Sissy Male in a Cage

This sissy slave is suffering in the wrong way.

Mistress used to enjoy seeing her “little bitch” dress, do her hair and makeup. Mistress criticized everything she did and made her do it again. Sissy was often spanked.

Now Mistress seems bored with her sissy slave. Hasn’t even used a strap-on with her for a week.

If a sissy’s Mistress Owner grows bored with it what will happened to the poor thing.


Transsexual Dominatrix

Mistress Sulka

The photographs of Sulka leave me feeling slightly ambiguous.

Once I was in love with a dominant, sadistic transsexual woman. To me she wasn’t a shemale. She was a woman. She’d yet to undergo gender reassignment surgery. But in my mind she had no penis. Because she didn’t like to acknowledge it and awaiting the day it would be excised.

Part of our bond was my indifference to gender. Had she wished otherwise I would responded in the context of those desires.



There is no explicit dominance in the images above. But she did enact dominatrix roles. Read Sulka: A Vintage Shemale.

Slave Property: An Object

This man has surrendered everything. He has no rights much less a safeword.

He is beneath a slave. He is owned property. Chattel. He is an object. Subject to his female owner’s every whim.

He has no importance. Barely an identity. Her will defines every second of his day. She may leave him alone, isolated and seemingly forgotten for days. Or spend hours exploring the nuances of inducing torment and enjoying his suffering.

No longer a man. Just an object.


Teased by His Bitch Girlfriend

Gretchen smiled as she moved her long nails across my purplish, throbbing shaft.

She looked so cute…A pale beauty with short, slightly spiky hair.

Gretchen is a little on the chubby side, but in a sexy T&A kind of a way.

She was wearing a tight top and snug courdoroys as she leaned across the bed toying with my tortured Willy.

“What’s wrong, Miles? Having a bad time?” Gretch asked me bemusedly, as she stroked my quivering shaft with a sharp thumbnail.

“I guess you’re having a hard time with the 103 days so far?” Gretchen smiled at me evilly.

Two and a half years ago when we’d started playing dominance games, I’d confessed to Gretchen my desire to be put into chastity, and to “earn” my orgasms.

“How do you mean?” Gretchen had asked at the time.

She’d already begun to enjoy the whole aspect of all the oral sex on her side, and my increased participation in the heavy housecleaning.

“Well, it’s such a thrill making love to you.” I had told her. “I really think that your sexual favors should be earned by me.” Gretchen had laughed at the time.

“Well, I already cut you off when I’m on the rag, or when you stay out too late with those idiots watching MSNBC.”

This was true, Gretchen would most certainly cut me off even before we were married, just tell me no sex, because she was mad, and make me do all sorts of chores and favors to get her in the mood.

This really had thrilled me, though her previous boyfriend, who had been a friend of mine, had told me many times that Gretchen was a “ballbreaker”

When Gary had broken up with Gretchen, he’d warned me. “No, I don’t mind if you date her, man, but she’s really high maintenance.”

Why had that excited me? The idea of trying to please this imperious princess had been just possessing to me.

I’d immediately begun to prove to her that I was no insensitive Gary type, that I was primarily focused on making Gretchen pleased.

We never switched the check or any of that nonsense, I always picked it up.

After we’d married, it had been so gradual how we’d moved into a state of Gretchen being my dominant.

I was an investment banker and brought home most of the bacon, and Gretchen did a little film-making.

It was her career, but truly much more of a hobby.

Theoretically, Gretch was supposed to look after the house, and make things comfortable and relaxing for me, and I was glad to subsidize her projects.

But it had seemed from the start that whenever I got in at night, the house was a bit of a mess… Gretchen was quite often sitting in front of the TV.

“Oh hey babe.” she’d say as I dragged in from a long day.

“Didn’t get too much done, but there’s some kinda TV dinner thingie in the kitchen, you know I can’t cook.”

And I could never get upset with her, and often I’d take off my jacket, put on an apron, and make us a good meal,as my mother had taught me to cook quite well.

Then I’d try to pick up her discarded deli wrappers and stray shoes, and sweep the carpet a bit.

“Your ass looks so cute when you’re sweeping, honey” Gretchen would say with a laugh.

I’d often make her a special dessert, and spend excessive time rubbing Gretchen’s feet, hoping to get lucky at bedtime, and sometimes I did–

Gretchen was a great lover, and she had a tight vagina! But more often than not, she was tired from whatever she’d been doing.

I’d warm her up with a little cunt-lapping, and then a little more.

“God you’re so good, Miles!” Gretch would say, gasping. “Can I come up now, and stick it in?” I’d ask hopefully. “No, just a little more, please.”

