Man Disciplines Sissy Ch. 03

I had dried off the pool water, and had just decided that I would use the showers here quickly rather than put my clothes on again just to have to take everything off again to shower upstairs, when I heard the door open, and somebody was coming in.

With my pool towel draped around my neck, I hesitated, because I'd been just about to take my swimsuit off.

He came around the corner of the short bank of lockers. I was standing about half way in, about to walk across to where the showers were.

He stopped. I saw him. It was the man who had been in the exercise facility. He had on gray shorts, a dark blue t-shirt. He too had a white hotel towel, and he was using it to wipe the sweat off of his face and neck.

It was him.

"Well, well," he said. "Look who's here."

"Oh," I said.

He grinned, but his amusement was like Arizona. It was a 'dry' amusement.

"Yeah. Oh..." he looked at me, and I felt something in his look, something that penetrated me. I was in trouble, and I had to keep my strength up, try to keep hold of some sort of control, stay aware and keep my head level. But he had an advantage, I could feel it. He always would.

I took a deep breath, and tried to stand still, tried to stand like a man would stand, but my hands and arms, which had for some reason lifted when he appeared, seemed like an extra pair, or somebody else's. They started to shake a little, so I put them down by my sides. Still they wouldn't be calm, they twitched and shook from my nervousness, so I curled them behind my back, and then grasped my two hands together to keep them from trembling. Why did my mannerisms have to always revert to the feminine whenever I was under stress?

"So that's all?" he said, and chuckled. "That's all you have to say?" He was observing my awkwardness with my hands. He held my eyes with his, while at the same time slowly moving his left hand from where it hung at his side, to his crotch, where he nonchalantly touched, then readjusted his package in his gym trunks—all the while smiling and looking me in the eye.

I was trying to keep my focus on his eyes. I knew he was casually touching himself even though I wasn't watching his hand. I could still see what he was doing peripherally. But it went on, several seconds went by, and I felt the moment stretching out, him grinning, letting his fingertips linger and touch his...his equipment through his shorts, not obscenely, but subtly, and I was reminded, I remembered what we had been up to together during our last meeting, and I couldn't stand it anymore.

I blinked. He won the staring contest. After I blinked I looked down at his hand, his shorts, and immediately I felt my own weakness, my shame. So did he.

He lifted his right foot and propped it up on the locker bench, so now he was eight or nine feet away, but with one knee up, now presenting his open crotch to me, and he adjusted his genitals again, and I tried to look away, but then I found my eyes wander and lock on him, again. On his male preening.

"Yes," he said. "Have a good look, honey. You miss me, don't you?" His fingertips slid across the front of his gray shorts, and he briefly cupped himself with his hand, and I saw the little torso motion he made, to let his shaft readjust in there. "Yeah. You do, I can tell." I could feel my face flush, and my knees drew together to cope with the butterflies that were fluttering down there in and around my own swimsuit.

He touched himself and his hips made a small, slow thrust. "You know, I think he misses you too! Oh yes, honey."

He paused. "Take a good look now, hon," he said, and he stopped touching himself, but he was sort of concentrating while he looked down. He was looking at the bulge under the fabric, we both watched as the cloth twitched, then the bulge grew and began to move in his loose nylon shorts, changing before our eyes from a mound to a tent, and then its movement overcame the resistance of the nylon quickly, slid sideways, and then, inside his shorts, untouched, his penis uncurled and straightened up, fully erect.

He laughed at his own cleverness. "But don't worry honey; we're staying at the same hotel this time, so you'll have plenty of time to...get reacquainted..." He touched himself through the nylon again.

I backed up a step. I took a deep breath. I shook my head, but I couldn't find my voice, not while he was touching himself like that. Oddly, my hands uncoupled from behind my back, and with a little shivering shudder, I slid them down the sides of my legs, and then found myself quickly adjusting my own lump in my swim briefs. What was I doing?

