Man Disciplines Sissy Ch. 07

This is a fantasy. Scenes in reality should be built on consent, safety, and communication. No character in this story is less than 21 years of age.

Wearing my brand-new pale blue dress and looking nervously around me, I stood alone in the 4th floor hotel hallway. I took a deep breath and tucked my purse under my left elbow and knocked on Ray's door. I heard muffled music in the room; pop or jazz, I wasn't sure which.

I waited. I exhaled. I wasn't sure if he heard my knock. I listened carefully. Was somebody moving in there, or was it just the music? I couldn't be sure. Listening without breathing, I hadn't taken another breath, so I inhaled and realized I was just way too nervous. Lana was not used to being out in public, en femme, even in a quiet hotel hallway. In my full "Lana" outfit, wearing brand-new sheer nylons, high heels, tight little dress, a wig, makeup, and carrying a purse, hopefully I was unrecognizable. I licked my lips and tried to ease my breathing.

I knocked again, a little louder. Looking around, I noted another room right across the hall, and other rooms with other doors along both walls, up and down the hall. I didn't want to be seen. I didn't want to be heard. I just wanted to get back into privacy as quickly as possible.

From somewhere not too far away I could hear muffled voices. Could be from one of the other nearby rooms, but the hallway turned a corner back past the stairway I'd used coming down from my own room, and the voices could be somebody coming, but still out of view. I hadn't used the elevator. The thought of standing trapped inside a moving cube with others, anybody at all, was just too nerve upending.

"Ray..." I half whispered, knocking on the door again. Knuckle knocks, rapid, urgent, but not too firm. The tentative kind you want to be heard in the room, but not elsewhere down the hall or in other rooms.

Grasping the knob, I shook the door a little. The voices were getting louder, somebody was coming, or maybe about to come out of one of the other nearby rooms.

I might know somebody on this floor....

My mind reeled. I had colleagues in this hotel, co-workers, other people from the conference event. People who know Lance. What if somebody I know comes down this hall right now? What am I going to do then!

Be Lana, I told myself. But I was not confident about that. Lana was a very solitary, very private, very secret personality, and very unaccustomed to exposure of any kind.

I shouldn't have done this, I told myself in the next breath. A wave of guilty dirty disgust shot through my body, and I looked down at myself, my dress, my heels. I felt my hair, glossy auburn waves brushing my shoulders, the lipstick on my lips, the purse under my elbow. I remembered how this same time, this same moment, just yesterday, I'd been feeling almost masculine, and confident. And yet, now? Purge? What purge?

I squirmed a little, feeling the tight knit dress hemmed just above my knees, feminizing my legs, my sheer nylons rubbing when the insides of my thighs brushed each other, and up a little higher, in the dark inside my tight skirt, and my pretty satin briefs, a shimmery black microfiber satin, its half-inch of dainty lace trim.

I should be down in my own room, I thought, looking down at my smooth legs, my nylons, my high heels, in the semi dark hallway. Wearing pants. And again, a sinking feeling, guilt, shame, yes, but also an invigorating thrill mixed in, adding more to the shame and guilt.

Where would I be now, right not, without Ray's sudden, devastatingly reasserted authority? Down in the bar with my co-workers and colleagues. Having a drink, talking about the day's work, comparing notes...

Wearing pants.

But I wasn't. I was standing, in full sissy dress and holding a cute little purse, alone in the hallway outside the room of the firm and masculine man who was making me his sissy. Remaking. Re-claiming.

And I was about to panic.

"Ray!" I whispered out loud. I knocked again and shook the door. Behind me, up the hall, I heard the voices, both male and female, chattering and laughing, and the ice of pure fear sliced down my spinal column. It was like they were laughing at me, but I knew they weren't, of course--and yet something about the way these particular voices played in and out of the laughter, I thought I recognized a tone here and an accent there. Industry acquaintances? Colleagues from a distant office? I couldn't tell exactly who, but I knew then and there I didn't want this bunch of people--some of whom I had met, had shaken hands with, had small-talked, had compared notes with--to see me...like this.

I gave the door a shake, turned the knob. This time it turned.

Startled, I pushed the door. It swung. It opened, and I took a quick look down the hall, but stepped quickly into Ray's suite. Peering out again before I pulled the door closed, I saw this little group of people swing around the far corner into this part of the hallway, saw three or four of them anyway, businesspeople, conference people. I didn't dare look long enough to really see who it was, or to be seen myself.

