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In the city I was visiting there was this place called
The Players Club. It featured black strippers and
since I liked their looks so much I figured I would
pay them a visit…with me wearing my Pink Shorty
dress! The idea I had was to pay a stripper to give
me a public spanking and I was determined to find the
biggest, meanest, thickest and blackest stripper in
the club and see what she thought about this.
My home base on the road was a cheap motel that was in
the black part of town. Having earlier scouted out
the area, I figured having a motel close by would work
out best. The Players Club was only two blocks away.
I got dressed in my Pink Shorty dress along with my
special pink spanking panties that said “Candy’s
Spanking Panties” on the front, “Please Spank Me” on
the rear and to go with all that, these panties had
big lace trim with little bows around the leg
openings. Very sweet and very tempting…at least
that was my hope! For footwear I had lace-trimmed
anklets and black maryjanes. On my head was a fluffy
blonde wig. My lips had whore-red lipstick thickly
applied on them and my fingernails were also painted a
matching shade of red. I sprayed myself liberally
with perfume so I would smell as sweet as I looked.
To carry my little bit of stuff to the club I had a
small girl’s pink backpack just like an elementary
school girl would have. Inside it were my wooden
paddle with holes that was shaped like a hairbrush, a
pair of pink fur handcuffs. my lipstick, perfume and
just in case things wound up leading to something
overnight, my shaver, toothbrush and toothpaste were
included as well. Just to stay legal I included my
driver’s license and to give myself a chance at making
the deal with my hoped-for black stripper goddess,
$200 in $20 bills was placed in an envelope. I also
tucked a $20 bill just inside the chest of my dress to
bribe the doorman.
Now it was time to head out. I slipped on my backpack
after tossing in the motel room key and walked out the
door. It was my hope that a night time walk of two
blocks would work out and the worst thing that would
happen is that I would get some hoots and hollers, be
turned away by the doorman and then have to walk the
two blocks back. At best…who knew what would
It was a warm night and there were a few people
hanging out in the parking lot. I did get some laughs
and like a good sissy I just swished and minced along,
holding the hem of my too-short pantyshowing dress
proudly as I flounced toward The Players Club. The
motel, like most motels, was on a main drag for that
area of the city and as I walked along I got some more
horn honks, whistles and shouts from the cars that
passed by. I figured that I would be seen by the
locals as a joke, a crazy white pervy faggot and that
was just the way they took me.
5 minutes later I found myself at the front door of
The Players Club. The doorman let out a chuckle when
he saw me and said, “Are you sure you’re in the right
I curtsied and said in my sweetest voice, “Yes sir, my
name is Candy Sissiboi and I am looking to meet your
most outrageous, toughest and thickest stripper!” and
then I reached into the front of my Pink Shorty dress
to pull out a $20 bill, which I handed him. After
all, all doormen like money! “If she agrees to spank
me in front of everyone here, I will pay her $200.”
The doorman took the money. “Come on in then and I’ll
call for Isis. Just stand right here inside the door
"Yes sir!" and I curtsied as I replied.
The doorman called for one of the bouncers to find the
stripper called Isis and shortly after that, a very
black lady who looked to be around 6’3” before her
high heels were taken into consideration and appearing
to weigh a solid but very curvy 200-plus pounds came
over. She was dressed in a hot purple lingerie
ensemble of bra and panties plus a matching garter
belt. On her legs were matching fishnet stockings and
on her feet were 6” black spike heels, which gave her
an extremely towering appearance. Her hair was a big
bouffant blonde style wig that added even more to her
height and her face was well-made up. If you would
have called Central Casting for a sexy black amazon,
this is just what you would have got.
"Hmmm, so you’re the crazy white sissy boy who wants
his tail whipped in front of everyone here?” said
"Yes Mistress Isis! Please, please let me pay you
$200 for a hot nard spanking in public. I even have
brought my own paddle and handcuffs,” and with that
said as nicely as I could I curtsied again.
"Boy do some strange people come here!" and Isis
laughed. “On the other hand, show me the $200 and you
will have your butt blistered the best it has ever
been with everyone here watching!”
"Yes Mistress Isis!" came my prompt reply plus a
curtsey and with that I slipped off my little girl’s
backpack and handed her the $200 that was in the
She opened it up and counted it out. “It’s all here
so let’s get you up on the stage now!” Isis commanded.
She asked one of the bouncers to grab a chair for her
to sit on as she planned on spanking me over her lap.
I found it sexy in a way that instead of her giving me
a lap dance, that it would be me dancing on her lap as
the spanking took place.
I walked toward a side stage that she pointed to.
“Get up there and curtsey for everyone sissy boy,” she
ordered. Now she was taking a closer look at my
panties. “I see your name is Candy…isn’t that
sweet!” she said in a sarcastic tone. Turn around and
bend over so I can see what’s written on the back of
those sissy panties you’re wearing.”
I did so.
"Please spank me? Is that what it says back there
Candy?” asked Isis.
Still bent over, I answered “Yes Mistress Isis, it
does say please spank me.” Adding in a bit of begging
I said in my most girlie-girl voice, “Please spank me
VERY hard so I am crying like a little girl!”
"Oh don’t you worry any about THAT Candy! I’ll have
you howling and begging me to quit, then I am going to
paddle your ass some more! You’ll get a $200 spanking
I promise you!” and with that said, Isis gave a big
"Now stand up and show me your paddle and handcuffs."
