I make a lot of money from gay men.
Specifically closeted men. Married men. It’s easy. I go on Grindr, send them a few pics I found on the internet, and get them salivating. There are always plenty of them, faceless accounts pile on asking for a quick suck or fuck, bottom or top, whatever their fancy.
I get the blood flowing, tell them what I’ll do for/to them with a few cut and paste messages. The guys who like to dress up like sissy girls are the best. I get them to send me a face pic with their mouth open, ahegao style, begging for it. Pathetic.
At this point, I have them. Everything changes. I send a message that tells them exactly what will happen next – they will send £20 into my account, once a month, every month. That’s all. Easy, right? If they don’t, accounts get made. Facebook accounts, Twitter, Instagram, Grindr – EVERYTHING they can think of, headed up with that picture of their face for their wives, girlfriends, friends, family and whoever else wants to beat off to it to see. Complete social ruination. Suddenly that £20/month seems real reasonable.
But why only £20 a month? Why not £200? £1000? Surely their decades-built reputations and families are worth more? If you’re asking that question, you just proved why I’m smarter than you. That level could ruin them financially, and that’s not what I want. I want steady income from scared sissies. I only need around 60 to earn what I would earn 8 hours a day in a call center – right now I have just over 100 paying in.
It’s a few hours work a day. They don’t all cave. I make examples of a few to show the others – I have ruined some of them. They have no information about me, they cannot find me to get their revenge. Honestly, I feel a little bad for the ones I ruin, but then again they deserved it. What kind of committed straight guy cruises on Grindr?
My girlfriend thinks I’m an up and coming remote salesman pulling around 2k a month from b2b sales. I get plenty left over after my flat’s rent and bills are paid to buy her sexy shit, lingerie, nails, hair… I look after my Chloe and she looks after my 6-inch cock. She’s a 19 year-old blonde bombshell, just shorter than me at 5’7″ and weighing 5 kilos lighter than me at 50kg. Yeah, I’m a little on the skinny side, maybe that’s why I put my brain to work ripping off boomers.
Anyway, something has been on my mind a little lately. One guy, going only by his first name Darnell, has been sending me weird stuff on the app. For about a week now I’ve been trying to snare him, but he just sends me these strange gifs. Pink spirals, with subliminal messages popping up every few seconds that I can’t quite see. I know what sissy hypno is, bullshit that doesn’t work, but there is something about these spirals that seems to hold my attention for a few seconds every time. He doesn’t reply with anything but these soft pink images.
It’s 2am Monday morning. Chloe came earlier to suck my dick and went home to study for her University course, so I’m not horny. I keep thinking of the images. They kind of form in my brain, partially, so that I see fragments, but can’t form the full image. I’m intrigued on a deep level by the imagery. I must find out what it is.
I load up my laptop to see the images on a bigger screen. I see he’s online too, and has sent another. I load it up fullscreen, the hot pink light bathing my face and naked torso, the only light in my bedroom. It entrances me, dances, makes me feel dizzy, makes me feel something… Strange in my stomach, and fizzy in my groin. I shut the screen and shake my head. What is happening to me?
Opening it again, I avoid looking directly at the images. I ask him directly.
What are these images you are sending?
I wait. A minute. Two minutes.
The response from Darnell dings. It’s an audio file, 30 seconds long. Text alongside it reads only:
Wear headphones.
As I dabble in home recording I have a pair of studio-grade headphones bought with my victims’ money. I plug them in. Briefly, I consider blocking him, but something within me fizzes cautiously with a dull excitement to know the true hidden contents of the GIFs. I put on the headphones, plug in. Press play.
A high frequency plays in my ears. I feel warm. The last thing I hear before I pass out is the sound of a fingersnap.
I wake the next morning. Laptop still open at the end of the bed. Eyes and mind groggy. Must have been hot in the night, I kicked off my boxers. Fell asleep with the headphones on too. I remove them and pull the laptop towards me.
Reading Darnell and I’s chat, I see multiple audio files sent after the first. Some 5, some 7, even as long as 15 minutes. I have clearly listened to every single one, and have absolutely no memory of any of them… Strange.
The final message, sent at 3:32am, was only a time and place: 32 Pym Road, 3pm – today. So, weirdness aside, looked like Darnell would be added to my list after all. At this point I don’t even care if he pays, I just want to send my message and move on. First I need the face pic, though. I type.
