The White Sissy Slave Society: Sold into Sissyhood

by Meeah Soo

 

They were standing in a small group, drinking beer, smoking, and laughing. I could hear the rap music thumping aggressively from their boom-box. I could see them watching our car.

It was late, well after midnight, and this particular park was no place for a white sissy to be at this hour. I've never been a physically or mentally strong person. Im very easily intimidated. And there I was in a tiny plaid mini and white pump sandals about to mince my way passed a group of young black street-toughs. Even in broad daylight, even in guy-clothes, I'd have been terrified…

Lise sat behind the wheel of our—sorry, her—Acura legend.

I pleaded: "Please, do I really have to do this?"

My beautiful wife looked so composed and cool. She had her short blonde hair slicked back tonight. She was wearing a black trenchcoat, slacks and driving gloves. She looked straight ahead out the windshield when she answered. "We've been through all this Ami. You've put yourself in my hands. You wanted to be a sissy and I agreed to help you. I told you that you'd have to do things you don't like, or understand."

"But this…" I protested. "It's dangerous…"

"Being a girl is dangerous. You do want to be a girl, don't you Ami?"

"Yes," I said quietly.

Over my bare shoulder I could hear the black guys whistling and cat-calling. I realized it with a shock: it's me, they were calling to. I felt a thrill go through me that left my bare knees all wobbly.

Claire caught my reaction and turned from the windshield. She smiled—and it wasn't a cruel or mocking smile this time. She seemed to soften for a moment and I almost saw what I could still remember of the old Lise, the one I knew before my sissification started. I thought maybe she might call the exercise off after all, tell me it was just some kind of bluff, a test of my obedience.

Instead she offered a final piece of advice: "Act pleasing, darling. If you promise pleasure, men may value and protect you."

I knew that was Claire's way of telling me that there was no backing down now: I had to go.

Resigned to my fate, I asked, "Do my lips look okay?"

Lise smiled again and this time, for a moment, she really seemed happy, even relieved, as if something were finally over.

"Let me touch them up for you, sweetie."

She took the lipstick tube from me. She could see my hands were trembling too badly to do it myself. I bent over into the car so she could reach my face. My skirt rode up in the back: the black guys were getting a good view of my thighs and pantied bottom. Oh! I'd forgotten that would happen! Their shouts on the night air filled me with fear and desire. I felt all melted inside.

Lise could sense my excitement. Did she make me bend like this on purpose?

"Go darling," she said. "Remember, I do love you."

"I love you too," I told my wife. I tried to kiss her but she pushed me away.

"You'll smudge your lipstick again. Go. And here—" She handed my my little red satin purse. "Don't forget your clutch."

She was right, I guess. There was no sense putting it off. I stood up, tugged my tiny skirt into place, and took a deep breath. I started my cat walk towards the group of black men.

I was wearing the high-heeled pumps and tight skirt as I mentioned, and a tight cotton top with a scooped neck. About two inches of my belly was exposed between the bottom of my blouse and the waistband of my skirt. I wasn't wearing any stockings. My waxed legs were bare. My toes painted. I tried to remember my training, walking heel to toe, swaying my hips, letting my arms hang, wrists forward. I was oh-so-aware that I could never run away in the heels I was wearing. I'd never felt so vulnerable in my entire life.

My hair, bleached and spiky, could almost have passed for a guy's surfer cut, if I were dressed as a guy. But the way I was dressed tonight, there was no mistaking what I was. My high-heels clicked against the broken pavement. I was wearing a short pink suede jacket. My bellybotton was pierced.

"What the hell are you," one of the black guys snickered. "some kind of faggot?"

The others laughed in a low, scary way. I was standing under a streetlamp a few feet away from them. I could feel them eyeing me from the darkness.

"Hi" I managed, trying to sound friendly. I was shocked to hear how high and girlish my voice sounded.

"Aksed you a question…you a faggot?"

A short, heavyset black man in a big leather coat shifted in the shadows. I could see him glaring hostiley at me. I thought I'd piss my panties right then.

"Please," I stuttered, "don't hurt me. My wife wants me to do this. She wants me to give one of you guys head."

