It's Ok Sweetheart, We'll Make Sure You Adjust To Your New Chip!

Steps from freedom

I had made it - I was getting away!

The stewardesses on my flight seemed to have been suspicious that I’d stolen the data from the phones of the people sitting around me on board the plane, but very few people had seen the little device I used to do so, which meant they couldn’t prove anything.

Now I had account numbers, personal information, and a whole lot of it to sell. One of the stewardesses had told me she knew what I was up to and I should confess to her and be arrested, but I’d held firm. Once we landed, I disembarked, moved through the airport, and out to the parking garage, where my black SUV was parked. I made my way up the stairwell, and walked out to level 3, where my vehicle, and freedom, waited. 

I halted when I saw the blond woman, leaning confidently on the concrete pillar, looking at me with what I could only characterize as a knowing smirk.

“Out of my way, Miss,” I said, noting her beauty, but not seeing her as a threat at all, considering she was dressed like a teen.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you get to your vehicle, Mr. Cresswell,” she told me. “I’m an undercover agent with the Airport Police. You’re under arrest.”

I stood frozen, my jaw dropping. There was no way she was a cop.

“Oh yes,” she said, taking hold of me and placing me against the pillar where her elbow had rested. She pulled my hands behind my back and snapped me into handcuffs as I remained dazed, uncomprehending how I’d been caught, only steps from the freedom of my vehicle. 

“Tough break, I know,” she mocked as she searched me. “And it’s such a long walk in handcuffs back to the airport, and in front of so many people!”

I blushed deeply, knowing more humiliation was coming, and already captured, unable to avoid it. I was a loser, handcuffed by a woman, and about to be paraded for the world to see.

Everyone is good at something. You can jerk off for an incredibly long time sitting on the couch in your room and looking at the profile of a college girl. He might just walk up to her after college and she's incredibly quick to agree to fuck him.

“You’re not enjoying this are you, you pervert?!” Zoe demanded as she tightly bound her defeated male opponent after he had surrendered to her and tried to work out if the weird expression on Matt’s face was a grimace of pain or an inane grin of kinky pleasure. Or both…

Source: FightPulse.com

Are you done with your little sissy tantrum? Nothing says manly like a little sissy maid stomping their feet, all because a little dribble session was canceled. We've talked about this many times before but sissy's with tiny little clitties are here to serve/amuse women. What's the Sissy mantra?

"Sissies pleasure comes through service to her Mistress" Mistress.

It seems you forgot during that little sissy tantrum. I think we need to add the spikes to that little cage to help you remember this mantra. Hopefully next time I consider allowing you a little dribble you'll be appreciative of just the consideration. I don't see that happening for a while now.

Straighten those seams and back to your chores. I hope those spikes help that bratty little attitude Sissy.

Bittersweet Symphony

For most people, seeing her in this position, leaning over you, dressed like this, would be a highlight of their life.

But not for you.

No, wild as it seems, this was a punishment for talking back to her in front of her friends.

You had long since been denied the ability to be with her, to feel her skin on yours, hear her trembling, passionate breaths as she slowly, methodically moves her body on yours.

You lived in perpetual longing for her.

She unceremoniously dragged you into the bathroom, pulling your shirt off before yanking down your pants, exposing your thick, swollen diaper. She moaned softly—tantalizingly in your ear.

You knew this was too good to be true.

Because it was.

For the first time in years, she grinded on you, your wet diaper squelching with every thrust. You were consumed by pleasure. Your mind practically short-circuiting in bliss.

Just as your pleasure was reaching its climax, she stopped.

You opened your eyes to find a dangerous, foreboding grin plastered on her face.

“You didn’t really think I’d let you finish, right?” she said ominously, “Not after what you pulled back there. You don’t get rewarded for that.”

You don’t answer. You knew better.

“But you do get punished. And my friends and I have just the punishment. Wanna hear it?”

“I..y-yes, Mommy,” you say defeated.

“Good boy. You’re gonna march out of this bathroom in nothing but that soggy diaper that doesn’t hide your…excitement. And you’re gonna apologize to my friends for being a disrespectful brat.”

Terror paralyzes you. Of course, they knew you were in diapers, but they had never seen them. “B-b-but…Mommy no, please!”

“Hush,” she hissed, “you will do as you're told. But I haven’t even told you the best part!”

You shiver at the threat.

“The girls wanna see if you make cummies in your diaper without anyone touching you. So, you’ll stand there and listen to them teasing and humiliating you about your diapers and how pathetic you are.”

“Mommy!” you squeal.

“What did I just say? You will stand there until you make stickies to your own humiliation and truly become the pathetic boy I know you are! And the winner—whoever gets you to bust your widdle load—gets to change you in front of everyone! It’s so exciting!”

“No, please! I’m sorry, Mommy! I won’t talk back ever again!”

“Too late, little one,” she says pulling you up, “let’s go.”

Latex domination. Make her sweat. I miss the sound of latex being slapped.

touchstarved boys who always need to touch you one way or another, whether it's a hand around your waist, fingers laced with yours, nuzzling his head into your neck.

that whine at the slightest touch anyways, keening when you run your fingers through their hair. holding back a moan when you scratch gently at their scalp with your nails.

who glow under your love, shuddering with the sweet praise that drips your lips.

who try to do their very best so you'll call them your good boy and maybe if they're very good you'll let them touch your body, let them lay between your legs and taste you--if they're good. a tantalizing carrot on a stick that leaves them panting with need.

touchstarved boys that can't bear to be apart from you long, and can hardly keep sane without you in their line of sight,

who grip at your wrist when you try to leave for work, begging you to stay as they drop onto their knees, hugging your legs.

who plead and plead for you not to leave them, whining and sniffling when you try to shake them off.

who nudge their nose against your thigh, sweet big eyes looking up and only then can you tell deep inside where this was always inevitably going to go.

touchstarved boys who you could never seem to say no to.

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