Face pic or we don’t meet. ?
I sit back and scratch my head. God I need a glass of water.
Laptop dings. I look – and I freeze.
He has sent a face pic. But it ain’t him. It’s me. Full ahegao face, laid on my bed, legs spread. I have some of Chloe’s black and pink lace panties on. A dull memory throbs in the back of my mind and I feel under my pillow – I feel the soft silky material. She left them here two nights ago after we fucked. I still remember her walking out in a miniskirt, winking as she threw them at me. Dread in my stomach.
Is that good enough?
Fuck this. I’m not playing his games. I block him.
I need to sort my head out. I go into the kitchen and make myself some toast with a glass of orange juice. The sweet revitalising liquid runs down my throat as my phone dings.
It’s a text. A picture message, to my personal phone. This time I’m bent over in Chloe’s panties, looking over my shoulder with “Fuck me, Daddy?” eyes. I’m pouting. Text follows.
Think someone could recognise you?
Fuck… This is bad. He has my number. What the fuck else did he make me do?
Phone dings again. That address. I know the place, the street walking distance from mine, no.32 a newly built house set apart from the rest of the street, away from the road. What the fuck does he want from me?
I text back.
Listen man, I’m not gay. I’m not interested in this stuff. Can we just leave it here? If not it may have to become a police issue.
I bite my lip.
Another picture message.
It’s a screenshot of an unsent email to Chloe. In it are the pictures I saw, plus fifteen more, and a 30 second video. Fuck. This can’t be happening. Chloe is hot but ultimately she’s a bimbo – she’d share these with her friends just for the attention she’d get from it
Please, please don’t. Okay. I’ll come… But why? What do you want?
Tears brim my eyes.
To show the pussy how Lions play. Wear your panties.
It’s a fairly warm, breezy day as I walk up to the door of no.32 and ring the bell. The silk of the panties feels quite nice against my skin, I’m reluctant to admit, although it’s itchy against the hairy parts. Phone dings.
Enter. Lock door behind. Shoes off. Upstairs.
Hands trembling, I do as instructed. Inside is spacious, luxuriously furnished with a postmodern comfy vibe. A lot of beige, carpeted rooms. A huge TV on the wall of the living room to my immediate right, a corridor in the middle toward the kitchen and stairs on my left. I lock the door and begin to ascend the beige carpeted stairs.
In an ornate tub, a bath has been run for me. At the sides of the tub are girly, pink shampoos and bodywashes, lotions, razors. I shake my head and chuckle. No way.
I hear a door open, from behind. The master bedroom. As I turn a huge hulking black Adonis came into view. Naked to the waist, where he wears camo shorts over his muscled quads. The bulge is obvious. He is easily 6’5″, maybe taller. He smiles wickedly.
I’m Darnell.
Before I can say anything, he snaps his fingers, and my knees give way as he speaks words that sound like I’m hearing them from underwater… My vision blurs…
I wake in the bath. I think I hear a womans high-pitched giggle… Was that me? I shake my head. All I can smell is the scent of perfumes, lavender, grapefruit, pomegranate… My skin feels so soft. So smooth. I’m shaven everywhere I feel. My shaven legs make contact with each other and the smooth feel makes me fizz in my groin. I feel my crotch with my hands… Perfectly smooth… Why is this turning me on? Wait, why are my nails pink?!
I hear a crunch and a deep laugh. Darnell’s hulking frame is sitting on a stool across from the tub. He’s eating an apple that looks the size of a peanut in his huge hand. I rush to my feet, water dripping off me.
Did you touch me?! That’s fucking rape you sick fuck!
He chuckles, unperturbed.
I never laid a hand on you, little sissy.
His deep bronze voice reverberates in my soul, it seems. As I stand cold air hits and my shaven cock and balls retract shamefully. I feel a deep embarrassment.
I want to leave… I just want to go home. Can I please leave? Please delete the pictures?
He laughs at me again.
Afraid not, little sissy. Afraid not. You see… We have more pictures to make. Plenty more. Do as I say and they will not see the light of day. They will not know their own comfortable place in Chloe’s inbox.
I start to break down, humiliated.
But why… Are… You… Just why!
