Monday, 16 July 2012

Mistress Maisie returns!

I'm sure you were all hoping to read more about Mistress Maisie and her poor sissified husband Betty, and now's your chance!   My newest story "Maisie On Top" involves their continuing adventures, and is probably my naughtiest yet!

In this wickedly kinky sequel to Maisie Takes Charge, the newly sissified Betty finds out that his cruel dominant wife has many more ways to humiliate him around the house now that he is a sissy slave, controlled in strict chastity.

The 1960s brought freedom for many, but not for poor submissive sissy Betty Strickland - trapped in a breathtakingly tight corset and frilly satin maid's uniform, having to serve his wife in every way possible.

14,044 words of retro submission, crossdressing, teasing, strap-on sex and constant humiliation!

Available from,, Smashwords and AllRomance

An excerpt is below the break

When Betty turned round, having removed the gag, he saw an array of ultra-feminine satin and lace items laid out on the bed, and knew that Maisie must have already decided on an outfit for him. He knew that, after throwing out his male wardrobe, his wife had not left anything remotely masculine for him to wear. Nearly everything in his new wardrobe was satin, silk, taffeta or lace and much of it frilly and ruffles. Her intention was to force him to be more feminine than most women, as both a terrible punishment for him, and for her own pleasure at seeing him humiliated.
“Time for you to strip,” Maisie said, sitting on the edge of the bed with a smile on her lips. “Take off the negligée, shoes and panties - you're going to be my cute little maid today!”
Reluctantly standing up, but not daring to openly disobey her, Betty pulled the sheer negligée over his head, laying it on the bed and stepped out of the panties that were already around his ankles, kicking off the high heeled mules. When he stood naked but for the corset and stockings (and of course the gleaming cage locked around his cock) Maisie smiled at him, then stepped close and ran her fingers up his left arm then across the top of his chest. “You look so beautiful free of all that body hair. And you do want to be beautiful for me, don't you Betty?”
“Yes Mistress Maisie,” he whispered, blushing red and staring down at the carpet, trying to ignore his wife's corseted body, the swell of her breasts bulging enticingly over the top of the corset's cups, and and her bare sex framed by the straps of her garters. “I want to be pretty for you.”
Maisie sighed, putting her fingers under Betty's chin, forcing his head up until he had to look into her green eyes. “You never understood how terrible it is being a woman,” she said softly, “The constant shortness of breath from tight corsetry; having to check your seams are straight; feet aching in high heels; the constant rustling of your petticoat; being treated like a pretty little doll by men. It's 1962, Betty – the world is changing, but I couldn't wait. I wanted to teach you a lesson, and make you my pretty sissy.” She pouted, running her hand down his throat, across the front busk of the corset, and then cupped his balls, brushing the cage around his cock with her knuckles. “You don't hate me for this, do you?”
Betty whimpered as his cock hardened the little it could in the chastity device, filling all the space and bulging against the metal, not even half-erect and completely constrained. The touch of Maisie's hand on his balls drove him wild, and the soft mocking tone in her voice cut to the core of him. He did hate his wife for taking this kind of control of him, for the utter humiliation and frustration that his every moment was filled with now, and most of all for locking his manhood in the cruel cage. However, much as he wanted to, there was a terrible dark pleasure inside him at times, when his wife was reaching a climax under his tongue, or when she had used the massive strap-on to fuck him senseless.
“I don't hate you,” Betty whispered, closing his eyes with shame. “But please, Mistress Maisie, could you...” He broke off, not daring to finish the sentence.
“Could I what, Betty?” Maisie's voice was gentle and encouraging as she gently caressed the base of his balls, running her fingertips across the steel ring that anchored the cock cage in place. “What do you want me to do?”
“Please be a little less cruel,” he finished, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don't have to tease me so much, Mistress.”
Removing her hand from his balls, Maisie stepped back, looking Betty up and down and grinned wickedly. “If you stop enjoying it, Betty, I'll stop doing it.” As Betty moaned with disappointment, Maisie picked up a pair of sheer black panties, dripping with white lace ruffles. “Once I've got you all dressed up, we can talk about this further, but I think you enjoy this a lot more than you let on.” She handed Betty the panties, and he obediently stepped into them, pulling them up and shivering with pleasure as the soft nylon fabric of the panties brushed against his stockinged legs. Closing his eyes, Betty tugged them up over his locked cock, whimpering softly as the sheer material brushed against his caged manhood. The panties were full-cut high-waisted panties of a sheer black nylon, leaving the steel of his chastity device visible through the thin material. The leg holes of the panties were trimmed with a layer of white lace ruffles, and there were four tiers of frilly ruffles across the bottom.
Oh they look just darling!” Maisie exclaimed excitedly, giggling a little. She ran her fingertips across the front of the panties, caressing the slight bulge of the steel cage, and Betty stifled a gasp, his cock straining once more against the rigid constraints of the device. “Don't even try to say that you don't like wearing these, sweetheart! I can tell your sissy penis is throbbing down there!”
