“Use me as you see fit Sir,” she moaned, her lip quivering. “I'm yours.”“I'm your what, Rebecca?”“I'm...I’m...” her voice stuttered. The words were there. But they were weighted down with coyishness. And it took everything she had to make them jump out. “I'm your date, Sir.” with that, her invitation was given. Sir grabbed her arms and brought her to the middle of the room where a lone chained hook dangled from the ceiling. He took the chain link from her cuffs and pulled her arms up, hooking them in the air and forcing her to bend down, raising her nice round plump ass in the process. Sir chuckled, only bringing embarrassment to her. All around her, she could sense them. She could feel their presence. She could feel them grope them with their eyes, watching as Sir circled around in front of her. With a gentle hand, he guided her face up to his.“I'm going to fuck you.” he stated boldly. “I’m going to have all these people watch me fuck my sexy date.”Rebecca was about to protest. But. In the 21st century it was rare to have a maid inLondon, let alone an indentured sissy maid that, not only waited on hermistress hand and foot, but worked during the daytime as a t-girlprostitute for the sole financial benefit of his owner. It was a fate Iwas led into over three years ago when my wife, Heidi, becameincreasingly irritated with my fits of jealousy and envy over her manylovers. She took me to her friend and doctor, Helen, who chemicallycastrated me temporarily and, recognising my feminine potential, put meon a strong course of oestrogen treatment. The weekly shots becameaddictive. The hot hormonal rushes were what I lived for and I becameputty in Helen's hands. Eventually the inevitable happened. My wife mether match and is now carrying his child and I have been consigned toHelen's oversight. She's a much harsher taskmaster than Heidi ever wasand will not be satisfied unless I am completely under her will.I don't blame Heidi for her behaviour. She married a man who was.
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