Now and then we wonder who the real men are

Oh yes, a proper little sissy, that one.  Has been for years.  Hard to imagine him not in his frillies or little maid’s dress, to be honest.

You want to know if he’s ever been out in public dressed that way?  Funny how many visitors want to know that...

Well… he has, from time to time.  But that’s not the most humiliating public display he’s experienced – is it sissy? Oh, sure, it would be embarassing to appear in public in a little girl’s dress, but the very worst public humiliation he has experienced was a time when he went out pretending to be a normal man.  Because it's so ridiculous an idea!  Simply ridiculous, isn't it, sissy?  That's right, it is.  And so are you, aren't you?  

I said: aren't you ridiculous, sissy?

That's better.

I’ll tell you the story.  It was when our ‘relationship’ had just started and it was still a rather playful, sexual thing, not the 24/7 servitude it is now. Maybe he could see the direction things were taking, I don’t know, but I found that more and more often he was asking whether we could just have an evening out ‘as normal people’.  A guy and his girlfriend, not a sissy-maid and mistress.  After all, despite all the games, he was a man, he would say.

Why not?  So we went on a ‘date’.   On went a smart jacket and tie…  frilly knickers below them, admittedly, and a remote-controlled shock device below those, but he looked ‘normal’ enough on the surface - a bit dweeby, maybe - and out we went, to a trendy bar.

He was nervous about the zapper, but I told him it was just a mind-game (oh how naïve he was about my intentions towards him back then) and I was true to my word and zapped not once, no matter how tempted.  We had been in the bar for about half an hour and he was beginning to relax, when I made my move.

“Look at those two at the bar” I remarked, smiling.  “Don’t they look lovely?”  And I nodded towards two young women laughing and joking together.  They were indeed rather glamorous.  I imagined they were having a couple of drinks together before going on to meet their dates – they certainly looked dolled up for someone and I was not getting a lesbian vibe from them.

Sissy looked rather alarmed and started wittering about how they were not as lovely as me, but I shushed him and told him it was fine: I just meant they looked good, that was all.  “It’s OK for you to find other women sexy, you know” I smiled. “After all, I do have the key – and not just to your heart.” He laughed too – more out of nervousness than the feeble pun, I expect, and admitted that the two ladies were indeed attractive.

These are not actually the two ladies from the story.  But the vibe is similar and so is the barman's beard, which was just like that.

“Right” I said, quietly.  “Off you go, then.”

“Erm… off I go? Go where?”

I nodded towards the attractive pair.  “Go chat them up.  That’s what real men do.  See if you can get off with one of them.  Give them your best pick-up lines.”

“But I… I…”

I took the remote for his ball-shocker out of my bag and very deliberately clicked it up to 16 out of 20, holding it so he could see.  His previous record was 14 and he had nearly screamed the house down.  

“We’ll start at 16.” I said.  “And we’ll go up to 20.  The battery’s fully charged.”  I picked the remote up and rested my thumb on the button.

“Or…” I said, indicating the two at the bar with the remote itself.  He looked desperately around.

I yawned.  “You can show me your pulling skills, or you can scream.  Five, four, three…”

He shot to his feet and barrelled over to the two ladies, knocking violently against a stool as he went. The disturbance made them both look up, and one smiled in a puzzled, friendly way.

What sissy used for chat-up lines, I shall never know.  I doubt the two young ladies do either, because he was stuttering and shaking with embarrassment as he tried to engage them in conversation, so I doubt he made much sense even close up.  Almost immediately, it became clear that it was not going well.  The friendly puzzled smile faded, and she spoke quietly but firmly to him, while her companion just pursed her lips in disapproval and called the barman for another drink.  Obviously, he had not “pulled” (I’ll confess now that I had no Plan B for what to do if he had… but it had not seemed very likely).

With a palpable sigh of relief, he turned away from them, towards me and started coming back.  I met his eyes and gave an almost imperceptible shake of my head and then gestured back towards the bar.  He knew what I meant.  Real men don’t give up that easily, sissy. Be forceful. Keep at it.

He looked horrified so I gently slid my thumb across the button again, and as if by magic he turned back, to play the real man once more.  His face was white – almost greenish. His attempts to appear masculine were not helped by the fact that his sweating had made translucent spots on his shirt, so the shadow of the bra underneath was very visible, although I don’t know if either of the two ladies noticed.  Again, he spoke to them and this time there was the reaction I’d hoped for.

No – not a face-slap!  He’d have enjoyed a face-slap, but that was never going to happen, not in the vanilla world, only in BDSM sessions and in movies. No: the one who hadn’t spoken to him so far just lost it, basically.  She stood up, in his face (slightly taller, in her high heels) and told him what she thought of creeps like him.  She spoke loudly and angrily – not quite shouting, but everyone in the bar could hear her give my poor sissy a piece of her mind about how she was sick of being unable to sit in a bar and have a quiet drink with her friend without sad little bastards like him coming up and ogling them and trying on his lame pick-up lines…. She went on for a while.  It looked rather cathartic.  I smiled myself and quietly left the place, as a couple of other people went up to the bar to help. 

Only in movies, I'm afraid.  And femdom sessions.  And femdom movies, for that matter.

I hadn’t abandoned him.  I had just sidled into a nearby doorway to see what happened. Don’t worry: he wasn’t beaten up or anything - they just marched him out of the bar and shouted quite a bit more.  Poor sissy.  He does not deal well with conflict.  Perhaps that is why he has allowed himself to be sucked into his present lifestyle – there is no possibility of conflict in his life now, just obedience.

He was still shaking when we got home.  He took off his ridiculous male outer clothes with revulsion and popped on a maid’s outfit to serve me a drink.  I allowed him to calm down, kneeling at my feet, for quite a while before making sure the lesson had sunk in.

“Any time you feel you want to behave like a real man again, sissy…” I started, but he shook his head violently.  A shame.  I was going to suggest going to a football match and getting into a fight with the other side’s supporters.  Or paying some streetwalker several decades past her prime for an encounter in a bleak concrete lay-by smelling of piss and diesel fumes (I don’t think he’d even need his tube locked on: I have several times forced him to tell me honest accounts of his fumbling attempts at sexual liaisons in early adulthood and I can confidently predict that in that circumstance, little peter would not be rising to the occasion).  Real man stuff.   

If he ever asks again, I have quite a few things he might try.

But somehow, he never has.   

Isn't that better, sissy?  Much more your thing.