People were starting to gather around the stage, some
of them being male customers and others being
strippers who were getting word of the scene that was
about to take place. Isis certainly had everyone’s
attention with her own overpoweringly sexy look but
with me up there adding comic relief as the one white
person dressed as a complete sissy fool in a club full
of blacks, there would be all the attention I craved
and then some.
I pulled the paddle out of the backpack, which I
handed to Isis, as well as the handcuffs. “This is
quite the paddle sissy boy. I love those holes! What
else you got in there?” Isis asked.
"My shaver, toothbrush and toothpaste, lipstick and
perfume Mistress Isis”. I curtsied as I replied.
"What did you bring those things for?" she asked.
"I am hoping that you will want me to clean up your
place when we are done here Mistress Isis. I can show
you how good I am at cleaning by cleaning up the
dressing room you ladies have. I promise to do a VERY
good job!” I said with a curtsey and a smile.
Isis considered that for a moment and then saiu, “Well
sissy boy, let’s not get ahead of ourselves yet.
First let’s see how much of a spanking you can take
and I love to whip tail! Set your little pink
backpack just off by the stairs to the stage and put
on your handcuffs with your hands out front. I don’t
want them getting in the way of this paddle!” She
smacked her hand a couple times with it and made a
loud cracking sound.
Isis then sat down in the chair. “Hurry your sissy
ass up or you’ll be cleaning the bathrooms here too!”
I curtsied. “Yes Mistress Isis!” In a flash I had
placed my pink little girl’s backpack where she had
told me to and then I fastened on my pink fur
handcuffs on my wrists. I had set the handcuffs to
stay locked unless a very small thin lever was moved
to allow them to unlock. I knew once I was bawling my
head off that there would be no way I would be able to
concentrate on that small a lever and thus the
handcuffs would stay in place, leaving me at the mercy
of this big strong black stripper, a stripper who
seemed like she would really enjoy the change of pace
as well as the $200 for making my dream of a public
humiliation spanking come true.
'Are you ready sissy boy?” Isis asked.
"Yes Mistress Isis!" and I also nodded yes to
emphasize how ready I was.
"Then get over my lap NOW!" Isis growled.
The crowd around the stage was now thick and so was
the air of anticipation at what was going to happen.
It wasn’t every day a crazy white sissy boy wandered
in wearing a too-short pantyshowing pink little girl
dress to ask for a spanking by a stripper, let alone
the biggest and meanest one there.
I got over her lap, a lap of thick powerful thighs and
soon enough she was shifting me around with her arms
so I was precariously perched upon her with my pink
pantied “Please Spank Me” ass perfectly positioned for
her. My handcuffed hands touched the floor and my
legs were in the air.
"Make that crazy faggot scream!"
"Spank that sissy booty hard!"
Comments like these and more came from the crowd
gathered around. Five quick smacks followed.
"How’s that for a taste of the paddle sissy boy?" Isis
"That stings pretty good. Thank you Mistress Isis!" I
"Well sissy boy, when I get through with you, you
won’t be able to say a thing because you are going to
be crying like a baby!” With that said, Isis began to
rain down smack after smack, as fast and as hard as
It only took about 10 spanks and I began to yelp.
Since they were coming as fast and furious as she
could deliver them, it was just a few seconds later I
began to cry and yell, while my legs kicked and I
squirmed like crazy. The crowd was hooting and
hollering, giving Isis encouragement to blister my
butt good just like the “Please Spank Me” message on
the back of my panties was encouraging her.
Isis was quite strong and was able to hold me in place
but some other strippers decided to join in the fun of
holding me down. One grabbed my hands and held them
to the floor quite well while another used her legs to
hold my head in place. Even though I could not see
it, these strippers had big grins on their face and
they wanted in on the action.
"Please stop!" were my last words before I was reduced
to helples blubbering and sobs.
"Oh honey, I promised you a $200 spanking and that’s
just what you’re going to get!” Isis exclaimed loudly
as she beat a steady rapid tattoo upon my pantied ass,
an ass that felt like it was sitting on top of a
beehive it stung so much. She wailed away and I was
"C’mon sissy boy, now for the last one hundred!" and I
was surprised to be able to even hear that from her
since I was carrying on so much. One hundred more
smacks? The way I felt right then it might as well
been one thousand!
The paddle with holes I had bought just to see if it
really would blister my butt was now fully engaged and
in the home stretch as it was wielded by Isis’s
powerful arms. Stuck in place all I could do was take
the smacks while my sobbing was wracking my body as
the paddle scorched my butt so much.
It seemed like an eternity but finally the spanking
came to an end. I was bawling completely like a baby.
Tears streamed down my cheeks and snot came out of my
nose. Even though the spanking had just ended, the
blowtorch effect of such a severe spanking was in full
force on my now truly blistered butt and it felt like
it would sting forever it burned so much. I couldn’t
stop crying and sobbing if I wanted to.
The crowd cheered upon the completion of Isis’s
handiwork. Just like the people in the parking lot
and the ones who had passed by me in their cars had
done, they hooted, hollered, laughed and teased for
all they were worth in regards to my plight.
