HOLLYWOOD SISSY

[littlebetsy]

HOLLYWOOD SISSY

a new story by the author of

“Little Miss Pink Bows”

and “Show and Tell”

(Oscar season has arrived!  I suspect I’m not the only reader of this forum who looks forward to that long red carpet parade of gorgeous men and women in dashing suits and sexy gowns.  Accordingly, I present the following Hollywood tale, a fantasy on the power that a screen goddess could exert over the poor soul that worships her.

(This work has been inspired by a number of femdom stories that have appeared over the years on the internet – many, alas, no longer available.  From them I have borrowed the basic cast:  the sexy, self-seeking wife, her aggressive mother, her priapic black lover, and her husband in baby clothes.  The rest of the tale is entirely my own invention.  The setting, the background of the characters, the dialogue, and the sci-fi element come from my own twisted imagination.) 


HOLLYWOOD SISSY, PT. 1

Friends for over 20 years, Ginny Hayes and Samantha Frost shared much in common.  Both had starred in successful television sitcoms in the 1980s, which led to even more prosperous careers in movies.  While no longer on Hollywood’s A-list, both from time to time appeared in smaller film roles, often as mother or older friend to the star.

On their way to the top, Ginny, a zany blond, and Samantha, a perky brunette, had capitalized on their cute, girl-next-door looks.  The sex appeal was there, but kept on a low burner beneath their innocence and wholesomeness.  Over the years, in contrast to many of their lacquered, collagen-enhanced, pin-up girl contemporaries, they had retained their allure, both onscreen and off.

Each had gone through several marriages, each had experimented in drugs, eastern religions, crank psycho-therapies, and non-traditional sexual couplings.  Their fame and wealth had opened many doors and provided adventures that the average woman could only fantasize about.

As they rode in the plush back seat of Ginny’s chauffeured limo, they discussed Ginny’s 21-year old daughter, Allison McKenzie, who had followed her mother’s footsteps into film acting.

“And you say she has a husband . . . and a lover?” asked Samantha.

“Yes, some women must have both, you know.  They answer different needs.  The lover is for thrill-seeking.  Someone she can flirt with, work her wiles on, party with, and enjoy sexual athletics with.  She’ll keep one, sometimes two lovers as playmates for a few weeks – never for more than a season.  Then she moves on to new territory, new conquests.  She’s God’s Gift to Man and sees no reason not to exploit that.  The husband is the one that stays – literally stays at home.  Every day, all day long.  He’s the one she can come back to.  The one that is always there for her.  The one that she can take her frustrations out on.  The one that will serve her without limit, without question, without complaint.”

“I can’t wait to meet him.  He sounds like a dream.”

Ginny let out a ditsy giggle familiar to millions of television viewers.  “Well, darling, you will be meeting him in just a few minutes.  But I don’t know if you’ll think ‘dreamboat’ after you’ve had a good look at him.”

“What do you mean?  Come on, Ginny, stop laughing and tell me!”

“I was kind of hoping to surprise you, but better to prepare you for the shock.  See, Allison’s husband is a sissy.”

“You mean he’s gay?”

“Not at all!  He’s only interested in girls – well, to be exact, only in Allison.  Was a big fan of hers before they even met.  Had taped all of her appearances on that soap opera she was on and would watch them over and over until he knew her lines by heart.”

“So, what is he?  A cross-dresser?  A transsexual?”

“In a way, yes.  He wears little girl panties and nightgowns 24/7.”

“God, how bizarre!  And Allison approves?”

“Well, funny thing is that he didn’t make the decision to dress that way.  Allison made it for him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain.  Like me, Allison, is ambitious, aggressive and more than a little selfish.  It’s what helped get us both to the top of the most selective business in the world.  Allison knew that being a successful actress would leave very little time for a home life.  Knew that a normal marriage requires a lot of work and giving – something that caring for her ego doesn’t leave time for.  So instead of marrying a real man, someone who thinks for himself and pursues his own ambitions, Allison got herself a submissive weakling, a pet who literally worships the ground she walks on.”

“And she makes him dress like a little girl?”

“Yes, it’s part of his enslavement to her. All of his male clothes were thrown away the day after their wedding.  And Allison keeps her own jeans and pants locked up, so if hubby ever wants to leave the house, he’ll have to do so dressed in strictly feminine attire.”

Samantha shook her head in disbelief.  “Well, that’s one way to keep your spouse from cheating when you’re out of town for months at a time on a film shoot.”