Tears streak my face. I hear a whirr and what sounds like a camera shutter. Darnell snaps my naked, smooth-shaven, crying, small-cocked body on his phone and quickly types something, thumbs moving with agility uncommon for so large a man.
Same reason you do the things you do, little sissy. Money… And a little perverse enjoyment. Step out and get dry.
I comply, using a pink fluffy towel next to the bath. I realise he has buzzed my hair completely and stifle a sob. He leaves and returns with a black and hot pink babydoll chamois. Along with it are black thigh-high stockings with hot pink bows, a lacy black garter belt, and Chloe’s sexy knickers, perfectly matching the colour scheme. He laid them out, then from his pocket produced a small pink chastity device.
This is for your clitty.
I won’t. No.
He sets it aside. Then takes out a sandy coloured, blonde-highlighted stylish wig, around shoulder length.
You will wear this.
No!
Wear it, or be exposed.
I have no choice. I meekly hang my head. He presses it on and it feels a little hot, a bit… Damp?
It has movie-strength special effect glue on it. He grins. Don’t touch until it dries, only be a few minutes. With that he gestured to the chastity device.
Please. I whisper. He chuckles again, shakes his head.
Pathetic. Pull the stockings on.
I do. The feel against my smooth legs gives me deep pleasure that I try to stifle. My arms get goosebumps. He notices a twitch in my cock and snickers.
You love it. Now these.
He produces breastforms, tight hot C cups that would give a realistic endowment to my chest. The same glue lines them as he pushes them on. Then follows the babydoll.
Now. The cage.
I just sob.
He grabs me by the hair forcefully.
Dry already!
He pulls me across the room and sits on the stool. Puts me across his knee. I cry out for help as he spanks my ass.
Please! Anyone!
Noone can hear you in here, sissy! Put the cage on!
The repeated strong blows make my ass sting more and more. I cry helplessly.
I won’t!
Alright, you asked for it.
I hear the click of a bottle and something cold hit my ass. I draw a sharp desperate breath and try to rear up but his mammoth forearm is more than enough to easily keep me bent over his knee.
Please!
I feel his lubed finger wipe up and down my clean shaved asshole, making it sopping wet. God it feels so fucking good… My cock is getting hard… No! His meaty finger prods at the entrance.
Wear the cage.
Oh God please, please no…
His finger pushes. The lube allows it to slide half an inch in. Fuck! I have to resist the urge to push back… I cannot let him win!
Like that, sissy girl?
Mmmf. I stifle a response. Please.
It goes into the first knuckle. Then the second. I can’t hold it back anymore. I moan.
He laughs. What a sissy bitch!
Now it’s all the way in. I feel paralyzed by the feeling. He draws it in, out, in, then curls it as he moves…
Fuck! Oh god it’s so good! I squeal.
Can’t fight it. I push back.
Wear the cage. He growls.
Yes! Please, anything!
I don’t even know what I’m begging for any more. My clitty is leaking. His other hand now reaches under and rubs my cock, two fingers, like he would a woman.
Good girl. The words give me immense pleasure as he fingers my ass. He rubs my cock like a clit. That’s a good girl.
Mmf mmfuck ohh God I’m gonna cum… I’m gonna cum…
I spurt onto the floor, legs twitching, ass pulsing around his finger, panting, moaning, breathing heavily. I push back against it again and again until I’m spent, my mess all over the floor. I can’t think.
I hear the click of plastic and feel it push around my spent cock. He rolls me off his knee onto the bathroom rug. I’m on my back, still panting, overloaded. He takes his phone from the cupboard it was balancing on, recording. I had no idea. He films me as he puts the finger to my lips.
Suck it, sissy. Suck it and I might take that cage off when you leave.
Exhausted, I meekly comply. I taste myself like a well-fucked woman who has her lovers cum on her fingers. I realise from the saltiness he must have dipped his finger in my mess before I sucked it. He grins a devils grin, showing his glowing white teeth. Even the camera lens between me and him seems to mock me.
Clean up in here, get dressed, and I’ll see you in the living room. We are not done yet. He puts the phone in his cargo short pocket. I see the key to my chastity on a chain around his neck, nestled against his massive pecs. The key to freedom for my cock.
I suppose it’s a clitty now.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticstories/comments/jqcizb/sissy_blackmale_ch_1