The other two strippers who had helped Isis in holding
me in palce now backed up. Isis told the two
strippers, “Get this sissy in a kneeling position
girls and face his ass toward the people out there.”
"Sure thing Isis!" one of them replied and they got me
off Isis’s lap and into a kneeling position which had
me facing Isis’s high heels and painted toenails.
"Lick my toes sissy boy!" Isis commanded and with a
great effort to fight through my sobs I did so through
the fishnet stockings. My burning ass insured I
wouldn’t be talking for a while yet but I did get my
tongue in action. “That’s the FIRST thing you are
going to do sissy boy, is lick my heels and feet
clean. You do a bad job and I’ll spank you some more.
You do a good job and I’ll still spank you since
everyone here enjoyed the show!”
"Besides, I want to make sure you get your $200 worth
of spanking tonight and I promise you will!” and as
Isis said that, she once again broke into a big grin.
I licked eagerly at the high heels and toes as she
moved them around to receive my tongue’s attentions. I
was trading my sweet licks for her hot licks. In the
meantime my pantied ass was fully showing to the crowd
so everyone could see the “Please Spank Me” on the
back. My very white thighs and legs, which were
smooth-shaven, combined with the maryjanes and anklets
to create a very erotic look with my 38” well-shaped
and well-spanked ass for everyone to see and comment
"That is some hot boot-ay! Whip that white sissy’s
ass some more Isis!” came a comment from one of the
other strippers watching the scene.
"Don’t you worry, after this sissy has cleans up our
dressing room, I’ll have his ass over my lap again
before we close!” Isis said. “I haven’t had this much
fun since I started working here two years ago!”
What had started out in my mind as a fun idea had
quickly dissolved into lots of tears and plenty of red
hot pain. I was stuck with whatever Isis handed out
and I suspected that a dressing room cleaning and
another spanking were just the start. Knowing another
spanking was coming my way I also got hard. That was
just my nature and soon enough one of the other
"Look Isis, this sissy boy is getting off on all of
this!” one of the strippers giggled excitedly. “He
really loves to have his tail whipped!”
"is that so sissy boy?" Isia asked me. All I could do
was nod yes as I continued my licking of the
amazonesque stripper’s high heels and feet. “Well
sissy boy, don;t you worry none because I’ll see you
get your butt blistered all the time you’re with me.
I’ve got a messy apartment that needs cleaning up too
and so do a lot of the girls who work here. They’ll
keep your tail whipped too!”
My sobs began to die down. Isis then told me to stand
up. She then helped me out of my handcuffs and asked
one of the girls to take me to the dressing room to
begin cleaning it up.
"Remember sissy boy, you asked for it! Now thank me
for spanking you!” Isis asked.
I curtsied and replied sweetly, “Thank you for
spanking me Mistress isis.” As i was led off to the
strippers’ dressing room I heard laughs and applause
for Isis’s and my performance. Extra tips were left
on the stage for her while more spankings lay ahead
for me. I wasn’t even sure I would get back to the
motel in time for the morning checkout and if that was
the case, I was trapped with nothing to wear but what
I had worn to the strip club, which was my
pantyshowing Pink Shorty dress outfit. All my money
was gone in Isis’s hands and I saw one of the
strippers take my backpack away, which contained my
one bit of ID and my room key.
Before that stripper had gotten too far, she came back
and handed me my lipstick and perfume. “Here
sweetcheeks, this is all you’re going to need from now
on and when that runs out, we’ll see you get plenty
more!” She then flounced away with my backpack and
with that, my life took a turn that was unexpected.
In what seemed to be a flash to my distracted state of
mind I was in the strippers’ dressing room. After
giving the dressing room a good cleaning with the
supplies that were in the club, Isis came in to see
how good a job I had done.
"You make a pretty good maid sissy boy. It looks like
you have a new job now!” Isis smiled wickedly. She
then stuck out the pink fur handcuffs and placed them
on my wrists. “It’s time to entertain the crowd
before we close, so get your ass out there!”
"Yes Mistress Isis," and I swished and minced out the
door and into the main area of the club. Some of the
patrons took notice of me coming into the main area
and started up their comments, laughs and taunts.
"Once wasn’t enough for you sissy?"
"You are one crazy faggot!"
These and others like it rained down upon me. On the
main stage I went as I followed Isis along. A chair
was already in place and in a flash I was over her lap
again, held in place with my pink pantied and
well-paddled ass up in the air.
Once again the smacks came just as hot and hard as
before but now they did so upon an already burning
butt. I still had a strong sting from the first
spanking but it soon built up into a lava-hot burn
which left me bawling, crying and carrying on as
before. Isis’s arm seemed like it would never get
tired and the second spanking was just getting started
as it turned out. In real time it was done in minutes
but to me it seemed like it would go on forever.
When it was finally done, Isis let me lay over her lap
for a while as she told me what was next. “You’re
coming home with me sissy boy and I’ll start you off
by licking my toilet clean with your tongue. You do a
good job for me and I’ll see you have plenty more to
lick clean including all my high heels later on. I’ll
let you sleep on the floor for a bit and then you can
finish the bathroom, clean the kitchen, my living room
and my bedroom while I’m here at the club tomorrow.
You’d better do a good job or I’ll think of some
really nasty punishments to add to the spankings you
are going to get constantly! Don’t forget, I also
know some pretty horny guys who would love to have you
as their little white sissy faggot cocksucker and
you’ll be doing that real soon too!”