“Oh, darling, she’s done much more than that.  Even if he owned a Brooks Brothers suit, he would be incapable of being unfaithful to her.  She has emasculated him both sexually and spiritually.  She’s turned a game of dress-up into a fulltime lifestyle for him. She’s coaxed him into wanting to please her by being as girlish as he can possibly be – even when she’s not there to correct him. Not just dressing, but walking, talking and even using the toilet like a girl are now second nature to him. She’s turned him into ‘her little girl’ in every important respect.  He has no more power or independence or control than a small child.  In many ways he has much less.” 

“Okay, but why would any man would submit to such a confining arrangement.”

“Sam, there’s no accounting for taste.  Fact is, a certain percentage of any population has a submissive temperament.  Allison just kept looking until she found someone she would enjoy dominating and who in turn would be willing to relinquish himself completely to her.  It’s not that her husband asked her to put him into baby girls’ clothes or get his ears pierced or have the hair permanently removed from most of his body.  He did it because it pleases Allison, whom he regards as a goddess.  He would rather be her plaything than be cast out of her life altogether.  And I can’t imagine that he enjoys the thought of Allison getting regularly f-cked by other men, but he endures it because Allison’s pleasure trumps his jealousy.

“Oh look, here’s her driveway now.  Pull in here, Walter, and announce us to the intercom at the gate.  Allison went boating with her lover this morning and won’t be back until after lunch.  We can have fun with her hubby until then.”

“What a charming cottage,” said Samantha.  “It must have been built in the twenties.”

“Possibly.  I think Chaplin’s first wife lived here after their divorce.  Allison bought it with the money she made in that James Bond film.  No need to knock.  We’ve been announced.  I’ll just push the door open.”

“Oh, my!” said Samantha at the sight in front of her.

The figure was lying face down on the floor with his arms stretched out towards the women’s shoes.

His feet were encased in anklet socks with lacy cuffs and black high heels.  The legs were smooth, hairless and rather shapely for a boy’s.  Pink thong bikini panties left the buttocks exposed.  Samantha noted some fading welts, perhaps traces of a switch or whip applied there.  The fanny was quite feminine, too.  Samantha admired the dimples at the top of the cheeks.  If only Samantha’s own a-- still looked that cute.  The only other garments were a sheer pink baby doll nightie that ended an inch or two above the thong, and, at the end of the slender, hairless arms, sheer pink gloves in the same gauzy material as the nightie.  As silly as this outfit was, the oddest thing was the boy’s head.  It had been completely shaved, except for a small, wispy topknot at the crown.  This little lock of hair was gathered and tied together by a pink ribbon.

A tiny voice said, “Welcome, Missth Ginny and Guest.”

“Thank you, you may kiss my shoes, sissy.”

The creature wormed his way forward, grasped the pump on Ginny’s right foot and kissed it tenderly, emotionally.  He then performed the ritual on the left shoe.

The feminized thing was instructed to do the same to Samantha’s shoes.  Samantha didn’t much care for the idea, but changed her mind when she felt the boy’s trembling hands and hot breath on her bare ankles.  The thought that a creature could somehow be induced to demean itself in this way made her tingle.

“You may stand, sissy,” Ginny said.

The thing in pink brought his knees under his torso, and then rose to attention in a single fluid movement that was balletic in its grace.  He smiled shyly, avoiding direct eye contact.

If he was really a boy, he was the prettiest Samantha had ever seen.

(To be continued.)

[Anonymous]

HOLLYWOOD SISSY, PT. 2



As Ginny predicted, Samantha was indeed shocked.  



First, by the boy’s stature which seemed a few inches shorter than Samantha’s own 5’2½”.  But more importantly, Samantha could scarcely believe she was looking at a male at all, for not only was his hairless body smooth and delicate, his face did not have the shape of a boy’s.  His blue eyes were too big, his eyelashes too long, his nose and chin too dainty, his neck too slender.  And if he were really a male, surely he would be too young to have married.  

       

“Sissy,” said Ginny, “this is Samantha Frost.  I’m sure you remember her TV show, ‘Callie’s Gang.’  And Samantha, may I present my sissy son-in-law, whose legal name is now Sissy Betsy Baby Girl McKenzie.  Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?  My daughter named him after one of the dolls from her childhood and he took her last name, of course.  His former name is forbidden to be spoken in this house.”



The sissy took the hem of his baby doll nightie in his pretty fingertips and curtsied deeply to the famous actress.



“I’m sthoo pweased to meet you, Missth Sthamantha.”  Betsy’s voice was as soft and sweet as a young girl’s.  “I justh wov’ watchin’ you on TV when Missthwess or Missth Ginny wet me.”



