TATTOOED AND SCREWED by Throne (A little short) (Patreon)

TATTOOED AND SCREWED

by Throne

I couldn’t believe how badly things were going.  When my wife Audrey caught me in drag, she totally blew her top.  All I could do was stand there, in my minidress, with those huge falsies under it, and try to beg for forgiveness.  She eventually settled down, but then said that she owed me some sort of payback.  I was willing to go along with anything reasonable, yet there was a wicked gleam in her emerald eyes that told me I should gain some assurances before agreeing.  Still, I’m a small guy, who has always been shy, and therefore never learned to assert myself.  Beside that, she is stunningly sexy, with a supersize bust and long blond hair.  I was lucky to have married her, and desperate not to lose what I had.

A week later, I found myself being told to get dressed up in the same outfit, complete with those ginormous fake tits.  They were even equipped with nipples, that pressed out against the thin material of the dress.  There were thong panties, which neatly contained my rather immature genitals.  To be honest, I should say my laughably small dick and balls.  Audrey had gotten me a pair of fishnet stockings, as well.  Then she insisted on doing my make-up herself.  What she put on my face was terrible.  I usually go for a glamorous look.  Instead, she gave me what could only be described as a slutty face.  My eyes were highlighted by dark liner and smoky eyeshade.  And my mouth – oh no – was covered in a vivid shade called Magenta Madness.  She drew an outline, outside the natural contours of my lips, and filled in that space with the same garish color.  The result was to make my mouth appear larger than it really was.

Finally, she had purchased a wig online, using one of my credit cards.  It was long cornrows, with beads woven into them, as if I was trying to look like a Black girl.  Then she showed me the earrings she had found.  They were oversized hoops that would almost reach to my shoulders.  Instead of being hollow, they were solid, and made of metal.  The result was that they were too heavy.  When she put them on my pierced ears, their weight dragged downward painfully.

“One more special touch and your outfit is complete,” she announced happily.  “I found the perfect shoes to go with what you’re wearing.”

She handed me a shoebox, which I opened with trepidation.  Inside were what can only be described as ‘hooker heels’.  They were made of shiny red, faux leather, had little golden hearts all over them, and featured three inch stacked heels.

Trying to keep my voice from quavering, I said, “These might be too difficult to walk around the house in.”

“Nonsense,” she told me firmly.  “Seeing some of the shoes in your secret stash, after I caught you dressing up, I know you’ve practiced on some pretty challenging heels.”

I reluctantly put them on and fastened the ankle straps, with my balloon-boobs making the job difficult.  True to her expectations, I was able to move around in the shoes, though they limited me to small steps.  When she had me step in front of the full-length cheval mirror, I got a shock.  I resembled some sort of cheap tramp, ready to sell her body.  Or rather, a fantasizing sissy, acting out that kind of role.

My wife got into a cropped top with no bra under it, and skintight slacks, along with footwear that was attractive, but far less showy than my own.  She put her hands on my shouders.

“Time for us to take a little ride, Brandon.  And while you’re looking like that, I’ll just call you Brandy.”

“B…but, I don’t go out when I’m… you know… all girly.”

“Or in this case, all trashy.  The difference this time, though, is that you still owe me.  And you agreed to go along with whatever sort of payback I demanded.  So when I say you’re going out, you’re going.”  She held me with her challenging stare.

I gave in almost immediately.  It’s hard to fight back when you’re dressed the way I was.   She led me out through the breezeway and into our garage.  Thank goodness the car wasn’t parked on the street.  Audrey drove us into the city, with my nervous tension mounting the whole time.  Then she delivered an unwelcome surprise as she drove into a less prosperous neighborhood.  All the people I saw on the sidewalk were Black.  My wife pulled into a pay lot, directly across the street from a bar called The Blue Devil.  It was between a pawn shop and a tattoo parlor.  The lot’s attendant, a lanky young Black guy, eyed me with obvious interest.  Audrey made a show of adjusting my plastic boobs.  The dress had a scoop neckline, which exposed lots of cleavage and made it obvious that I was a man wearing artificial jugs.

We crossed the street, with me tottering along on those outrageous heels.  I expected to be taken into the bar, but instead she led me through the door of that tattoo place.  There was a Black girl inside, with a bust as full as mine, and hips and bottom to match.

