Community Sissy Ch. 02

Sheila was still on her back, the dress a ruined puddle around her ribs. Marcus had finished and withdrawn minutes ago, just long enough to slump into an armchair his cock still slick and heavy against his thigh and his dark eyes tracking her like she was prey on a nature documentary. Darnell was still sitting in the chair swirling a glass of bourbon he'd poured somewhere between Sheila's first moan and her last. Only Mike stood apart, shoulders pressed to the wall beside the fireplace, his face a mixture of flush and pallor.

"On your knees, sweetheart," Jenny said.

Sheila rolled over. The rug fibers bit into her shins. Her thighs were wet, her hose torn at the crotch where Marcus had ripped through silk without asking - a detail that made her stomach clench with a heat she couldn't name.

Mary was still wearing the strap-on loaned to her by Jenny. With hunger in her eyes, she stepped forward. The strap-on bobbed. Up close, she smelled like vanilla lotion and nervous sweat. Mary's hand found the base of the strap-on and held it steady.

Jenny circled behind her, close enough that her breath stirred the fine hairs at Mary's nape. "You felt it before, didn't you? The way she opened up for you." A nod. Mary's knuckles whitened on the silicone shaft. "Are you ready to finish what you started earlier?" Jenny asked. Mary nodded her head and stepped behind Sheila.

Jenny stepped in behind her and rested her hands on Mary's hips. "Now use her for your pleasure; go slow at first. Make her wait for every inch."

"Tell her what you are," Jenny said as she looked down at her husband.

"I'm a sissy." Sheila's voice came out hoarse, used.

"Tell her what you want."

"I want you to fuck me."

Mary's inhale was ragged. The tip nudged against Sheila's entrance which was still slick, still open from Marcus using her. With one hand gripping a hip and the other guiding the toy. Mary pushed inside once again. Not slow. Fast, with a grunt that was half-shock and half-elation, and Sheila's elbows buckled. Her forehead hit the rug. The fullness was different this time than it had been with Marcus. Silicone has no give, no pulse, just an unyielding presence that pressed against something deep inside her and lit it up like a switch.

"Oh," Sheila gasped. "Oh god."

"No god here," Jenny said. "Just me. And Mary. And the men watching you fall apart." She crouched beside Sheila's buried face, her heels digging divots into the rug. "You've waited your whole life for this. Since you were twelve, hiding in your mother's pantyhose, touching yourself in the bathroom with the door locked."

Mary motions were uneven at first, jerky, then smoothing as she found a rhythm. Jenny's hand returned to the small of her back, coaxing her hips into a roll guiding her, teaching her how to fuck. The wet sound of it filled the room. Sheila's moans became a steady, punched-out accompaniment. Jenny stared down at the scene before her and stated. "Mary's going to use you whenever she wants now. Aren't you, Mary?" Mary, her eyes losing focus as she experienced pleasure from the rear end of the strap-on rubbing against her clit with each thrust exhaled sharply, "God. Yes."

"And Mike." Jenny turned her head toward the fireplace. "Mike, come here." He didn't move. Darnell set his bourbon down with a deliberate clink looked over at Mike, "Man, she's calling you."

That shifted something. Mike pushed off the wall and walked haltingly, stopping a foot from the tableau: his wife thrusting into another man, into a sissy, who had been his best friend three hours ago while Jenny orchestrated the whole thing like a symphony.

Looking directly at Mike she spoke. "Mary doesn't like doing giving blowjobs or anal" Jenny said, "but now you have another option." Mike's jaw flexed. A vein in his temple throbbed. "You get to watch your wife do something many women only fantasize about," Jenny continued, "and you get your cock sucked by a sissy who's been practicing on dildos twice your size since puberty." As Mary cried out in pleasure from her own orgasm, Sheila felt her thrusts slow and felt the toy withdraw just as Jenny's hand pulled her chin upward.

"Suck him."

Mike's belt was already loose. On autopilot, his hand pushed his trousers down just enough. He wasn't Marcus; he was shorter, thicker, a blunt instrument where Marcus had been a blade. Sheila's tongue met him before she told it to. The salt-tang of pre-cum spread across her taste buds and her eyes closed in something like relief.

"Look at me," Mike said, his voice scraped raw.

