Begging for a Pegging: Femdom Sissy

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You do look demure, darling, but I know you can take this." I thrust in my finger deeply, twisting it on its way out and adding a second for the next round. With his struggles over, I slid the shorts smoothly over his thighs and drew them with both hands under his bottom till the elasticated waistband snapped into place. I turned my attention to the camisole. I pulled the dress out. It was essentially a leotard with a short lycra skirt sewn above the hips. It was pink and shiny, which I thought would help with the humiliation, but more importantly it would stretch and it was unlikely I would ever need it again.

I was sighing too, delivering my monologue in shortened breaths. "You're loving it... dressed in your delicates... leading me on... panting... panting... panting like a sissy whore." He asked if he really had to. "I want you to look sexy for me," I told him. "We just put this over your arms, like this, and you'll feel your silly inhibitions slip away." I could feel my orgasm building and held onto him tightly, controlling the rhythm as I needed it. As I spilled over I stared at him. His flushed face was turned to the side and his mouth lolled open. I hadn't noticed whether he had come or not and I didn't care. Like many women of my age I have a sense of resignation about my prospects of finding a life partner. Unlike some, I believe that I have found something more satisfying. The more I elaborated, the more I realised that I enjoyed his humiliation and the power it gave me over him. I kept up the fantasy as I mounted him. "You should see yourself... you look so demure... even your little noises are girly... do a girly moan for me... I want a sigh, now, give me one."

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He cried out for me to stop but whether it was my continued stroking or the effect of the sexy lingerie he stayed in the same position, accepting his role as a passive sex object.

He was sitting on the bed, so I took the shorts and laid them on his lap, squeezing him and kissing him again. Oh darling," I said, stroking his cheeks before kissing him gently. "It's not the clothes that make you a sissy, it's wanting to wear them. You don't want to wear them, right?"I leave them to take off their clothes in the bedroom and emerge from my bathroom in a nightdress and with a box for them to open while I clear away their clothes. The box tonight contained an ensemble of floral satin and white lace: a camisole and shorts and a delicate silk dressing gown. His shame was all-consuming but I refused to be embarrassed for him. My primary feeling was annoyance. "Come on then," I said. I took him to my bedroom and told him to take off his clothes, although I was so impatient that I took most of them off him myself.