blackmailed into a double life

This story is a gift to my Mistress, pray for me that she likes it

https://chyoa.com/user/Cdslavejessie

It was late at night when Michael, a married man with a dark secret, crept quietly into his house. His body was still filled with the excitement of the past few hours as he tried to cover his tracks and hide his second identity from his wife. Michael led a double life, which he carefully concealed from his loving wife, Lisa.

Michael was a cross-dresser, a sissy prostitute who offered her services to men looking for something special. On the nights he secretly stole away, he turned into Michelle, a seductive and obedient whore who satisfied her clients' fantasies. This night was no different, and Michelle had satisfied a particularly demanding client who had requested her services.

In a secluded motel room, Michelle had put on her show. She wore a tight, leopard-patterned latex dress that emphasized her curves and showed off her femininity. Her long, black hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders and her face was carefully made up to emphasize her feminine features. High platform pumps elongated her legs and gave her a seductive walk that caught the eye of her client.

The client, a powerful businessman named Mr. Snow, was a regular customer of Michelle's. He had a penchant for cross-dressing and enjoyed taking control and living out his fantasies. Michelle obeyed his commands, let him dominate her and fulfilled his wishes, no matter how kinky they were.

That night, Mr. Snow had demanded a particularly intense session. He had instructed Michelle to wear a sexy outfit and get down on all fours on the bed. With a smile on her lips, she had followed his orders, thrusting her breasts and buttocks into the air, ready for what was to come. Mr. Snow had explored her body with his hands, kneading her breasts and shaping her bottom before sliding his tongue into her holes, making her quiver with his rough tenderness.

Then he had freed his stiff member from his trousers and slowly pushed it into Michelle's tight buttocks. She moaned in pain and pleasure as he penetrated her deeper with each thrust. Mr. Snow held her head tightly and whispered dirty words in her ear as he took her from behind, pressing her breasts against the bed. The pain turned to ecstatic pleasure as he climaxed and fired his warm load deep inside her.

After the session, Mr. Snow had paid Michelle and given her an additional gift - a pair of new, high-heeled platform heels, which she proudly wore on the way to her car. But the evening wasn't over yet, as Michelle had one more obligation to fulfill.

She got into her car and drove to a run-down apartment in another part of the city. It was the hideout of her pimp, a violent man called Lars, who had **** her into prostitution. Michelle had **** but to obey him, as he had compromising photos of her and knew where she lived.

When she arrived, Lars was waiting for her, standing impatiently at the door. He pulled her roughly into the house and threw her onto the shabby sofa in the living room. Michelle knew what was expected of her and she obeyed to avoid further ****.

“It took you a long time, whore,” Lars growled as he leaned over her. “I hope you made enough money to satisfy me.”

Michelle opened her purse and handed him an envelope with the money she had received from Mr. Snow. Lars counted it greedily and slipped it into his pocket. Then he turned back to Michelle, his eyes sparkling with desire.

“Now it's time for my payment, sweetie,” he said and pulled down his pants, exposing his erect member. “Suck it, and do it well, or you'll feel the consequences.”

Michelle knew that resistance was futile. She bent over his cock and took it into her mouth, gently massaging his balls with her hands. She sucked and licked as she enveloped his hard shaft with her lips until he moaned and buried his hands in her hair.

“Yes, that's it, you fucking whore,” he panted. “Let me come and you can go.”

Michelle quickened her rhythm, massaging his glans with her tongue until he climaxed and shot his load of semen into her mouth. She swallowed obediently, not even hesitating, and felt his warm cum running down her throat.

“Well done,” Lars said, leaning back. “But you're not done yet. I want you to stay for one more. And tomorrow, I want pictures to prove you're keeping my present in your ass.”

Michelle knew she had **** but to obey. She let him lead her into the bedroom, where he threw her on the bed and ripped the latex dress off her body. He penetrated her, pleasuring her body with his own, while she wondered how she could have ever allowed this situation to happen.

The night seemed endless as Lars indulged his thirst for power and control over Michelle. Every touch, every thrust was a humiliating reminder of how deeply Michael was trapped in this double life. In the quiet moments between Lars' acts of ****, a **** plan flickered in Michelle's mind. There had to be an end - even if it was a dark one.

When the first rays of sunlight filtered through the torn curtains, Lars finally left Michelle alone, snoring loudly next to her on the dingy bed. Michelle lay motionless, her body aching, her thoughts racing. She knew that she could no longer remain in this cycle of exploitation and humiliation. Something had to be done.

The darkness of the night offered Michael shelter as he walked home - but the journey was long and full of shame. Still dressed in Michelle's disreputable outfit, he bore the visible marks of Lars' latest demonstrations of power on his body. His face was smeared, the carefully applied make-up had become a tangled mess of lipstick, mascara and tears. His legs trembled in the high-heeled platform shoes that Lars had **** on him as a “gift”.

