Missay! by Throne (23 Pages) (Patreon)

MISSAY! By Throne

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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.

MISSAY

by Throne

MISSAY by Throne

"Where are you, darling?" Hanna called from the kitchen. "I need to talk to you."

Her husband Marshall looked up from the tile bathroom floor, which he had been assiduously scrubbing. He didn't like that she made him do this job with a small brush better suited for detail work, or that he had to keep his soapy water in a bright yellow plastic bucket like a child might use in a sandbox. What he liked even less was that he had to do his Saturday morning housework while wearing a gossamer nightie that ended at his navel, leaving his frilly panties completely exposed. He was a short man with a soft physique that had been denuded of all hair. Months ago his wife had figured out that he secretly liked to handle her lingerie and that he had even purchased several pairs of panties, which he kept hidden in the back of his closet. When she confronted him he was relieved that she didn't fly into a rage. Instead she told him that she understood his needs and would help him to satisfy them. Somehow, since then, her offer to assist had transformed into controlling his life. He wanted to simply fondle panties but she insisted that he needed to explore his fetish by dressing in them, as well as the embarrassing outfits she selected.

"I'm coming," he said, loud enough for her to hear from the other room, but still in the soft feminine voice on which she insisted.

He scurried through the house, using the hip-swinging gait she had taught him, to find her leaning back against the counter, arms crossed under her massive bosom. She had on a close-fitting sleeveless top and clinging stretch pants. At that moment her long honey-blond hair was up in a bun, away from a high forehead, prominent cheekbones, and a strong jaw. Her blue eyes

glinted as she took in the sight of her unmanly spouse and her full lips curved into an amused smile.

"I think it's time, Missay," she told him. Hanna pronounced the girly name she'd given him as two distinct syllables. Miss-Say. It was a more distinctive form of Missy. "When I finally got you to confess your fantasy of feeling panties, we agreed that I would also tell you my secret scenario when I felt the timing was right. Now that I've got you deeper into your kinks, looking and acting so girly every minute that you're home, I'm ready to share my private desires, too. And we'll be doing that a bit later, but first I think we should both put on something special."

He wanted to tell her that she taken him far beyond what he had originally wished for. He didn't want to be a fulltime, flouncing sissy in his own home. All he wanted was to hold and finger panties, to rub them against his body and, though it was shameful to admit it, wrap them around his penis. He had never wanted to put them on, and definitely not to wear other lingerie. But she had also controlled the narrative, pushed the idea that he should dress femme, and worn down his resistance until it was almost nonexistent.

"All right," he sighed in defeat.

At least her fantasy might involve having intercourse again. That would be welcome. Since all this started she had wanted endless amounts of cunnilingus -- which to him was highly distasteful -- and in return played endlessly with his undergrown dick but never

made him finish. That kept him needy, so much so that the touch of feminine finery really had begun to stimulate him when he wore it. He wanted that worrying trend to be reversed and then eliminated. There was one more aspect of all this that kept Marshall in line. It was demonstrated as his wife turned away from him and bent far over to get something from the bottom drawer. The stretch pants she wore were tested to their limits as he ginormous protruding backside expanded. That, along with her very full thighs and large firm calves, mesmerized him. He felt weak in the presence of that body. Finding the artificial sweetener packets she had been looking for, she straightened up -- slowly -- set them on the counter, and turned to face him once more. Her supersized boobs were not restrained by a bra.

She told him, "I laid something nice out for you on the bed." "Yes, Hanna." He hoped it wasn't anything showy.

Of course, when he saw her choices they were as eye-catching as they could be. There was a short-sleeved top, a blouse if he was honest about it, pink with red hearts all over it, that would leave his midriff bare after he tied its tails together in front. With that was a pair of red terrycloth mini-shorts that appeared to be one or two sizes too small. To complete the shameful outfit there were slippers covered in sequins. He shuddered to think what he would look like wearing all that. With no other choice, he stripped out of his sleepwear and worked the snug shorts up his hairless legs. They made it plain how small his genitals were and the rear seam went up into the crack of his ass. He got the top on and managed

to tie the tails, with the knot at the bottom of his breastbone. When he checked himself in the full-length mirror it was as bad as he had anticipated and worse.

"Well look at you," his wife said as she entered the room.

She was naked, with all her generous curves on display. He got weak in the knees. She chuckled at his reaction and gave him an enfolding hug. He whimpered at the same time he was getting hard. When she stepped back there was a telltale bump -- you couldn't call it a bulge -- in the front of his shorts.