I shuddered as I realized how deep a hole I had dug
Isis then helped me off her lap and led me off the
stage back to the dressing room. When we got in there
she said, “Let me change these handcuffs around and
fasten your hands behind your back before we head
"Yes Mistress Isis," and as I said that, I shook like
a leaf, a very trapped leaf who was completely under
After Isis had gotten done with the nandcuffs and
stood me with my nose to the wall, she slipped on a
tight fitting black leather micro-miniskirt and purple
blouse for the trip home. I heard more noiess as she
gathered her things. It also turned out she was
gathering my lipstick, perfume, shaver, toothpaste and
toothbrush. The stripper who had taken my pink
backpack had given it to one of her boyfriends, who
would then go to my motel room, taking everything I
had left there as well as my car. She then led me
from the dressing room through the now-empty club to
her car, opened the back door, saw that I was sat down
in the backseat and we headed to what was going to be
my new home for the night.
"I hope you like your new life sissy boy! Cleaning
up, sucking cock and getting your tail whipped suits
you doesn’t it?” Isis asked.
"Mistress Isis, I have dreamed for years about having
something like this happen. That is what I was hoping
for when I came to The Players Club tonight. Thank
you so much for all you have already done!” I was
determined to do all I could to make sure I was
completely trapped in my new role as Isis’s sissy boy
by sounding as earnest as I could.
"Oooh honey, I’ll see you get taken care of!" Isis
drove along, the streetlights passed on by as I headed
into a neighborhood I had never been in before as well
as into a life I had only dreamed of. It was scary
but it also aroused me, knowing that Isis had it all
within her grasp to make this new life of mine as real
as it could get.
As it turned out, she was happy to have me around
since she had her own kinky side that had lain dormant
for a good while. She understood what it was like to
be up on the stage, showing the world what she was
about and to have a sissy boy for a pet to add some
spice to that, a sissy boy who wanted to show the
world his pretty panties, as well as getting her
housework taken care of plus her hornydog male friends
serviced with some of the sweetest sucking she was
going to make me provide, would complete the show she
Eventually Isis would tire of me I figured but there
would be someone else to take her place since she knew
so many people. By then I would be totally broken in
to my new life as a fulltime sissy, a sissy who would
stay a sissy for all the years to come, a sissy whose
yearning for the paddle would be fulfilled completely
and with much more for humiliation, discipline and
sexual slavery added in.
See how far you can go if you walk two blocks!
One week later: I was in one of Isis’s girlfriend’s
place of business. This person was a cosmetologist
who did permanent makeup. Her work that day was to
give me over-sized red lips so that I would not need
lipstick anymore. Why was this being done so quickly?
Isis often had men to entertain in private booths at
The Players Club. Black men. Well-hung men. Horny
men with very swollen hairy balls made that way with
Isis’s incredible lap dancing skills. As Isis danced
I would sit down on the floor with my head between the
legs of her customers where I would lick their balls
and suck their cocks as they absorbed themselves with
Isis’s sensual beauty. She could have as many as 10
customers a night paying her big bucks for her time
and she wanted to give them something extra.
Isis’s dancing did the teasing while I did the
pleasing with my sweet moist mouth and soft tongue.
Isis reaped the rewards of money while I swallowed
large loads of cum one after the other. Isis would
tease me about keeping my white complexion creamy
white and it certainly was that!
Sitting on a table nearby was a can labeled the Candy
Cocklips Fund. If the customer liked my cocksucking
he could donate to the can just as he donated what
turned out to be copious loads of cum to my mouth and
belly. After just one week the can had almost $1000
in it, so off to the cosmetologist we went. I also
was given ear piercings and big hoop earrings to help
frame my now-whorish face, a face I would have to wear
every single day for the rest of my life.
As for the spankings, Isis made sure I got a good
butt-blistering spanking each morning at home to keep
me behaving sweetly followed by one as terrible as the
very first one Isis gave me on stage for everyone to
see at The Players Club that night. The ever-present
sensation of a burning butt would also be a part of my
life every single day I was under Isis’s control and
since I was turning out to be highly profitable for
Isis’s stripping and lap dancing business at the club,
it appeared that I would be a well-spanked cocksucking
sissy whore for Isis for a very long time indeed.
They say the first week is the hardest week when one
begins a new job. I was beginning a new life and
found myself quickly settling into the new routines.
Housekeeping done to Isis’s strict standards followed
by nights at the club made for many spankings,
cocksuckings, teases and insults. What should have
been humiliating had become especially arousing. The
constancy of the sexual atmosphere had worked it’s
magic along with the discipline of a well-wielded
paddle to bring me out completely as a sissy whore.
Unknown to me Isis still had even nastier surprises in
mind for my degradation. She too had been taken with
the idea of humiliating me as much as possible since I
had become so compliant so quickly. She was learning
her nature as a domme and learning about my nature as
a sissy. In the jungle the strong prey on the weak
and she was as strong as they come. Her “jungle
discipline”, as I named it in my own mind, had me as
trapped as a gazelle beneath a lioness’s paws.
"Candy, you are sweet enough to eat!" Isis would
teasingly remark. She had eaten away to my very soul
and now she was going to devour that.