Hearing me say this made them laugh and swear and whoop it up a little. I felt slightly relieved. Maybe they'd take pity on me. I smiled back nervously.

"Jesus fuck," another black man, this one tall and lanky, said, "I figure I seen it all now."

He stepped towards me and I instinctively held my hands in front of my chest, clutching my purse in terror. I looked at the ground in front of me, afraid to meet his eyes.

"You have any cash in that purse faggot?"

"Yes sir."

"Give it over."

I quickly handed over the little red satin purse and the thin-faced black man tore it open, not bothering to work the little silver angel clasp. I felt heartbroken: I loved that adorable purse! The black man took out a folded sheet of paper and opened it up. Usually Lise allows me a twenty-dollar bill in my purse in case I need cab fare home. I'd never seen the document the black man was reading: it looked like some kind of contract.

The black man looked up from the paper and pointed with his chin. "Is that your old lady in the car over there?"

"Yes sir."

"Maybe I ought to fuck you up right in front of her, what you think?" He lifted his fist which was all studded with gold rings and made like he was going to punch me.

I scrunched all up and let out out a little yelp.

Everyone laughed. I opened my eyes.

The lanky black man sneered at me. He had a gold tooth.

"Yo ease up on the bitch."

Another black man had stepped out of the shadows. I turnd to look at my savior: he was just as tall as the lanky black, but he was much bigger, more muscular. He had a shaved head and a goatee and wore a shiny black leather jacket. His muscular chest seemed to shine like black steel in the lamplight.

"You heard me Mo," he said, pushing the lanky man aside with the back of his large hand. "You want to give her a heart attack or something? This bitch is money." He took the paper from the lanky man's hands and read it over quickly. Then he looked me up and down. He seemed to tower over me. "Take yo jacket off, sugar pie. Let's have a look at you."

I slipped off the little pink jacket.

"Spin around for me."

I did that, too.

"Woo-hoo sugar, you ain't half a bad looking girl."

"Thank you sir."

The others laughed.

"Hey," the black man said, "What you all laughing at. Look at this sissy's legs. What's the matter with them legs?"

"Bitch got no ass," said someone in the group.

"She got a white girl's ass. Nothing wrong with that."

I heard someone else say, "She got cute feet. I'll hand her that." He got teased for complimenting me. "Fuck you Tryone," he said, "they is cute feet, smaller and prettier than yo old lady's feet."

The others started laughing and trash-talking among themselves and the big black man took my jacket and put his muscular arm around my trembling naked shoulders.

"You cold sissy?"

"Im just scared sir."

"No need to be scared sissy, if you do whats I say."

He held the sheet of paper to my face.

"Kiss it," he said. "I want to see your lipstick print on it."

I did as he said. He held up the paper and smiled. "You like to suck cock bitch?"

"Hey, now you a faggot, too, Baruke?"

The large black man didn't take his arm from around my shoulders as he turned back. "You watch that shit," he said, his voice cool and dangerous, "or I'll fuck you up for good. I had plenty of this kinda pansy shit in the slame and it aint half bad. White sissies'll blow you better than 80% of the real thing you find out there, white or black or yellow. Ain't that a fact sweetheart?"

I remembered what Lise said about being pleasing. Maybe this man would protect me. "Yes sir, I like to give pleasure."

"Good girl. What's your name honey?"

"Ami."

"Ami, now aint that just the sweetest name for a sweet little sissy like you. You don't listen to them, Ami. You're looking pretty fine to me. Now let's just the two of us get better acquainted."

He led me away from the walkway, away from the lights, away from Lise waiting in the car. I could feel myself panic. He was taking me to a place where he could easily rape and kill me. There'd be no one around to help me if he decided to hurt me. I'd be completely at his mercy. I pictured the shame of a jogger finding my battered, raped body the next morning.

I wanted to break away from the black man's grasp, but I couldn't make myself do anything but follow him deeper into the park. Where would I run to anyway? I couldn't have made it five feet in my heels before he caught me. Trying to run away would accomplish nothing: it would only make him mad. I could feel the wet grass on my bare toes as we walked. The size and strength and heat of the man beside me was dizzying…

"This is it sissy," he said.

We'd come to what look like a small clearing in the middle of a stand of streets. Some broken concrete was scattered around. I was crying.

