You wait. Kneeling in your most submissive pose, you wait for the door to open to see what mischief your wife has gotten into.
Your wife. You call her "Mistress" now. She's taken the reigns and you love it. She's dressed you, as usual, in your prettiest Saturday night outfit. You feel the lace panties caressing your bottom, holding your erection in check.
You feel every inch of fabric against your tender skin. Mistress has kept you free from hair and your body is electrified with the silken embrace of your outfit; the light cotton blouse, the black leather skirt, the red high heels, and the black stockings. Oh, the stockings! How you love the way they caress your bare legs, sending waves of electricity up and down your exposed flesh. The pleasure radiates through you, filling you with passion and sapping your will. You belong to Mistress and want to do her bidding.
You hear the key in the lock and a mix of excitement and terror floods your insides. Your heart feels like someone has reached into your chest and is squeezing the life out of you. The door opens, revealing your wife. How beautiful she looks; her face flushed with lust. She's dressed provocatively; her blouse accenting her cleavage, her dress accenting her long legs. She never dressed that way for you, even when you were dating. But she dresses this way for them, every Saturday night when she goes out to the bar as you kneel, waiting.
She looks at you and smiles. You're doing exactly what she wants you to and that power makes her wet. She steps into the room and you smell her excitement. You hear her heels on the hardwood floor. You feel your erection flexing in your panties. She moves out of the doorway and you see the man behind her.
You recognize him. He's been here before. He looks at you and smiles. He remembers you fondly. You smile back. You hate yourself for your reaction. You've grown to love serving your wife this way and pleasing the men she brings home. You've come to love pleasing men with your mouth. You can see the bulge in his pants and your mouth waters with desire.
There are no words. No one needs to say anything. You're a sissy and everyone knows it. Everyone knows what you're good for and everyone gets to do what they want with you.
It's not like Mistress to bring home the same man twice but if she had to bring any of them home a second time, you're glad it's this one. He was nice to you; treated you like a lady. He knows how much you want to please and need praise. He'll give you plenty of opportunities for both.
She sits on her chair, holding out her hand at you, giving him permission to proceed. He comes to you. You smell the mix of alcohol and cigarettes on his clothes; fresh bar scents. He holds his hand out and you put yours in his. Your nails are done; pretty red to match your lipstick and shoes. Your hand looks so slight in his. He tugs gently, helping you stand.
You look up into his eyes and he smiles, pulling you closer. You feel the lump in his pants pressing against your belly. You wonder if he feels your tiny bump against his leg. Probably not.
He pulls you tightly to him. He moves his face closer to you. Instinctively you close your eyes as his lips find yours. His tongue enters your mouth, exploring you, invading you. You feel your knees weaken. You're thankful that his strong arms surround you. Heat rises to your face. You're flush with embarrassment at just how much you enjoy his firm kisses. His hand grasps your bottom, with every squeeze you lose yourself more.
Somewhere you know that in the morning you'll hate yourself for what you're doing now. You'll be back in the real world, pretending to be a man again. But when you're dressed up and at Mistress's mercy, you feel free and you revel in serving her and her men.
He runs his other hand up your back. The soft cotton of your blouse makes your skin tingle. When his hand reaches your bra he stops and so does your heart. He reaches back down, grabbing your blouse and untucking it from your skirt. His mouth moves to your neck and you feel like you'll turn into a puddle. He moves away slightly, his mouth still licking and nibbling your neck, as his hands come around and begin unbuttoning your blouse.
He opens it all the way, his hands moving inside to feel your soft, hairless skin. His hands feel rough, hot, and big. You feel like you're getting smaller and smaller, shrinking in his presence, becoming a littler girl.
His hands caress your bra and your nipples get hard under the cups. You're still standing but you don't know how. You feel like your legs are going to collapse. You want him to pull you tight again but he's too busy, his thumbs pressing against your nipples, sending waves of pleasure directly to your groin.
You feel his heat increase. You know that the bulge in his pants is ever larger now and you want it. You want to touch it. You reach out and the heat from him makes you ache. Fingers meet denim; heavy hardness meets your palm. The ridge from his mushroom head is a relief map of pleasure. He moans. He wants you. You love to be wanted. Giving pleasure gives you pleasure.
You want to make him happy. You want to make him cum. You want him to use you for his desires. You want him to sate his lust with your body, all the while on display for your wife.
