Chrissie

"That looks like a real good one," she said.

Katie giggled. "It's got spikes, so if he does get a little boner it'll hurt."

"Order that one, Chrissie," Rebecca said. "And then make an appointment for your piercing; find somewhere with good reviews, not one of them sleazebag places. Go ahead and tell them you're my slave, and that you want the piercing to attach to a cock cage. And tell them you got three friends who want to come, too."

"Y-yes, Miss."

"There's my baba." Rebecca pointed to her empty glass. I started to refill it but the bottle was empty.

"You guys want to open another one?" my mistress asked her friends.

Katie shrugged. "Yeah, fuck it, why not?"

Rebecca snapped her fingers. "You heard the lady. Another bottle, Chrissie."

"Yes, Miss, right away, Miss."

As I was in the kitchen fumbling with the corkscrew, I heard Gina giggle.

"So, then, Becca, about Bryce — when are you finally gonna pass that big-dicked motherfucker my way?"

The girls all laughed as I uncorked their third bottle of Chardonnay.

Part IXX

Crying tears of joy and pain, I licked my way through heaven while the devil's pitchfork poked my pee-pee.

Rebecca chuckled when I yelped for the fourth time.

"Aw, baba, your mascara's running. Them spikes must really hurt, huh?"

I nodded and resumed the glorious task of worshiping her divine vagina — and paying the price.

"Ooow-hoooww."

She chortled again. "Poor Chrissie. I know it hurts, but deal with it, okay? Ever since you got locked, you've been a perfect little doll ... no more pouting ... no moping around ... I tell you to do something; you run. I mean, you always were a good slave, but I like the new you — so don't plan on getting out of that cage any time soon, understand?"

I nodded again and she patted my wigged head. "There's my lil' baba. Mmmm, move your tongue down ... yeah, right there. Ooh, that's nice."

"Owww-howwwww!"

"Hee-hee, poor Chrissie. Now, shhhhhh. I been wanting to see this movie; try to be quiet, okay?"

My mistress pulled the covers over my head and kept me at it for nearly two hours while she sipped Diet Cokes, snacked on Cheetos and watched her romcom. That left plenty of time for me to focus my mind elsewhere while I licked in an attempt to keep my dick from growing. But no matter how hard I tried to think of baseball, I kept harkening back to the degrading events that had led to my penis being pierced and locked up in a hellish prison. Recalling that humiliation only made me hornier, causing more pain, which I had to endure in silence so I wouldn't disturb my angel's chick flick ...

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After Rebecca's drunken friends had concocted the scheme to have me pierced and caged, I ordered the device my angel had picked out, paying extra for overnight delivery. I also found a nearby tattoo and piercing shop with a 98% review rating online, and made an appointment to get what I learned was called a "reverse Prince Albert piercing." The woman on the phone had no problem with my request to bring three friends to the procedure.

I was embarrassed explaining my situation to a stranger on the phone, but Rebecca had ordered me to inform the staff because she had questions about how the piercing would interact with my chastity device. The shop proprietor, Wren, said they had several customers who were into the BDSM lifestyle and that it was no big deal. She could probably tell I was nervous and seemed eager to calm me. It didn't really work but it was nice of her to try.

The chastity device arrived in the mail the following day. It was a well-made Kevlar contraption with dozens of tiny, menacing-looking needles, which piqued Rebecca's interest — and scared the shit out of me.

"OMG, those look like they'd really hurt. Here, put it on, Chrissie." She passed me the XLR-Z Trap, the best chastity device money could buy.

With shaky hands, I lifted my dress, dropped my panties and fumbled around down there. After a few unsuccessful attempts, Rebecca huffed.

"Oh, jeez, come here, Chrissie, let me do it."

I stepped over to my impatient little mistress and she clinically stuffed my penis into the cage and fastened it. With a smirk, she snapped the lock shut and showed me the key.

"I know you're not pierced, yet, Chrissie, but there's no reason you can't start wearing this now. You won't try to wiggle your little dicky out of that thing without the piercing, now, will you?"

"Uh ... um, no, Miss, I won't."

"Promise?"

"Yes, Miss."

Inside, I wanted to cry. I'd thought she was going to wait until after I was pierced to lock me up, and had hoped to sneak in as many jerkoffs as possible before the scheduled appointment three days later. But as I watched her twist the key to my device onto her keyring, I knew that plan was out the window.

She tapped the cage with her forefinger. "Is it tight, Chrissie?"

"Um, kind of."

"Let's see if it works." My angel's eyes danced. I knew that look and steeled myself.