"What's the matter girl?"

"Please don't hurt me," I stammered between sobs, "I'm so scared. Ive never even done this before. I'll do my best to please you. I promise, sir. Please, don't kill me."

The black man laughed softly. "That it, bitch? Yo scared Im going to kill you?"

I nodded, my wet face in my hands.

"You relax. Ain't no one going to hurt you if you do exactly what you're told. Understand?"

He lifted my chin with his fingers.

"Understand?" he repeated.

I sniffed and nodded. "Yes sir."

"Good. Yo here to give a black man a blowjob, is that right?"

"Yes sir."

"Then yo give me a blow-job sissygirl."

I was still trembling. It seemed I couldn't stop trembling no matter how hard I tried.

"Sir, can a sissy please ask a favor?"

"I like the way you ask that, sissy. What is it?"

"I'm so scared that now I have to go pee-pee. Can I please go before I give you a blow-job?"

The big black man grinned in the dark. "Yo a precious bitch, you know that? Yeah, stand off there a little ways and do yo pee-pee."

I sniffed and tottered a few feet towards the trees.

"Right there," the black man said. "Stop and do it right there. Face me."

I turned back to face the black man.

"And squat to do it, like the bitch you are."

I got down on my haunches in front of the black man and carefully pulled my short skirt up around my waist. Then I reached into my panties for my penis. I could sense him watching approvingly as I pulled my small hairless genitals free from the pink lace thong I was wearing. I kept my feet wide apart, careful so as not to spatter my white pumps or bare toes with pee. It took me a moment to overcome my shame before I was able to relax and let loose.

The pee sizzled out onto the ground forming a large puddle beneath me as the black man watched.

When I was done, I was crying again, but this time with a strange sense of relief. I knew that I would submit completely to whatever this man said. My life was in his hands. It was a relief not to be responsible anymore. I tucked myself back into my panties. Then I stood up and minced back to where the black man stood. I waited with my eyes downcast.

"Get on your knees bitch," he said, almost gently.

I sank down to the ground, kneeling in the cold wet grass. I brought my hands up to the front of his pants. My fingers looked so sexy—long and white and delicate—with their red-painted nails. I could feel my heart pounding. I was this black man's bitch, his whore, his slave. I'd never felt more at home in the world than I did now: on my knees before a black master. I unbuttoned the fly of his baggy jeans and felt the warmth of him. He was already hard and his heavy dark cock slapped me in the face, surprising me. I'd never touched a man's cock before and this one was so large and thick and, oh!, lively. His cock grew even larger between my fingers as I tentatively stroked it.

I wasn't sure what to do, so I leaned forward a little and licked the enormously long shaft. I used the tip of my tongue to tease the sensitive skin under the massive purplish cock head. I could see my masters ball tighten and the whole length of his erection tense.

His voice was something between a groan and a growl. "Put it in your mouth bitch."

I wanted to do it like the stories say, take him all in, all the way down my throat, but he was just too huge. I'd practiced, with Lise supervising, on cucumbers and dildos, but a real man was different. I didn't really know what I was doing so I tried to make up for my lack of technique in other ways. I wanted my master to feel how I worshipped his beautiful black cock.

I used one hand to stroke the part of his thick cock I couldn't fit down my throat. My saliva, leaking down the length of him, helped lubricate the movement of my stroking fingers. With my other hand, I gently massaged his hard balls.

He swore and tensed up and it was as if I could feel every muscle in his body turn to steel. His cum scalded the back of my throat and his cock was pulsing and constricting like one of those snakes that crush you to death. I wish I could say that I swallowed all his cum—it was impossible! The cum just kept leaping out of his cock, as if he were pouring a gallon of hot salty milk down my throat. I choked and gasped and finally he let me go, his cock still wet and half-hard, coated with my lipstick and saliva and the cum I couldn't swallow.

"I'm sorry sir," I managed to say, wiping my chin. "I didn't get it all. I really wanted to. I'm sorry."

He was already putting himself back in his pants. "Shit girl…that was something for a first time…damn! Don't you worry, they'll teach you to take it all where youre going. You'll make it just fine."

I was happy to hear that I hadn't disappointed him. But what did he mean, they'll teach me where I'm going.

