Previous Chapters: 1&2,3,4,5,6,7
Priscilla's Lust
Priscilla’s life was one never ending grind of scrubbing, washing, ironing, sweeping, mopping, cleaning windows, polishing, and making beds, interspersed with receiving snide remarks, public humiliation, and severe canings every Sunday during Punishment Hour. Even The Tickler had broken from overuse and had to be relaced with another longer, stronger one; Aunt baptized it Tickler 2.
Getting up at the crack of dawn and working almost nonstop until 10, 11 or 12 o’clock at night– sometimes even to 2 or 3 in the morning was wearing her down.
The exhausting work, the lack of sleep, the punishments and lack of human kindness were beginning to take their toll. Only rarely did she feel her male sexual urges and needs, while on the other hand she had begun to tolerate, then enjoy, sucking Clive’s cock. It was the nearest she got to feeling wanted, if only as a sex object.
Flo continued to make demeaning remarks and serve her tepid tasteless slop, Fred enjoyed making her use his filthy clothes and cleaning out the pig sties, Lizzy harried her and criticised her work continually, and Madam Agatha seemed to take great pleasure in finding new and ingeniously cruel ways to humiliate her in public.
Even Clive, who had seemed so sympathetic and kind to begin with, had started to be more demanding. On their Sunday afternoon rendezvous, he started to call her Peters instead of Priscilla, and told her to call him Master Clive.
He instructed her to caress his balls then after a few more sessions he demanded that she kiss and suck them as well.
He even trained her to beg for his weekly fellatio, demanding that she say “Please, Master Clive, may I be allowed to suck your great organ until you honour me by coming in my mouth? I yearn to swallow your seed, Sir.”
“Oh well, I suppose so, Peters.” He would grudgingly answer.
After the act she had to repeat:
“Thank you, Sir; that was wonderful; I’m so grateful to feel your hot man juice spurt into my mouth; I treasure it.” she was trained to say with a mouthful of cum.
Clive was drunk with his power over Priscilla, and he dreamed up more and more humiliation for her.
Whenever they ran into each other in the Hall during the week, Clive had taught her to curtsy to him and say in a soft sexy voice “Good morning, Master Clive. I’m looking forward to Sunday, Sir. I just can’t wait to have your enormous organ in my mouth again, Sir.”
After some months had passed, whenever Clive ran into Priscilla in the Hall during the week, he would often whisper in her ear “I want a quickie.” She had soon learned what that meant and that she would have to obey, so she’d answer, “That would be wonderful, Sir.”
Once she’d tried to avoid complying but the following Sunday during Punishment Hour, Madam declared that Clive had reported her for insubordination, and she received 5 extra lashes of the cane. After that, whenever Clive wanted a quickie, she would go to Clive’s attic room where he’d be waiting for her. On cue, she would enter, walk over to him, kneel, and unbutton his trousers, pull then down, then carefully pull his underpants up over his erect cock and pull them down as well.
She’d been trained to hold the base of his swollen member, cup his balls in her other hand and then take his long prick into her mouth.
When he came, she would swallow, gently lick the last drop of semen off the end of his member, pull up his underpants, carefully positioning his limp organ inside, pull up his trousers and button them up.
The final humiliation was when she was obliged to take out a one-pound coin and pay Clive, curtsy and back away to the door, exiting and closing the door.
Priscilla’s last masculine urges were being stamped out and her feminine side was being watered and nurtured like a small plant that grew and grew until the bud burst open into a beautiful flower.
But she endured everything stoically, never forgetting that there might be 10 million pounds in it for her after a few years. Everyone has their price, and 10 million pounds was Priscilla’s price.
Priscilla understood why Aunt enjoyed punishing her – she was inherently a nasty person.
But why had all the others joined in so enthusiastically?
And finally, the awful truth dawned upon her – they each wanted their two million pounds and wanted Aunt to fail her when the five years were up.
One day, Aunt summoned Priscilla to her room. Priscilla knocked gently, waited to be told to enter, went in, curtsied daintily and waited for Madam Agatha to talk.