Gretchen would push my head further into her hot pussy, and I would lick her til she was exhausted.

“I’m way too tired now for screwing, babe, I’m sorry.” Gretchen would kiss me good night, and tickle my cock a little.

“It’s this damn project I’m on.”

And there I’d be lying next to her beautiful body, my cock bouncing like a metronome.

Then I’d try not to bother her…though I wanted to touch her milky full buttocks, or if she was lying with her face to me, her full breasts.

But Gretchen got very annoyed with me if I disturbed her sleep. What a curse it would be, rolling around on the bed, my cock stiff and painful!

At first we still made love three times a week, with me eating her out about six times.

Once in a while I got a blowjob from Gretchen, which she was quite good at.

But then it cut down to once or twice a week, and Gretchen was amused, and then irritated by my sulkiness when I’d ask her, pleadingly, why she only wanted cunnilinguis.

One afternoon, I’d been scrubbing the bathroom floor, and imploring Gretchen “C’mon dear, don’t you think I want to make love, too?” Gretchen had laughed.

At the time she was wearing a halter and shorts, and I was working in only a long-underwear bottom.

“I get such a kick out of it when you roll around and moan on the bed, and then when you go to the bathroom and jerk yourself off.”

Gretchen had made an imitation of my light pants,and “a–ahhh”, which was an exaggeration of my orgasm.

“It’s just so funny, Miles. You’re like a fourteen year old, still.”

“And there’s nothing, NOTHING funnier than a man who’s pouting because he can’t get any.”

Gretchen laughed. “You just strut around looking miserable like you’re going to have a tantrum, and I’m just fascinated by that.

I was telling some of the guys on the film site about it, they thought it was hilarious.”

My face had burned as I continued the scrubbing.

All the guys Gretchen worked on her film projects with were tall athletic types, and I was a short little banker.

Several of them were ex-lovers of my beautiful wife, and then there were the “guys” who were beautiful girls who worked with Gretchen.

Some were actresses, some film strippers, and it was so humiliating that she’d tell them that!

“Can’t you keep our private problems in the house?” I’d asked.

“What problems, Miles?” asked Gretchen implacably. “I’m not having any problems.”

And neither was I after I began to come to terms with my desire for servitude.

The problem was, I thought I just wanted it to be a weekend thing–and Gretchen was very good at that.

WHACK WHACK THWACK! “Ohhh!” I moaned after one of my early whippings.

Gretch had tied me over the arm of the sofa with my pants and shorts huddling about my ankles, and she’d exercised a bamboo cane she’d picked up at a flea market.

“What’re you whining about, Miles?” Gretch had asked cheerily. “This is your dream!”

WHACK WHACK SWAT! “You wouldn’t believe how your butt looks now, hon. You’ve got all these purple marks all over your right cheek.”

I’d turned with tear filled eyes to look at Gretchen in a snug striped turtleneck, slapping the cane in her hand. WHACK WHACK! I’d burst into tears.

Gretchen had looked concerned and pulled me off the couch and began stroking my bottom.

Then she turned me around, pushing my scorched butt against the sofa, and she began to pull on my cock, which had lengthened.

“You want this, right, Miles?” Gretchen had breathed in my ear. “God forbid I do the wrong thing by you.”

I was biting my lip, trying not to sob further. “N-no Miss’s what I need!” Gretchen had laughed.

“Miss Gretchen, huh?” She’d stuck a wet tongue in my ear and began toying with my cock all the more.

My hands were tied, of course, to keep from jumping away when I’d gotten the caning, and now all I could do was writhe as she’d stroked my bulging cock.

Gretchen had pulled and stroked my cock until I began feeling the familiar pulsating at the base of my tortured penis, the pull of the cum, which was now rising.

It had been several weeks since I’d had sex with Gretchen, and I at that time was not a masturbator, having given that up after college.

Gretchen had at this point become quite used to my oral ministrations, and depended on these for her release.

And she had learned to make me go through all sorts of measures to “Get me in the mood” to actually be allowed to stick my dick in her. Gretchen’s soft, beautiful fingers were now playing a lullabye on my long-denied cock.

And her other hand was squeezing and pinching my bare bottom, welted as it was from the bamboo cane.

I was rather worried that our housemate might come home and wonder about…

Why my fully dressed, sexy wife was standing, and stroking her hubby’s cock while his pants and undies were down on his Hush Puppies.

God, Gretchen’s fingers were incredibly skilled. “Having fun, baby?”

Gretch’s voice tinkled, and now she was kissing my ear, her tongue exploring my sweating neck.

I gasped and my stolid erection began drooling excessive precum.

I was getting closer to release. Oh, to cum in her hand. I wanted it so badly!