She did. His face was agonized and aroused in equal measure, a man watching his marriage reconfigure itself in real time. Behind him, Mary had stepped back from the strap-on, her chest heaving, her eyes fixed on her husband's cock disappearing into a feminized mouth.

"We're doing this," Mike said. It was not a question, but a realization. "You're ours now." Jenny hummed approval from behind Sheila. "She's everyone's. Community property. But yes, especially yours whenever you need her."

Sheila bobbed her head, taking him deeper. Her gag reflex was a distant memory. She'd trained it away years ago with a veined rubber cock she kept hidden in a shoebox, practicing for a moment she'd only fantasized about. Now his pubic hair scratched her nose and she held there, careless, until her lungs burned. "Jesus." Mike's hand fisted in her hair.

Mary moved to kneel beside Sheila. She unclipped the harness and let it fall, then reached between her own legs -- a flash of pale thigh, a glisten on her fingers and pressed those fingers to Sheila's lips. "Taste that," she whispered. "Taste what watching you does to me." Sheila licked them clean. Sour and sweet and entirely female.

Then Jenny's voice sliced through the fugue. "My turn." She stood, stepped over Sheila's sprawled form, and walked to Darnell. Her dress, a clingy burgundy number, came off in one fluid motion, pooled at her ankles. She wore nothing underneath.

"You've watched all night," she said, lowering herself to straddle him in the armchair. "You've let them play. But I need you now." Darnell's hands cupped her ass, lifted her, positioned her. "What do you need?"

"I need you to wreck me." The words tore out of her throat, unscripted, raw. "I need you to fuck me while they watch, while my sissy husband sees what a real man does to his wife. I need everyone to know who I belong to." As the head of Darnell's cock teased her cunt, she sank down with a long, shattering wail that cut through everything else in the room.

Mike pulled out of Sheila's mouth reflexively, turning to watch. Mary's hand froze mid-thigh. Sheila lifted her head, cheek slick with spit and pre-cum, and stared at her wife impaling herself on Darnell's thickness with an abandon that was almost religious.

"That's it," Darnell grunted, thrusting up into her. "That's my girl." The chair creaked. Darnell's rhythm was brutal, merciless, and Jenny matched it with downward rolls that slapped flesh against flesh. Her breasts bounced. Her carefully styled hair collapsed. And through it all, her eyes found Sheila's and held them as she came apart on a cock that had never apologized for what it took.

As she slowly recovered from the intense orgasm, Jenny looked over at Sheila. "Now," Jenny gasped, one finger pointing at Sheila. "Finish her. Both of you. Make sure she never forgets what she is."

Mary grabbed the strap-on. Mike grabbed Sheila's hair. And the room dissolved into skin and sound.

An hour later, the air in the living room was thick with sweat and candle smoke and the low, ragged breathing of six people who had crossed a line none of them could uncross. Mike's trousers were still pooled at his ankles. Mary's strap-on lay discarded on the rug like a shed skin. Sheila remained on her knees, her torn hose a web of silk across her thighs, her mouth still tasting of Mike and Mary both.

Mike broke the silence first. "I want this," he said. The words came out graveled, a man dredging something up from a depth he hadn't known existed. "I want her. Whenever I need it." His eyes were on Sheila but his hand reached for Mary. He found her fingers and squeezed. "And I want to fuck her," Mary said. Her voice was steadier now, the tremor burned out of it. "Regularly. With the strap-on. Whenever I want."

Sheila's breath caught. Her thighs pressed together, a reflexive squeeze that sent a shiver up her spine.

Jenny, still straddling Darnell in the armchair, lifted her head from his shoulder. Her hair was a wreck, mascara smudged into raccoon rings, and she smiled like a cat who'd found an unattended bowl of cream.

"Then it's settled," she said. "Sheila will be our sissy maid. Our on-call slut. She'll serve all of us." One manicured finger traced down Darnell's chest. "Cooking, cleaning, and anything else that needs attention."

"Community property," Darnell rumbled, and the phrase landed in Sheila's stomach like a stone dropped into still water.

Marcus leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. His cock had softened but his eyes hadn't. They were still fixed on Sheila with that unnerving intensity, a predator who'd already tasted blood and was calculating the next meal. "She'll need a uniform," he said. "Something appropriate."

