Page 47

Chapter 6

I pulled experimentally at the satin strap wrapped around my wrist. It held my arm tautly above my head, just like the two at my feet did. When Amy had finished with the final one on my other arm, I was tied to the bed spread-eagle, completely unable to move.

"Completely at my mercy," she whispered, lips brushing my ear. "My pretty little plaything."

I was wearing a long, diaphanous negligée made from layer after layer of pink silk. Scalloped edging ran up the front to the high, lacy neck. A thick ribbon was tied around it, the edges of the bow tickling my jaw. Long, loose sleeves were suddenly sucked down into lace cuffs at my wrists, each studded with a row of pearl buttons. Underneath was my matching nightie, low-cut neckline giving way to a floor-length dusting of more pink silk.

And buried beneath it all, tucked in vintage-style panties covered in ruffles, was my tiny, steadily leaking cage.

"What are you going to do?" I asked, my voice shaking.

She had never tied me down before. The lights in the room were low, a constellation of candles spilled out across every surface. Clearly, she had something special planned for tonight.

Is she going to make me into her sissy?

The thought made my cage twitch within its endless layers of sheer silk. But as exciting — and terrifying — the idea was, what was left for her to do? I was already locked and dressed every day. What more could be done to turn me into her sissy?

"You'll just have to wait and see," she answered, rising from the bed and casting off her sheer black robe.

Her lingerie was angular and strappy, pulling in her waist and emphasizing her hips and breasts. It was tight and powerful, the tiny black bows almost comically feminine in the vast swath of dominance and control. She wore no panties, her stockings black, her shoes tall and shiny even in the dim light.

Truly a Mistress. But what does that make me?

"I've been thinking about this night for a long time," she said softly, straddling me and pressing herself down on my cage. "About what I want to do. About what it means for us."

"What does it mean?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She was grinning, her blood-red lips pulled back into an expression that was almost a snarl. Her hair was in a tight bun on the top of her head, her eyeshadow dark and dramatic. A gloved hand reached out and stroked my cheek, the sheer fabric encasing it soft against my skin.

"When we're done, you won't be my boyfriend anymore."

I swallowed hard.

"You'll be my sissy. My permanent, pretty plaything."

The word _permanent_rang in my ears. What exactly was going to be permanent?

"What does that —" I started, but she cut me off with an aggressive kiss, her lingerie creaking as she leaned down.

"Sissies don't get to talk unless their Mistresses tell them to," she hissed. "Is there something else you can do with that mouth?"

I remained silent.

She grinned again, a glint of fangs. "You may speak when I ask you a question, sissy."

"I want to taste you, Mistress," I said. "I want to make you cum like that."

I barely finished the words before her legs were squeezing my ears. She ground herself against me, using me more than I was licking her. I dove into her as best I could as her rips rocked forwards and back above me, forcing herself into my mouth. I sucked and teased and probed, drawing moans and shimmering sighs from her.

"Your tongue is so much better down there than your cock," she groaned.

She had never said anything like that to me before. It should have made me feel sick. Emasculated. But here I was dressed in a nightgown, locked away in my panties, so turned on I was spilling pre-cum into the pink silk. I felt none of those things.

I only wanted to make her cum.

I thought she was. She began to make the low, grunting sounds and her back arched, thighs squeezing against my head. But then she lifted off me, cool air rushing into the void where her wet heat had been. I moaned in frustration, as if it had been my pleasure that had been interrupted.

"Please, Mistress," I begged. "Please, I want you to cum. I need to make you cum."

"So eager," she breathed. "What a good little locked sissy girl you are."

My stomach curled up into a tight ball, but my heart swelled.

"Thank you, Mistress," I said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't worry, baby. You're going to make me cum. And you're going to use your cock to do it."

I let myself be hopeful as her hand slithered down my silk-draped body before resting atop my cage. Even though profuse layers of my outfit, I could feel the warmth of her hand there. Sweet, gentle pressure on my cage. I pushed myself upwards against her hand, my hope made manifest, my need overwhelming.

"Oh, baby," she said sympathetically, sticking out her lower lip. "Is that what you think this is?"

Her hand suddenly tightened, a claw around me, yanking and shaking me. I yelped and tried to pull away but my bonds held me tightly. I couldn't escape, couldn't move. It was as she promised: I was completely at her mercy.

"Yes!" I squealed as her fingers squeezed me.

"Sissy girls don't have cocks," she said in the same, mockingly pouty voice. "The first step of you becoming one tonight is knowing that. No, honey, you don't have a cock."

Somehow, I knew the word even before she said it.

"You have a clit. "