Kirsty, James and Jody

“Kirsty, James and Jody,” Part 1

by c.w. cobblestone

I was on my knees polishing the baseboards when my naked wife breezed into the bathroom. Kirsty’s pussy was at eye-level and I glanced at it for a nanosecond before averting my eyes.

Too late.

“OMG, Jody, were you just ogling me?”

I gulped and kneaded my rag.

“Um, Mistress … no … I … I-I didn’t mean—”

“You were ogling me. I saw you. I can’t fucking believe this. Staring at me with your damn tongue hanging out. What’s the rule?”

“Uh…”

My wife crossed her arms. “What’s your master’s rule, Jody?”

“Um, it’s disrespectful for … for a … a sissy to … to ogle Master James’s woman.”

“Exactly. It’s disrespectful for a goddamn sissy to be ogling me, and gawking at my pussy. James’s pussy. You know I’m gonna have to tell him, right?”

“Mistress, please don’t say anything, I’m begging you.”

“You don’t want me to say anything?”

“Please don’t, Mistress.”

“Okay, so now I’m gonna tell him you wanted me to lie to him, too.”

I started trembling and my wife chuckled. “Pathetic little pansy. You’re scared to death of him, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes, Mistress.”

“Mmmm, that’s fucking hot. You should be scared. My baby is such a badass. Wait till he hears you were gawking at me.”

“I-I’m sorry, Mistress.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna be sorry. I know someone who’s gonna get his sorry little ass whooped tonight. I just hope he fucks me first. We can deal with your pansy ass later; it’s been a week, and I gotta have that beautiful cock inside me.” Kirsty patted her pussy five times. “Gawd, I love that man! Seriously, Jody, I fucking love him.”

My eyes welled at her use of the L word. In my watery peripheral vision, I saw her plop onto the toilet a split-second before the tinkling began.

“Get this bucket and shit out of here; I need to take a shower.” Her fart echoed in the porcelain bowl. “Go make sure my outfit’s ready and check on dinner.”

I sniffled. “Yes, Mistress.”

I scooped up the cleaning materials and skulked out of the bathroom, openly bawling as soon as I was out of earshot.

After stowing the cleaning gear, I slogged into Kirsty’s bedroom, my legs and calves cramping from teetering around in my 4-inch heels. My wife’s sexy outfit already was laid out on the bed. I wiped my eyes and smoothed the silky material. Her stockings sat perfectly straight on the comforter next to the camisole but I adjusted them anyway. I glanced at her red pumps — they gleamed — and brushed an imaginary piece of lint from the right heel.

I loitered in the bedroom for a few more seconds listening to the sound of Kirsty’s shower running before staggering downstairs to the kitchen. The roast was done so I lowered the oven temperature to keep it warm, and boiled a pot of water to start on the veggies.

As I was reaching in the freezer to retrieve the bag of peas, the front door clicked open and thumped shut. I glanced at the clock: 6:34. Fuck. He wasn’t supposed to arrive until after 8.

I turned down the flame on the stove and dashed to the living room, where James relaxed the couch, having let himself in with the key Kirsty gave him after their second date.

“G-good evening, Master. Shall I tell my mistress you’re here, sir? She’s upstairs … um, still getting ready for you, sir.”

“No, sissy, don’t bother her; I’ve got a call to make. Go fetch me a drink.”

“Yes,  Master.”

I curtsied and scurried away.

After checking on dinner I served his drink, then dropped to my knees and waited for further instruction, head bowed as I listened to my master scream into his cellphone.

“No, goddamn it, hold out for twenty thou like I told you. We’ve got Joey by the fucking balls and he knows it.”

James snapped his fingers and pointed to his shoe. I scooted toward him on my knees and removed both shoes and socks. He leaned back on the couch and snapped his fingers a second time, rocking his bare foot side to side. I hunched forward and got busy. My master wiggled his toes in my mouth as he continued his conversation.

“He’ll pay. Where else is he gonna go? The Russians? He already owes them money. He’s in a corner. Tell him $20,000 is a small price to save his sorry ass.”

My face was at carpet level but I heard Kirsty descend the stairs. She sat on the couch next to her lover, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek before planting her feet on my back. My wife fiddled with her cellphone, using me as a footstool while waiting for her boyfriend to finish his conversation.

After a few minutes, James hung up and kissed my mistress.

She smiled. “Everything okay, baby?”

“Just business,” he said. “Punk-ass Joey. Motherfucker don’t want to pay my price.”