"I..." He could barely get his voice to work. "Do I have to wear this? I mean, if we're just going to talk..."

"Maybe we'll do more than talk. Remember that you still don't know what I'm going to reveal about my naughty secret longings."

"All right." His voice was a strained whisper.

She made him sit on the vanity chair so she could fuss with his hair. While she worked, her bare boobs were practically in his face. After the job was done she held up a hand mirror so he could see that his blond hair was fuller and appeared softer. Then she went to work with cosmetics. He wanted to try yet again to explain that this wasn't part of what he desired. Even so, he knew she would just twist his words around as she always did and make it sound like he was in denial or afraid of turning her off. Hanna used eyebrow pencil, liner, mascara, shadow, blush, and

candy-apple lipstick. This time when he checked his reflection, Marshall nearly swooned. He looked more girly than he ever had before. If only he could get her to listen.

"Now let's see what I have that I can slip into," she announced jovially. "Maybe something that's..." Hanna smiled. "I know just the thing."

She got a bag from the bottom of her closet. Out of it came something so filmy it was transparent, with long arms and legs. It was a harem girl costume, complete with a veil. It took almost no time to don and then she hummed the snake charmer tune that he remembered from his youth, when it was played on the flute in cartoons, to make a cobra rise from a basket. Suiting her actions to that melody, Hanna put her hands over her head, palms together, and moved sinuously. Marshall was as spellbound as any serpent had ever been purported to be. His mouth grew dry. He rubbed his hands over his smooth thighs. Finally she laughed, spun around, and sensually gyrated her wide bottom.

"All I need are some finger cymbals," she said with a laugh. "Maybe I can find them on-line."

"Hanna?" he dared to inquire. "Does your fantasy involve...? I mean, the way you're dressed suggests that it's..."

"You want me to tell you what it is?" "Yes, please."

"No," she answered with her hands on her flaring hips. "I want it to be a surprise."

"Oh. Okay."

She tickled him under the chin. "Maybe I want to be the head harem girl, with you as my personal slave. And you'll have to watch while some lusty sheik ravishes me and I love it."

Marshall bit his lips. Then he licked them. They opened and closed but no words came out.

At last he managed to squeak, "You're not going to... to really...?"

She wagged an admonishing finger at him. "Missay doesn't want to risk annoying Hanna, does she? I've never had to put you over my lap for a bare bottom spanking, but there's always a first time, little lady."

Everything had gotten so extreme, so quickly. Marshall's life was spiraling out of control. He didn't want to have to look and act and sound this way, but Hanna had become increasingly controlling, in stages, until now it was easy for her to take it to this next level. There was a long moment of elevated tension before she spoke again.

"How would you like to touch what I'm wearing, Missay? It's so soft and silky, and warmed by my body. Would you like to put

your hands on it?" When he nodded dumbly she went on, "Well, you can. Let's start you off caressing my calf through it and, if you behave and do a good job, maybe I'll let you go higher."

Any willpower he still possessed simply evaporated. He had to get down on his knees to do this properly. It included his two main desires, the tactile thrill of feeling feminine garments, and the equally exciting act of touching his wife's magnificent contours. As he put both hands on her firm calf and lightly massaged it, Marshall's breathing became a series of gasps and sighs. He became more aware of the material of that top she had him wearing, and how the shorts pressed in between his buttocks and held his small dick and balls. He dared to put the side of his face against Hanna's full thigh.

She told him, "All right. You may hug the top of my leg."

He got his slender arms around it and clung to her, his little dick straining against the front of the shorts. Marshall was so caught up in his paired needs that he began to sob quietly. Then, just as he was entering some sort of trance state, she snapped her fingers in his face. He was yanked out of his sexual reverie by that and the brusque words that followed.

"All done," she said bluntly. "Up on your feet. I need the bathroom clean-up finished before my guest arrives in about an hour."

Marshall almost toppled over onto his face. "But I don't understand. I thought we were going to talk. And you were going to..."

She held her hand up, using her thumb and fingers to imitate a chattering mouth. "Talk about my dream scenario? I know that, Missay. Again, you have to be patient. Now get back to cleaning the bathroom. Jump to it."