Instead of responding, Samantha turned to her friend and said, “All right, Ginny, your practical joke has gone far enough.  This is no more your son-in-law than mine.  It’s not even a boy.  Okay, you’ve had your fun.  Tell this child she can get dressed and hurry back to elementary school.  Now take me to lunch – and remember you’re buying!”



Ginny took her friend’s hand.  “Look at me, Sam.  I’m telling the truth.  Despite his name and outward appearance, Betsy is a 23-year old man.  Come into the living room, Allison has photos of him before the wedding.”



Ginny invited the guest to relax on the aubergine leather sofa while she searched through a Chippendale hutch.  “Here we are. These pictures were taken two years ago.”



As Ginny sat beside her, Samantha shuffled through a stack of snapshots, apparently taken at an amusement park.  Each showed the same couple: the gorgeous face of rising starlet Allison McKenzie and a smiling youth of no more than 11 or 12.  Samantha looked closer.  In the photos the boy had a full head of light brown hair and was dressed in a polo shirt and baggy jeans.  But the large blue eyes and the diminutive nose and chin were the same as those of the girlish creature standing at obedient attention in front of her.



“Betsy, as he is now known, was 21 at the time these shots were taken,” said Ginny.  “Here’s his story.  When he was 11, the poor thing was hit by a school bus and went into a coma.  At the time his doctors said his condition was a permanent vegetative state.  In order that his parents would be able to provide long-term care, he was given heavy doses of estrogen to produce what is called ‘persistent growth attenuation.’  In other words, they stunted his growth to keep him small so that his mother and father could easily lift him, bathe him and move him from room to room.  The hormone also had the side effect of making him quite feminine in appearance.  



“Miraculously, a year later he came out of the coma, with his mental facilities as good as before the accident.  However, months of estrogen injections had already sealed his fate.  He would be a girlish male of small stature for the rest of his life.  He has the pretty, heart-shaped face, slender limbs, rounded hips and budding breasts of a girl just entering puberty.  His voice is much like that of any sweet little pre-teen.  The lisping is something Allison makes him to do in order to complete the picture of childlike artlessness.  



“On the other hand, he has the genitals of a boy.  And despite the massive doses of estrogen, his male sex organ functions normally.  He can get erections and discharge semen – when he is allowed to, that is.  Come here, Betsy, let’s show Miss Samantha your pretty little jewel box.”



A series of dainty steps brought the effeminate boy to Ginny’s side.  Samantha wondered if the movement was innate or if he had been trained to carry himself like a ballerina.  



“Pull your panties down, sweetie.  What, are you blushing?  Goodness, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you act so bashful.  Don’t worry.  Miss Samantha is an old friend of mine.  She’s likely to come with me on future visits and see you with your panties both on and off.  So be a good girl and do as I say – or I’ll have to add some more stripes to your saucy little fanny.”



The pretty thing bowed his head, and then snaked his pink thong panties down his long legs.



“Oh my god, it’s true!”  Samantha exclaimed.  “It really is a boy.”



Ginny burst into her world famous giggle.  “Well, it’s hardly the size that you’d see on other men in their twenties, but it’s a coc-k and ball set, just the same.”



Betsy’s hairless genitals were indeed quite babyish in appearance.  Samantha wondered if the estrogen had actually made them shrink.  Freed from the undergarment, the tiny private parts seemed to give off the fragrance of violets.  



“Now I’ve seen everything.  Until you remove the panties, you’d be able to fool anyone into thinking this, uh, man is really a girl.”



“Yes, you really are a cute widdle thing, aren’t you, prissy?  And the amazing thing is that Allison had to do very little in order to get the adorable childish look she wanted.  All of Betsy’s clothes are off the rack, girls’ size 12.  Even at 23 he had very little body hair.  And what Allison didn’t want she had permanently removed by a professional depilator.  Don’t you just love that smooth scalp except for that silly little dollop of a topknot?  Allison decided to do something that would really set her possession apart from all the other baby-girl sissies out there.  So now she’s got a husband with the hairstyle of a newborn!  And the old hair will never grow back!  Is that not precious?”      



“Umm, sure,” said Samantha as she toyed with her strand of pearls.  “What is that metal strip below the head of his p-nis?”



“Darling, that’s little Betsy’s chastity lock!  Just because he’s capable of getting stiff and shooting sperm doesn’t mean he’s allowed to without his wife’s consent.  Sweetie, tell Miss Samantha why your little wee-wee is locked up.”



The sissy bit his pretty lower lip and then said, “My wee-wee bewongs to my missthwess.  Itsth not for me to pway wiff.”