She hummed a stripper's tune as she shimmied out of her sweats and panties, exposing her sacred vagina. "Look, baba." She slapped her pussy three times. "Don't you wish you could fuck me like a man, instead of being a little sissy slave?"

"Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!" She knew exactly which of my submissive buttons to push, and as soon as my dick began to swell just a tiny bit, the needles inflicted excruciating pain.

Rebecca giggled. "Aw, poor Chrissie. If you think that hurts ... watch this."

She stepped forward, pushed my head down until I was on my knees and started rubbing her bare pussy all over my face.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhieeeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!"

My angel laughed harder. "I'm sorry, Chrissie, I know it's mean, but I just love making you cry. Do you hate me, baba?"

"Ow, no, Miss, of course not — owwww, please, nooooooooo, owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, noooooo!"

"No? Does that mean you don't like kissing my pussy, baba? I'm insulted."

"No, it's just ... owwwwwwwhhhhwoooo ... I wouldn't ... ow, no, I love ... I love ... kissing .... owww-hoowwwww!"

She pushed my head back and sneered down at me. "Well, Chrissie, I guess we know it works, now, huh?"

"Y-yes, Miss."

She flopped onto the couch. "That was fun. Go get me a Diet Coke."

When I limped back with my mistress's soda, clearly still in pain, she pouted. "Aw, poor Chrissie, I'm so mean to you, ain't I?"

"Um ... uh ... it's okay, Miss."

She tilted her head and smiled. "You're so sweet, I swear. You put up with so much. But I love having a slave. I love it. I always want to have you. My little baba."

My chest swelled beneath my apron and the hurt beneath my panties vanished. "Oh ... oh, thank you, Miss. Thank you so much. I always want to serve you, Miss. I ... I love you so much."

"I know, baba." She held out her hand and I kissed it. "There's my little doll. Now, I'm starting to get hungry; why don't you go ahead and get dinner ready?"

"Yes, Miss, right away, Miss. T-thank you, Miss."

"You're welcome, sweetie. You might want to fix your makeup first; I think I smeared it a little." She giggled. "Sorry 'bout that, Chrissie. I guess I got carried away. I can't help it — you're so much fun to tease."

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I sat in the backseat listening to the three women up front giggling and having a ball. The Sissy Slave Dick-Piercing Show was about to begin.

The Den was a scary-looking place, with the entire facility done up in black, leather and chrome while death metal blasted through the speakers — although it lived up to the reviews extolling its cleanliness because there wasn't a dust bunny in the joint.

Wren and Razz, the owners, were even scarier-looking, with piercings and tattoos covering their entire bodies, including their faces.

Rebecca did all the talking. "I've got him in a cage," she said, grabbing me by the shoulders and pushing me forward toward the freaky couple. "Chrissie, drop your sweats and show them."

I was mortified as I wiggled down my sweatpants.

Katie snorted. "I'm not sure it's even big enough to pierce."

Razz leered. "Oh, no, we've had slaves in here with a lot smaller than that." He chuckled. "Well, maybe not a lot smaller — this is pretty damn small."

Gina asked Wren: "Is it gonna hurt him?"

"We use anesthetic, but, yeah, when it wears off, he's gonna be in some major pain." Wren smiled at me. "You gonna take the pain for your mistress and her friends, sweetie?"

"Y-yes, Ma'am."

"Okay, then, get up here on the table."

Razz nodded at my half-off sweatpants. "You gotta take those off first."

I couldn't stop trembling as Razz donned rubber gloves and began wiping my crotch with an alcohol swab. Gina and Katie both filmed my ordeal with their cellphones while my angel watched Wren rub my dickhead with numbing cream.

After waiting a few minutes to allow the cream to take effect, Razz picked up the piercing needle. I almost puked.

"I advise you don't look," he said.

I scanned the room for my mistress. We locked eyes and she beamed.

"You scared, baba?"

"Y-yes, Miss."

"Aww, don't be. This is for me, remember?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Then you should be happy, right?"

"Yes, Miss. Uh ... I am."

Gina bared her teeth. "If you're really happy, you need to tell everyone. Say, 'I'm so happy I'm getting my little dick pierced.' Say it."

Swallowing the softball in my throat, I complied. "I ... uh, I'm so happy I'm getting ... uh, my little dick pierced. T-thank you."

I was the opposite of thankful a second later when the needle hit home. My screams were accompanied by snickers, although Rebecca didn't laugh; instead, she stared at me with a strange glint in her eye, as if drinking in her power, knowing I'd just allowed myself to be mutilated for her.

