Cuckold Sissy to Wife and Black Master

Marc dusted the study, clicking about in his pink heels. His ass was still sore from last night's thrashing. Two months: that was how long it took for Naomi to reduce a cocksure stud like him into a simpering cocksucking sissy who cries like a bitch when he gets spanked. His days of being the man of the house were well and truly over.

The housekeepers who used to cower under his thundering commands now giggle and look at him with disgust as he minced about the place with his little dick on display. It was Naomi's idea to have every humiliating outfit frame his pathetic three-inch pecker. And it was DaShawn's idea to include Viagra into his meals so that it stood up and proud nearly 24/7 whenever they decided to release him from his plastic chastity cage. Now Marc looked 'happy' to be doing his chores: unable to hide his bobbing mushroom dicklet from anybody in his house.

All this contrasted with his muscular 6'0", 230 lbs frame. They still **** him to eat and work out like he did before, if only to further poke fun at his white male masculinity, or lack thereof. He could train all he wanted and have his body look as impressive as it did, but at the end of the day, they all knew he would come home from the gym to decorate his little boy clit with bells, hair ties, and stickers before rushing off to the kitchens to serve Naomi and DaShawn dinner.

His Hello Kitty watch beeped, signalling his break. Marc tossed the duster aside before mincing off as fast as his heeled legs could carry him. DaShawn had **** him to drink a gallon of water before beginning his chores and his bladder had been protesting for the past hour and a half. He promised to put Marc in diapers if he piddled anywhere in the house, and the former stud wanted no such thing.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck...' he cursed under his breath; droplets of pee escaping between his stocking-clad thighs. He tugged on the handle of the bathroom, finding it stiff and unyielding. A yellow Post-It note was stuck there: 'Living Room.'

'Goddamn fucking bastard.' he jogged, mashing his beefy arms to his crotch like a toddler. The dam was starting to burst as a jet of piss wet the front of his ballet dancer's tutu. He found DaShawn's gift for him: A Disney Princess training potty.

He nearly tripped in his rush to squat on the sturdy seat. The former Alpha Male sighed as he emptied his bladder noisily into the small plastic latrine. His still-erect cock burned.

A flash blinded him momentarily. He didn't see the camera on the tripod until it was too late.

DaShawn emerged from behind the sofa howling with laughter, while Naomi went to fetch the ejected Polaroid.

Marc wished he could disappear. Still pissing noisily, he made to do a little curtsy. 'Welcome home, Master. Welcome home, Mistress,' he cringed.

The cleaning and preparations for the "garden party" had been a ruse. All they wanted was to photograph a hulking white man squatting over a child's training potty.

Marc hung his head in shame, his pecs heaving as the waterworks threatened to come again. How much more were they going to humiliate him? His little three-incher throbbed with need.

'Silly little girl. You're pathetic, Marc - you really are.' Naomi waved the developing Polaroid under his nose.

'You are one stupid little white boy,' DaShawn shook his head.

Marc looked at them both.

'I-I don't understand, Mistress! I-I did the chores like you asked!' And it was a miracle he finished too. He needed to wash and detail their four cars (even though they'd be parked in the garage the whole time); tidy up the whole house, including the attic; set up the chairs and tables; and tend to the garden - all in three days!

'Oh I'm quite happy with the house - spotless, minus the mess you made on the way here. There's just one little problem.' She gestured between his thighs.

'M-My peenie, Mistress?'

DaShawn snorted. Marc was **** to refer to his "manhood" with the infantile term.

'Spread your thighs and look, you pathetic oaf!' She snapped.

Marc visibly paled as he looked between his thighs.

'What is it? Show us.'

Gingerly, Marc held the soaked pistol in view: a compact Springfield designed for concealed carry.

'A memento from your days in the service, baby?'

'I-I didn't - I-I wasn't going to-'

'You were going to shoot us?' Naomi feigned shock.

'N-No! I'd never!' Marc pleaded, glancing at DaShawn. The black man looked positively menacing. No doubt, his punishment this time would be the most severe.

'Then what is it, then?'

'I-I can - I'm sorry!' Marc blubbered.

'Let me piece things together. You missed your time in the service and you so desperately wanted a little toy to play with just for old times' sake. So in desperation, you went behind our backs and asked Maurice, the new gardener to procure an unregistered pistol. But you hid it because you were afraid that we'd disapprove of something so boorish and unbecoming of a little sissy.'

Marc nodded stupidly.

'Oh, you poor thing. We didn't realize you had such a deep longing for your time in the Corps: all those big sweaty men and their nice big cocks. You needed a reminder of that, didn't you? It's all you think about, isn't it? I can't imaging a pantywaist like you thinking about anything else.'

Marc nodded carefully.

'Sucking all those cocks. You're so lucky we have DaShawn.' she kissed him before leaning against his hard muscular body. Her hand dipped into his sweat pants to whip out his fast-rising black mamba. She waved it at his face. Even limp, it was twice as big as Marc was hard. It was certainly a sight to behold: glossy, thick cock head connected to an equine-like shaft. His balls were easily twice the size of his own. So familiar, yet worlds apart from his own endowments.

Until he saw it for the first time, he never knew cocks even grew that big. They'd carefully explained that it was common among black men, and that Marc drew short even for a white boy.

'How many inches are you again, baby?' she caressed his cheek with her free hand.

'Ten and a half,' the black man replied, smirking at the kneeling white male.

'And you, sissy?'

'Three.' Marc kissed the offered cock head in respect.

Naomi fished out a handkerchief from her bag before collecting the gun from him.

'Poor little sissy isn't getting enough cock to suck. Won't you help him, baby?'

'I will - but it's gonna cost him.'

Marc cringed internally. He already had to pay DaShawn for cocksucking lessons.

'Unfortunately, I don't approve of keeping firearms anywhere in the house. But we'll compromise, won't we?' She unfolded a piece of paper from her purse and propped it on a pillow for Marc to read.

'Hold your peepee - higher, like you're proud to serve your country!' she barked. DaShawn giggled at the ridiculous sight.

'M-Mistress?'

'No, I won't let you have a real gun - it's too dangerous and I don't want my precious little sissy getting herself hurt. This one's much safer to shoot.'

DaShawn bit his hand trying to stifle his laughter as Marc started to read - the humiliated stud's face turning beet read the more he read.

'This is my peepee. There are many like it, but this one is mine.

My peepee is my best friend. It is my life. To say it is big is a lie.

My peepee is useless. I am useless. I must lower my panties when I tinkle. I must sit to pee like a good sissy girl because only real men can aim. I must make my tinkles mess-free. I will ...

My peepee and I know that what counts in men is not the muscles we build, the noise of our cars, nor the sports we play. We know that it is the size of our cocks that counts. And I have a clit ...

My peepee is pathetic, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will be pussy-free. I will learn my place under a black man and worship His balls and His shaft. I will keep my peepee clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready. My man pussy too. I will ...

Before my Mistress and Master, I swear this creed. My peepee and I are pathetic. You are the rulers of my life..

So be it, until white boys can learn to fuck and stop lying about their tiny penises.'