Agatha informed her that the Bideford branch of the Salvation Army was going to hold a jumble sale to raise funds, and requested donations of clothes, toys, kitchen utensils and the like.
“I instructed Lizzy to sort through all your things and she has separated all your masculine clothes and shoes and has left them in two black plastic bags outside the Box Room. You won’t be needing them, and they might help some poor alcoholic or drug addict. Go and put them in the Mini Cooper; Clive will be taking me to Bideford in 10 minutes. Oh, and by the way, she included your cell phone. You won’t want that either – the battery’s flat anyway. She also found two packs of condoms - she threw them in the toilet. You won’t be needing them for years, will you? she added nastily.”
Wasn’t she even allowed to have a little privacy in her dark little room anymore? Were her personal things now Aunt’s property also? She felt that she had nothing left – no dignity, no self-esteem, no personal property, no money, no car. All was being whittled away little by little. Even her body now belonged to Clive.
“While I’m away, I want you to clean Grandpa Rolland’s old bedroom. It hasn’t been cleaned since his death and it needs a thorough cleaning. See to it.”
Priscilla gathered her cleaning utensils and climbed the stairs to Grandpa Rolly’s old bedroom on the second floor – the Regency Room in the West Wing.
It was a large room with a wide bay window that overlooked the back lawns, the great water fountain, and the flower beds. A queen sized four poster bed took up the centre of the room. Pale blue and soft yellow Persian silk carpets covered the floors. Leading off the room there was a large dressing room, marble tiled bathroom and separate toilet.
His suits, shirts and old army uniform hung in the wardrobe. Three chests of drawers contained smaller items of clothing.
Priscilla entered the room and felt a chill run down her spine, remembering the close love and friendship that she’d shared with Grandpa Rolly, but she couldn’t forget the harsh demands in his Will.
She sat on the edge of the bed and looked at a framed photo of Grandpa and Grandma on their wedding day.
Another photo showed little Agatha, Kevin and Dennis playing in a swimming pool with their parents. It was like looking back into another world – a world of carefree happiness, of innocence, love and shared experiences. A tear trickled down her cheek as she thought of those times and her present sad situation.
On top of the dresser were three jewellery cases. She opened them and saw the most wonderful collection of her dear old granny’s necklaces, bracelets, brooches, and rings, studded with diamonds from South Africa where great grandpa had owned mines. There were gorgeous deep green, cat’s eye, trapiche emeralds that Rolly had won at the gaming tables in Monte Carlo, a large, teardrop-shaped blue sapphire, and a black velvet bag of smaller rubies and natural pearls. In all it was worth a small fortune…or maybe a large fortune.
She snapped back into reality and started the cleaning – it took three hours until finally she completed the task. As one last job she decided to organize the dresser drawers. There were socks, underpants, ties, singlets, swimming trunks, shorts and tee shirts.
While organizing the bottom drawer she felt under the clothes and found some old magazines which she took out and scanned through. She was amazed to discover that they all showed pictures of lithe young women in corsets, roll on girdles, suspender belts and stockings! So, Grandpa Rolly was a horny old fellow after all!
Why is it that many of us think that our parents and grandparents never felt the same urgent lusts and urges that we have? We remember grandpa as an aged, kindly old fellow walking slowly with a walking stick – never as a horny young stud kneeling in front of granny’s pussy while she begs to be fucked. Strange, eh?
Leafing through the well-thumbed pages, Priscilla drooled over the sexy pictures; thoughts of her old lover Jane Burlington flashed back into her brain.
Dennis had loved to watch Jane as she seductively danced before him in her underwear, slowly peeling off her bra, then her girdle and finally her panties. He adored running his hands up and down her thighs, caressing her furry mound, weighing her heavy breasts in his hands, and sucking her nipples.
Priscilla’s male hormones surged through her once more. She quickly stripped off her clothes, kneeled on Rolly’s bed, laying the magazine before her and lusted over the women in the magazines while she stroked her swollen penis. Page after page of unattainable gorgeous young ladies in wonderful tight-fitting girdles and old-fashioned bullet bras.
It was a fiesta of emotions for Priscilla as she spurted great ropes of cum over Rolly’s red velvet bedspread.