“You see, Sam,” said Ginny, “Allison and Sissy Betsy are married but don’t sleep together.  Allison either sleeps by herself or with one of her lovers.  Betsy is her husband, her maid, her cook, her seamstress, her laundress, her masseuse, her secretary – but not her sex partner in any real sense.  She sometimes lets his little pink tongue play between her legs.  But Betsy’s wee-wee has never been inside Allison or any other girl.  It’s too small to be of any use except to make a tinkle.”



“But doesn’t Allison want Sissy Betsy to have fun too?”



“Within limits.  What my daughter needs emotionally is a follower, an adorer, a self-sacrificer.  This is what keeps her centered and grounded in her high-pressure, high-speed life.  Her happiness depends on knowing that there is another human being who not only will serve her selflessly, but who is completely dependent on her financially, physically and sexually.  Renouncing the right to play with himself is the ultimate act of male surrender.  In effect, Betsy has allowed his manhood to be nullified.  It is the greatest gift he could offer Allison.  Obviously, no real man would be willing to go this far.”



“I should think not!”  



“Allison says he’s like the storybook elf who gets captured and has to perform magic for the princess.  You know they met on a film production.  Because he was of legal age yet had a girlish frame and features, he found work in Hollywood as a stunt double for very young actresses who by law may not be exposed to harm.  Allison was fascinated by his strange appearance, by his awe of her, and by her own power to bend him to her will.  She immediately hatched the idea of making him into her living doll.



“This boy trapped in a girl’s body never imagined that a famous, beautiful and talented film star would take him into her life – especially a young woman that he’d been obsessed with for several years.  So intense was his gratitude, he surrendered complete control of his body and sexual pleasure to her.  That sacrifice gives my daughter an enormous sense of power and more satisfaction than anything she’s accomplished as an actress.”



“So Sissy Betsy never gets any relief?”



“Occasionally, but the important thing is that Betsy understand that he has no right to expect it.  Arguing, begging and whining with his wife/mistress will do him no good.  In fact, it will only delay the happy day when his p-nis is furloughed and his pleasure is permitted.  When he is finally allowed an orgasm, it comes only as a matter of Allison’s whim.  Even with perfect scores on his cooking, cleaning and correspondence duties for a month, Allison may still choose to keep him locked up.  It’s tragic the way the poor little thing will cry his eyes out with frustration and disappointment, but he knows better than to contest her decision.”



“But wouldn’t sex be a nice reward for good housekeeping?”    



“We have other ways to keep the sissy on his toes in that regard.  Tell you what, why not walk around the ground floor and see if you can spot anything not spic-and-span?”



Samantha rose from the sofa, went around the living room, then strolled through the dining room, kitchen and beyond.



She came back and announced.  “I found a spider web in the corner of one of the sun room windows.”



“Sam, you see that large vase over there filled with tall stalks?”



“Yes, it’s rather pretty.”



“It’s not entirely for decorative purposes.  Those are palm canes and they are kept soaking in water to keep them supple.  Sissy!  Assume the punishment position!”



(To be continued.)

[Anonymous]

HOLLYWOOD SISSY, PT. 3



“Oh, Missth Ginny, pwease don’t sthpank me!” said the pretty boy named Betsy.  “I knew about the sthpider web but I couldn’t get it becausthe itsth on the outsthide of the window!”



“Then why didn’t you go outside, you silly sissy?” said Ginny as she selected one of the thinner canes.



“Oh, Missth Ginny!” said the effeminate thing as he writhed in dread of the forthcoming punishment.  Samantha marveled at how quintessentially little-girlish his mannerisms were:   the way he stood with his toes pointed inward, his pretty knees rubbing each other, his wee hands clasped below his chin, his lovely head tilted to one side, his long eyelashes fluttering with emotion.  “I don’t wike going outsthide in my widdle girwell cwothes.  The neighborsth can sthee me.  The chillwen nexth door waff and make fun of me.”



“Well, baby,” said Ginny sweetly as she tested the switch in the air, “you must like being caned better than being laughed at.  Now get your cute little b-tt in position.”



Trembling and whimpering, this sorry excuse for a man minced over to an ottoman and knelt on top of it.  He then placed his face, forearms and elbows on the living room rug.  This posture made his pretty derrière the most prominent part of his anatomy and an easy target for Ginny’s cane.



Samantha was both appalled and strangely aroused by what happened next.  Her dear friend raised the cane and brought it down with such violent force that the crack of impact was painful to the ears.  Samantha had no inkling that the pretty blond comedienne could perform such a brutal act.  But again and again the cane rose and fell, reporting loudly each time its journey through the air was stopped by the boy’s soft white buttocks.