But it helped me get a hold of myself, so to speak. We were in the pool and fitness center changing room. This was a public space. What could really happen? That idea gave me some of my confidence back, for the time being.

Maybe Ray was seeing the wheels turning in my head. He looked around, he gave a little smile.

Then his expression flattened. He dropped his eyes, looking briefly down at his own crotch. It was a gesture. A summoning.

"I think he really misses you, hon. Why don't you come over and, say a proper hello?" With his right hand balanced up on his bent right knee, he casually uncurled a single finger, the index finger, so that now it pointed at his crotch, and at his erection throbbing under his shorts.

I shook my head. "No" I said. I took a breath. "I'm not..." I paused. His eyebrows went up, and his index finger wriggled a little. I felt my lower lip trembling. "I'm not dressing; I'm not like that anymore. I'm not doing that now." I pulled my lower lip between my teeth to stop its tremors.

I watched as Ray inhaled a deep breath, let it out. He slowly lifted his bent leg up off the locker bench, straightened it, and placed it on the locker room floor, standing normally now, and he leaned his left shoulder against the lockers, relaxed.

"I told you to come over here, honey," he said softly, his voice even, unemotional, serious.

"Don't call me that, please don't," I said.

And then, he was coming toward me. "Oh honey," he said. And he kept coming. I had nowhere to go, I had the wall behind me, and those rows of lockers on either side, and there was the bench in the middle. "Are you telling me, ME, Daddy, what to do?"

Before I could back away from him, he'd grasped me, his strong hands gripping each of my upper arms.

"Look at me hon," he said. I looked at him.

"Yes," he said. "You haven't changed." When he said that, I felt my shoulders start to tremble in his hands. He turned me sideways to him.

"No," I said. He ignored me. I made a whimpering noise, and I felt his right hand slide down my bare back, while his left hand was still firmly gripping my left arm. He tightened his grip as he spoke, until my arm started to hurt, and my involuntary whimpering came again. I struggled, but his strong grip kept me from wriggling free.

"I saw you in the pool earlier honey," he said. "Is this pretty little Speedo of yours still wet?" I felt his big hand slide down from my lower back to the back of my pale blue swimsuit.

He palmed me. He groped my bottom through my wet swim briefs. I startled, and felt my hips twist. I gasped and twitched. I said no again.

His hand smacked me, hard, on my bottom. I jumped. It really stung, his hard hand through the damp nylon.

"You've been a very, very naughty girl,"

"Nooo," I moaned. "We can't...you can't do that...here!" I managed to blurt.

"Sure we can, honey," he said. He was palming my bottom through my damp swimsuit, and then the tips of his fingers snuck down lower, first between my thighs and then up into the crack between my buttocks. My knees and hips reacted to his goosing fingers with little involuntary squirms and thrusts, and I felt so ashamed that I couldn't control my reactions. I felt my sphincter twitch, contacting as another little moaning whine came from low down in my throat. He spoke softly; "I can smack your little sissy ass..." and he stopped speaking and swung his hand again. Once, twice, three times, he spanked me, hard, again, with his bare hand, before continuing his sentence—"...whenever I want to, whenever you need it..." He smacked my ass one more time, even harder, for emphasis. "Whenever I decide you deserve it, and wherever I decide you need it."

His left hand moved then, and slid up my front, maintaining contact with my belly, then up over my chest, then lifting my chin and turning my face toward his. "Do you understand?" he said.

"But, but," I stammered. "Somebody could come in here, this is..." But he interrupted me, finishing my thought.

"Public?" he waved his hand, a gesture dismissing my worries. He chuckled. I felt his hand move to the waistband of my swimsuit, pulling and toying with it, and then his fingers slid under it, and his hand was on my bare bottom. "Your sissy ass is getting warm already, honey," he said.

"Don't, please," I said. "I'm not a sissy anymore."