I was helpless as that gazelle to resist.
Where I would be on the path of slavery to Isis a
month, a year or farther from now I did not know nor
did I care. The moment I lived in was enough and
given how much I had to concentrate on the moment
there was no time to think of my future. That was
So dear reader, when you see me walking down the
street wearing my too-short Lil Girlie pantyshowing
dresses or some other sissy-style outfit, count me
amongst the zombies for I am the property of Mistress
Isis for as long as she wishes me to be and above all
else, be careful for what you wish for. The power of
the paddle is quite strong but the power of a mind
that delves deep into fantasy is so strong that it
often leads it’s possessor into servitude.
by Kimmie Holland and Meeah Mackenzie
Andy tried not to be obvious about it: but it was hard not to notice
that there wasn’t another white person in the entire restaurant. He’d
let Mr. Asad pick the place of their lunch meeting. Maybe that was a
mistake. But he wanted to make sure everything was to the black man’s
liking. Andy hadn’t landed an account in months so when he’d been
contacted by a corporate “headhunter” he’d been surprised — and
relieved. As the fiscal year was drawing to a close, Andy suspected
that his boss Mr. Baumgarten was about to cut division losses by
giving Andy the axe.
So here he was, the only white person in a swank downtown African
restaurant being courted by a high-powered business team. Very cool,
he thought. He’d couldn’t wait to tell his girlfriend Alison about
it. She’d been on his case lately about not having any ambition to
make something out of himself. She was very success-oriented, Andy
frowned, thinking about his sleek, rich, country-club girlfriend. If
he didn’t show some potential real soon, Andy sensed that she’d be
giving him the axe, as well.
"Is something wrong Andy," Mr. Asad asked, draping his arm over
Andy’s shoulders, like they were already old pals. An alpha-male
thing, no doubt. “You looked sad, all of a sudden.”
"Oh no no…not at all," Andy chased away thoughts of his women
troubles, and smiled brightly. He had to pay attention to the
business at hand; he couldn’t let this golden opportunity slip away.
“I was just trying to figure out what to order. The menu…well, its
written in a foreign language.”
The black man threw back his head and laughed. “Don’t worry your
pretty little head about a thing. I’ll order what you need.”
Andy laughed, too, not knowing what it was he said that was so
funny. Mr. Asad’s English was quite good, but there were times that
Andy wondered if they were both understanding each other completely.
“Pretty little head…” indeed! Clearly, Mr. Asad hadn’t grasped what
the phrase meant in English, that it was inappropriate to use for a
For now, he had to concentrate all his attention on the proposition
at hand. Mr. Asad had brought along two of his partners, Mr. Ikamau
and Mr. Tedros. Like Mr. Asad, they were both tall, well-muscled men
with sleek blue-black skin. Andy was completely outclassed during the
racquetball game they’d insisted on playing before lunch. And it was
only worse in the shower afterwards. Andy felt tiny and soft among
their hard, large, black bodies. Andy was trying not to peek at the
other men, all three of them had openly appraised Andy’s naked body.
He figured it was either the difference between their two cultures or
some kind of intimidation tactic; if it were the latter, then it had
definitely worked. Under their unnerving scrutiny, which included a
fairly intense conversation in their African language that seemed to
specifically refer to aspects of his naked body, Andy had blushed a
bright pink from the blond roots of his scalp all the way down to his
bare pink toes.
He hoped he could do better to get a handle on the interview here at
Now, he stared at the menu written in some indecipherable African
dialect and looked up helplessly at Mr. Asad. More intimidation?
All three black men laughed at Andy’s obvious bewilderment and Mr.
Asad, as he’d promised, ordered for him. Then the three men once gain
conversed in African amongst themselves, all but ignoring Andy
entirely. Once in a while, one of the men would point at Andy, and
make a comment to one of the others. Just like in the shower. Then
they would all laugh again, or make low whistling noises or gestures
that struck Andy as quite obscene. Smiling along, as if he knew what
they were saying, Andy nodded his head in agreement, and that would
make them laugh even more.
God, he thought, the things we do for money! As interviews went, it
sure may have been the strangest, but at least it seemed to be going
well. He doubted they’d take him out to eat if they weren’t
interested in him.
And they did seem interested in him.
Andy wondered if it were some old tribal custom of assessing his
worth as a prospective member of the tribe the way the black men had
squeezed his arms and thighs in the shower, or how they’d grabbed his
ass, turning him this way and that, examining him from every angle.
They’d made him bend down and grab his ankles. They’d made him stand
with his hands behind his head. They’d tweaked his nipples. They
examined his mouth, pulled out his tongue, felt his balls. They made
him kneel down under the shower head with his hands clasped behind
his back, his eyes closed, and his face turned up to the spray.