But Samantha could work up little sympathy for the sissy in the baby doll nightie.  He had freely chosen to marry a self-absorbed, heartless young woman.   Had allowed her to change his name, to dress him as a helpless child, to permanently remove the hair from his head and body, to cuckold him on a regular schedule, and to keep his sex organ locked in a tiny prison to await her caprice.  Surely, this was not a person to whom she need grant the smallest measure of respect.  This was a depraved masochist who deserved what he got.



When she heard the creature’s girlish screams, she felt her body tingle again.



It took only a minute for Ginny to decorate Betsy’s rear end with a brand new set of stripes.  When she was done the pathetic thing was sobbing loudly through convulsive intakes of air.  His little face was hot and red and drenched with tears.



“You see, Samantha,” said Ginny as she placed the cane back in the vase, “with a good disciplinary program, rewards – sexual or otherwise – are not really necessary.  Well, that bit of exercise has given me an appetite.  Shall we have lunch now, darling?  Betsy, stop that crying this minute.  Go wash your face with cold water and serve our lunch like a good little maid.”



Samantha ate every bite of what was placed in front of her.  Little Betsy proved himself a superb cook.  The starter was marinated Kumamoto oysters in shiso-lemon extra virgin olive oil. The entrée was baked shrimp and striped bass served with black truffle tagliatelle, braised chanterelle mushrooms, asparagus and baby leeks, all washed down with a simple but refreshing cold white Bordeaux.  Dessert was warm pears with a splash of pear brandy.



While the sissy-servant cleaned up, Ginny took Samantha on a tour of the house, pool and garden.  



At two o’clock, a buzzer on the wall announced the opening of the front gate.  Betsy hurriedly removed his apron, powdered his nose and wiped a soft cloth over his high heels to restore their polish.  He then threw himself prostrate in front of the door, his trained pose of absolute submission.  



In walked the homeowner and her lover.  Samantha had not seen Ginny’s daughter in person for over a year and she was stunned by her appearance.  Allison had Ginny’s same honey blond hair and cobalt eyes.  But there the similarity ended.  While the mother’s face was round, friendly and button-cute, the daughter’s was leaner, more classically beautiful with great arching eyebrows, high cheekbones, a straight nose with slightly flaring nostrils and lips that were both sensuous and cruel.  



She wore a white string bikini as very few other women could.  The cups of the top held the firm melons of her bre-sts so tightly that the points of her nipples were plainly visible. Her waist was narrow and her stomach flat except for gentle ridges made by hard abdominal muscles. The hips were womanly and pulled the side strings of her bikini bottom tightly over her pubes. The thighs and calves were long-stemmed but with well-defined quadriceps and solei.  Her skin had a lovely golden glow from her morning frolic in the sun.  It was no surprise that Allison had just been cast in the title role of Supergirl: The Movie.  



While her sissy husband covered Allison’s sandaled feet in adoring kisses, Samantha’s eyes went to Allison’s lover, a tall black man with a stoic face and the body of a professional athlete.  One glance at the basalt-like slabs of his pectorals and Sam immediately recognized him as a model that appeared often, usually shirtless, in Calvin Klein print ads.  He was wearing tight black Speedo briefs and flip-flops.



Little Betsy’s worshipful lips then moved to the black man’s feet.



“Okay, enough of that sh-t, b-tch!” he said gruffly.  “I don’t need you slobbering all over my toes.”



“You may rise, sissy,” Allison said in her sultry voice, one that she had acquired by listening to tapes of Garbo, Bacall and Bancroft while perfecting her body at the gym.



“Hello, Mommy,” she said leaning over the coffee table to buss Ginny’s cheek.  “Samantha!  I haven’t seen you in ages.  Thanks so much for stopping by.”



“Congratulations on your marriage, honey,” the visitor said as she exchanged an air kiss with the busty blond.  “You have an adorable spouse.”



“Thank you.  I hope lunch was nothing less than perfect.  I told sissy that Mommy was bringing a Very Important Person over, and he’d pay dearly for any failures.”



“It was simply delicious, Allison. He told me you sent him to cooking school.”



“Yes, that was one of the preconditions of our marriage,” she said with a throaty laugh.  “That and about a hundred other things.  I’ve got them all written down someplace.  Oh, let me introduce my boyfriend, LaMont Williams.  LaMont, this is Samantha Frost, an old friend of the family and, of course, movie legend.  And I think you’ve met my mother already.”



“Yeah.  How ya’ll doin’?”  He bass voice rumbled like distant thunder before a storm.



“Samantha, Mommy, can I offer you anything to drink?”