He seemed to ignore me, for the moment. My words were ignored, at any rate. "You're afraid somebody will come in and see you getting your ass spanked?" he said as he felt my bare ass with his big, masculine hand.

My breathing started to speed up, I was starting to feel my emotions spin out of control. And the way Ray was looking at me, laughing at me, and smacking my ass and touching me, there in that public place, was just so overwhelming. I reached back and tried to push his arm away, I looked over my shoulder, I started to hyperventilate.

"Oh you think somebody might come help? Somebody like...the woman on the treadmill across the hall?" he said. He used his left hand to trap my hand, and he pushed my wrist up my back until my shoulder started to hurt and I cried out. He held my arm right there, and I felt him pull his other hand out of my swimsuit, and then he spanked me hard, and again, and again, "You think maybe she'll hear you getting spanked, crying like a naughty little girl, and maybe she'll come in here to see what's going on?" Holding me steady with my arm pinned, he smacked my ass again, and then stopped. He let go my arm and slid his left hand down to the front of my swimsuit. He touched me lightly, playfully, through the front of my swim brief as he continued talking.

"Is that what you want, honey?" he said in his meanest teasing whisper. "Well, guess what Lana honey. Even if she hears us, no sane woman is coming into the men's locker room, and anyway, the lady on the treadmill left before I did. And there's nobody else can hear your ass getting..." he spanked me, "...spanked because the main door into the hall right there locks at 10 PM, which was—" He looked at his watch. "—five minutes ago. We can get out when we're...when we're done here..." he chuckled, "But nobody can get into this area after 10 PM because now it's a one-way door."

I moaned, my knees were trembling and I was squirming as he touched and felt me.

He cupped his hand to the front of my swim brief, and squeezed, and lifted, and my hips twisted and I strained forward and upward onto my toes. "What's this?" he said. "Oh honey...you're fighting it, but see how hard your little peepee is?" I moaned. He spanked me. He groped me, and he pinched the head of my penis through my swimsuit. "What a little sissy slut you are."

As his fingers pressed against my cock, my testicles, he got a thoughtful look on his face, like he was trying to remember something.

"Wait, wait, honey. You just said something didn't you? Yes you did, and I wasn't paying attention." He was stroking the front of my bathing suit, feeling me, pawing, squeezing, touching as he watched my body react. Again, I would squirm without wanting to, moaning or whimpering, and he chuckled whenever I did.

"Did you say you're not a sissy anymore?" he said.

"I'm not," I said. "I don't do it anymore. I won't." I said it, but I knew I sounded strained, and weak, and I was afraid of him, and I knew he could feel my fear.

He let go of me. He took his left hand off of the front my swim brief, his right hand off my bottom. For a moment, everything was quiet, and still. I heard the air fans running for the building's circulation system, other little building noises, odd scrapings and thumps from the activity of people a floor—maybe even two floors—up, muffled by the quiet that surrounded us. I still felt nervous, and I wasn't sure what he was thinking. He was standing very still, as if maybe he was waiting for something. I wasn't looking at him.

I turned my head a little, and looked at Ray's face. That's what he was waiting for; he was waiting for me to look. His expression showed his skeptical amusement, in his eyes, and in the slight bitter curl of his masculine smile.

When I looked at him, at his face, I felt his power, his dominance, it just washed over me again, and it pushed and pulled my emotions all over again. I felt my whole mouth trembling, and especially my lower lip, and the way he looked at me, I couldn't help it, I was so extremely ashamed and I felt so sorry for myself like I was about to start to cry.

When I looked at him, he saw all that, and he started to laugh.

I felt myself shrinking, even cringing, ashamed of his laugh, because he was laughing at me, laughing at what I had said. And what he saw. My knees felt weak, and my face was suddenly burning hot with shame and recognition of his strength, and my own weakness.

He stopped laughing and looked at me. I was wobbling a little. He put his hands on me again, but on my hip and my shoulder, to steady me.

