*Carl, a self described sissy slut, has been coming to see me for a few years. His visits have always been sporadic. I suspect this is due to the nature of his work schedule. I don’t know what sort of work he does; he never talks about it and rarely drops any hints. He could shovel guts at the slaughter house, for all I care. In fact it wouldn’t surprise me if this were the case. He seems like the kind of guy who could enjoy doing dirty, physical labor.
Aside from being a sissy slut, Carl is also into being humiliated and degraded. Nothing thrills him more than being put to ill use. I certainly wouldn’t want to let him down on this point.
We have a game, Carl and I. It seldom varies: He arrives 15 minutes before his play time is scheduled to begin. This is the amount of time he requires to transform himself into Carla. The transformation process is fairly simple: he dons a short polka dot dress which he brings with him, and puts on gaudy pink lipstick and a garish blonde wig. While he attends to these personal details, I finish preparing the play room.
Today I had a surprise for him.
A few weeks ago I was at a second hand store, where I bought a big poster of Sylvester Stallone as Rocky. It cost me a whole dollar (totally worth it). He’s standing against a blue background, larger than life, in boxing gloves and trunks. It’s absurd. I used push pins to mount it to the wall. Then I found a silicone cock with a suction cup base, and mounted this to the wall right beneath the poster. It was just as tacky as Carl-turned-Carla. It was perfect. Now, music. Surely, sleazy music was in order: Whitesnake. That would be perfect. Finally I poured myself a glass of wine. Shit was about to get ridiculous and I didn’t want to be entirely sober for it.
Finally Carl, rather Carla, entered the play room. I allowed her a moment to survey the addition of the thoughtful details I had supplied. She noticed the poster immediately. I didn’t give her any time to ask questions, though. This was my party, and the games would commence on my schedule.
“Well, hello Carla. How kind of you to join me at last.” I took a good swallow of my wine, looked her over. “You look even trashier than usual today. What did you do, take advice on slut appeal?”
Carla blushed and lowered her eyes. “no, Mistress. I just got a new dress is all.”
Indeed, she did have a new dress. It was even shorter, tighter, and sluttier than the little polka dot dress she usually wears for our sessions.
“It suits you, though strictly speaking, whores like you don’t really need clothes. It seems like a wasted effort, since they always end up on the floor anyway.”
“Is that bad, Mistress? Is it bad that I’m such a slut?”
I snorted. “No, Carla. It’s not a bad thing. It’s good that you know your station in life. Now get down on your knees.”
Carla obediently assumed a kneeling position. Such a well trained little slut.
“That’s where you belong, Carla. On your knees. Now, arrange yourself so you are face to face with this cock right here.” I used my riding crop to point and indicate the cock I had mounted just under the Rocky movie poster. Carla hastened to comply with this directive, swiveling on her knees so she was basically face to face with the wall mounted phallus. Her eyes gazed up at the poster, then back at the cock, an expression of worshipful adoration on her face.
“Do you see what I’ve done for you here, Carla?”
“Yes Mistress. This is great. I really appreciate it.”
“I certainly hope you do, Carla. But I think it’s time that you let your actions speak for you. Show me how a proper slut displays her appreciation.” With this command, I handed Carla a wrapped condom. She applied the condom to the cock, then applied herself to fellating it. I stood nearby, sipping my wine while Carla sampled that cock like a connoisseur, delicately moving her head in measured strokes, with uncharacteristic catlike grace.
This wouldn’t do.
“Uh, no, bitch. This isn’t how a slut shows her appreciation for cock. What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I trained you better than that. Haven’t I taught you anything?”
Abruptly, Carla stopped and cast a startled glance my way. I set my wine glass on a nearby table, then positioned myself directly behind Carla. Bracing her head between my hands, I placed her mouth back on the cock and began deliberately moving her head until I heard gagging, gurgling sounds emanating from the depths of her throat. This garnered no sympathy from me, but rather prompted me to increase the energy I put toward the effort. Carla placed her palms on the wall under the poster, in an apparent effort to brace herself. That’s fine. She wasn’t resisting or struggling, just trying to keep steady.