With a wink, Maisie turned away, sorting through the feminine finery on the bed before lifting a black net petticoat with three tiers of white lace-trimmed fabric cascading down from a high waist. Betty knew that the petticoat would make whatever dress he had to wear over it stand out, but he of course had no choice but to take the rustling item from his wife's outstretched hands and carefully step into it. Pulling the petticoat up, he settled it around his corseted waist, feeling the net brush against his thighs. The petticoat came down to mid thigh, but flared out wide, with layers upon layers of netting, each layer ending in a frilly of scratchy white lace.
Do a twirl, Betty.” Maisie's order was spoken in a gentle voice, but with a firmness behind it that made Betty nervous. Obediently, Betty spun on the spot, raising to his toes and rapidly turning around several times, the petticoat flaring high and wide, exposing his stockinged thighs. Dizzy, he staggered a little then straightened up, humiliated by having to perform for his wife. “Well, I think you did that well, but I bet once I get you properly uniformed, I'll have to train you to curtsey like a real maid.”
Betty stood waiting, half-dressed in sissy clothes, watching his wife's curvaceous bottom as she bent over the bed. When Maisie straightened, she was holding a pair of long black satin evening gloves, which she passed to him. Sliding his hands into the slippery satin of the gloves, Betty pulled them up over his arms, smoothing the fabric down so that it clung like a second skin to his hair-free skin. The gloves came to just above his elbow and as he twisted his arms, glancing down at them, he felt a shiver of desire run through his body. As a young man, he'd loved the sight of a glamorous woman in long gloves, and on several occasions had persuaded his wife to give him a gloved handjob after a formal event. Now, of course, those days were long gone, and there was no chance of his wife caressing him in that way, with or without gloves!
And this is your uniform for today, Betty!” His wife's voice interrupted his reverie, and he blinked, focussing on the black and white frilled concoction that she was holding up for him. It was a French maid's uniform, a ridiculous over the top parody of the kind of uniform that their own housemaid, Ramona, wore. It screamed that the person who wore it was a sissy, and would never be worn by a real woman outside of a pornographic photo shoot. The uniform was glistening black satin, with short puffed sleeves, gathered with white lace. It had a high frilled neckline, rows of lace curving across the bodice, and a very high waistline, making it look almost childish in style. The skirt was short, and Betty was sure that it would barely cover the full petticoat, meaning that if he bent over, his panties would be on display.
Unzipping the dress, Maisie helped Betty put it on, assisting him in pushing his gloved arms through the short puffy sleeves, settling the soft fabric against him. “This is cut to fit a girl with a waist the size of yours in the corset. If you weren't tight-laced, it wouldn't even fit!” Maisie giggled, “Of course, given time I'll get your waist down even smaller!” Maisie patted the dress down over the petticoat, a good three inches of the petticoat's lacy frills showing below the hem of the dress, and the ruffles of lace at the high neck brushing against Betty's chin. Going behind Betty, Maisie zipped the dress up, the satin clinging to Betty's corseted waist and the cups filled out by his fake breasts. Tweaking at the sleeves, Maisie pulled the gathered fabric down until each sleeve ended just below where Betty's gloves began, leaving him completely covered top to toe in sissy clothing except for his face, and the gap between the frilly legs of his panties and his stocking tops.
Just a few items left now, darling!” Maisie's bright and perky breezy manner was driving Betty crazy – his wife was acting like this was all normal, even though he was standing in their bedroom dressed as a sissy French maid, forced to obey her every instruction. An apron was the next part of the outfit, made of white satin with a pleated frill around the edge and long wide straps which were soon tied tightly around his waist in a large bow.
Kneeling in front of him, his Mistress helped him into a pair of stiletto heeled court shoes, leaving him teetering on the six inch spikes. As he swayed, getting used to the feeling of his stockinged feet being forced into a high arch, Maisie ran her hands up the back of his legs, tracing the seams of the stockings. “I can understand why you loved to see me in heels,” she said thoughtfully, looking up at him from where she knelt. “It really has a quite wonderful effect on your legs, and forces you to stand in such an adorably feminine pose. Is that how you feel, Betty?”
Betty nodded, his legs aching already and toes sore in the narrow shoes. “Yes Mistress,” he replied, “They force a woman to push out her bottom and arch her back a little to push out her breasts.”
Not just a woman, Betty,” Maisie said, standing up and looking into his eyes, “A sissy girl like you as well.”
Yes Mistress Maisie,” he muttered, blushing and holding his gloved hands in front of his tightly corseted waist, nestled against the fabric of the dress and petticoat, lowering his eyes a little.
Reaching up, Maisie settled a black and white frilled cap on top of his wig, pinning it into place, then stepped back and smiled. “And that's your outfit complete! Sit down in front of the mirror and I'll get you made up, then you can start your chores!” Betty sat down as ordered on the leather upholstered stool, his stockinged knees together primly. His Mistress opened the drawers containing her cosmetics and began the final stages of transforming him into a complete sissy. A pale foundation was soon applied to his face and neck, followed by a hint of blush on his cheeks, and a gleaming baby pink lipstick. Slightly reddish brown eyeshadow followed by black mascara completed the makeup, and soon Betty was staring at himself in the mirror, once again barely recognising the sissy girl that he saw.

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