Sissy Sierra! By Throne (11 pages, Short) (Patreon)

Sissy Sierra!

By Throne

© 2019-2020 QoS Comix All Rights Reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to ​[email protected] 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

***DEVIN DICKIE NOTE***

All characters are OVER 18 years of AGE! This is a bullying fantasy and not real.  The acts in the following written work are only consensual  sexual choices and fantasy humiliation scenarios.

Bullying is NOT OKAY and If you or someone you know is being bullied, please alert the authorities. 

SISSY SIERRA

by Throne

Connie called out from the den, "Sierra, the girls and I are waiting for you."

In the hallway, her husband stood still, hugging himself.  The last thing Seymour wanted to do was go in there and have his wife and her three friends see him.   It was bad enough that, several months ago, she had made him legally change his given name from Steven to Seymour, just because she thought the new one was funny.  After that she had begun sissifying him in earnest.  First she had made him have all his body hair removed.  It wasn't until after it was done that she casually mentioned that the process was permanent.  Then she had started making him wear lingerie around the house, and under this clothes when he went to work.  It was so humiliating to have her see him in lacy panties and filmy, short nighties.  All day in the office he was aware that, unseen by others, he had on bikini-cut panties and stay-up stockings. 

Now, however, he was naked.  His wife had made him put blush on his cheeks and apply bright pink lipstick to his mouth, along with using mascara on his lashes and liner around his eyes.  He hated having to look so unmanly.  But Connie, with her cute face and sexy figure, was domineering and took real pleasure in controlling him.  He had tried to reason with her recently and she surprised him by saying she would consider his grievances.  But now she wanted him to expose himself to her likeminded friends.  Seymour knew that hesitating too long would only make his situation worse.  He pulled back his narrow shoulders, sucked in his soft belly, and tried to look less scared than he felt. 

As he entered the room he saw the other women sitting there, two on the sofa and one on the recliner.  They laughed and clapped at the sight of him.  His limited resolve melted away and he automatically assumed the body language and gait his bride preferred.  As they watched, he put his arms out slightly to the sides, wrists limp.  His steps grew short and mincing.  He even remembered to raise his chin a bit and push out his lower lip.  The two females on the sofa were Rona and Arlene.  Over on the recliner was Trish.  Rona pointed at his undersized penis and chortled.  Arlene imitated his limp-wristed look without rising.  Trish sat there and rocked her hips side to side to mirror his way of walking.  They each had a glass of wine by their side, and there were several bottles present, all of them half empty or more.  Seymour shuddered inside. 

Connie was standing at the far end of the room.  With a smirk on her pretty features she said, "There he is.  My big strong man, Steven.  I mean Seymour.  Except that he's such a pansy that now I have to call him Sierra.  But you know, girls, I think he secretly likes it."

"Yeah," said Rona.  "He couldn't make it as a man, so now he wants to be a sissy."

"Agreed," Arlene seconded.  "With that tiny dick he could never satisfy you, Connie."

"Or any woman," added Trish. 

Connie took her stemmed glass in hand.  She raised it and the others did the same.

Seymour's wife said, "To the man of the house, who sure isn't any kind of a man."

She sat herself in an armchair across from the sofa.  The beleaguered husband turned awkwardly one way and another but in any direction he was still mortifyingly exposed. 

"So, Sierra," Connie told him, "I said I was going to think about your endless complaints.  And I did.  I also consulted my friends here to help me come up with some solutions.  I think our ideas will make you happy.  Are you excited to find out what we're going to do for you?"

He looked neither happy or excited.  Even so, not wanting to upset her, he nodded mutely.  She gave him a big wink.

"First of all," his bride went on, "you fussed about not having anything on your bottom.  Or should I say, your cute, soft, girly bottom?"  She smiled.  "Well, Rona came up with the solution to that."

He watched unhappily as Rona moved to a wooden chair, taking her copious shoulder bag with her.  She reached inside and produced a wooden, sorority-initiation-type paddle.  Seymour bit his lips and tasted fruit-flavored lipstick.  She summoned him over with a wagging index finger.  He went reluctantly and then had to stretch himself over her warm lap.  It made him uneasy to have his hips across her firm thighs.  Connie didn't allow him intercourse and only occasionally permitted him to ejaculate, making sure it was under shameful circumstances.  Seymour was perpetually horny.  He lay there with his bare bottom upturned.  Rona raised the paddle and brought it down hard.  Seymour let out a high-pitched wail.  She didn't hold back and soon had him thrashing and crying.  It was easy for her to keep him in place with one hand on the small of his back.  The others watched avidly as his backside turned rosy and then red.  She didn't stop until it was starting to swell.  Then she made him get up, walk around the room -- again taking dainty steps, although they were stiffer from the pain in his rump -- and show each of the seated women what an effective job she had done.

"There you go," Connie announced.  "Now you have something on your bottom.  A cheery glow.  So let's move on to your next gripe.  You keep telling me how I shouldn't make fun of your itty bitty dicky.  Don't mock the half-a-cock.  Fine.  Arlene found a simple fix for that.  Why don't you go over to her so she can give you what you want?"

He put himself in front of Arlene, fearing the worst.  She reached into her smaller bag and came out with -- oh no -- he knew what it was -- a chastity device.  It was a short pink tube made of plastic, with the accompanying ring and a small red padlock in the shape of a heart.   She took her time donning gloves of thin latex, letting him suffer anticipation of what was to come.  Then she fitted the ring over his genitals, working each of his testicles through it one at a time.  When it was in place she next worked the tube onto his penis.  Even as short and slender as his organ was, this was still a snug fit.  Then she held up the lock for him to get a good look at.  He couldn't suppress a whimper.  She got the lock in place.