"French maid," Mary said immediately, and then blushed at her own eagerness. Jenny laughed, a throaty sound that vibrated against Darnell's chest. "With a lockable zipper. I'll order it tonight."

Marcus stood. His shadow fell over Sheila, still kneeling, still trembling.

"My turn," he said.

Sheila looked up at him -- at the sharp jawline, the gold chain, the eyes that promised nothing gentle and felt her stomach drop and rise simultaneously. Like a roller coaster cresting. "On the couch," Marcus said. "Face down." She crawled. She didn't think about it, didn't deliberate. Her body moved before her mind could catch up, knees and palms on the rug, then up onto the leather cushions. The cool surface pressed against her cheek. Her ruined dress bunched around her waist.

Behind her, she heard Marcus undressing again. The whisper of fabric. The clink of his belt. His hand settled on the small of her back; warm, heavy, absolute.

"You're going to take all of me this time," he said. "No holding back." Sheila's fingers curled into the armrest. "Yes sir," she said. "Please."

Marcus placed the head of his cock at her entrance. She was still wet, still open from before, but the stretch as he pushed in drew a moan from somewhere beneath her ribs. Deeper than before. Fuller. He didn't pause, didn't tease, he just sank into the hilt and held there, buried, while her internal muscles fluttered around him.

"Good girl," he grunted.

Then he fucked her.

Not the slow, deliberate strokes of their first time. This was something else; a claiming that was almost punitive, each thrust driving her forward into the leather, the sound of it wet and obscene. The couch creaked. Sheila's moans became a rhythmic, punched-out accompaniment. Somewhere behind her, she heard Mary cry out as Mike entered her.

"Look at them," Marcus commanded, his hand tangling in her hair and twisting her head to the side. "Look at your wife."

Jenny had positioned herself on the armchair's ottoman, on her back, legs spread. Darnell knelt between them, his broad shoulders blocking the candlelight. He entered her with a single, smooth stroke that made Jenny's back arch and her mouth fall open in a silent scream.

"She's watching you," Marcus continued, his hips never stopping. "She's watching you get fucked while she gets fucked. This is what you both are now. This is the whole truth of you."

Sheila couldn't speak. Could barely breathe. Her vision had narrowed to the sight of her wife's face contorting with pleasure, Darnell's muscular back tensing and releasing, the twin rhythms of the two men fucking the two women except Sheila knew she wasn't a woman, not exactly, not in the way Jenny was. She was something else. Something in between. A creature of use and beauty and submission.

And that was exactly what she wanted to be.

"I'm -- I'm close," she gasped.

"Not yet." Marcus slowed, pulled almost all the way out, held there. "You don't come until I say." A whimper. Her hips pushed back, seeking him, and he slapped her ass, a sharp crack that echoed off the walls. "I said wait."

Across the room, Jenny was not waiting. Her legs had locked around Darnell's waist, her nails raked down his back, and the sounds she was making had crossed over from moans into something animal. Darnell's rhythm increased, brutal and precise, and when Jenny came, she screamed out in ecstasy; a raw, unguarded sound that was nothing like the controlled orchestrator of an hour ago.

"That's it," Darnell growled. "Give it to me."

Jenny's orgasm seemed to trigger something in Marcus. He slammed back into Sheila, resumed his pace at double speed, one hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. "Now," he said. "Come now." And Sheila did with nothing touching her tiny, useless penis.

It wasn't like the smaller releases she'd coaxed from herself in bathrooms with locked doors. This was a seismic event, a fault-line rupture that started somewhere deep in her pelvis and radiated outward until her fingers tingled and her vision whited out. She heard herself making sounds; high, broken, desperate and didn't recognize them as her own.

When it was over, she lay limp on the couch, Marcus still buried inside her, still pulsing. He withdrew slowly, and she felt the wetness spill down her thighs. Jenny, sprawled across the ottoman, lifted a lazy hand and beckoned. "Come here, baby," she said. "Come lie with me."

Sheila slid off the couch. Her legs barely held. She crossed the room on trembling knees and curled up beside her wife, her head on Jenny's shoulder, her ruined body pressed against Jenny's sweat-slick skin. "I'm proud of you," Jenny whispered. "My perfect little sissy. My community slut." Sheila closed her eyes. She pressed her face into Jenny's neck and breathed.