She was a man after all! She wasn’t a sissy wimp who had to obey orders and be humiliated! She felt invigorated and elated. Rebellion was in the making…but it didn’t last long. She just knew in her heart that she had to obey or suffer punishment if she were ever to win her inheritance.
The rebellion was over before it began.
At about lunchtime, Clive drove the Mini fast up the driveway and screeched to a halt in front of the main door. Slamming the car door, Aunt Agatha entered the entrance hall carrying some carrier bags, and happily informed Priscilla that she’d treated her to some nice cotton bloomers, thick knickers, a gym slip and even a bullet bra; they were all used but with a good wash they’d be like new.
“Thank you very much, Madam Agatha, they’re beautiful – I can’t wait to try them on.”
Since Grandpa Rolly’s death, Agatha had decided to insure her granny’s jewels, and Hugh Botherington was awaiting quotes from several insurance companies. Hugh had forewarned her that almost certainly the companies would demand a strong wall safe, firmly anchored to the wall, window bars, motion detectors, camaras and an infra-red alarm system. Agatha was loathe to destroy the Regency Room silk wallpaper, so as a stopgap measure, she had a technician come and install a single, motion-operated security camara in Rolly’s bedroom. The camara’s recordings could be viewed on Aunt Agatha’s cell phone.
Gotcha! dear reader. You’ve guessed what’s coming next, haven’t you!
Every month like clockwork, Agatha would review the camara recordings and you can imagine her anger when she saw the latest recording! A pride of starving lions being shown a gaggle of Christians would be nothing compared with Madam Agatha’s fury.
“Look at this!” Madam Agatha ordered, showing Priscilla the video on her cell phone, “you filthy lustful animal!”. Aunt was incensed and tore into poor Priscilla with vengeance. “First you assault a lady in the waxing salon and now you commit self-abuse, and to add insult to injury, you, you, you… spurted your evil seed on my dearest grandfather’s bed!
Madam Agatha was furious, and she snapped out “First you’re going to get a taste of the cane, then there’ll more punishment later. Kneel on the sofa and lift your skirts, you young slut. Now is the time for swishing!”
Priscilla was terrified and obeyed meekly, kneeling on the red velvet sofa and lifting her dress to expose her black underwear and bare bum cheeks.
Madam used The Tickler to great effect, giving Priscilla ten cruel slashes on her rump.
The first stroke came with a sharp crack as the cane bit into Priscilla’s upturned bare flesh.
Priscilla’s derriere was just crying out to be decorated with colourful weals. Waiting for the second stroke must have seemed an eternity to her, until in that split second before feeling the stroke she heard the frightening swish as The Tickler cut through the air.
Her bare bottom sprang into life, wriggling, clenching and unclenching bizarrely, as The Tickler began to weave its pattern of agony and colour.
Priscilla gasped, squealed and writhed through all ten deliciously hard strokes. Her blazing bottom was a picture to behold.
Priscilla shrieked and sobbed after the last stroke was applied.
Now go to bed now with no supper. This isn’t the last you’ve heard about your disgusting behavior.”
Dear reader. No Sissy story would be complete without a chastity device being forcibly attached to the poor Sissy, would it? So here it comes…
Three days later Amazon delivered a package to Madam Agatha, and she opened it at once, reading the complicated instructions. It came with a battery so Aunt could practice for a while before summoning Priscilla into the drawing room.
“I have a little surprise for you; go to your room and shave all your private parts perfectly. You have 15 minutes.”
Priscilla returned quaking with fear – what abomination had Madam in store for her now? What was she going to do to her most intimate parts?
“Enter! You’re late! Come here!” Priscilla forgot to curtsy, but Madam didn’t notice. Aunt pulled down Priscilla’s panties, extending her bald balls forward, she snapped a stainless-steel hinged ring behind them. It clicked shut but it had no keyhole. How was the damned thing ever going to be removed, thought Priscilla.
A steel open-ended cage was slid over her cock and clicked onto the ring behind her balls.