Kirsty nuzzled her lover’s bicep. “Mmmmm, he don’t know who he’s messing with, does he?”

“No, he don’t.” James pulled his big toe out of my mouth and wiped it on my hair. “Another drink, sissy.”

I glanced up at my mistress for permission to move, since she was still using me as her footstool. She lifted her legs and spread them, exposing her silken-encased crotch.

“Might as well take another look, Jody, since you’re gonna get an ass-whooping anyway.” She tilted her head toward her boyfriend. “The little faggot was ogling me today. Looking right at my pussy.”

“He what?” His stare made me squirt a shot of pee in my panties. “I know you ain’t disrespecting me by ogling my woman, sissy.”

“I-I, please, sir, I wasn’t … please, it was just .. I just … I wasn’t … wasn’t ogling…”

“You calling my woman a liar?”

Kirsty tucked her legs under her butt, rested her head on her lover’s shoulder and smirked. “I think you better quit while you’re ahead, sissy. You were ogling me.” She kissed James’s ear. “You should’ve seen the little faggot, baby; he was staring at your pussy with that stupid look on his face, with his tongue all hanging out.” She crinkled her nose. “It was disrespectful.”

I closed my eyes, hung my head and tried not to completely piss myself.

James rose from the couch. I peeled my eyes open just in time to see him rear back his hand a split-second before it shot forward and slashed across my face. The blow knocked me from my kneeling position and I curled up on the floor.

“Please, Master, I’m sorry, please…”

Kirsty scoffed. “He’s sorry. Kick the little sissy’s ass, James.”

Master pulled me upright by my ponytail and slapped me across the other cheek. This time, he didn’t let go of my hair and I was unable to fall. He slapped me again. Again. Again. Again. Each strike was punctuated by a feminine giggle from my beloved wife.

I was a blubbering sissy mess by the time James let go of my ponytail, allowing me to collapse onto the floor. My tears flowed into the carpet when I heard the smack of a wet victory kiss.

“Mmmm, it makes me horny to watch you slap the little sissy around, baby,” my wife said. “Want to go upstairs? Eat later?”

“Let’s do it.”

Kirsty peered down at me. “Keep dinner warm, Jody. We’ll call you when we’re done.”

“Y-yes, Mistress.”

Hand-in-hand, my wife and her lover paraded up the stairway.

 

 

“Kirsty, James and Jody” Part 2

by c.w. cobblestone

The roast was still warm and juicy. Too bad I’d never be eating it. Sissy maids don’t enjoy the same food as their superiors.

Kirsty’s screams from the upstairs bedroom reminded me that sissy maids don’t get to fuck their own wives, either. As I stood in the kitchen keeping dinner warm for my masters, listening to their carnal outbursts, I wallowed in beta shame, returning to a familiar place where I reflected on my pathetic existence and hated myself for allowing it to happen.

James was the one who made me a sissy. Unlike a lot of cuckold slaves, it was never my fantasy. Oh, sure, I’d always been submissive, and Kirsty had me pussywhipped long before James came into the picture. But he was the reason I wore women’s clothes and lived as a 24/7 sissy maid. James had spent time in prison and was used to being served by sissies. So, when he started dating Kirsty and it became serious, he told me there could be only one man in Kirsty’s life. She loved the idea of emasculating me, and I was too weak to stop it, so that was that. Like it or not, I became a sissy.

I’ll never forget what my wife said when James first broached the subject: “He’s bad enough trying to be a man; he’s gonna make one ugly-ass woman.”

She was right.

I didn’t wear flouncy or silky maid outfits, the kind you see so often on fetish sites; my normal workday uniform was a plain, gray cotton frock, something between a long shirt and a very short dress that barely covered my caged genitals. I did a wear lacy apron over my frock, and my mistress and master liked me in heels, so my calves and feet constantly ached from the long hours of housework teetering on 4-inch stilts. But there was nothing fun, playful, kittenish or sexy about the way I looked. I was a 5-6, overweight, effeminate male with pronounced man-boobs and long, stringy dishwater blonde hair that was usually pulled back into a ponytail, which made a convenient handle, according to my masters.

James made me come out to the world as transgender the previous spring. My closed-minded family immediately disowned me, which was what he and Kirsty knew would happen. It was all part of their plan to isolate me and make me more dependent on them. At the bank, my coworkers and managers were all supportive enough, although some seemed weirded out by me.

