A Picture Perfect Sissy
Keywords: Perfect, Sissy, Picture, A,
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"Holly, hold your breasts up. That's it honey. Squeeze the nipples between your fingers. Make them hard for me, sweetie."
Jason lifted and pushed his soft breasts together, squeezed the small dark nipples, and hurriedly looked up to see if what he was doing was okay. He really wanted what he was doing to be okay. It was dreadfully important to be okay. Karen was snapping off close-ups, zooming in on Jason's puffy tits, his pretty nipples hardening between his french manicure.
I'm so responsive, Jason thought a little sadly. There's really no hope for me.
Karen looked up from behind the tripod, frowned, and Jason felt a bolt of cold terror. But as it turned out, he wasn't doing anything wrong. She'd only had an idea.
She handed him a bit of shiny jewelry.
"Put those on," she said, and checked the light in the studio. "Hurry up."
Jason fumbled a bit with the nipple clamps and Karen got impatient. Now he was doing something wrong: keeping Karen waiting. Karen hollered for her partner Sue and the small dark-skinned woman stepped from the darkroom.
"What's up?"
"Would you clip that sissy's tits, for me? The stupid little bitch seems to have forgotten how."
"Sure thing," Sue said, smirking. "I think it's just hard for him to open and close them with his new french manicure.
Jason bit his plump lower lip as Karen's partner pinched his nipples hard and clamped his poor tits. She grinned, crooked her finger around the connecting chain, and yanked on it.
"Feel good sissy?" she said. "I'll bet you just love this. Don't you?"
Jason felt his eyes fill up. There was no hiding what he felt. The evidence was there, although greatly reduced, between his creamy thighs. Sue was spritzing his tits with an atomizer now so that his beautifully moisturized skin would glisten and Karen was back down behind the camera calling out orders. There was no time to feel sad. Jason bent forward on his big sissy heels, wearing nothing else but a red garter, no panties, and red fishnet stockings. He tried not to lose his balance. He lifted his breasts, now wearing nipple clamps, and offered them to the black lens capturing him for lord only knew how many horny viewers.
"That's it, Holly, sweetheart. Offer up your breasts. Good girl. Give them away. That's it. Now blow a kiss for the camera, sissy. Nice, nice. I'm getting it, getting. Just a few more. Beautiful, girl. Now just stand there for a minute, while I change film. Leave those nipple clamps on. We're not done by a long shot. These breast torture shots always pay a fortune."
How, Jason often wondered, had this happened to him? He used to be a man and now look at him! Oh, he was still a man, alright, but only technically, as Karen loved to point out, and yet, so little a man as to be hardly one at all. To say that he had not foreseen what she would do to him was an understatement. It used to be him on the other side of the camera taking photographs of pretty women. Karen had been one of them. She had, in fact, been the prettiest, sweetest, warmest one of them all. That is why he had gone to bed with her in spite of being happily married. Now it was changed, all changed.
It was so easy, so absurdly easy, Karen often reflected. Men really were such idiots. She had always half-feared that all the jargon of male inferiority was just propaganda. But when she thought of how quickly Jason submitted to her domination and became Holly she was convinced that the truth was even more unbelievable. The idea of "male," at least for a significant portion of what is called the male population, was nothing more than a fiction. Inside most so-called males, there was a desperate, submissive sex-crazed little sissy just ready to serve.
Two days after the breast shoot, Jason was buckling himself into the big plastic platform sandals that Karen had specially ordered from an x-rated clothing store downtown. She was doing a spread for a foot-fetish site and that meant lots of shots of Jason's feet in all kinds of sexy and impossible shoes. He'd been sent to a special salon in the Village where Karen always sent him before shoots. His visits to the salon were about the closest thing Jason ever got to positive attention from women nowadays. Sure, they had poked fun of him at first, but as the months wore on, the novelty wore off, and he was just another client to service. He sat in the chair and let them do whatever Karen had written out on the piece of paper he was required to hand over upon his arrival. Yesterday, it was a simple pedicure: a light pink polish applied several times and, finally, a silver-glitter coat laid over that.
"Oh don't your little toes look so cute and sparkly," Karen had said, mockingly when he entered the studio. "Show them to Sue. Look Sue, aren't they just darling?"
The two women, dressed in their drab clothes and sensible shoes, laughed at the silly sissy with the sparkly toes. Jason felt terribly ashamed. He really did think his toes looked cute the way they looked now.