“Hello, Shanice,” my wife said.  “Thanks for keeping this hour open for me.”

“No problem,” she said, checking me out and licking her thick lips.  “I could tell on the phone that you were pissed at your man – or whatever he is – and needed to get him inked to settle a score.”

“Audrey?” I said weakly.  “You didn’t say anything about, um, this.”

“Too bad for you,” she shot back.  “This is what happens when you hide your sissy hobby from me, Brandy.  I don’t like being deceived.”

Shanice pointed toward a chair.  “Yeah, Brandy, you skanky liar.  Have a seat.”

Her equipment was all ready to go.  I guessed that my wife had told her what she wanted done, in what color, during their phone conversation.  The skin artist swabbed my upper arm and went to work.  It hurt.  I squirmed my bottom around and whimpered.  What was being put permanently on my flesh?  When I tried to peek, the Black woman snapped at me to turn my head away.

She said, “You get to look when I’m all done.”

After the work was finished, she cleaned the area again.  Finally, Shanice swiveled the chair toward a mirror.  I was horrified to see a heart outlined in red and, written across it in swirling cursive, the word SISSY.  No, no, no.

Audrey told her, “That’s perfect.”  She proffered my charge card and told Shanice to add a generous tip.

I got one last look at the curvaceous Black girl.  My wife led me outside in a daze.  My dress left the fresh message fully visible.  Audrey walked me into the bar, where male eyes fastened on me instantly.  There was a murmur of interest.  We went to the bar and took two of the chair-backed stools.  Audrey ordered a simple drink for herself and something more elaborate for me.  Mine came in a wide cocktail glass, was orange, and had a cherry in it.

“Go ahead,” my bride told me.  “Drink up.  I think you’ll need something to brace you.”

I took a sip.  It was quite strong.  My lipstick left an imprint on the rim of the glass.  A tall Black man took the seat next to mine.  He eyed me hungrily, as if I was a lamb and he was a wolf.

Speaking directly to Audrey, he said, “You two got to be the ones that Shanice said was coming.  I’m Juke.  Okay with you if I go first?”

“No problem,” she assured him.  What was happening?

“And it don’t cost nothing?”

“The first one is free,” she said.  “Starting this Friday night, and every Friday after that, it’ll be 20 bucks a pop.”

“Well, I sure want to pop my cork in your sissy’s mouth.”  He ran his finger around my tattoo.

I shuddered and asked my wife, “What are you talking about?”

“You know, Brandy, you were so eager to play at being a girl, I knew you’d love to take it to the next level.  So I arranged for you to come here for one night every weekend, and whore your mouth out to the men here at The Blue Devil.”

“But I’m not that kind of a sissy,” I protested.

“You are now,” she declared.  “And for as long as I say so.  After all, with that puny pecker of yours, you’ve never been able to satisfy me in bed.  So from now on, your sex life will be all about your mouth.  Sucking these fine gentlemen’s cocks and eating my pussy.”

Juke practically lifted me off my chair.  He got me on my feet and put his long arm around my shoulders.

“You come on with me,” he said with a hint of warning in his voice.  Obviously, he wouldn’t take no for an answer.  “I’ll give you some pointers, this being your first time and all.”

I glanced back at my wife.  She raised her drink in a toast.  A handsome Black guy took my seat and leaned in to say something to her.  Whatever it was, she smiled and put her hand on his thigh.

The man steering me aimed us toward one of two plain doors.  “We got us these little rooms in the back.  Special for deals like this.  You going to spend a lot of time in there.”  He chuckled as he led me through the doorway and into a room that had no furnishings except a bed, two nightstands, and some chairs along the wall.  He stood with his back to the bed and tugged on one of my earrings, to force me down onto my knees.  “You be a good girl, Brandy, so I won’t have to smack you around or nothing mean like that.”

In trembling fear, I stared at his crotch.  There was a frightening bugle in his pants, extending several inches down his leg.  When I hesitated, he growled at me.  That was all the motivation I needed.  As much as I didn’t want to do it, I undid his belt, opened his pants, and lowered his fly.  When he tugged down his trousers, I was so close to his boxer shorts that I could smell his masculine musk through them.  The head of his cock, thick and dark, hung below the leg-hole, along with several inches of the shaft.