Where was I going?

"Stand up sissy."

I climbed back to my feet. Between all that had already happened, I felt kind of wobbly. The black man took my arm and led me forward. We were going behind the screen of trees up ahead. I was too spent to object. I leaned against him as I tottered along in my heels. He would do with me as he liked, anyway. I would just have to put my hopes in that I'd given him pleasure and that therefore I was worth more alive to him than dead.

In the gloom, I could see a narrow service road that was probably used for park maintenance. There was a black van parked there.

"Oh no…"

I didn't fight or struggle, but I felt my legs go out. The black man didn't break stride. He pulled me along stumbling beside him. Then he simply lifted me off my heels as if I weighed no more than a pillow. He threw me over his shoulder as he unlocked the back of the van.

He carried me inside the van. There were a couple of cots bolted to the side walls. There was a box in the middle of the floor.

He laid me face-down on one of the cots.

"Put your hands behind your back sissy," he said. Wrists crossed."

I felt him loop the plastic band around my wrists. He tightened it. He slipped off my pumps. Then he bent my legs so that my bare heels touched the backs of my thighs. He bound each of my legs heel to thigh. And then he bound my thighs, knees, and calves together. He bound my upper arms and elbows together in a similar fashion. Finally he attached my wrist and ankle bindings. I had started sobbing softly again through all this, but I didn't give him any trouble. I knew there was no point. The black man pulled up my skirt, pinched my ass hard, and rubbed something where he pinched. I didn't expect the sharp jab of the needle that came next. I cried out a little and thought he'd slap or gag me, but it didn't seem to matter.

"You're finished," he said, patting my ass. He lit a joint. "Why are you crying sissy?"

"My wife," I said. Whatever he'd injected into me sure was working fast. I already felt groggy. "She was waiting…she'll wonder what happened to me. I know I'll never see her again…"

The black man chuckled softly and exhaled the sweet pot smoke. He held something in front of my face: a sheet of paper with a lipstick print.

"Well you're wrong about that, little bitch. Do you know what this is?"

"Whatever he held in front of me seemed to be melting. "It's that paper I kissed…"I said drowsily.

"Do you know what it says?"

I fought to concentrate. My eyes were too full of tears and mascara to make any sense of the paper, anyway.

"It's a contract sissy. A contract between your wife and the people I work for. She sold your sweet little white ass into slavery."

I couldn't conceive the enormity of what the black man was saying. Sold me? Lise had sold me? Was I hallucinating this whole conversation because I'd been drugged?

At that moment, I heard a car pull up behind the van. The engine turned off. There was the click-click of heels.

"Is he satisfactory?"

"Lise…?" I murmured.

"Shut up," the black man said to me. "Yes, he'll do just fine. A good-looking sissy. The Society will be happy. After some conditioning and body modification, he'll be auctioned off to one of our members. If he behaves and gives pleasure, he should last for a while. Do you want to see the bitch before I pack him up for shipment?"

"Yes."

I could sense her standing over me after a while. Her face swam in and out of focus. She told me that it was best this way, that it was the least I could do for her. I couldn't support her or fulfill her as a man anymore. What did I expect? She'd done what she could to make me worth something as a sissy. Our marriage was a disappointment to her. I owed her a new life, she said. I didn't have the right to begrudge her that much. So she sold me. They'd given her enough money to start over again. Meanwhile I would be going to a place that knew what to do with sissies like me. She was sorry it had to end like this…

I don't think she said anything more. I remember that she kissed me on the cheek and said 'goodbye.' I whispered that I loved her but she didn't answer.

I heard her car start and then it pulled away.

The black man lifted me up off the couch as if I were nothing. He placed me into the box on the floor. It hadn't looked large enough to fit a human being, but bound as I was, I seemed to fit inside easily. There were little openings in the side of the box to let it air. I was very sleepy. He put the cover on the box and I could hear the heavy latches securing it closed. The next thing I knew I could hear the road beneath the floor of the van. I woke up once in a while. I could hear voices, sobbing, the sound of other boxes scraping across the floor. We were still driving. I fell back asleep. We seemed to drive forever. No one had to tell me that I would never be going back.

  

  

  

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