“Oh, no, I’m fine thanks.”



“Well, I’m just parched.  Sissy, will you bring me some of that yummy low-cal lemonade you do so well?  And LaMont, sweetheart, what would you like?”



“I’ll take a beer, baby.”



“M-m-missthwess, umm, we don’t have any co-wold beer,” said Betsy, an agonized look on his tiny face.



“What you mean you don’t have any cold beer, bitch?” came the basso-profundo of the strongman.



“W-w-we have wine, Missthter LaMont.”



“I didn’t ask for no wine, bitch.  Why didn’t you put any cans in the fridge like you s’posed to?”



The little thing in the pink baby doll nightie trembled in terror.  “I-I-I f-f-forgot.”



“Well, I’m just gonna have to give the pink fairy a memory lesson,” said LaMont as he pulled a side chair from the dining table into the living room and sat down.  “Over my knees, bitch.”



(To be continued.)

[Anonymous]

HOLLYWOOD SISSY, PT. 4



The sissy turned to his beautiful wife and begged, “Missthwess, pwease don’t wet him punisth me!”



Allison crossed her arms over her magnificent breasts.  At 5’8”, she towered head and shoulders over her slave husband.  



“Betsy, you know better than that,” she said in the gentle, forbearing tone of an importuned parent.  “LaMont is an adult and you are just a pathetic baby girl sissy.  Any adult in this house has the right to punish my naughty brat anytime, for any reason.  We’ve been over all this before.  Now show me what a good little girl you can be and climb up on LaMont’s lap for your sissy spanking.”



The childish thing seemed paralyzed with dread.



“Look, Allison,” said Ginny, “your husband is so frightened of your boyfriend that he made a wet spot on his pretty pink panties!”



There was a hush and then everyone saw the dark circle that had formed on the front of Betsy’s pink thong.



“Why, Sissy Betsy Baby Girl McKenzie!” said Allison as a frown came over her heartbreakingly beautiful face.  “For shame, for shame!  Have you no pride?  Have you no self-respect?  How dare you tinkle in the lovely little thong I bought you!”



The sissy was beside himself with humiliation and could only squeak an incoherent reply.



“How dare you embarrass me in front of my guests!  Just for that I will ask LaMont to give you ten extra spanks in addition to whatever he fancies for his own satisfaction.  Now go peel off those pissy panties and then use hot, soapy water on any part of you that’s wet. Then bring your naughty self back here – with no panties on at all!  If you take more than two minutes the spanks will double.”



The sissy burst into tears and ran from the room.



Despite her words, Allison did not appear the least bit embarrassed.  Her face was brimming with excitement, and she gave her mother’s hand a playful squeeze as she sat next to her on the sofa.



“LaMont is an excellent spanker,” she said with pride to Samantha, “and my little crybaby coward knows he’s in for a good walloping.  I think it’s important for Betsy’s upbringing to have a strong, manly figure in the home.  When I date a guy and invite him over to meet my husband, I get the strangest looks.  But when they see he’s just a teensy sissy with a ribbon in his hair and a lock on his baby pecker, they relax and all their inhibitions disappear.  Then we’ll have a nice tumble in the hay, and later a little pink fairy will bring us breakfast in bed.  It’s so romantic!  And what a turn-on to see my lover help with Betsy’s correction.  I get hot just thinking about it.  I’m so lucky that my boyfriends have all been great disciplinarians.”



Betsy was still crying when he returned and positioned himself across LaMont’s thick, muscular thighs. The tears turned into torrents when the powerful man’s beefy right hand began slamming into the girlish boy’s already sore b-ttocks.



The screams were so high and piercing that Samantha put her fingers in her ears.



Betsy kicked his high heels, wailed, wept and begged for mercy, choking on his own snot and tears.  But LaMont had twisted one of Betsy’s arms behind his petite back and held him securely and with little effort.  The huge, heavy hand fell with the steadiness and impact of a pile driver.



When the sissy was finally released and dumped off of LaMont’s lap, he continued to shriek in response to the blistering pain on his fanny, which was now redder than ever before.  He jumped up and ran round and round as if he were trying to escape his own flaming b-ttocks.  Everyone, including Samantha, found this display wonderfully amusing.



Finally, he became so dizzy from making circles that he lost his balance and fell down on the rug.  His audience responded with laughter and loud applause.



He sat up and crawled meekly to his wife/mistress, whose face was beaming with merriment.



“M-m-missthwess,” the sissy said between sobs.  “He hurt me sthooo bad.”



Allison frowned and slapped his wet, red face, which brought on a freshet of new sissy tears.  