In a state of nervous distress, he returned to the uncompleted job. Getting on his knees and picking up his little brush again, he reached around to get behind the toilet, at its base. Who was his wife's visitor? Was there actually a man like she had described? Some tall dark stranger? What was going to happen? Marshall tried to focus on his work and not overthink the situation. There was still a chance that it was something innocent about to happen. Maybe it was someone to do a repair or help with a decorating decision. And Hanna might let her husband go hide in the bedroom while they were there. When he was at last done he gave the room a quick lookover and put away his cleaning supplies. He made sure his knees were clean and that his humiliating clothes were in place. His make-up hadn't gotten mussed. Just to be careful, he took perfume his wife had gotten him and sprayed it into the air, then stepped into the mist to get it on him. It was awfully flowery but she had discarded his old cologne, and checked him from time-to-time to make sure, as she liked to put it, 'that you smell as sweet as you look'.

Just when he thought he might take a few minutes to further calm himself, the doorbell rang. His wife called for him to answer it. With a sinking heart he went to the living room and got his hand on the knob. Marshall took a deep breath and opened the door. Standing in front of him was not a handsome swarthy man but his wife's close friend Gerd. She was as tall and full-figured as Hanna, with an even wider and more outthrusting bottom. Her blond hair was up in a bun at the back of her head, like Hanna's, and she had similarly strong Nordic features. She wore a sleeveless top, along with stretchy slacks that funneled into knee-high boots. Slung over one shoulder was the strap of a copious shoulder-bag. The short man swallowed with difficulty and stepped aside. She sneered down at him and stepped inside. He hurried to close the door before anyone outside might see him in those mortifying clothes.

"Well, well," she said, "Hanna told me she was catering to your perverted desires, but I didn't realize it had gone so far. It must be strange for her, being married to a sissy-boy."

Again he wanted to make clear that this had gone far beyond anything he desired. But the big woman saw Hanna approaching and went to give her a hug. Marshall's wife had changed into a muscle tee with dropped armholes, and yoga pants. Marshall couldn't take his eyes off the twin goddesses as they embraced with their huge busts mashed together, flashing plenty of side-boob. As unpleasant as his situation was, he still felt his penis pulsing. Even his nipples became sensitized. As the women

stepped away from each other, Hanna turned her attention to him.

She said, "Missay, go to the kitchen and make up a plate of cookies. Those chocolate marshmallow ones."

He was glad just to be able to flee the room. He was sure Gerd would notice his swishy walk. Even before his wife had begun making him over, her friend had always had a critical and condescending attitude toward Marshall. Now he had to worry how much stronger it might get after she'd seen him in his femme fashions and cosmetics, with his hair the way it was. He took a plate and opened the package of cookies. Then he placed the chocolate-coated hemispheres around perimeter of the plate and worked his way to the middle. Next he added a second and third layer, creating a low pyramid. Finally he set one last piece on the top. Then it was time to take it to the ladies. He didn't want to be seen again like he was, with his soft midsection exposed and his hairless legs on display. Even so, he returned to the living room, where the females were sitting on the sofa. Marshall carefully set the plate in the middle of the low coffee table in front of them, positioned so they could both reach it.

"Now brew us a pot of coffee," his wife told him. "And make up a tray with sugar and cream on it, plus two mugs and spoons. And those sweetener packets I got out for Gerd. You can do that, can't you, Missay?" He nodded his compliance.

"Yeah," chimed in Gerd. "You're capable of such a simple task without messing up, aren't you?"

He answered cautiously, "Yes, Ma'am." It felt correct to be as deferential to the visitor as he was to his bride. "I'll do it right away."

He hurried off again and got right to work. Soon coffee was filling the pot as he made up the tray. Marshall remembered to include napkins. Then he took everything to his wife. The mortified husband sank into a deep squat to set it in front of her. She poured one mug and gave it to Gerd, than filled another for herself. They added whatever else they wanted, sipped, and set aside their mugs. The cookies remained untouched.

"All right," said Hanna. "Strip down, Missay." She left a lot of space between the halves of his girly name. "Then take the plate and stand in the middle of the room."

He stood there, taken by surprise, until her neutral expression turned irritated. Seeing that, he moved to where she wanted him and removed his slippers, setting them to one side. After that he untied the bottom of his blouse and slipped it off, to be folded and set neatly atop the footwear. The women eyed him and smirked. They exchanged comments as he wriggled out of the shorts that were too small for him.

"He's coming along nicely," mentioned Gerd. "It's so considerate of you to help Marshall -- I mean Missay -- fulfill her dream."

"I do what I can," Hanna said modestly. "It's worth it to make her happy. And from now on, she'll be working to help me achieve my fantasy, too."

Why were they using feminine pronouns? How long would he have to remain naked?

Gerd considered his bared genitals, so immature in appearance because of their size and lack of pubic hair. "He certainly is tiny down there. Sex must be a waste of time for you."