"Now I want you to participate.  After all, you're the one who wants that little bugger covered up.  So give the lock a squeeze and close it.  Let me hear it click shut."

He did it.  The females were all silent so that they got to hear the sound that signaled his penile imprisonment.  Arlene reached up to fiddle with his nipples.  It felt strange with her fingertips encased in the thin rubber.  He shifted his feet and moaned.  His confined male part tried in vain to erect.  And his bottom still burned.  The pain and stimulation and frustration all got mixed together in his mind, a preview of what he could expect if his wife made a regular practice of punishing and teasing him while he was locked.  Seymour fully expected her to do that.

"Now, Sierra," Arlene said, using that sissy name he disliked so much, "I'll just give the key to your lovely wife, who I'm sure will take very good care of it.  This way she'll have it whenever she's in the mood to unlock you.  Which I'm sure she'll want to do all the time.  So you two can have sex.  Or did she tell us all that the only sex you have is with your face between her thighs?  Oops.  At least that will save her the bother of using the key.  Maybe she can just wear it on a slim chain around her neck, so you'll see it every time you admire her cleavage.  Or would you rather she hang it on an ankle bracelet?  Maybe if it was down there, you'd develop a fun foot fetish.  Isn't you life exciting?"

He could only stand there, biting his lips and sniffling, wondering what came next.  Without being told to, he turned toward Trish.

She looked at Connie and asked, "What was Sierra's other grumble?"

"The poor thing didn't want to have to make herself pretty with cosmetics.  Isn't that ridiculous for a sissy to dislike?"

"You know, it can be time consuming.  So no problem.  We all want to make her life easier."  Like the others she had something for him in her bag.  "That's why I got this."

Out came a rubber mask, a full-head one that zipped up the back.   The face was exaggeratedly female, with wide, overly decorated eyes, a pert nose, and plumped-up lips.  He saw that the pupils of the blue eyes were small holes, as were the nostrils.  The mouth was slightly open as well.  Trish stood and adjusted it over his head.  He smelled the rubber as she smoothed it down.  Then she zipped the back closed, being careful not to catch his hair.  It even covered his neck.  In seconds his face was getting hot, starting to perspire.

"Isn't that adorable?" Trish wanted to know.  "And now you can't forget all that bothersome make-up.  Swish around the room and give everyone a close-up look, Sierra.  Go on, sweet cheeks."

The pain in his bottom penetrated more deeply.  His nipples still tingled from being teased.  His cock was cramped in its pink plastic penis prison.  He felt his balls begin to throb.  He was already blinking from sweat that got into his eyes.  Seymour groaned miserably.  Following Trish's order, he went to each of the ladies.  At every stop they had him bend forward, supposedly so they could get a better view of his new face, but actually so they could finger his receptive nipples.  He wriggled with nervous energy as he circled the room several times.  They felt his rear end, marveling at how warm it still was.  Rona gave it a few nasty pinches.  Arlene caressed his scrotum in her still-gloved hand.  Trish directed several air kisses to the mask's perpetually puckered lips.  She stuck her index finger through the mouth hole and made him suck it, then used the wet tip to stimulate each of his nipples. 

"There you go," summarized Connie.  "All of your gripes have been dealt with.  You must be thrilled, Sienna.  Aren't you?"

From behind the artificial lips, his voice slightly muffled, he answered, "Yes, dear."  Just to be safe he added.  "Thank you, Connie."  Looking at the others he added, "Thank you all."

"But," his wife went on, "I didn't want to be the only one without a gift for you.  After all, you're my personal, all-purpose sissy. I'm having so much fun with your ongoing makeover.  I get excited each time you become less male and more wimpy, wispy and womanly.  So let's see what I have in this side table at the end of the sofa.  What could it be?  Hmmm?"

She opened the drawer, reached in, and came out with -- oh no! -- a glittery silver tiara.  It was metal but covered with some sort of cheap fake gemstones that caught and reflected the light.  Connie forced it on above his eyes.  The sparkly headpiece was much too tight.  It squeezed the sides of his skull uncomfortably, pressed against his forehead like some medieval punishment device.  She chuckled and patted him on top of his rubber-covered head.  He peered at her through the tiny vision holes, his eyes stinging from sweat, vision distorted to make her appear fiendish.  His nose started to run.  Connie squeezed the soft flesh on either side of his hairless chest.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "the next logical step might be to get my Sierra some perky little breasts.  Nothing too showy.  She could hide them under her boy clothes at work.  Or maybe wear a training bra every day.  How would you feel about that, my yummy sissy missy?"

"I... don't want boobies," he protested ineffectually, the rubber pressing against his lips and deforming the words.

"Did you hear that, girls?" Connie said gleefully.  "My squishy sissy husband wants bubbies.  I knew that once I pushed him far enough he'd discover his true pansy personality and understand that whatever I want for him is what he wants, too."  She cupped his chin in her hand and made sure he was staring at her when she went on, "And that tiara isn't just a pretty gift, darling.  It's also to help you remember your new name.  You didn't like what I was calling you so, instead of Sierra, from now on you'll answer to 'Tiara'.  I know you're delighted by that.  Aren't you, honey buns?"

"I... I'm... so happy with my new name.  I want to be called Tiara all the time.  Thank you, dearest.  And I'm sure you'll think of plenty more to do to me.  Or rather, to do for me."

"Oh yes," she said with confidence.  "I'm sure I'll never run out of ideas for what to do to my sissy husband Tiara.  Never ever.  You can be certain of that."

*********