Dear Diary – Day Twenty Seven

Oh my, what’s going to happen?

All I can keep thinking of is...

Dear Diary – Day Twenty Six

Having been pronounced fit to stand trial I was brought before Mistress Eleanor’s court.

The charge was simple.  I was accused of being a sissy.  Hearing this I almost felt relief and when asked how did I plead I, perhaps a tad too proudly, pronounced I was a sissy.  Thinking that would be the end of it I was surprised when Mistress Eleanor announced that we would be the judge of that.

The first witness was Maid M.  She confessed that she used to like teasing me by working around in just her bra and panties and chasing me and trying to kiss me.  I smiled at the memory and then cringed as she said how disgusted she was that I had taken her light blue panties and fishnet stockings and worn them.  How did she know that?

The next witnesses were a set of girls who complained about having to wear uniforms that were either see through, especially when wet, or that had skirts that the wind would blow up with unrelenting ease.  Again a smile came to my face as I remembered the happy days, but again it turned to horror as they each said how violated they had felt when they saw me looking up their skirts and dresses.  I thought I had been discrete, but obviously they had seen me.  I had kept careful records of what colour panties they were wearing each day.

Next came my first wife.  She told the court how much she loved me, before going on to say how I had never been able to give her an orgasm.  I was about to say that was because she never let me go down on her, but I knew I was not allowed to speak.  I felt bad knowing how inept I had been as a lover.  It then got worse as my first wife recounted a string of sexual perversions I had indulged in.  I was shocked by the detail she went to in describing them. I also realised she had not told anyone till now.  I felt bad.

Then there was Miss H who said how said how grateful she had been that I had let her stay with me.  I knew not to smile as I guessed what was coming although how she’d known about me wearing her bra and panties when she left for work each morning I couldn’t fathom.  I’d been so careful to take them from the dirty laundry basket.  Miss H also told the court about how I would lift up her skirt causing her deep embarrassment and humiliation. 

Then came M&M who had more tales of skirt lifting, knicker sniffing and pantie wearing.  I had to take their word for it as I am sure I would have done it if I had the chance.  

By now I just wanted to crawl under a rock and hide.

Then there was Mrs S who said how nice I was, but now that she’d heard these other testimonies she changed her mind and said I was a vile, disgusting creature.

At this stage I thought I was getting off lightly, but then had to listen quietly as my ex-wife went through a very, very long list of my failings on the domestic front.  I thought this was most unfair, but she had evidence to back up each claim and I was totally damned.

Next and in what I thought was highly improper and irregular, the jury, which consisted of all the ladies who had given evidence, were asked to give their verdict.  Without a pause and in total unison they said guilty. 

Judge Eleanor said clearly I was a sissy, but much worse, a depraved, perverted, disgusting, miserable slimy wanker.  I blushed red and wanted to apologise, not that it would do me any good, too late now.  Still, I felt it could have been worse, they didn’t know about Ms J, Ms D, Ms P or others.

Judge Eleanor announced that my sentencing would be tomorrow.  

Let me guess, it’s going to involve being strung up by my balls.  

It’s a fair cop. 

Dear Diary - Day Twenty Five

Stuck in this hospital bed there is not much I can do.  My arms and hands are so fixed that I can’t even reach my little bit, not that I would ever dream of touching it or diddling my little clitty, but it would be nice to know that it’s still there.

All I can do is worry.  What if my little itty bitty clitty never works again?

It was while I was worrying about never being able to enjoy a good wank, that a lady doctor came in.  Her face was covered in a surgical mask and I immediately thought the worst, but she held a clipboard rather than a scalpel.

After a few pleasantries, obviously keen to demonstrate her bedside manner, she got down to business.  “Time for some tests.”

I gulped, not wanting to be tested out of fear of failure and its consequences.

The bed was adjusted so I could observe the bandages being removed.  I closed my eyes tight.

Latex gloved hands manipulated my flaccid member, pulling it out, pushing it back, peeling away my foreskin, so that when I opened my eyes my clitty was there for all to see.  

It seemed smaller, if that was possible, and though it looked red and raw it didn’t hurt.  I looked expectantly at the Doctor hoping she would say something positive.

“Okay, I’m going to ask you to imagine some situations and will note your reaction.  Ready?

“Yes Ma’am” I replied, hoping that my politeness would get her on side and give me a chance at getting favourable results.

“A young woman is naked before you, expecting sexual intercourse.”  I tried imagining this but it was impossible.

After a minute the doctor let out a sad sigh.  “A woman is performing oral sex on you.”  Oh, that would be nice, but try as I might I just couldn’t imagine it being true.

The doctor's concern was evident in her voice as she said “What if you perform oral sex on her?”

Oh!  A slight twitch.

“Ah ha” exclaimed the doctor.  She then said “imagine watching the woman having sex...”  Twitch.  “With a black man...”  Twitch.  “The woman is your wife.” Twitch.  “You are serving as their sissy maid.”  Twitch, twitch, twitch!