And the whole time they spoke to each other as if evaluating him, as
if they were testing him. The warm water suddenly felt about ten
degrees warmer and, though Andy didn’t dare open his eyes since he’d
been told to keep them closed, he couldn’t help thinking that for all
he knew the three black men were each, one by one, holding their
cocks over Andy and pissing in his upturned face. Jesus! What would
even make him think of such a thing? And, having thought of such a
humiliating image, why had it caused his cock to spontaneously and
embarrassingly grow erect right there in front of the three men? And
were they laughing at the fact that he was sporting a hard-on,
kneeling there in front of him in the shower, or was it because that,
even flaccid, their cocks were nearly twice the size of his fully
He was only trying to land a job, Andy thought, nothing more. His
was not to reason why…
As they continued to put him through his paces in the shower, Andy
kept telling himself that the African men had different customs,
different attitudes, and that to refuse any of their commands was to
run the risk of insulting them and throwing away a golden
opportunity. So Andy unquestioningly obeyed his three prospective
black bosses with a docile demeanor and a demure smile that he hoped
was pleasing to them. They were in a position superior to his own,
they called the shots, and, somehow, the fact that they were so big,
so black, so in effortlessly in control, his total obedience seemed
Andy felt himself flush again and hardly realizing it a tiny pearl
of precum was decorating the tip of his returning erection…
The food had arrived — or rather, only Andy’s had arrived: it was a
small plate that he figured was an appetizer. Mr. Asad insisted that
Andy begin eating. Mr. Ikamau and Mr. Tedros watched with great
interest. Andy figured it was another rite of passage: see if the
white boy can stomach real African food. Probably some kind of gross
delicacy like musk ox intestine or broiled grubs, Andy thought. He
poked around with his fork a little to find something that looked
reasonably safe. Oh well, he thought, here goes nothing.
He smiled at the black men and daintily ate a morsel. Within seconds
the spicy food caused Andy to break out in a sweat. The black men
exchanged a few words and Mr. Asad motioned impatiently for Andy to
Andy took a few more small bites and he now began sweating
profusely. He muttered an apology and looked for his water glass, but
his vision seemed all screwed up somehow. Even worse, he was
beginning to have difficulty breathing. Act normal, act normal, Andy
told himself. He should excuse himself and go to the men’s room until
whatever it was passed. But somehow he didn’t seem to be able to get
himself to move. He was trying to act normally, but he was panting
and sweating and feeling chilled. He’d begun to tremble all over.
What was the matter with him? An allergy? Food poisoning? He tried to
ask Mr. Asad where the men’s room might be. But the black man was
nodding his approval, patting Andy’s forehead with a napkin, and
As if reading his mind, Mr. Asad held up a glass of water and held
it to Andy’s lips as he sipped. It tasted rather funny…
Andy felt very strange by now — as if he had to remember that he
was inside his body. His fingers suddenly went numb and he dropped
the fork he’d been holding without even realizing it and the numbness
spread up his arms to his shoulders. He panicked. Could he be having
a heart attack? He was too young to have a heart attack…wasn’t he?
He tried to say something to Mr. Asad but the black man told him to
be calm. He tried one last time to get to his feet but Mr. Asad laid
a strong black hand on his shoulder and gently forced Andy to remain
in his seat. He found he was too weak to try again. Andy saw Mr.
Ikamau calmly take out his cell phone. He spoke in African, quick,
hard, efficient words. He wasn’t smiling, anymore. None of the black
Andy understood only three words that Mr. Ikamau said: 9-1-1
In the ambulance, Andy felt his clothes being cut from his body. He
tried to tell the black woman that he was wearing his one good suit —
the one he wore especially to interviews — but she shocked him by
telling him to shut the fuck up. “You’re not going to be needing your
old clothes anymore bitch,” she sneered. She dumped his cut-to-
ribbons suit, along with the rest of his clothes, his shoes, socks,
underwear, all of it, into a bag marked in big block letters:
Why were his clothes suddenly garbage? What was happening to him?
He tried to get someone to explain, but no one would listen.
Everyone in the back of the ambulance was moving quickly and super-
efficiently. From the way they were acting, Andy could only assume it
really was serious. Something bad must have happened to him. But
other than a slightly sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and a
bit of dizziness left over from his fainting spell back at the
restaurant, he really didn’t feel that badly. Andy wanted to tell
someone he was feeling much better, but no one was listening to him.
The black doctor who seemed to be in charge told one of the all-black
EMT staff to prep him.
Prep him — for what?
They’d strapped him down to a gurney back in the restaurant. Now
they began sticking needles into his arms. He saw his legs being
raised and spread. Someone gave him an injection in his spine.
Everything below his waist went cold and weak. Something huge was
inserted into his asshole, stretching him out. Andy moaned. He tried
to tell them to stop, but the a pretty, mocha-skinned nurse was
determined to get whatever it was stuffed all the way inside him.
Andy started crying.
Mr. Asad knelt beside Andy’s gurney. His chiseled ebony face looked
cool and impersonal. Like an African mask above a sacrificial altar.
"Am I — am I dying?" Andy sobbed. He hardly dared asked the
question for fear of the answer. He felt dizzy and disoriented.
They’d stuck needles into his chest and he felt a terrible pressure
slowly building up there, like he was being filled with air or water
"Listen to me carefully bitch," Mr. Asad said.
Why were they being so mean to him, why did they keep calling him
"Who are you? What are you doing to me? You aren’t a headhunter, are
"I am a headhunter alright, but perhaps not the kind you were hoping
for?” the black man smiled, showing his teeth. “I’m employed for an
outfit that supplies African men and women of distinction with white
slave sissies, such as yourself.”
Andy tried to interrupt. Mr. Asad had it wrong. He wasn’t a sissy.
They didn’t tell him that this was the position they were looking to
fill. No, this wasn’t the job for him.