It was incredibly humiliating to be forced to live a lie. I wasn’t a transgender. I was a sissy. Big difference. Unlike transgenders, sissies aren’t female souls trapped in male bodies; sissies are biological males who wish they could be men but can’t because they’re sissies. I didn’t want this. I wished every minute of the day that I could dress like a man and pee standing up, and be rid of my infernal spiked cage. But my master wouldn’t allow it. He said the workplace isn’t ready to accept sissies, so in order to keep my income flowing, he made me come out as a trans person.

It was different outside work. After I came out, my masters also came out and stopped being discrete about their affair. We didn’t have an “official story” for everyone’s edification; we were who we were — an effeminate male, his wife and her lover. When I was shopping, running errands or on an outing with my masters, I usually wore a plain housedress that was just a step up from my everyday frock. But even though I didn’t dress flamboyantly, I still received “looks” from strangers, especially when we were all together, because I was clearly the subordinate one in this trifecta. It was embarrassing for me, but my masters didn’t give a shit.

When we were in public, I always walked a few respectful paces behind them and spoke only when spoken to. If they decided to stop at a restaurant I usually had to stand outside and wait for them, although sometimes they’d let me come in. Because my masters believed it disrespectful for sissies to eat at the same table as their superiors, when waitstaff asked for my order, I was compelled to say, “I won’t be having anything, thank you.” I wasn’t even allowed to sip water. I would silently in the booth with my hands folded on my lap and eyes lowered, trying not to peek at them on the other side of the table as they cuddled and fed each other.

 

But I didn’t generally tag along with my masters when they went out; I was too busy with chores. I started my housework the second I got home from the bank and usually didn’t stop for hours after Kirsty had gone to bed.

Lost in thought, I was checking the pot roast for the 6^th time when James’ bellow from upstairs startled me:

“I could use a sissy up here.”

I ran as fast as my 4-inch heels allowed and tapped on the master bedroom door. When my master waved me in, I stood before the bed, head bowed as they kicked back on the mattress, embracing and smirking. I felt so vulnerable teetering there while this bigger, stronger, manlier man relaxed in what used to be my bed, sneering at me like I was the biggest loser in the world. In his arms was my bride, my Kirsty, the one who’d betrayed me and allowed this brute into our marriage, regarding me with a slight curl to her lip.

“Hand me my water,” my wife said and she had the bottle in her hand before three seconds were up.

James pointed to his sloppy, floppy dick and snapped his fingers. “Want a taste?”

I gulped. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Then do your thing.”

I dropped to my knees and performed the humiliating ritual, clasping my hands together, conjuring up the humblest voice imaginable and gushing the required request: “Sir, I know I’m just a little sissy, and I don’t deserve it, sir, but could you please let me clean you off so I can taste my wife’s sacred vagina on your magnificent penis, sir?”

He scoffed. “What a pussy. Go for it.”

I fell into sub-space and licked my master clean, trying to differentiate between his juices and hers. When he was satisfied, he let me know in the usual way, slapping me hard on the head and shoving me aside. When I turned to my wife, James shook his head.

“Oh, no, the pussy’s off limits,” he said. “You were ogling it earlier, and now you don’t get to lick it; you’re on booty-duty for the next month.”

My shoulders slumped and my world turned to shit. I would’ve rather faced 500 lashes with the cane than to be cut off from licking my wife’s pussy for a month. But James had spoken, and in our household, his word was law.

Kirsty chuckled at the miserable look on my face.

“Aw, poor Jody.” She spread her legs, exposing her pussy, which she patted three times “Are you sad?”

“I … I don’t know, Mistress.”

“You can tell me, ba-ba. You won’t get in trouble, I promise. Are you sad?”

“Y-yes, Mistress.”

“But at least you still get to lick my butt. Doesn’t that make you happy?”

“Y-yes, Mistress.”

“Then, thank your master. If he don’t want you to, you won’t even look at my ass, let alone get to lick it. So, I think you better thank him.”

I blinked and looked up into James’ leer.

“Um, thank you, sir, for letting me lick … lick her butt, sir.”

He scoffed. “No problem, sissy. You can lick that pussy after a month, as long as you learned your lesson. Did you learn your lesson, sissy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what lesson did you learn?”

“Um, not to ogle my mistress, sir, because it’s disrespectful.”

Kirsty chortled. “Maybe the little sissy isn’t as dumb as we thought.”

“Nah, Jody’s alright.” James smiled at me. “You got dinner ready, Jody?”

“Yes, sir, I kept it nice and warm, sir.”

He snapped his fingers. “Then bring my lady and me some food up here, bitch.”

“Yes, sir,” I said before turning to scurry away to the humiliating refrain of Kirsty’s giggles.