“Very good.”  I could see I was almost fully erect.  Maybe I was just pleased with making the Doctor happy.

“Well” she continued, after making some notes “looks like you’re ready to be strung up by your balls.”

What?

Help!

Seeing my look of horror the doctor merely pointed at my clitty which was fully erect, as hard as can be, just like a little pin.  I think she was smiling.

Dear Diary – Day Twenty Four

The next day I found myself in a hospital bed, safely secured in, being attended to by Nurse Eleanor.

I was sore and bruised but nothing seemed overly damaged except...

“Yes, that was rather mean of her to do that, stomp on your delicate little maggot.  I’ve saved your balls, eh testicles, for now...Which is good as she’s coming back to string you up by them.”

Nurse Eleanor smiled at my confused look of horror and anticipation.

“But your dick, eh penis, um, you know what I mean... Well, only time will tell.  Amputation might be necessary, but for now we’ll just keep it tightly bandaged up and hope gangrene sets in, eh, I mean doesn’t set in.”  Nurse Eleanor laughed off her mistake.

“You just lay there and get some rest.  You’re not going anywhere.” 

Dear Diary – Day Twenty Three

The next day found me huddled under the smelly blankets in this dirty pit.  At least I could stretch out, just.  The dirt floor was more dust so it was at least soft, but I’m sure I looked a mess.  Worse I was worried my bucket was getting rather full.

And I was bored. 

And I was scared.

At times I could hear noises and possibly voices.

I practised my yoga and meditation and that helped.

It was while I was doing my happy baby position that I heard a female voice say “Get it out.”  I looked up but the midday sun made it too bright for me to see anything.  The grate opened and a ladder was lowered.  I didn’t hesitate to climb it, happily leaving my filthy blankets behind; keen to emerge into the warm sun like some grub or insect breaking out from the dirt after a long incubation.

No sooner had my head appeared and before I could even blink my eyes, a bag or hood was placed over my head and I was hauled out.  I stood there naked as I felt someone prod me.  “Skinny bitch, this one.  Let’s see if it’s got any fight in it.  Bring it.”  And with that I was pushed along, a strong hand gripping my arm to stop me from falling.

I was man sissy handled up some stairs like I was a rag doll.  The hood was removed and I was in a room of some sort.  It was bare of decoration, but quiet large.  There was good lighting.  Mistress Eleanor was there wearing a stunning red dress that flared out.  She held some camera equipment along with a camera device on a tripod.  She paid me no attention.

It was the other woman in black dress that was looking at me, sizing me up.  “Sissy, huh?”  It was some kind of question.  I nodded, more in fear than answer.

She laughed and started to take off her dress.  She was almost naked underneath, no bra, just tiny black panties and lace topped thigh high stockings.  She kept her black pumps on, but was holding some kind of crop in her hands along with what looked like a collar and leash.  Now I was afraid.

“Hit me” she commanded.  I shook my head.  I could never hit a woman.

“Come on faggot, hit me...” She started to taunt me, cruelly trying to goad me with words.  I slumped in the corner and she came over and put the collar around my neck, fastening it tightly.

“You’re pathetic” she spat as she slapped my face.  

Then she started jerking me about using the collar and leash,

 forcing me to go where ever she wanted.  

She pushed me over and kneed me in the back and then kicked my butt.  

She didn’t hold back,  She was genuinely angry.

Dragging my face up she again started to berate me.  

I was useless, a fucking embarrassment.  

Not fit to live.  A worthless piece of shit.  

A maggot.  A disgusting filthy sissy cunt.

I could only agree.  

She continued to beat and hit and kick me.  

I was being beaten up by a girl and I was loving it.

Dear Diary - Day Twenty Two

I found myself in the back of a car.  With my dress up and over my head I felt like I was in a sack from the waste up.  Below the waist were just my frilly panties, fishnets and high heels.  I felt exposed.

Strong hands had put me here and fastened a seat belt around me.  Someone sat next to me.  Their large hand rested on my thigh, its presence both threatening and comforting.  I tried to relax by practising my yoga breathing technique.  Pause.  Breath in 5,4,3,2,1.  Pause.  Breath out 8,7,6,5,4,3,2,1.  Pause.

The voices sounded deep and masculine.  Possibly Jamaican?  Everything was muffled under my skirt.

The car journey seemed to take a long time, I had no idea where we were when the car finally came to a stop and I was bundled out.  I could feel the cool air on my legs, but then the real nightmare began.

I was stripped.

I mean all my clothes cut off me.  Everything.  A bright light was shined in my eyes, blinding me.  Naked I was pushed forward, spun round, almost fell, was grabbed again and shoved along until I was picked up and lowered into a pit.

There was a clang as something metal closed.   

There was just dirt.

I was alone.

Slowly some limited vision came back.  There was a metal grill above me, silhouetted in the moonlight.  It must be getting near morning.  There were some blankets on the floor, but I could sense they weren’t very clean.  There was a bucket in the corner and I guess that was to serve as a toilet.

About midday a bottle of water and loaf of bread was dropped down through the grate.  If I hadn’t been hungry and thirsty...