But I was safe.

Safe? I was with Ray. Sometimes I guess safe is a relative term. Because the butterflies in my tummy weren't all about desire, or excitement. Ray hadn't simply hinted about what was waiting for Lana this evening. He was quite clear, in fact.

Daddy will review your behavior. And when he does, one bad little girl will be feeling very, very sorry for herself.

With a little trembling shudder, I closed the door, shutting out the noise in the hallway, creating a spacious and resounding silence. Nobody could help me now. I was in Ray's suite. I had already been in here, just a few hours ago. But for some reason, it already felt like days had passed.

And, earlier, it was Lance who visited. Lance who got manhandled, spanked to tears. Lance who had Ray's warm, hard manhood fed to his face for a refreshing mid-afternoon sissy-mouth cock-cleaning.

And here was Lana. Lana's turn.

I wasn't sure if Ray was even here. I felt a little like I was trespassing, or at least intruding. But the music was playing. I heard the electric guitars, drums, wafting softly from the living area. Blues?

Turning away from the door, staying quiet, I turned and listened. "Ray?" I said, not too loud.

No answer. Nothing stirred. Just the music, playing softly, bending guitar notes, wailing in the background.

Ray's room was bigger than mine, a suite in fact. I knew the basic layout from my--from Lance's earlier visit.

My heels made soft taps on the floor as I took a few steps into the suite, clearing the entry way and passing the kitchenette area, where both areas had polished flooring instead of carpet. Here was the living room, where the carpet began, and a short hall that led to the bedroom. Reaching the carpet, I stood, clutching my purse, looking, and listening.

I was relieved to be out of the public hallway, but now a new anxiety was growing in me. Ray wasn't here. Where was he?

The bedroom door was closed. Maybe he was in there. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe something came up, and he had to go do something, a business-related necessity.

Maybe he didn't want me.

A mixture of relief and disappointment twisted in my mind and swirled down my body. It made butterflies in my belly. I didn't know what to do. Just yesterday, it was months since I had purged all my feminine wardrobe and accessories, and my sissy thoughts, mostly, and then last evening it was all dashed as Ray took charge and pushed me back into being his feminized sissy again, reluctant but compliant, so now I show up all dressed and perfumed and smoothed for him, and he's not here.

I looked around the living room. On the long desk fixture, with the wall-length mirror behind it, I saw his papers, his laptop powered on and showing a stringy pattern screensaver, his business items scattered. A Bluetooth radio, tuned to a blues station, played at a moderate volume.

"Ray?" I called again. Still no answer.

I went to the laptop, and I touched a key. The screensaver cleared, and I saw the email client. I peered closer; saw the messages we had exchanged. A wave of shame, a feeling of humiliation washed over me, seeing the evidence of his power over me, his natural dominance and authority. The names and things he called me. His scolding tones. The way I just took it, submitted to it, became a simpering sissy in his presence.

Daddy is very disappointed in you...

A sinking, desolate feeling came over me. I felt the urge to leave. Maybe he didn't want me here. Daddy. Why wasn't he here? Daddy, where are you? It was just, what, half an hour ago that he told me to bathe and dress and meet him, be ready for him, come to him, to do as he wants, to submit to his discipline, to his commands, his whims, his pleasures?

Then, at that moment, I realized this was my chance. I had to go.NOW.

Go back to your room, Lance, as quickly as possible, lock the door, take off this dress, start the pile on the floor, add the wig, earrings, bra, half-slip, panties, nylons, shoes--pile them all up. Throw them all in a bag. Put your khakis and polo on, Lance, wash your face, take the bag down the hall to the trash chute or the laundry room, somewhere with trash, and throw it away.

Stop this now, before it goes any further.

I looked around. I still heard nothing, nothing but the slow beat of the drum kit, the hiss-snap-hiss of the high hat, the guitar wail and bass, but no sign of... of Ray.

I turned to the door, briskly walking. I crossed the polished floor, my heels clicking. I got to the door, and almost opened it. I quick looked in the peephole. Ray not there, not in the hall. Nobody there. Hallway empty! This is my chance. I turned the knob, opened the door...

Just then, behind me I heard...sound.

I wasn't alone.

Behind me I heard a knob, another door's hardware making its little metallic crunch and clatter. I heard a door open. The bedroom door. That sound washed over me, crashed over me like a powerful wave, dashed my energy, my panic, my escape. I felt myself go limp.

