When you’re as enslaved by my dangling stiletto as you are, I can get away with anything, including allowing only ruined orgasms in exchange for allowing you to worship my feet and heels.
I think that’s a perfectly fine exchange, don’t you? After all, you can’t take your eyes off of my long smooth legs accentuated by high heels. It makes you ache, watching me strut around in my short flirty dresses with the hems that flip up. You’re desperately hoping you’ll get a little glimpse of my panties so you can imagine me standing there in front of you wearing sexy lacy panties and heels.
I allow you to believe that you might get lucky, and you feel as if you’re witnessing a miracle. You getting to be alone with a woman like me–allowed to undress me, to touch me, taste me, cum inside me. You’d do anything to experience me, wouldn’t you?
Read more at May I Cum: Ruin Your Orgasm on My High Heels
I knew you were a sissy when I married you. I saw all the signs, even though you weren’t yet ready to face the truth about yourself.
I’m sure you thought you were just a good husband when you offered to wash my laundry, but I knew it was an excuse to touch all of my frilly things. When I ask you why you spend so much time hand washing my panties, bras, and stockings, your face flushes and you stammer out a lie, “I-I just want to make sure I don’t mess them up.”
If you’re not ready to tell me the truth, sissy, then I’ll remove your choice in the matter. I purchase a new plant to display in our sunny laundry room. You have no idea I have placed a nanny cam in the plant to record all of your antics.
Read more at Sissyville: My Sissy Husband Learns His New Role