All day long Jason found himself modeling fuck-me pumps, icicle-thin stilettos, fluffy mules, wedge-heeled sandals, the more straps and bows and ribbons and buckles, the better. For his barefoot shots, he wore ankle bracelets, toe rings, and something he'd never seen before called a barefoot sandal: a kind of decorative ribbon that slipped over his toe with no sole at all. "Arch your foot, stupid," Karen would shout, or "point your pretty toes, you sissy," and Jason would do what she said, if it were possible. "Flex your toes," Karen snapped, "More," as she shot two rolls of film and loaded the camera again while Sue placed a ripe strawberry between each of Jason's toes and then covered his feet with whipped cream.
Many times he wore shoes that it was impossible to even walk in, shoes so complicated that Sue had to put on and take off his feet. But, all in all, it wasn't as difficult as some of the other shoots. He didn't, after all, have to worry about smiling, or looking seductive, or anything like that. "No one is interested in your face today Holly," Karen would snap, annoyed, when he instinctively smiled winsomely for the camera, "all you are to these perverts is a pretty pair of feet." Somehow, Jason found that a little depressing, to think his face didn't matter, although he didn't really know why. So as Karen zoomed in on his feet, Jason smiled prettily anyway.
He was wearing a pair of see-through "cinderella" plastic pumps with a five-inch plexiglas platform, sitting on a prop stool, legs crossed, letting one big shoe dangle tantalizingly off the tips of his curled up toes. Karen had told him to hold the pose for a really long time while she shot what seemed rolls and rolls of film.
"She's amazing, isn't she?" he heard Karen say, and stared through the bank of lights illuminating the makeshift set. "Best sissy model in the business. She'll do anything. I know it's hard to believe it's Jason. He's gone through so many changes. Babydoll, come here for a second."
Jason slid off the stool, trying to smooth the tight pink micro-miniskirt he wore over his ass, but there really wasn't much skirt back there to smooth.
"Oh, doesn't he just look so sweet mincing around on those platforms?" said a voice that sounded familiar to Jason, although he couldn't quite place it.
"He's such a shoe-slut," Karen said. "He always had a foot fetish. Now, he loves showing off his own pretty toes. Darling, you remember Taneesha, don't you? Oh, I see you do. It's okay. Don't be embarrassed. I told her all about you. She doesn't mind you like this. Say something nice to the poor little sissy, Taneesha."
The sexy black woman in the expensive pantsuit laughed and told Jason he had pretty legs.
"See, Holly? She thinks your legs are pretty. Is that a smile, I see?"
It was true, Jason realized, with a kind of silly hopelessness. He was smiling at the compliment from one of his former models. Karen had helped get the struggling woman a job at a big brokerage firm; the last Jason had heard, Taneesha had become a vice president.
Karen shook her head. "What a simpleton. Go fix Taneesha a gin and tonic. And a club soda for me, that's it. Hurry along. And ask Sue what she'll have, too, while you're at it."
Jason hurried to the kitchen as fast as his big plastic sissy heels would carry him. On the way out, he was thrilled to hear Taneesha tell Karen what a cute little white ass he had.
It was strange listening to the three women discuss what had happened to him. In some ways, it was almost like listening them discuss something that happened to someone else entirely. But Jason tried to listen whenever his "story" was retold in the hopes of coming to understand how he ended up the way he had. He couldn't follow it, really, and his attention always seemed to wander off. Of course, Karen would always interrupt herself to tell him to go do something for her or her guests. Other times, he would be required to pose or lift up his skirt or even show what had become of whatever was left of his manhood. As a result, Jason never really did manage to piece it altogether and what did it matter, anyhow?
Perhaps one of the best things about it all, Karen often felt, was recounting how she'd reduced Jason to his current status in life. She had transformed a filthy sexist pornographer into a simpering sissy sex slave. Now instead of profiting off oppressed women, he was doing something decent with his life: posing for photos that would generate money to further topple the patriarchy. Karen loved the shame, guilt, and fear on Jason's pretty feminized face when she spoke of his "crimes." She knew that the former Jason would have tried to excuse his work as merely harmless consensual erotica. But not anymore. He had been rehabilitated to understand the error of his ways. And he was making amends.
"I'm sorry I took so long to have you over," Karen apologized to the black businesswoman. "But I have to go slowly with her. She has so much trouble meeting people from his old life.
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Keywords: Perfect, Sissy, Picture, A,