“Where are your manners, brat?  That man is not ‘he.’  His name is LaMont. You can call him either ‘Mr. LaMont’ or ‘Daddy.’  He did you a great favor by smacking your little sissy b-tt. That will help you not to forget LaMont’s beer or anything else he needs in the future.  Remember LaMont is my boyfriend.  In a few minutes I’m going to take him into my bedroom and have sex with him, which is what adults like us get to do for fun.  If LaMont does not have his beer, he’s not going to be happy.  And if LaMont is not happy, he won’t do his very best at f-cking me.  And if I don’t get a good, serious f-cking at least twice a day, I’ll be hard to live with and a very, very mean mistress to a baby girl sissy.  Do you understand me, little freak?”



“Y-y-yessth, ma’am.”



The beautiful young woman in the bikini raised her hand again to the cowering fairy.  But this time she smiled and caressed the girlish thing’s bare scalp, a head that she had made permanently bald for no purpose other than her own amusement.



“And, remember this, my pet.  Under the terms of our marriage contract your sweet little a-- belongs to me. That means my boyfriend can do more than just spank your fairy fanny.  He may want, either for your punishment or his own pleasure, to deflower you.  Do you know what that means, baby girl?  Good, then you should know that all it takes is a nod of my head for him to do so.  He’ll give you a reaming you’ll remember for the rest of your life.  And that’s not all.  Overnight you’ll go from being a pretty little fairy virgin to a nasty little sissy slut with a terrible reputation.  Would you like that, sugar?  Would you like one hot, hard dic-k after another queuing up to take its turn tunneling up your swishy, girlie a--?”



“Oh, no-o-o-o, Missthwess, pwease no-o-o-o!  I don’t wanna be a thissthy sthlut!”



“Then stop crying and look at me, freak.  That’s better.  Now, Betsy, let’s try to get back on track again, shall we?  You can make a brand new start by crawling to LaMont and begging him to forgive you for forgetting about his favorite beverage.  Then you can perform a little tribute to him that will put him in a much better mood.  You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, sweetie?”



“Yessth, ma’am.”



Betsy dutifully went to LaMont on his hands and knees. He stopped just in front of the big man.



“Daddy, I’m sthooo sthowwy that I forgot to keep your beer co-wold.  Pwease, pwease forgive a sthtupid widdle thissthy maid.”



A hint of a smile glimmered in LaMont’s cruel, muscular face.  “Okay, bitch, I’ll think about it.  Now do what you do best.”



LaMont then parted his legs, and, to Samantha’s astonishment, Betsy leaned forward and placed his dainty mouth over the great bulge in the big man’s tight Speedo trunks.    The sissy then began licking and s-cking LaMont’s crotch, with only a thin layer of Spandex separating Betsy’s servile tongue from a rampant, surging p-nis.



Ginny whispered into Samantha’s ear, “This is perhaps the greatest act of humility a sissy can perform:  to stoke the erection of the man who is about to penetrate the sissy’s wife, whose sexual favors are, of course off limits to the sissy.  This ritual is critical in establishing the hierarchy of needs.  Mistress at the top, her boyfriend next to her or just below, sissy hubby on the very bottom rung.”



Samantha nodded and looked to Allison.  The sexy young actress’s eyes blazed with excitement as she watched her fairy slave making the enormous c-ck ready for her physical pleasure.  She opened her pouting lips as if to laugh, then caught herself and bit her forefinger instead.  She began to breathe heavily, the muscles in her stomach rippling up and down.



After two or three minutes of this oral service, LaMont groaned, grabbed Betsy by his top-knot and yanked his petite face away from his crotch.



“Okay, enough, bitch!  You keep going like that and I won’t have anything left for Allison.”



“Well done, sissy,” said the lustful young blond, who then turned to her other guests.  “Mommy, Samantha, I hope you won’t think it rude if LaMont and I duck into my room for a half hour or so.  We’ve been looking forward to a romp in bed all day, and I just don’t think I can hold out any longer.”



“Of course, darling. We’re perfectly comfortable here, and I’m sure sissy can tend to all of our needs.”



(To be continued.)

[littlebetsy]

HOLLYWOOD SISSY, PT. 5

After the lovers had disappeared down the hall and Betsy returned to kitchen duties, Samantha whispered, “I wonder if we should go?”

“Don’t be silly!  They only need about 30 or 40 minutes for a good workout.  And you’re really going to enjoy what happens afterwards.  For one thing Allison’s face is just going to be shimmering. It’s marvelous to behold.  No photographer or director has ever captured that beauty on film.”