"Oh no. I've got him using his mouth on my puss instead of letting him stick that shrimp of a dick in me. On-line there was plenty about how submissive types like him enjoy that."

"And what do you do to help him have his fun? Do you...?" She extended her pinky and used the thumb and first finger of her other hand to indicate masturbating a tiny pecker.

"No," Hanna said with a smile. "Sissies like Missay enjoy it if you hardly ever let them finish. I guess it's been pretty long since she got to shoot her shot. I kind of stopped keeping track of the days after a while."

The other woman nodded. "It makes sense. All her kinks fit together. And I'll bet the little princess gets off on being naked in front of us. Her baby dingus is even halfway hard. At least I think it is. Hard to tell when one's that small."

They laughed. Hanna decided, "I guess it's time to tell my girl what she'll be doing to uphold her half of the bargain. Especially after everything I've done for her."

"Right," agreed Gerd. "It's only fair."

Marshall stood there twitching. He wanted to cover his privates with his free hand but sensed that it would cost him, at least a scolding and possibly more. So he stayed in place, still holding the plate, cheeks burning, while the women each took a swallow of coffee.

"So here's how it's going to be," Hanna informed him. "What I want is to take your scenario to its limits, controlling and emasculating you as much as I possibly can." She held up a silencing hand. "I know what you want to say. I'm being too kind, putting your needs ahead of my own. But I'll manage to enjoy it." When he opened his mouth to speak, she told him calmly, "And I don't want you trying to talk me out of it. So you can start eating those delicious cookies. Take your time. And remember that, as of right now, you're in the Clean Plate Club."

He glanced down at the layers of cookies. It was the entire contents of the package. Marshall took one, put it into his mouth, and bit down. It was overly sweet, the chocolate and marshmallow, along with the traditional cookie content on the bottom, slightly sickening him as he chewed.

Hanna went on, "Of course, I can't do every little thing by myself, so Gerd has offered to help out. What a terrific friend. Naturally, she'll expect the same sexual favors that you provide to me, Missay, with your talented mouth." She chuckled. "As often as she wants them."

"Right," Gerd asserted. "Especially when I'm staying overnight. And we have all sorts of plans for you. Like wearing panties and such under your office drag at work. You'll be a sissy pretending to be a real man on the outside."

"And we'll put you on a small allowance. To help you save money, you'll get packed lunches. Every day you can spend your morning anticipating what you'll find when you open that brown paper bag. It might be a treat or..." Hanna made a disgusted face. "... something unpleasant."

"Each evening when you come home, you'll get right into some proper female clothes. The two of us will hit thrift shops for all the goodies we can find, and low-end stores for cheap and gaudy make-up. It's going to be so much fun."

They went on like that while he remained silent, mouth full of gooey cookies, stomach increasingly stuffed. In the end the plate was empty and he was very full.

"Now," Hanna announced, "let's all go to the bedroom and have some fun."

Marshall looked ill, from the combination of getting bad news and overeating sweets. He put the plate in the kitchen sink and then met them by the bed. The females were already undressing. He was titillated by the sights of their curvaceous bodies at the same time that he was suffering indigestion. After Gerd was naked she sat on the edge of the mattress and had him put her tall black boots back on her. They had chunky, three-inch heels and square toes. His hands trembled with excitement from being so close to her thick but shapely legs. The boots were erotic too, with their scent of leather and sleek shiny surfaces. By the time he was done handling them he had a full erection, unimpressive but also impossible to miss.

Gerd remarked, "It's like a cock, only smaller."

Hanna added, "And it will never feel the inside of a warm wet pussy again. Ever."

Her naked husband was close to tears. The women stretched out atop the bed, side-by-side. Marshall had to slide between Gerd's long legs first. He put himself with his nose an inch from her rippled pink labia. The fishy scent of pussy filled his head. He elongated his tongue until it touched the salty-tasting, vertical borders of her sex. The contents of his stomach made him queasy. His hands went to her wide hips and touching them got him so excited that it was almost painful. He had to lick her while she chatted casually with Hanna about his future. He learned that he would have only a meager allowance while his pay began going into an account in his wife's name alone. Gerd bent up her legs

and he held onto her boots, pulling himself forward so that it was as if his mouth was glued to her mound. Soon the woman he was pleasuring began to gasp and stopped talking. He continued, using all the techniques he had learned while servicing his wife, until Gerd had a loud, lively and very liquid climax. He had a seasick tummy.

Before he could recover even partially, his wife purred, "Missay, sweetie, time to take care of another pussy. Yummy-yum-yum for you."