It felt strange – constricting and tight. Once more she was humiliated, but worse than in her worst nightmares. The hole at the end of the cage would allow her to pee.
Madam handed her an electronic keyboard about the size of a cell phone; the green screen lit up.
“This is a fun little game that you’re going to play. The only, I repeat only, way you can release and remove the cock cage is to win at this tricky little game. It’s called a magic square. Do you know what a magic square is?”
“No, Madam Agatha” she answered. Her voice was quivering.
“A magic square contains 16 little squares arranged in lines, four by four. You must fill in every small square with a different number, using the keyboard, so that every horizontal line and every vertical column, and the two diagonals add up to the same number.”
The pictures below show two examples: the one on the left adds up to 34 in all directions and the one on the right adds up to 50.”
“Do you understand, Peters?”
“Yes, Madam Agatha; I think so.”
“Good. There are a few rules to this game though. A successful solution will open the cage. An unsuccessful attempt will keep the cage locked for another week. Only one chance every week. Failure means and you must wait another week to try again!”
“I understand, Madam. Only one chance a week - if I fail my one opportunity, I must wait another week to try again.”
“Yes, that’s right. There’s just one other rule, each week the keyboard will show you the number that you must aim for, and the number will change every week! Isn’t that ingenious? Ha ha ha.
And there’s a time limit of five minutes as well!” Aunt Agatha was enjoying herself.
“Try it now – the number is 30… the time starts now!”
Priscilla’s mind was in a whirl, and she didn’t have a clue how to start so she started clicking in random numbers: 7, 10, 8, 5, so far so good, then 20, 1, 2, 7. The keyboard flashed a warning INVALID – NUMBER REPEATED.
She tried again and again and again and again, then the keyboard timer counted down 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, “TIMED OUT. Bad luck, try again in one week.”
“Oh dear, Peters. You’ve lost. No sex for you for one week! I’ll keep the keyboard and every Sunday at 10 am you will report to me and request the keyboard so you may try again. Fail – no sex for a week, Fail – no sex for a week, Fail – no sex for a week, Fail – no sex for a week, Fail – no sex for a week…Ha ha ha.”
Pull you panties up and get back to work…ha ha ha ha ha ha ha …”
Thereafter, every week like clockwork, Madam would summon Priscilla to the drawing room, and give her the keypad; Priscilla would nervously press the START button and furiously enter numbers, trying to add them up in her head.
Would today be the day that she could beat the game and be allowed 10 minutes alone in the bathroom to stroke her member and finally have some sexual release?
Inexorably the timer would count down the seconds, and Priscilla would get ever more stressed out as the damned machine kept flashing up INVALID – NUMBER REPEATED.
Start again…more feverish numbers tapped in and again the dreaded INVALID – NUMBER REPEATED…the seconds counted down one by one…
Priscilla was now fumbling and losing count in her head… 8 plus 13 plus 15 plus 6 was…how much? Was it 41, or 42, or 43?
“TIMED OUT. Bad luck, try again in one week.”
Priscilla burst into tears of frustration and denial. No sex for yet another week. How many weeks had it been since she spurted on Rolly’s bed? Was it 11, or 12, or 13?
As the weeks ticked by without being able to stroke herself to orgasm, Priscilla began to take solace in the Sunday sucking of Clive’s cock. She started to enjoy it and she remembered back to her carefree days in Exeter when she would spend hours in bed with her girlfriend.
All over the world, men woo their lover, giving her little gifts, flowers, poems, taking her dancing. It was the courtship ritual that always led to sex if the lady agreed.
It has always been the case that women had control over their men by granting or denying them sex.
Be nice to me and you’ll be rewarded with me opening my legs for you.
Be rude and uncaring and there’ll no sex for you, young fellow, until you change your ways.
Priscilla wondered if she indeed had control over Clive – granting or denying sex…but she came to the awful truth that she was not in control.
Clive was in control and whenever he wanted sex, she was obliged to yield to him.
Dearest Sissy readers:
Did you enjoy that? I hope so.
Aunt Agatha is a Bitch, isn’t she?
Or is Clive worse?
Love and kisses
Mistress Rosemary
Chapter 9