with her.” From Mr. Jones: “Warm and willing.”
Before I became acquainted with Mr. Johnson and a better understanding of what was implied by Ballroom music, the Cartoon Man made an appearance. He requested that he borrow my footstool and used it to gain the necessary height to affix a steel hook, of the sort that holds slabs of meat, from the ceiling using a hand drills and other basic tools. The Cartoon man also assisted me to my feet and the Can Hands™ tool (those people at Girly Girl™ never quit), released my hands only momentarily before placing them in hand cuffs and attached the small length of chain to another suspended from the meat hook. You see, Ballroom Dancing was code for a session in which the client could, while wearing a rubber selected from the basket left behind and provided by that same magical canvas bag, hold me in an upright position mostly from behind, but sometimes from the front. Soon after the waltz-like music started, Mr. Johnson abruptly turned it off and double knocked on the door.
The pretty blonde lady quickly opened the door and she and Mr. Johnson has a brief hushed conversation which culminated in the return of the Cartoon Man who held a plastic milk crate.
He assisted me onto the upended crate and adjusted the chain attached to the meat hook so that with my raised arms, it was once again taut, but not too taut.
Now, Mr. Johnson could better whisper complements, amongst other things, directly into my ear. More importantly, or maybe of equal importance, he was better able to grind himself and particular parts of me.
So at the end of my first full day at Carnival, I had a better understanding of the terms Easy Listening and Ballroom Dancing, one used condom and several wodded up tissues of cum in various states of drying.
There were other tasks related to the job description of hostess helper like professional courtesy blow jobs for all male staff of Carnival, foot rubs from all the female dancers… and male staff of Carnival and in general, being available as laughing stock and fool of all Carnival staff and invited guests. These professional courtesies rendered on no set schedule, but on a more informal “as needed” basis while I was performing the general clean-up duties associated with the hostess helper job description.
I changed into my street attire and after I rendered a professional courtesy blowjob to Master, was permitted to leave. As I cried myself asleep without so much as a shower, I pondered what Rock, Punk, Rap and the other choices could imply.