The latex dress was wrinkled and stained, its back hem gaping open, revealing too much of what had happened in Lars' shabby apartment. The rest of his body was no less marked: dried traces of semen stuck to his thighs, and the pungent smell of sweat and smoke clung to him like a brand. Every time Michael looked around, he feared that someone might recognize him - or worse, make fun of him.

The streets were empty, except for the occasional night owl and drunken figures stumbling home slurring their words. Michael kept his head down, but the fine art of concealment failed due to his conspicuous clothes and his wobbly gait on his heels. A group of teenagers on the opposite side of the street noticed him nonetheless.

“Hey, look at that!” shouted one and pointed at Michael. The others laughed out loud. “Where else are you going in THAT outfit, sweetie?”

“Maybe to the next party?” another called out mockingly. “Or have you JUST come from one? Looks like someone gave you a good going over!”

The group laughed uproariously and Michael quickened his steps, his head bent even lower. His face burned with shame, and the urge to simply disappear grew with every step. But the heels got in the way and he stumbled on the uneven sidewalk, causing the group behind him to jeer again.

When he finally turned into his quiet suburban street, he felt a little safer. But danger lurked here too: a neighbor, Mrs. Müller, who always smoked late in her front garden, noticed him. Her eyes widened when she saw Michael in this state.

“Oh my God... Michael?” she exclaimed, her cigarette half forgotten between her fingers. “What are you doing in an outfit like that at this hour?”

Michael stopped, unable to answer. His throat felt constricted. He mumbled something unintelligible, turned away and hurried on to his house, while Mrs. Johnsons's penetrating gaze stabbed him in the back.

He closed the door behind him and leaned heavily against the wood, the coldness of the handle in his hand a strange comfort. The darkness of the house was a temporary refuge, but the shame felt like a heavy cloak he couldn't take off. He took off his high heels and slipped into the bathroom. The mirror showed a distorted version of himself: half Michael, half Michelle, completely destroyed.

Michael sat in the bathroom on the cold tiled floor, the water from the shower still steaming in the air. His trembling hands reached for the small mirror on the floor, an improvised tool for the job Lars had told him to do - one last order he had to carry out before he put the matter behind him for good. The pain and shame boiling inside him was almost overwhelming, but the fear of the possible consequences if he disobeyed Lars made him grit his teeth.

He carefully pulled the latex dress down over his shoulders, the material sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He wasn't wearing anything underneath; Lars had forbidden him to. The butt plug that Lars had inserted after their act was still deep inside him, another symbol of his humiliation. It was large, conspicuous - a bright pink piece of silicone with a small gemstone sparkling at the end. Lars had taunted him when he had inserted it, forcing Michael to wear it the entire way back.

With a deep breath, Michael reached for the plug. His fingers encased the cool material and he slowly began to pull the thing out of his aching body. The pressure and the uncomfortable feeling that accompanied it made him groan softly, but eventually it was out. He placed it on the floor next to the mirror and looked at it with a mixture of disgust and shame.

Then he reached for his cell phone. The camera app was already open. He knew what Lars wanted from him: a clear photo proving that he knew “his place”. Michael knelt down, adjusted the mirror so that he could capture the desired perspective and positioned the plug within reach. With another deep breath, he lowered himself forward, his knees on the cold floor, and pushed his butt into the camera.

The light was poor and he had to take several shots before the image was clear enough. Finally, he chose one that would meet Lars' requirements. It showed Michael naked, his battered body in a humiliating pose, while the plug lay provocatively next to him. He sent the picture with shaky fingers, deleting the chat history with Lars immediately after sending it.

Once that was done, Michael felt a fleeting sense of relief, which was quickly replaced by nausea. He reached for the plug to throw it away, but couldn't bring himself to leave it in the garbage can - it was too much of a reminder of the control Lars still had over him.

Instead, he sank the thing deep into the water of the sink, let it rotate under running water and watched it slowly disappear down the drain. Maybe that was a small victory, he thought, even if it felt like nothing.

Lisa was already asleep, unaware of the horrors and humiliations Michael had endured that night. As the water ran from the shower, he felt the traces of the night gradually being washed away - but the memories and the shame remained, indelible as scars on his soul.

Back in his bedroom, Michael lay quietly in bed next to Lisa, who continued to sleep soundly. The memories of the night, of Lars and of the photos still seemed to haunt him. But in this darkness, a decision began to germinate: this would be the last time anyone put him in such a position. Tomorrow he would begin to free himself from this quagmire - whatever the cost.