Sissy.

I knew who it was, and what it meant. I wasn't going anywhere.

Ray came out. I heard his footsteps on the carpet, coming down the short hallway. Slow, measured footsteps, but firm, a bit heavy. He rounded the edge of the kitchenette counter, and here he was.

He still had his gray suit slacks and dress shirt on. I stood there in the entryway, holding the door open. He was looking at me. I looked at him. I let go of the door, and it closed itself.

"Where you think you're going?" Ray said.

"I called and called." My voice was squeaky, feminine, defensive, guilty. "Oh Ray! I knocked and knocked. People were coming down the hall...I didn't know you were here."

Ray's face was stony. He was listening. Nodding slightly, but his eyes were steady, his mouth stern. I was almost hyperventilating while I blabbered the truth, but somehow it came out sounding like lame excuses.

In the half-lighted hallway, he came. I was looking down, holding my purse in both hands. I shrunk away from him a little. "Mnn hmm," he said, but I was boxed in to the narrow little entryway with the closed door behind me and he came very close and I had nowhere to go.

A finger under my chin. Raising my eyes to his. "You looked like you were leaving," he said. I backed into the corner, trying not to cringe, but he was in his grim, quiet, menacing mode. I cringed. He took my wrist, it was my left wrist, in his left hand. His grip was firm, his elbow bent, his bicep flexed and bulging. He pulled me out of the corner. I held the purse in my right hand. Ray's two hands slid to my hips, gripped my waist. Strong like the jaws of a vice.

"C'mon," he said. I thought he was going to pull me into the room. Did I ever say Ray was unpredictable? I've never called him predictable.

He reached around behind my back. His hand found the doorknob, and he unlatched and pulled the door, nudging me out of the way as it swung open.

"Let's try that again, honey," he said. I felt his hand on my bottom, and he shoved me firmly out the door, into the public hallway.

I had just gotten inside, panicking about being seen, and my instinct was to resist going out there, into the open hallway, where there could be people, could be colleagues.

"But, but," I said.

"Stop it," Ray said. His right hand smacked hard on my bottom through my tight dress, and I jumped and whimpered. Just like he liked me to. I felt the shame rise warm and humiliating, reddening my face again. Ray chuckled, but it was that grim, sadistic chuckle.

"Try it again," he said, and shoved me again, hand on my bottom, and another hard smack, propelling me through the doorway into the corridor, and closed the door behind me.

I stood in the hall. Fortunately, the group that had been out there had gone on, and I was alone. I looked around. I knocked on the door.

"Daddy!" I whispered. I tried the knob. He hadn't locked it. I turned it, opened the door.

There was Daddy.

"Daddy," I said.

"That's better, honey," he said. "Lance and Ray had their fun this afternoon. It's Daddy's turn." He pulled me in by one wrist, and pushed the door closed behind me, forcing me into the corner again. He hovered over me, his hand reached around and behind me, and turned the latch. Locking the door.

"What a naughty girl," Ray was shaking his head, but keeping his eyes steady on mine. I stood holding my purse, looking up at him, trembling a little, as he looked me up and down. He took the purse. "Turn around honey, put your nose in the corner, that's right, you little sissy." He put one hand on my hip, the other palming my ass roughly, turning me around, my face into the corner. "This has your lipstick in it?" He said, unzipping and looking into my purse.

"Yes, Daddy," I said. His firmness, his stern attitude already had me falling into my emotional sissy mode, whiny and whimpering.

"Good," he said. "You'll need it later. You'll need to touch up. Probably sooner than later, actually." He casually touched himself, through his pants, to make it clear what he meant.

I pressed my lips together, feeling the lipstick, smooth and perfectly applied. The gloss coating made my lips stick together slightly when I parted them again. My tongue darted out instinctively, checking the wetness, the feel of the deep pink gloss. I turned my head, saw Ray looking at me. His smile. I gulped and took a rough breath. From the corner, I raised my eyes briefly, looked at his. His eyes made me look down again. He grunted.