When it was over, with the ring permanently attached through my penis head, Rebecca walked over to me and kissed me on the forehead.

"Thank you, baba. This means so much."

"T-thank you, Miss."

Katie scoffed. "Boy, what a wimp — he gets a needle stuck through his little dick and a hoop through it, and he thanks you. Fucking pathetic."

"Aw, come on, be nice," Rebecca said, and her words of kindness sent me over the top. I lay on the piercing table with tears streaming down my cheeks; luckily, my mistress hadn't required me to wear makeup to the tattoo shop, or my mascara would've ran all over the place.

Part XX

Rebecca was in the lavender haze when she returned home from her date. It made me want to puke.

Prior to my mistress's arrival, I'd spent a quiet Sunday evening hand-washing her delicate garments and peering out the laundry room window that overlooked the condo parking lot. When Rebecca's SUV finally pulled up, I hurried to the kitchen and placed an ice-cold glass of Diet Coke on the silver serving tray along with a vase with a red rose. After checking my makeup in the mirror, I stood near the door offering the tray with a smile, eager to greet my mistress with humility and style.

She breezed right past me and plopped on the couch. I followed her into the living room and set the drink on the table in front of her while she kicked off her pumps and dialed her cellphone.

"Hey, girl," she said as I bent to retrieve her shoes. "OMG, I think I'm in love."

Rebecca snapped her fingers and pointed to her feet, indicating that she wanted them rubbed. I dashed to the hall closet, retrieved the lotion, sank to my knees and went to work while my mistress reclined on the couch and gabbed.

"He's a little older than what I usually go for, but this guy's got class, Katie. The exact opposite of Bryce, Matt and the rest of those assholes. Tris owns his own company; some kind of stock trading stuff. Hang on a sec." My angel squinted down at me. "Chrissie, you ever hear of a company called TBH Advisors? I think it's the same kind of stuff you do, investments and whatnot."

Blood drained from my face but I shrugged off the shock and provided the correct answer: "Um, yes, Miss, uh, TBH is one of the fastest-growing investment firms in the city."

Rebecca beamed. "You know Tristan Huxley?"

I blinked. "Um, I ... I don't know him personally, but I've heard of him. He ... he was on the cover of Investor's Monthly not long ago."

"OMG, you got a copy?"

"I ... I might have one at work, Miss."

"Well, when you go to work tomorrow, look for it. Ain't he hot, Chrissie?"

"Um, yes, Miss ... from his picture, he's ... very handsome."

"You got that right." She chortled at something Katie said and forgot about me as she resumed her conversation.

I continued rubbing my mistress's feet although my mood had suddenly soured. Of course, I'd heard of TBH Advisors and their swashbuckling, maverick owner Tristan B. Huxley — we'd been losing clients to him since his company's formation two years earlier. TBH had appeared out of nowhere and quickly lapped the more-established firms, including mine, thanks to Huxley's astute investing. His market maneuvers were criticized as reckless by the "investing establishment" before a string of bombshell successes completely silenced his critics and made him the Golden Boy in my field.

The thought of Rebecca seeing Tristan Fucking Huxley — and her use of the "L word" after one lousy date — made me sick to my stomach. Her ex-husband Karl and the other guys she'd dated after the divorce were all braindead, musclebound party boys who knew how to fuck but were broke. Tristan Huxley? Shit, he had ten times more money than me, which negated the one thing I could offer Rebecca that the others couldn't: Financial security.

As I worked lotion into my princess's soles, I had to remind myself that in addition to unlimited spending money and free room and board, I also provided her with service and submission. Rebecca had repeatedly told me how much she adored having a slave, and that she got a kick out of teasing and abusing me. Focusing on that calmed my fluttering stomach somewhat. I still felt nauseous, but was able to give my mistress a top-notch foot massage while she jabbered with her girlfriend about her "dreamy" first date.

Rebecca finally hung up and smiled down on me as I slavishly tended to her tootsies.

"You happy for me, Chrissie?"

I faked a smile. "Y-yes, Miss."

"I think it's fate that we met; he said he don't even go to bars, but he stopped off at Charro's to meet the owner for some business thing, and we just couldn't take our eyes off each other." Rebecca sighed. "He finally came up to talk, and ... wow! I mean, this guy ain't like anyone I ever been with, Chrissie. And he seems pretty open-minded, too; I'm gonna tell him about you the next time we get together."

"Um, er ... ah ... okay, Miss."

"I swear, I really do think this is love at first sight. I can tell he thinks so, too. I never felt this before. We just sat there looking at each other, not saying a word."