"Sit down, honey," he said, and guided me down. And I sat on the bench. He moved a few steps, and stood behind me, behind the bench, and stroked my head. His fingers lightly touched my ear, the side of my face. I could smell him. He leaned in a little, and I felt the protruding front of his gym trunks graze the back of my head. He was very close.

He stepped with one leg over the bench. Now he was straddling it, next to me. I sat and stared straight ahead, but I knew he was there. Right there. He didn't say anything. With the side of my vision I could see his abdomen and chest moving as he breathed. I could smell his musk, his sweat from his workout in the fitness room. His hand slid back from where it had been touching my cheek and my chin, and I knew he was touching the front of his shorts again, now right next to me. I was sitting on the bench, and he was straddling the bench, and he was touching his cock through his trunks.

I turned my head and looked, and I could see that he was still erect inside his nylon shorts. His left hand was pushing the cloth, outlining his bulging rod. I looked at it, and I tried to breathe. I looked at his hand, at the vertical bulge in his shorts, then I slowly looked up, at his waist, his shirt, his chest, and I raised my eyes and looked up at his face. He was looking down at me as he touched himself, and without changing his expression. Then when his eyes locked to mine, his glance commanded me.

He slid his right hand behind my head, and gently pulled me to him. I nuzzled him, like he wanted. My lips and nose, my whole face sliding against his erection in his shorts. I lifted my hands to his hips. I held him. I smelled him. And I sniffed.

"That's my good girl," he said. And he pushed his shorts down, and he pushed his briefs down, and his cock sprang out, and he took it in his left hand, and I watched him give it several soft strokes between his fingers and thumb. I watched him stroke his cock, I looked up at him, and he stopped stroking it and just held it out, throbbing and waving slightly, pointing it at my face. I licked my lips, opened my mouth. He inched forward with his feet, took his hand off his cock, and did a little push with his hips. He slid his right hand behind my head again, and he slid his cock into my mouth.

My lips parted as the tip of his cock pushed between them. I kept my lips tight and slid my mouth down his shaft, and cupped my fingers under his big ball sack.

"Very good, honey," he said, stroking my hair. "I'm glad we got that straightened out, aren't you?"

I didn't say anything, but I looked up at him while I continued to suck his cock, sliding my tight lips back up over the knob, taking my mouth off him and licking his pee slit, then popping the head back in and tightening my lips, sliding them back and forth, up and down over the ridges around the crown of his circumcised glans.

"Just because you aren't wearing your dress doesn't mean you're not Daddy's little sissy cocksucker, isn't that right honey?" he said, and moaned as I sucked him.

He pulled his cock out of my mouth and stroked it in front of my face. "Isn't that right, honey?" he said again. I opened my mouth, to take his cock again, but he held it away from me.

"Speak up honey," he said. He let go of his cock, and slapped me once across the face with his right hand.

I whimpered, and moaned. "Daddy, please don't..." I whined. He pulled his hand back to smack me again.

"Yes Daddy," I said quickly. "I'm still...I'm still Daddy's sissy cocksucker," I said, quietly.

"Good girl," he said. He looked at his hand, like he was thinking about slapping me again anyway. But he didn't. "Now get up," he said. "We've got some things to do, and then we both need a good night's sleep for tomorrow's conference. And we'll be busy in the evenings too, I think."

He pushed his underpants and shorts down, stepped out of them, and picked them off the floor and opened a nearby locker, tossed the bundle in. He took his shirt off and tossed that in, too. Daddy was completely naked, and I realized that this was the first time I'd seen him nude.

He nodded at me, looking at my swim brief, gesturing me to take it off.

"Go into the showers, honey. I'll be there in a minute. We'll wash your ass, and I want to show you something."

"Yes, Daddy," I said.

When I pushed my Speedo down, my three inches popped out, and then pointed right up, hard. I went into the shower area and waited. And my mind, and my emotions too, were full of questions, feelings, all tripping over each other.