He didn't like performing that act but was excited nevertheless because it allowed him to touch her fantastic bottom. He moaned and squirmed, his stomach lurching, as he took her through two orgasms, one right after the other. She relaxed then, but he was still at a peak of arousal.

Gerd said, "Scoot out to the living room and bring me my shoulder-bag, sissy Missay. I have a gift for you in it."

He staggered out of the room to go find what she wanted. Couldn't they at least let him wear something? Even the girly clothes he'd been in would be preferable to being nude. He came back and gave the bag to Gerd, who dug around inside and came out with something yellow made out of rubber. He realized it was an inflatable pool floaty, like a child might use. She told him to blow it up. Marshall had to stand there, more embarrassed than ever, taking deep breaths and exhaling into the narrow valve, gradually making it expand until he could see what it was. There

was the head of a rubber duckie, attached to a ring that was open in the back. When it was full and the valve had been closed, the visitor told him to put it on around his waist. He fitted it to his middle and posed for them, his hair and face still feminized, body pink and smooth all over, undergrown male parts exposed, with that nonsensical item hugging him. He knew what a ridiculous sight he made. The plus-size women laughed uproariously at how stupid he looked.

"Walk around," Hanna advised.
"Turn so we can see your cute rump," Gerd ordered.

Blushing furiously, the taste of both their twats strong in his mouth, he had to mince around and strike pin-up poses. It was utterly disgraceful. He could feel his sense of self-worth and his innate maleness draining away.

"You can keep that on until one of us tells you to take it off," his wife instructed.

"And you still owe me a thank-you for such a thoughtful gift," her friend informed him. "Some kisses would be appropriate. But I don't believe you'll be doing any more of that above our waists. And my pussy has had enough for now. We can save the ass smooching for later. So how about if you show your appreciation by using your lips and tongue on my boots." She slid toward the foot of the bed until her legs were hanging over. "Come on,

Missay. Don't be shy. I think after what you already did for me, some boot worship will be easy."

He got on the floor, on his knees, facing her feet, and brought his head down. Marshall pressed his lips to the toe of one boot and made a loud kissing sound. He worked his way up to the top, doing the same all along the inner side. Then me came back down, leaving a trail of wet lip prints on the outer portion. He covered the instep and back of her heel. Did she expect even more?

In a singsong voice, Gerd called out, "I think our panty loving pansy missed the most important spots."

He sniffled and went to work on the sole, lapping it thoroughly while she giggled and Hanna chortled. Then he had to tongue the wide heel, finally stretching his lips around it and licking the unclean bottom. After that he was relieved that the insulting task was completed.

Gerd made a throat-clearing sound. "There's still one more boot waiting for your attentions, girly girl."

Marshall sobbed before he began working on that one. While he debased himself the women discussed some decision they were going to give him to make. He didn't like the sound of what they were saying. After he was through with the second boot, his mouth dry and tasting of leather, the women revealed what they had in mind.

"It's a simple choice you have make," his wife began. "About your sex life. One option is for you to jerk yourself off with us watching, and doing it very often. You'll be like a masturbation addict. You'll end up so drained that it'll be difficult, if not impossible, for you to get hard the rest of the time. Like when you're going down on us. Might make it less fun to see us naked and feast on our va-jay-jays, when you can't get it up."

"Or," Gerd continued, " you can simply be celibate. Ogling us and our stupendous curves, being in bed with your Missus or between the two of us, eating a steady diet of pussy, but not allowed to do anything to relieve how excited you get. We'd probably have to lock your puny prick in one of those chastity gadgets, if we can find one small enough. Either way you'd still be able to get all horny, except there would never be any relief from it. Your miniature balls would feel some king-size pain."

"But we want to be fair, so we'll let you decide."

"Take a few days to think it over. Would you prefer to be drained and limp after a daily whacking session or two? Maybe three? Would you want to tug it till it's sore? Or would you rather Mr. Happy gets neglected until he turns into Mr. Sad and your balls feel like they're in a vise?"

"We'll check back with you in 72 hours or thereabouts."
"So you'll have lots of time to dwell on it before you choose."

He wanted to point out that neither alternative was good. But that became simply one more matter that he wasn't able to bring up. It was the same as what had set all this into motion, him wanting to simply have fetish fun with panties but not to wear them, be feminized, or have to act and sound like a wimp sissy. Marshall could see that he was trapped by the two super-sexy woman, who would delight in dominating him, keeping him pansy-pretty, using him as their sexual plaything, and regulating every aspect of his life. And they would be sure that each minute of it was as awful as they could make it for him.