My cock quivered as Gretch’s long, purple nails had tickled the vein crawling across the shaft.

“It’s such a thick, burgundy vein, honey” Gretchen whispered.

“It almost matches the shade of my nails, but not quite….but I’ll make the vein purple in time.”

Oh, God, that voice. The way she could turn me into jelly! What kind of a monster was I creating?

Left as a comment on Licking My Mistress’ Boots.

My Small Penis Humiliation Marriage

I am 6 foot 1 inch in height and weigh in at a muscular 210 pounds, but have a small penis (3 inches erect) and just one, very small, testicle (as a result of having an undescended testicle removed as a child).

I experienced humiliation in changing rooms when I was young and in my early sexual experiences (“Gosh, that’s small and where’s your other ball?”), but it was only when I met my wife (as she was to become) that I began to take pleasure and excitement from the humiliation. She was slightly older and far more sexually experienced than me and from day one mocked my tiny cock and single ball.

We have now been married for over 25 years and I have learned to become expert at foot worship, cunnilingus and anilingus in order to seel to make up for my ‘shortcomings’. She has regularly taken lovers throughout our marriage with whom I am unfavourably compared, but she also encourages me to seek sexual experiences when I am travelling on business so that I can report back to her the reactions of my unlucky partners when they discover my small dick.

I guess this may sound strage behaviour to many people, but I take great pleasure from the humiliation and genuinely love my wife.

Chaste Cuckold

I had, over many years, asked my wife to keep me in chastity. I went as far as buying a CB3000 and presenting it to her, but to no avail. She was not interested. From time to time, I brought up the subject, to be received by groans of ‘not again’. I gave up all hope.

Having not mentioned it for over a year, I was stunned to silence when she said, one evening

‘Remember that thing you wanted to wear? Are you still interested?’

‘Yes’ I said, after a few moments of flummoxed silence.

‘You are happy to put it on, for me to have the keys and then prepared for anything that might happen…or not, so to speak?’

‘Yes’ I gulped.

‘OK, get a shower, put it on and bring me the keys.’

I was wild with ecstasy. I could hardly get a shower because my cock was so hard. I was tempted to masturbate, but she came into the bathroom and watched me. Putting the CB3000 on was difficult – I had to wait until my cock had calmed down, forcing myself to think of anything else but that. Eventually it was on and we went into the bedroom, where she snapped the lock shut and pocketed the keys.

She threw a dress at me.

‘You can wear this, tonight. I’m not sure male clothing suits you, in that thing. I’m going out, now. You can just stay here and wait for me. If you want to make yourself useful, there’s some ironing to do.’

I was wild with excitement. My cock tried to burst out of the cage. I had wondered what it might feel like, but never imagined it would be so exciting. I wasn’t afraid of what might happen, just excited.

It was around midnight when she came back. She inspected my ‘thing’ before sitting me in a chair in the bedroom and tying me to it, firmly, with my legs tied to the chair legs and my arms tied behind and fastened to the leg bonds. My mind whirled. She gagged me and threw a blanket over me, leaving me in semi darkness. she went downstairs.

What seemed like hours later she returned to the bedroom….but she was not alone. She had a man with her. I couldn’t see them, but I could not mistake the sound of clothes being removed and sex getting under way. Some clothes, hers by the feel, were thrown over the blanket covering me.

I was powerless. I had to listen to my wife of ten years having sex with another man, hear her sighs of pleasure and the occasional comment that it was so much better than with ‘her husband’.

I had asked for (or so I thought) a game of chastity that would excite me and perhaps spice up our sex life. This, I had never anticipated and my feelings were a mixture of the excitement of being chastened, agony at what was now happening, fear for the future, but all tinged with a perverse pleasure. As she had the other man, part of me enjoyed it.

They became quiet, eventually. Then she said

‘You’ll have to go now, my husband will be back soon. It wouldn’t do for him to catch us. I’ll call you when he’s next away.’

I heard him dressing and then they left the room.

She came back. With a flourish, she pulled the blanket from me.

She stood before me, naked. She was gorgeous – I have never seen her so beautiful. I would have done anything at that moment, to fuck her, but I knew it was unlikely. She untied me and removed the gag.

‘Well. You did say anything.’ were her first words.

‘I did….but…’

‘No buts, anything is anything’

‘Can I..’

‘No, but you can eat me. I’m full of his juice and i think it appropriate that you share it with me…..’

She lay back on the bed and, dutifully, I knelt and put my face between her legs, reaching my lips and tongue towards her glistening pussy, thinking that she never did anything by half measures.

‘Mmmm,’ she said as I began ‘…mmm….I think I’ll try a woman, next time.’

Left as a comment on Chaste Husband 17 – Break-Up!.