The black man cut him off before Andy could say a word.
"I’m a professional. I can spot a prospect a mile away. You have
sissy written all over you. The potential is obvious. I’m only
surprised you haven’t been captured already. My good fortune, eh?”
The smile Andy had seen early once again spread across Mr. Asad’s
handsome black face, but it didn’t seem nearly so friendly anymore.
“You’ll fetch a nice commission.” He turned to the nurse monitoring
the tubes attached to Andy’s chest. “Make them bigger. We’ve got a
client with a breast fetish.” He looked back at Andy and saw the
anguished confusion in the young sissy’s face. He laughed. “I don’t
expect you to understand much of this right now. But believe me,
you’ll understand soon enough. By then, it’ll be too late to change
anything. In the meantime, I suggest you try to relax and let what
No, Andy thought, I won’t let it happen. This is madness. If this
was some kind of kidnaping, they’d taken the wrong person. His family
didn’t have any money and his girlfriend’s family didn’t think he was
good enough to be dating their daughter in the first place. It was
his need to gain their approval — and Alison’s respect — that he’d
gone on this interview in the first place! They would never pay a
dime to get him back. They’d be only too glad he was out of the
Was it possible…no, it couldn’t be true that they’d paid to get
rid of him, could it? Andy felt a hopeless paralyzing terror. What if
it were? Why go through all this trouble? Why not just pay someone to
kill him, make it look like a mugging…
What Mr. Asad was saying…it just didn’t make any sense. These
sorts of things just didn’t happen in real life! Andy tried to follow
the surreal explanation the black man was giving him for his
"Normally we like to bring a sissy like you along nice and slowly
with behavior and body modification,” Mr. Asad was saying. “But I’m
afraid in this instance we have no time for all that. We’ve had an
unfortunate… erm, accident… with the processing and preparation
of one of our sissy slaves just prior to her delivery. She needs to
be replaced a.s.a.p since we need to fill an order quickly. A very
V.I.P. client. Impossible to disappoint. We need an emergency sissy,
and, you my dear, are it. You fit the type our client specified,
little bitch, and with some quick alterations, you should do just
fine. Now we’re going to have to operate on you right now. We need to
get started on your prep immediately. But not to worry, we’ll finish
you up when we get you overseas and this particular client doesn’t
expect you to be fully functional anyway…”
Andy felt something cold grasp his testicles, holding them up with
an impersonal and mechanical precision. he looked down between his
legs to see his balls pulled up and away from his body, held in a
pair of long-nosed surgical forceps wielded by a heavy-set black man
in pale-green scrubs. Meanwhile, the pretty mocha-colored nurse
stepped forward with a length of surgical cord. Without a word, she
bent down and began the process of tying off Andy’s ball-sack close
to the root of his penis. Andy wanted to tell her that she was tying
it too tightly but the sickening sensation in the pit of his tummy
made it impossible to speak; it was all he could do, it seemed, to
keep from vomiting. He heard the angry buzz of an industrial strength
electric razor. He made on last effort to free himself and when that
failed he tried to thrash around in the vain attempt to hold off the
inevitable just a few seconds longer but he was bound too tightly. He
felt a thick cold foul-smelling jelly being spread over his groin,
over his tummy, down to his knees…
"Please please please," he moaned, "don’t do this, don’t do this to
A tall very beautiful black woman in a surgical mask appeared at the
foot of his gurney; she stood imperiously, like a high-priestess,
between his painfully spread knees. She nodded to the tech holding
Andy’s tied-off scrotum in the steel forceps. The color of his
swollen ball sack was already alarming. The baby-pink flesh had
turned an ominous shade of purple. It was all becoming clear what was
about to happen, but Andy still didn’t want to believe it, didn’t
want to see the scalpel in the beautiful doctor’s hand. Andy turned
to Mr. Asad for help but knew that it was hopeless. He screamed but
no one seemed to care. The scalpel slit through Andy’s numb sac with
startling ease. The black woman’s two gloved fingers pried free his
left testicle. Once again Andy thought he’d vomit.
The doctor, called for a scissors. The mocha-colored nurse handed
them to her. The doctor held the scissors up to the light as much for
her own inspection as for Andy to see and fully grasp what was about
to happen; she slowly opened and closed the scissors twice, testing
them. They snicked together with a flawless exactitude. With the
scissors in one hand and his bluish-red testicle extracted and held
between the gloved fingers of the other, the doctor looked Andy
coldly in the eye for the first and last time, ignoring his mute
appeal, like a snake about to strike a cowering, trembling mouse.
Without a word, she quickly and efficiently snipped the testicles
free. Andy felt himself falling into a faint. Mr. Asad was talking to
someone on the other side of the gurney upon which Andy’s naked,
bound, and now half-neutered body lay helpless. The black headhunter
was telling whoever it was to make Andy’s tits even bigger. The
sissy’s new owners wanted a real big-titted white slut. Meanwhile,
Andy decided to take Mr. Asad’s advice and try to relax and let
whatever happened happen. There was nothing he could do about it now;
it was out of his hands. The doctor slit his other ball sack, pulled
free his remaining testicle, and snipped it free. It didn’t seem
possible, that his life could be changed just like that, with a
couple of snips of a scissors. But lives quickly changed suddenly all
the time. A car accident, a street mugging, an interview with a
The tech and nurse were grinning down at him now. Mr. Asad looked
pleased. Andy felt his empty ball sack fall against his plugged
asshole. The doctor held up the steel surgical tray where his bloody
testicles lay for Andy to see. She picked up one, rolled it between
her gloved finger, and gave an order to the pretty mocha-colored
nurse, who removed the doctor’s mask. She put the testicle into her
mouth, first the one and then the other, and she very slowly chewed
it. Her cold level gaze never once left the bewildered sissy’s face;
her unblinking eyes fixed in primal triumph on the glazed-over eyes
of the newly neutered slave.