I decided it was time to remind Carla of the terms.
“Now, Carla, this is the effort and energy I expect you to invest in your work. Which brings me to the point: being a slut is your job, not mine. My job is to see that you are an adept, willing, obedient slut. Your job is to carry out whatever slut business I assign to you, with due diligence. If I have to stand behind you and move your damned slutty head on this cock, it’s almost like I’m doing your job for you. Not cool, Carla. Not cool at all. When I agreed to train you as a sissy slut, I didn’t think I needed to specify that you would be the one doing the slutty work. You do the work, I issue commentary. You suck the cocks, I critique you. You are the man on the ground. I am the voice from the grandstand. You’re the ho and I’m the brains. You do what I say. I ain’t gonna bust no sweat on account of your lazy ass. I will not abide an incompetent slut. Do you understand me?”
Carla nodded her head, the cock still lodged in her throat. The bulky protuberance created a big, round bulge against her cheek. I smacked the back of her head and snickered. “Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page. Now, I’m going to sit here and enjoy my wine and watch you be a slut.” And I proceeded to do just that.
Gentle reader, have you ever watched an artist at work? I wish you could have been there to see it. Carla applied herself with industry and determination. She kept pace with the music, choreographing her head motions to the sordid strains of overproduced hair metal (God help me, I like the band anyway). All the same, I wasn’t about to reward her for doing what she was supposed to be doing in the first place. There’s no good reason to let a pupil rest on their laurels.
“Hey Carla. I’m glad to see your head is back in the game.” I giggled at my own joke. “This is the sort of effort you need to be putting into your work, every god damned time. You are representing me. Your efforts are a reflection of your training. Your sluttiness needs to reflect a degree of enthusiasm and proficiency. I won’t have no half ass slut in my brigade.”
Carla said “aghurulumph”. A thin, silver streak of drool stretched from her mouth to her lap. Her lipstick was speared along the length of the priapic projection. Her blonde wig rested askew, giving her a bizarre, asymmetrical appearance. Blue eye shadow and thick black eyeliner rimmed her eyes, and two circles of pink rouge (probably smudges of the same lipstick she wore) graced her cheeks. She looked like a sad, slutty clown.
“The only problem I see with this, is that I couldn’t turn you loose on the boardwalk and expect you to pick up any business. You don’t have a lot of curbside appeal. I mean, mostly guys will fuck anything but considering that you look like Phyllis Diller, expecting them to pay you might be a bridge too far. This represents a problem for me as your business manager.” Carla listened to this speech without missing a beat. “It’s not your clothes. That dress is skimpy enough. And it’s short enough to show off your legs, which are at least nice enough. Guys will like the blonde hair too. And clearly, you are capable of doing good work; your effort and skill aren’t lacking. So, all of those things are in your favor. As far as I can see, the only thing really holding you back is your face.” I paused to finish my wine. “All right, Carla. Stop sucking that cock and turn around and look at me.”
Still kneeling, Carla pivoted 90 degrees to face me. I poured myself another half glass of wine, took a few sips, and studied her. “Do you understand what I mean, Carla? I’m telling you that no matter how good you are at sucking cock, you are never gonna be taken seriously because your face is a boner killer.”
“I understand Mistress. I don’t know what to do about that. I suppose I could wear a mask.”
I pretended to consider this. “Well, yes, you could wear a mask. That might work, if we could find a mask that didn’t impede your ability to do your work. But, there are other things to consider too.”
“Like what, Mistress?”
“Well, sucking cock is kinda for amateurs. I mean, sure, it’s ok but it’s not where the big money is. As your business manager it’s my job to maximize your street value so you can earn your full potential. So maybe we need to think bigger. You see what I’m saying?”
Carla cocked her head to the side. “not really, Mistress. I’m not sure I understand.”
I sighed. “Of course you don’t understand. You’re not very smart. It’s a good thing you have me to do your thinking for you.” Again using my crop as a pointer, I indicated a collar and leash hanging from the wall. “Go get that leash and collar, and bring it over here. Hurry up about it, we don’t have all day.”
