I knelt on the carpet of Daddy’s sparse flat, the taste of their cum still bitter in my mouth from moments ago. They loomed over me, grinning wickedly, their earlier threats of exposing me burning in my mind.
Daddy crouched down, his leather jacket creaking, his voice thick with filthy intent. “You’ve been a good sissy, Samantha, but we’re not done. Time to dress you up proper for more kinky fun.” He untied my hands briefly, tossing me a new outfit from a bag in the corner. It was a slutty maid costume: a black-and-white micro-dress, so short it barely covered my arse, with a frilly white apron tied around the waist; a black satin garter belt with cheap, shiny clips; and ultra-feminine pink French knickers, adorned with delicate frills that screamed girly. The knickers were soft, sheer, and embarrassingly dainty, clinging to my chubby, unmistakably male frame—a ridiculous man playing dress-up. “Put it on, slag,” he ordered. “Say ‘Thank you, Daddy, for my slutty maid dress and knickers.’”
I shook my head, panic surging. “No, this is too much. Please, let me go.” My voice trembled, but their video—clips of me begging and calling myself a cum-hungry sissy—kept me from fighting harder.
Mike laughed, his tattooed neck gleaming under the dim light. “Oh, you’ll wear it, you filthy tart, or we’re dragging you to the town toilets right now, dressed like a slutty maid for every bloke to see.” I fumbled, pulling the maid dress over my head, the garter belt snapping onto new stockings—shiny black ones that screamed whore. The pink frilly knickers slid up, their softness mocking my masculinity. Daddy fastened a pink leather collar with a silver ring tightly around my neck, clipping on a matching lead. Then Mike slipped a black blindfold over my eyes, plunging me into darkness. “Let’s take our sissy for a walk.”
I tried to pull back, stumbling as Daddy tugged the lead. “Where are you taking me?” I pleaded.
“Shut up and move,” Daddy snapped. “Say ‘I’m a naughty sissy who loves being Daddy’s pet.’”
“I’m a naughty sissy who loves being Daddy’s pet,” I mumbled, the words bitter, made by the threat of exposure. They guided me forward, the frilly dress scratching my skin, the girly knickers making every step feel obscene. I heard a door open, cool night air hitting me, and my stomach dropped. “No, not outside!” I gasped.
“Keep walking,” Mike growled, “or it’s the lay-by on the motorway—tied up, maid dress ripped, ready for truckers.” I heard gravel crunch underfoot, then the low hum of car engines. The lead jerked, stopping me, and rough hands pushed me to my knees on damp grass.
The blindfold came off, and I blinked, eyes adjusting to the glow of car headlights. I was in a secluded lay-by off the motorway, surrounded by eight men—strangers, their faces shadowed but eyes ravenous, some in work jackets, others in hoodies, circling me. The maid dress barely covered my thighs, the garter belt and frilly pink knickers peeking out, leaving me utterly exposed, the collar and lead marking me as their toy. My plain face and chubby body screamed pathetic man, making their leers even crueler. I froze, horrified.
“Look at our sissy maid,” Daddy announced, tugging the lead. “Samantha’s here to serve you dirty bastards. Tell them what you are, slag.”
I shook my head, tears welling. “No, please, not this!”
Mike grabbed my hair, forcing my face up. “Say ‘I’m a filthy sissy maid who needs all your cocks,’ or we leave you here for the next lot to fuck.”
“I’m a filthy sissy maid who needs all your cocks”. The men roared with laughter, zippers undoing, their voices thick with lust.
A wiry man with a scarred face stepped forward, cock hard. “Suck it, you pathetic maid. Serve like the cock-starved whore you are.” I leaned forward, trembling, and took him in my mouth, sucking slowly, tongue swirling. “Fuck, look at this slag,” he sneered. “Say ‘I’m a dirty maid who loves sucking strange cocks, Daddy.’”
“I’m a dirty maid who loves sucking strange cocks, Daddy,” I mumbled, shame burning. Another man knelt behind me, pulling my frilly knickers aside, lubing my arse before thrusting in hard. “Take it, you worthless sissy,” he growled. “Tell us you’re a cock-hungry maid who needs her holes filled.”
“I’m a cock-hungry maid who needs her holes filled,” I moaned, as another cock filled my mouth. They took turns, some fucking my arse, others my mouth, their dirty talk relentless. “You’re just a nasty sissy slut, aren’t you?” one spat, slamming into me. “Say ‘I’m a filthy maid who lives for cock.’”
“I’m a filthy maid who lives for cock,” I gasped between thrusts. Another jeered, “Bet your wife’d puke seeing you in that dress, begging for dick like a cheap tart.” The collar was tight on me as Daddy tugged the lead, urging them on. “Tell us you’re our cum-guzzling maid, Samantha.”
“I’m your cum-guzzling maid,” I whimpered, as one man groaned, pulling out to cum in my mouth. “Swallow it, whore,” he ordered. I did, the salty taste overwhelming, but another was already there, cumming across my face. “Lick it up, you disgusting slag,” Daddy commanded, and I obeyed, tongue catching every drop as they laughed. Three more used my arse, each cumming inside or on my maid dress, and I was made to scoop it off the frilly fabric, swallowing it all. “Say ‘I love swallowing cum for my masters,’” one demanded.
“I love swallowing cum for my masters,” I gasped, their taunts drowning me.
A broad man with a cruel smirk stepped up, unzipping and aiming a stream of piss at my chest, soaking the dress and apron. “Open your mouth, sissy maid,” he growled, then shoved his cock in mid-stream, piss hitting my tongue. “Drink it, you dirty fucking slag.” I gagged, as I swallowed the acrid flow, his cock pulsing in my mouth. Daddy yanked the lead. “Say ‘I’m a piss-drinking sissy maid who loves it.’”
“I’m a piss-drinking sissy maid who loves it,” I whispered, tears streaming as he kept pissing, forcing me to swallow. Two more followed, pissing on my face, my dress, my stockings, their voices vicious. “Look at this pathetic cunt, drinking piss like a proper whore,” one sneered. “Say ‘I’m a piss-slut maid for all you filthy men.’”
“I’m a piss-slut maid for all you filthy men,” I gasped, swallowing what I could as they cheered. Mike filmed it all. “Good sissy.”
When they were done, Daddy showed me the phone—clips of me sucking, swallowing cum and piss, begging in my maid dress, edited with my confessions. “This goes to your family if you step out of line, Samantha,” he said. “Now crawl back to the car.”
I crawled, dress dripping, collar tight, the lead dragging me forward. They drove me back, dumping me outside Daddy’s flat. “You’re our sissy maid now,” Mike said. “We’ll call.”
I stumbled away, the frilly knickers and maid dress clinging to me, mind shattered. I’d swallowed it all—cum, piss, shame. The video ensured they owned me, and the pathetic maid costume burned the truth deeper. |
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