And I was left there all day. 

And I wasn’t very happy.

And I don't know what's going to happen to me, but I don't think it's going to be good...

Dear Diary - Day Twenty One

Today I was informed I was to serve at another one of Mistress Eleanor’s dinner parties, although this was just to be a small affair.  Cook seemed to know who the guests were and said one was to get a special dish.  The menu seemed simple enough, pan fried salmon and a Greek salad.  There was an individual blueberry pie for dessert, but just one. 

Cook explained I had to help her make the cream for the pie.  But I was just confused when she handed me a wooden spoon.  Then, before I knew what was happening she removed her knickers and lay back on the table spreading her legs.  Oh I thought, she wants me to go down on her again. 

“No you silly sissy, beat me with the spoon.” 

“What?”  I almost lost my composure and nearly forgot my manners.  “Sorry, Ma’am, you want me to do what?” 

PS glared at me.  “You heard, now get on with it.” 

Tentatively I gave her a playful smack with the spoon.

“Harder” she grunted.

I hit her again, watching her flesh wobble like jelly in response to the blow.  Her sex seemed to quiver, pleading with me, begging.

“Again... More... Harder...”  After each blow with the spoon PS grunted for me to increase the force and pace.  I didn’t want to hurt her, but I could tell by her breathing that she was enjoying this.  I was shocked. 

If that was not enough I was even more shocked after she had a series of massive orgasms.

I stood there silently, mesmerised by the sight of her now puffed up and swollen cunt.  I really wanted to lick it, but she snapped at me “No, not for the licks of you”.  I did my best to hide my hurt feelings and watched in amazement as she scooped what really did look like cream from inside her abused cunt.  She transferred it to a little dish and just grunted that it was for the pie.

Well, if that wasn’t enough I was horrified to find that Mistress Eleanor’s guests were my ex-wife and that fucking useless arsehole, blue maggot.  As I served drinks it was apparent he was trying to sleaze his way on to my ex-wife.  Worse she was flirting with him, leading him on.  And fuck me he wants to borrow money to build a wall or something.

I have to say serving drinks in that company was the hardest think I ever thought possible.  I had to smile, be courteous, attentive and submissive.  Luckily my training stood the test, even when BM put his hand up my skirt and gave my bottom a painful pinch.  One time my corset didn’t save me.  My ex-wife had seen how I’d squirmed and told me “Boys will be boys, not that you’d know.” 

“But” I silently mouthed at her.  “He comes from a different generation” she explained, talking about BM as if he wasn’t there.  He just leered at me.  “Take it as a compliment” he said, licking his lips and mouthing at me “Give us a blow job”. 

I looked at Mistress Eleanor.  “You should be used to it” she smiled.  And damn, as if that was an invitation, he did it again.  Harder if anything.

“He’s drunk” my ex-wife gave as an excuse, before adding that it was my fault for serving him drinks.

I wanted to say something to Mistress Eleanor, but before I could say anything she told me to “Let it go.”  My face must have registered my concern.  “He wouldn’t dare do it to a real woman, but a sissy is fair game, expected really.”  I felt strangely reassured by that.

“And as for giving him a blow job...” Mistress Eleanor paused, both her and my ex-wife savouring the look of horror on my face.  “It was a poorly worded joke, but...”  Again she paused and I felt sick.  “You chose to get offended.”

I curtseyed.  It was my fault.  I was dismissed.

When I returned to serve main meal they were seated and Mistress Eleanor asked my ex-wife what was the worst sex she’d ever had.  She looked at me.  “It was the disappointment really.  He’d given me a wonderful relaxing massage.  Gone down on me for ages...  I lost track of the orgasms.  But I was really looking forward to a good fuck.  Well, he had trouble getting an erection.  A soft little thing was rubbing against my pussy and while that felt nice I wanted something big inside.”  My ex giggled before going on.  “Well I asked if he was in yet.  Oh my, that did the trick and he got hard and started to poke and prod me, as if knocking at the door, just peeking his head round the corner to see if it was safe to come in.  I told him that I couldn’t feel him and just like that he came.  A one inch, one second fuck!”

“Oh how dreadful” Mistress Eleanor consoled my ex-wife.  Even BM was expressing sympathy, a bit too much in my opinion, all of it fake and false.  Worse, I saw that his hand was on her thigh.  I shuddered and left the room, glad that dinner was served.

It didn’t help that I had to tell cook all about it.  I told her how bad I felt and she said it’s your wife I feel sorry for, that I was pathetic.

After an allotted time I was sent back upstairs with the mini blueberry pie and special cream which cook had told me was for BM.  Good I thought.  I wish I could have stayed to watch him eat it, but I was sent away with the dirty plates.

When I got back to the kitchen cook was gone.  No sooner had I put down the tray my skirt was pulled up and up, trapping my arms and then covering my head, plunging me into darkness making it hard for me to breathe or cry out.  I tried struggling but was lifted up and carried off, just like a damsel in distress.

HELP!