Carla scrambled to her feet, retrieved the specified articles, then knelt at my feet to present them. I secured the collar around her throat, then took up the slack on the leash, pulling her slightly forward. I got in her overly made up face. Her lipstick was smeared. Her wig was still clinging to one side of her head. Her unevenly applied eyeliner had smudged. “You look like the sort of girl who gets banged behind the dumpster in the alley. Or by the pier, under a bridge. Or maybe in a gas station bathroom. It doesn’t matter.”
I swear, she was glowing. Clearly she considered it a compliment. I was on a roll and kept going. “It’s ok. This isn’t just your problem. If it was, you’d be fucked. You’re lucky I am here to figure these things out, because I think I have it sorted for you.”
Carla gulped. “What do you mean, Mistress?”
“I think I know a way to get around potential clients seeing your face.”
“Ok Mistress. Anything you want. Whatever you tell me, I’ll do.”
“See I’ve been down to the promenade, Carla, and I’ve seen the competition you’re up against. It’s fierce. Those girls have it all over you, at least in the looks department. So we’re gonna have to get creative. The way to keep the johns from getting scared off by your face, is to make sure they never get a look at your face. Stand up, please.” I stood, still grasping the leash and bringing Carla to her feet with me. One half baby step at a time, I inched her backward, until her ass crack was lined up with the wall mounted cock. Once I had her where I wanted her, I tightened my grip on the leash, taking up another fistful of slack. Lowering my voice to a low but powerful rumble, I enunciated a dire proclamation: “We’re about to level up your game, slut. Remember when I told you we were gonna have to think bigger? This is where it’s at.”
Carla stuttered. “Th-the back door, Mistress? You want me to take it up the rear end?”
“You catch on fast, girlie.” I dropped my end of the leash and busied myself hiking up Carla’s dress, then gave her a weighty smack on the ass. “Trust me, it’s brilliant. For starters you’ll be leveling up your slut game. Every slut sucks cock, but not every slut takes it up the butt. Still, it’s becoming more and more common, pretty soon it will be status quo. You’ve gotta do it just to stay competitive. Also as we discussed, your face is a non starter. No john is gonna pay $10 to look down and see that. But… if we can arrange your dates so the johns only see your butt, you can make me some money. Just think: if you catch a bunch of sailors on shore leave, all you gotta do to set up shop is just bend over. Get you a sign that says “tap this: $10″. Hang your shingle outside a truckstop bathroom. I guarantee, they’ll queue up, it’ll be wham bam thank you ma’am and they can throw their money on the floor on their way out. Simple, easy. No need to break a sweat. Your butt can do the work for you.”
Carla planted her feet, rested her palms on her thighs, and backed her ass up onto that cock until it disappeared. She established a cadence of backing up, easing forward, backing up, easing forward. Back arched, gaze fixed. Slow and steady at first, then faster. God damn, that slut could take it. I watched and sipped my wine as Carla continued to defile herself with 6″ of silicone. The wig finally fell off. It didn’t matter. Nothing was going to improve her appearance at this point anyway. I was doing okay until I glanced up at the Rocky poster. That was too much. The smirking face of the oiled up champion, looming over Carla the slut. I laughed. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. Abandoning all pretense of decorum, I laughed and laughed until I snorted.
I guess you had to be there.
Unfazed by my mirth, Carla spent herself on her exertions. She worked it like a pro, like she was born to it. Grunting and sweating and flexing, a grimace of concentration etched on her face. Her pace, frenzied and escalating, didn’t wane. She kept it up for many long minutes. Then, a sudden drop. She just stopped, falling silent except for her breathing, and panted out a raspy “no more…I can’t take any more.” Still bent over at a 90 degree angle, her shoulders heaved. Sweat dripped from her face.
I handed her a few paper towels. “Here, slut. Clean yourself up.” She straightened herself and mopped her forehead. Then, just like flipping a switch, she wasn’t Carla any more, but became Carl again. He stripped off the dress, used a few baby wipes to scrub off the remaining makeup. Finally, he donned his usual uniform of jeans and a t shirt. Not a trace of his former costume remained. The shabby, vulgar whore was gone until next time. There’s always a next time.