"Buh, buh, buh ..." I couldn't keep my lip from quivering, and I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

She frowned. "What? Something wrong, Chrissie?"

I had to turn away. "Noth..." The word wouldn't come out.

Rebecca stared at me. "Listen, you had to know I'd eventually find someone again, right? I mean, we're not exactly boyfriend/girlfriend here — and, frankly, your attitude is pissing me off. Instead of being happy for me, you're feeling sorry for yourself again. I thought you were done with all this moping-around shit."

"I ... I'm so sorry, Miss ... I am happy for you, I am. It's just ... well, it's just—"

She held up her hand. "I don't want to hear it, Chrissie. 'It's just' nothing. I ain't interested in your opinions on this. If your feelings are hurt, deal with it. You serve me; who I date or fall in love with is none of your business. Understand?"

"Y-yes, Miss. Of course, Miss. I'm so sorry."

Her eyes were cold and she didn't reply as she started thumbing through her cellphone. I redoubled my efforts, working my aching fingers into her deep foot tissue, trying desperately to please my snooty, lovestruck mistress, who completely ignored me the rest of the evening until she drifted to sleep.

I continued the massage for a while before lifting her legs onto the couch and nudging her into a prone position. Sometimes when I did that she'd wake up and stagger off to bed, but this time she was exhausted after her big date and remained conked out. I covered her with a blanket and slinked away to my small maid's room, where I squirmed in bed all night thinking about my angel and the dashing Tristan B. Huxley — and having to admit that, in my mind's eye, they made a beautiful couple.

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I didn't sleep, but with the help of coffee I managed to get through work Monday, although I spent half the day monitoring the activity of TBH Advisors instead of paying attention to my own clients' portfolios. After the final bell rang, I splashed water on my face, sucked down one last cup of joe and drove to Rebecca's parents' house for its weekly cleaning.

Emily's boyfriend Ian answered my knock.

"Hey, fag." He stepped aside and I tiptoed past him into the house.

"H-hello, sir."

"You need to get over to my place before Wednesday; I had a party and it's a fucking mess."

I cleared my throat. "Um, sir, I don't think I can. I have to clean here tonight, and then on Tuesdays I go over to Rebecca's friend's place to clean after work. I've got Wednesdays set aside for you, sir."

The cocky 18-year-old smirked. "Well, since I'm crashing here tonight, you can go to my place when you get done. I'll give you the key, and when you're finished, you can bring it back here and leave it in the mailbox. That way, if you get my place nice and clean tonight, you can have Wednesday night off. See, faggot? Ain't I nice?"

"Um, y-yes, sir, thank you, sir." As exhausted as I was, I realized this new edict meant I wouldn't be getting much sleep, although I swallowed my sorrows and followed Ian into the living room, where he fell onto the couch next to Emily.

Marlene, who was relaxing on her La-Z-Boy, jerked her thumb. "Randy wants you out in the garage before you get started in here."

"Y-yes, Ma'am." My heart sank. I knew what was coming as I plodded through the kitchen to the garage, where Rebecca's stepfather was hunched over the hood of his truck.

"There you are." He straightened up and pointed with a wrench. "You need to take that steel wool over there and scrub all the gunk out of that goddamn carburetor. It's stuck in there pretty good, but I want it done. Oh, and I spilled some oil there, so you'll need to get that up, too."

"Y-yes, sir."

His lip curled. "But you know what?" He stepped forward, unzipping his jeans. "While we're alone, we might as well make the most of it." He nodded at my gym bag. "You got your sissy shit in there?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Well, then, hurry up and make yourself pretty, and then come give Daddy some lovin'."

"Y-yes, sir, thank you sir." I wasn't feeling very thankful, but such sucking-up was required. Literally and figuratively.

Using the compact mirror, I was able to quickly apply the face Rebecca preferred; she called it the "doll look," with round, ridiculously rosy cheeks, ruby-red lipstick and light eyeshadow offset by dark eyeliner. After slipping on my curly "Shirley Temple" wig and donning my cleaning frock, I knelt on the concrete garage floor and looked up at Randy. He sneered, whipped out his dick and yanked my ears forward, causing me to yelp. With no regard for my comfort whatsoever, he began face-fucking me as hard as he could, his cock poking my tonsils as I gagged in rhythm with his thrusts. Through my peripheral vision I could see black tears slithering down my cheeks, and it dawned on me that I'd have to redo my makeup later — an odd thing to think about in the middle of such a terrifying oral assault.