((OOC: I hadn’t yet posted because I was struggling to find a fantasy that would turn me on MORE than what I already do here in this wonderful site and in the corporation as a owned and enslaved sissy. Finally I realized, well, if I can’t find a bunny fantasy that excites me more… I should just present a little slice of life of yours truly Michelle Bubbles, M&R sissy #3469. Please enjoy!))
I enter the suite, my heels clicking on the hard floor, my ridicolous outfit flitting about around my waist and allowing my boobs to bounce around almost freely, offering so little coverage it may as well be nonexistant. The almost micking bunny ears on my head mirror their bounce, but are not nearly distracting enough to take the eyes away from my oversexed body, from my curvy ass, to my tiny waist, leading up to impossibly perky and soft mammaries, and finally to a face that constantly screams ‘I crave cock’, from the make up that is a mixture of whorish and classy to the permanent expression of a lust-drunk slut, thanks to the sissylink belt. Yet another buzz only serves to reinforce that expression and keep my desire impossibly high.
I look around the suite, afraid to make too much noise. I follow proper protocol, and stand at attention in the center of the room. Back arched, voulptuous ass back, prodigious chest out and shoulders back, my eyes low.
“Mister Simon, I am here for my training.”
I call out, trying to strike the perfect balance of respectful softness while still being heard should Mister Simon… Master… be in the bathroom or simply in the bedroom already. Usually he awaits me in full view, but sometimes it does happen that he runs late.
After a full 5 minutes of waiting in position, I allow myself to relax a bit… apparently this is one of those times.
I sigh and move my body a little, stretching my limbs. The cool air on my sensitive body sends shivers of delight down my spine, multiplied by the tight hug and light caress of the sexy outfit I wear and by another buzz of the belt. This one is stronger than usual, causing me to gasp softly, turning a simple stretch in me running my hands over my body, then caressing my breasts and letting one hand languidly go to my face and press a single, long nailed finger to my soft, plump, pink lips. The shock of delight from my sensitized suckers increases my bliss even more, a low moan escaping from the tantalizing cock-pillows.
I hate it all so much. I hate how much I love it.
I stiffen just a bit, a conscious reaction finally kicking in to rein myself down, and my hands fall back to my sides, slightly open to avoid touching my body, giving me the appearance of a dainty lady with slightly bent elbows, my big emerald eyes fluttering open as I try to regain control of myself. And I see my reflection in the glass overlooking the city, a wanton, oversexed little strumpet just begging for it, a slut who any man would love to cum all over and inside her, who knows it and encourages it.
I take a few steps forward, drinking her in. I barely remember how I looked before… when I was still Michael… I seem to only remember things that make me despair and hate this body even more.
How sex felt as a man. How much I loved sexy girls. How orgasming felt.
And I don’t even really hate those memories… what I do hate is how they compare to the now. And what that means.
Sex as a man compared to what I feel now is like comparing a flashlight to the sun. I still love sexy girls, but now when I see a cock I go delirious with the possibility of a sissygasm, an incredibly fleeting and temporary relief from the all-consuming lust. The relief. God, the relief I used to feel when orgasming. Do I even remember how that feels like? Would I still even be able to function without the lust occupying most of my brain? Or is that now a part of me that I will always crave even if the belt should one day magically fall off? It sure feels that way…
I should be thinking about my escape plan. I may have managed to escape already, if I could do some progress about it, and not just hastily piece together small piece by small piece in the very rare moments of lucidity I manage to have. And yet even now, just waiting and looking at myself, all I can think about is how Mister Simon will use me tonight. Will he make me suck his cock, impaling it deep in my throat, cutting off my oxygen for his pleasure and feeding me his seed, his delicious cum? Will he take me from behind, making me squeal for hours and paralyzing my brain with joy and bliss until I am fried by a wave of unending pleasure that gives me a few seconds of heavenly satisfaction before the return of my lust? Or will he just use me as a toy, not even giving me any pleasure, just making me pose for him as decoratio or as a waitress or as furniture even? All could happen. I tremble with desire at the simple thought, and I know I would love any of it.
I hate that.
The door opens behind me. I inhale sharply, my breath already accellerating. I know the moment I see him, everything will go out this window. I can barely make out his silhouette in the refelction as he enters, and that is enough to make my legs feel weak, my head light. He is going to use me, and I am going to love it. It doesn’t matter how much I hate that fact, it will happen. I desire not just his cock. I desire his dominance, his masculinity, his strength. Conditioned by now well over a year of pleasure, I still don’t know if my orientation changed. Am I bisexual now? Is this just artifical desire? Would I stop loving men and cocks and muscles and hard bodies and being manhandled and groped and kissed and bent over and being fucked like the slut I have more and more difficulty denying I am? I don’t know.
And I hate that.
“Good evening, Michelle. Excuse my delay… let’s go ahead and start with your inspection.”
I exhale, realizing only now I was holding my breath, lowering my eyes. I drop into a quick, automated curtsey, before turning halfway… my eyes still low, avoiding his. Delaying the moment I look at him. I reach behind myself, back arched, and lift my tiny skirt for inspection.
i can’t delay any longer, not without punishment. I raise my eyes.
A smile spreads on my lips, as I look lovingly at the man approaching. All my thoughts scatter from my brain, leaving only the desire and anticipation, the lust for his masculine presence deep inside me. I know I will hate this. I don’t care right now.
My name is Michelle Bubbles and I do what I am told
"How may I serve you today, Master? Send me a message with your orders and I will obey!"