His name is now Adrianna and not even his own mother would recognize
him, let alone his ex-girlfriend Alison, although he’ll never see
either of them, or anyone else from his old life ever again. He’s a
braceleted and collared slave in the large house of a wealthy African
couple in Uganda. It is now quite fashionable for the African elite
to own white shemale slaves, a status symbol that flaunts the
complete reversal of social stations, from the time when white males
were considered at the top of the pyramid.
Adrianna’s hair is a long golden mane which frames a kewpie doll
face whose wide blue eyes and hear-shaped pink pout seem to be always
begging for a fucking. In accordance with the wishes of his owners,
he’s been given a pair of tits rather too large for his slight frame -
- one of Master’s favorite deviations being to slide his big black
pole between the oiled globes of Adrianna’s pale tit meat and to
shoot his thick load into the sissy’s open mouth.
Adrianna’s entire wardrobe consists of nothing more than a complex
web of thin chains that form a kind of tiny bikini fixed in place by
the multiple piercings that now adorn her soft, waifish body. A pair
of severely-arched, ultra-high heels are locked onto his slender feet
— all other times, he is kept barefoot. In addition, his sissypuss
is always plugged with a replica in rubber of his Master’s cock. His
ankle is tattooed with the designs that mark him as property of his
Master and Mistress’s house. The penalty for attempted escape is
severe: death by public crucifixion.
There is no escape, of course.
And a slave like Adriana doesn’t even consider it. “Fixed,” the way
he is now, he could no longer survive in the world outside the
compound of his Master and Mistress. He is not only a slave for life
but slavery is now what keeps him alive.
As a personal slave to his Mistress, Adrianna performs all manner of
services befitting his lowly position — attending to his Mistress’s
most intimate toilet; from pedicures to vaginal douches, from her
makeup to wiping her ass after a bowel movement, these are duties
that Adrianna has come to see as the most important in his life.
Mistress will sometimes request a foot massage or even amuse herself
by having her slave suck on her long brown toes after an afternoon of
shopping — even in public or in front of friends. Adrianna has been
well-trained, some might even say tortured, to carry out commands
without any hesitation or outward show of shame.
Only very rarely does Mistress utilize Adrianna for any form of
sexual pleasure. Only her slave’s tongue would be of use, anyway, and
Mistress much prefers the penetration of a real man, an act, which,
naturally, the castrated shemale neuter can no longer perform. What
remains of Adrianna’s former sex is now no more than a limp pee-tube
of soft white meat; it is as useless sexually as an earlobe and, like
an earlobe, it’s been pierced and decorated in order to make it look
To his Mistress — a strong woman who naturally enjoys the company
of a strong man — a creature such as Adrianna is beneath contempt.
Not a man, not a woman, but a non-human, an “it”. She would no more
think of having sex with something like Adrianna than she would a
lamp: the difference being you could turn a lamp on.
It was primarily his Master who required Adrianna’s sexual services.
Tall, broad-shouldered, black as a wet tar, with the naturally
imposing presence and authentically dominant nature of the big-
bellied African chieftains from whom he had directly descended,
Adrianna’s Master was in the prime of his manly life and had a sex
drive every bit as prodigious as his heavy-balled, thick, ten-inch
penis would lead one to believe. It was to satisfy this voracious and
seemingly never fully sated appetite for all the variations of the
entire sexual banquet Adriana found himself put to service.
Any and all of the practices that his Mistress deemed too disgusting
or demeaning for a queenly woman such as herself to submit to
satisfying, were Adrianna’s responsibility to perform. Oral and anal
sex were merely the beginning for Adrianna’s Master enjoyed placing
his slave in various forms of extended bondage, shitting in
Adrianna’s mouth, beating him with a bamboo stick on the ass, the
tits, or the bottoms of his pale feet, having his prize-winning
Rhodesian Ridgebacks fuck Adrianna in the ass, etc. There was
mummification, breath-play, electric shock and other dangerous
fetishes that could, either accidentally or by design, cost Adrianna
his life. But this was one of the hazards of being a slave and
Adrianna strove hard to please so that his Master would continue to
consider his sissy a greater source of pleasure alive than dead.
So this is Adrianna’s life from now until it ends. It’s not the life
he chose, or the one he thought he’d have; nor is it where he ever
imagined he’d end up when he was contacted by those headhunters what
now seems ages and ages ago. And yet how many among us can say that
our life has turned out exactly as we planned it? Very few of us
dream of becoming the castrated she-male sex slave of a wealthy
African couple. And even fewer of us ever actually see our dream come
Adrianna did. Perhaps — whether he believes himself to be or not —
we should consider him lucky?
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