“Oh, Ginny, she’s absolutely glorious.  What a face and figure!  And what self-confidence!  At her age, I was horribly confused and allowed myself to be led by one big shot after another.  But Allison!  She’s completely in charge and has the world by a string.”

“She’s dated a best-selling novelist, a U.S. senator, and a couple of Wall Street tycoons.”

“And that LaMont is certainly a hunk – and a celebrity in his own right.”

“God, yes!” said Ginny.  Then she lowered her voice to a whisper.  “She told me she wants to have his baby.”

“What?  And split up with Betsy?”

“Of course not!  She has no intentions of marrying LaMont or even keeping him around for very long.  She bores too easily for that.  Allison just thinks that she and LaMont can make a pretty baby together.  And don’t you agree?  Imagine a little angel with kinky blond hair, deep blue eyes and café au lait skin.  She’ll keep it only if it’s a girl.”

“And raise it on her own?”

“Well, she has a round-the-clock nursemaid in Betsy.  He’ll be an excellent nanny – at least until the child is old enough to handle one of those canes.”

Both women laughed hysterically at the mental image – until they were silenced by the sounds of a woman moaning ecstatically down the hall.

“Sounds like her lover is pressing all the right buttons.  While we’re waiting for them to finish, would you like to see Larry King’s interview with Allison and me?”

Within the hour Allison emerged from the bedroom with a white sheet around her fabulous body, draping from the tops of her bre-sts to the tops of her bare feet. Her long blond hair was in complete disarray, her eyelids heavy, her incomparable lips holding a smile of purest contentment. Ginny was right, thought Samantha.  The young woman was nothing less than beatific.  She obviously knew how to pick her lovers.

Allison sang into the kitchen.  “Sissy-y-y-y-y!  Front and center-r-r-r-r!”

Little Betsy came dancing into the room, rubbing his dainty wet hands on a dishtowel.

“Sweetie, I need to put your little tongue to work.  Assume the cleaning position.”

Without hesitation the boy in the pink baby doll nightie lay with his back on the floor and his tongue sticking out.  The gorgeous blond then dragged the train of her sheet-dress over him and lowered herself onto his waiting face.

“Now, sissy, remember what a big load Daddy packs?  Well, he really soaked me this time.  A lot of the juice dribbled down my thighs, so I want you to start there and work your way up.”

The sissy owner’s face was a study in exalted joy.  She smiled and closed her eyes as the frilly-fairy husband under her performed his lowly, self-abasing duties. 

After a moment she looked up and said, “Samantha, I suppose Mommy told you that sissy does not sleep in my bed, that we’ve never had intercourse – or sex of any kind.  Although, I’m sure that he’d give a year of his life to spend one night with me.”

“Yes, umm, she said something like that.”

“In fact, I’ve never even kissed the silly thing on the lips.  So what he’s doing right now is really the only intimate contact I grant him.  For a minute or two his cute little nose and mouth will be a resting place for my cunny, which he told me he craves and dreams about day and night.  But the price he has to pay is very high:  licking and swallowing all of my lover’s thick, gooey seed.

“His pathetic tongue won’t give me an orgasm.  I’ve just had three climaxes, and to have another I’d need a real man, a handsome, well-built one with a good-sized dic-k and a normal size tongue.  This cleaning is more like a ritual for us than a sex act.

“What’s happening right now is the essence of our relationship.  I’m on top, I call the shots, and I get all my wishes granted.  He’s on the bottom, he takes orders, and he rarely, hardly ever gets to pop his cork.

“And yet he’s absolutely crazy about me.  For the privilege of being my house-husband, toilet cleaner, and boot-licker, he’ll let my mother and my lover beat him senseless, he’ll kiss my lover’s feet and tongue his c-ck.  And then, after I’ve been heated to the core with sexual pleasure, he’ll lap another man’s cream right out of me, while his own c-ck is kept in 24-hour lock-up.  My handsome lover gets to use my body for his base, animal needs, gets to penetrate me, gets to ej-c-late, gets to pump, pump, pump his potent sperm inside me until he’s exhausted.  And all that my humble slave girl gets is the honor of being a human washcloth for my messy crotch afterwards.

“No, what we’re doing right now won’t give me an orgasm.  But what it does give me is one f-cking incredible power rush.  And that’s better than any sex I’ve ever known.

“Okay, cupcake, I’m starting to feel squeaky clean again.  Enough said.”

Allison then raised her bottom from her most ardent admirer’s face, adjusted the sheets around her body and strode regally towards her bedroom.

“Take my hand, Betsy.  It’s LaMont’s turn to get a tongue bath.”


The End