“Get going, bitch,” he said sternly.  “Them shorts ain’t going to pull themselves out of the way.”

I yanked them down and was confronted with his girthy member.  He sat on the edge of the bed and told me to push his pants down to his ankles.  Then he grabbed my wrist and put my hand on his impressive tool.  I gave it a few uncertain strokes and it rose to its full erect state, over ten inches long.  My fingers couldn’t reach all the way around it.  The end was practically in my face.

“Go on, faggot.  Give that bone a lick.  Then get your sissy lips around it.  Show me how a prick-princess like you eats it.”

My mind was spinning.  It all seemed unreal.  I extended my tongue and licked under the enviably large head.  Juke sighed.  I did it a few  more times.  Sure, I had seen acts like this online, but I was only interested in dressing up.  I didn’t want a man’s stiff rod in my mouth.  Or did I?  My dick argued for the latter possibility, as it got hard inside the tiny thong.  That shouldn’t be happening.  My lips sealed themselves around his thickness, a few inches behind the head.  His meat pressed down on my tongue.  I sucked.  Swirled my tongue around his wide corona.  Bobbed my head up and down.  Just like that, I was giving my first blowjob, to a Black man, in the backroom of an inner city bar, while my wife was probably being propositioned by a similarly well-hung male out front.

Juke advised me, “You got to use your hand on my stick.  Gone to be a while before you learn to take it down your throat.  But from what your hot wife said, we going to be seeing a lot of you here.”

I gagged and backed off.  Then I began to stroke him.  I got his fat knob back in my mouth and sucked it spiritedly.  Turning my eyes up, I saw him grinning down at me.  He complimented my faux knockers.  As I stroked and sucked, his hips twitched.  He was getting close to finishing.  I tried to think of some way to avoid getting a mouthful of hot spunk, but wasn’t willing to risk angering him.  Instead, I tightened my grip, gave him a half dozen fast strokes, and was rewarded with his spurting ejaculate.  It was thick and salty.  I gagged but was able to swallow it.  He exhaled loudly and told me to keep mouthing him, but more slowly.

There was a knock on the door.  A male voice said, “Yo, we’re here for that sissy ho, Brandy.  Okay if we come in, man?”

“Sure,” Juke told them.  “She’s just going to make sure I’m licked clean all over, and then the faggot will be all yours.”

Two more Black men came in and took seats, with a good view of how I was demeaning myself.  My cheeks grew warm as I blushed furiously.  Juke declared that I was done.  The moment he stood up, another of the men shed his shoes and got out of his pants.  A fresh Black cock, an inch shorter than the first, but also thicker, waited to be serviced.  Its owner stretched out on the bed, on his back.

He demanded, “Get to getting, white-stuff.”

My voice was high and tremulous as I said, “Yes, Sir,” and got myself onto the foot of the bed, on my knees.

The other guy got up and came over, to fondle my ass while I got started licking his friend.  The guy lying there spread his legs further and told me to lap his balls.  As I did it, I heard the door to the room next to ours open and close.  The walls were thin enough that I could hear voices.  It was my wife and a man, presumably the one who had hit on her.

She laughed and said, “My husband turned out to be a secret sissy.  I’m sure she’s happy to finally have some cocks to gobble.”

“I know that kind,” he told her.  “They got the dirty habit of wearing dresses and shit, behind your back.  Tell themselves they don’t want no man’s meat stuck in their face, but once they get a taste, they can’t never say no.”

Was he right?  Would I begin to crave what was happening to me at that minute?  My penis certainly backed up what he had assumed.  It was rock hard and my balls throbbed.  I had to listen to Audrey compliment her bedmate’s big black cock, disparage my tiny white one, and then get sent to the heights of ecstasy as he entered her and gave my wife a humping like I could never provide.  While I sucked the second and third Black man to heavy ejaculations, she was having the sexual time of her life.  I had to wonder if she would pair up with that same guy, or a series of others, on the next Friday and every one after that.  What I didn’t have to wonder about was what I would be doing.  I knew the answer very well.  Starting the fourth blowjob, which was more like having my mouth raped, and being fondled again from behind, a thick finger toying with my butthole, I was certain I’d be back where I was, with guys lining up, twenty dollar bills in hand, to feed me their long thick tools, and tell me anything special they wanted as part of having me suck and stroke them.