"Yes, you know exactly what I mean. Licking your lips, tasting your lipstick, thinking of cock already. What a natural sissy you are." Reaching for me, his fingers touched my cheek, surprisingly gentle. The ball of his thumb parted my lips slightly. "I'm going to enjoy this mouth. Welcome back, Lana. You have such a pretty, feminine little mouth. Confused, and untrained, but what a natural sissy you are. I'm going to love holding your head and sliding my hard cock into it, watching your face as my swollen knob--" And, here, he let his thumb probe gently between my lips "--as my swollen knob pushes in, parting these hot sissy lips."

His thumb popped out of my mouth. Again, he adjusted his cock in his pants--needed to. Watching him, my neck tightening, I turned slightly, just my hips, now half facing him from the corner. I watched him touching, adjusting his bulge. His fingers lingered there. I watched his fingertips idly push into the flaps of his fly, as if he was thinking about opening it, at that moment. I twitched a little but managed to make it seem like an intentional gesture, a dip of acknowledgement and attention. Not quite a curtsey. His fingers slid upward, touched his belt, fingered the metal buckle. I felt his eyes on my face. Then, he shifted his attention back to me. He shook the purse. "You brought plenty of lipstick to touch up your mouth when what's on your lips now is smeared on my cock. Good girl."

His words sort of scrunched me a little further into the corner, as I squirmed, trembling slightly.

"Yes, Daddy," I said. It was all I could find to say.

He was quiet for a moment, regarding me.

"But first," he said finally, "I think we need to have a little...discussion. Don't we honey?"

I stood still. I trembled visibly.

"Yes, honey. Lana really hasn't been such a good girl, has she?"

I shrank a little further into the corner.

"Yes, honey, I think we have a lot to talk about." His hand found my bottom, firmly palming it. I twitched and squirmed. He put both hands on my bottom, pawing me, scrunching me more firmly into the corner of the vestibule. Then he let go. "Get that ass in here. This may take a while." He pulled on my elbow, freeing me from the corner, and handed me back the purse.

And then, he was walking down the little hall, past the kitchen, to the living area. I watched his broad back. I straightened up and followed him.

I expected.... I don't know what I expected. Maybe that he would sit down and call me over. Inspect me, review Lana's new look. Review her behavior.

He didn't. He crossed the room completely and went to the big picture window. He stood looking out, framed against his city view, his back to me.

I stopped, alongside the kitchenette entry, and stood, dressed up, wigged, smooth, scented and femme. I held my purse in front of me, aware that my palms and fingers were almost damp with nerves. I felt damp too, nervously humid, especially inside my dress. I put the purse down on the counterspace, and smoothed my dress, front, sides and back. My high heel sandals clicked on the floor as I adjusted my footing. My thighs parted, to invite a little air into the space there, airing out where the panties, and garters, and welted nylons waited in the dark.

"Where were we?" Ray said.

"Um, I don't know." I said. I didn't. Nervously, seeking something to do with my hands, I reached for my purse, and held it, clutching it tightly. Somehow holding it suddenly made me feel more feminine, but I didn't put it back down. I held it with both hands, in front of me, as if it was some small, useless protection. I was getting confused, not sure what he meant from one encounter to the next, the way he kept me constantly guessing. I had to appeal to his mercy.

Ray remained quiet. He was listening.

"You, um," I started. I wanted to try, to speak, to take some initiative. I fingered my purse nervously. "You had a little rubber thing, a rubber band--"

He interrupted me. "No, honey," he said. "Not this afternoon. Not yesterday, either."

Oh.

"That's right, hon," he said, his voice soft, but contained control and direction. Intention. "It's Lana and Daddy now."

This is Daddy and Lana time.

Skip back.

He is watching my face. "You remember, honey," he said, his voice quiet but even. His voice laden with weight and meaning.

I remembered. My mind, as I stood in my dress, holding my purse, looking at Ray's broad shoulders framed against the picture window, went back.

And standing, looking down at myself, seeing Lana, my mind shifted, and I'm thinking of Lance in 3rd person, as somebody else, thinking through past and recent events.

Reviewing, I remembered Ray surprising Lance half dressed in all new lingerie. And earlier, right after work, when the conference sessions had ended, when Lance, pants ordered off, oxford shirt pushed up and his white jockey shorts yanked to his knees, shamed and emasculated, bent over Ray's left knee, Ray seated on the sofa arm, sleeves rolled to his elbows, delivering a firm but quick OTK spanking to Lance's bared bottom as he writhed in his masculine grip. And the subsequent moments when, crying tears of shame, Lance crawled between Ray's knees afterward, and took his hard cock into his moist and warm mouth.