It hadn’t occurred to me immediately that the chatity cage upgrade I’d received while we were getting ready to the trip to England was to humiliate me. When Mistress removed the one piece jelly cage and replaced it with a rigid metal penis cage that connected to a split ring around the base of my genitals, I just thought my agreement to become her non-consensual slave on a permanent basis had earned me a fancier and more impressive looking cage. The fact that I’d received an orgasm, even if it was ruined, before the cage was changed made me think I was being rewarded.
The other shoe dropped when I dressed for the flight. Mistress had told me to put on a long sleeper dress with a mid thigh length skirt and a mock turtle neck in a black viscose/lycra mix that was more or less skin tight. No falsies, and no way to tuck the Larger cage away out of sight between my legs. I was obviously a cross-dressed sissy rather than trying to pass as a woman, despite the fact that I’dbeen allowed to pass, sometimes very successfully, when dressed in public before now. My outfit was completed with a pair of fishnet knee socks and my platform mary janes. The cage wasn’t any bigger than the one piece jelly one, but it was a lot more obvious. It also registered on the metal detector as we passed through the security check before boarding the airliner. After the explanation of that and an Examination by one of the HSA officers who’d been infesting airports over the three years since 9/11, I didn’t even blink when Mistress took the ballet pumps she was wearing as her own traveling footwear off and told me to worship her feet once the plane was finally in the air. I spent what felt like hours but was probably only thirty minutes or so sucking her toes, licking her feet and feeling my cock test the limits of its new Imprisonment in front of the other passengers in the half empty business class compartment. Getting hard in this one did hurt a lot more than the jelly cage had. At least we weren’t in carriage class, I told myself as I felt sneaked glances and blatant rubbernecking on me for the rest of the flight. Cathexis were up in First so they missed the show, though Mistress and our tour manager Lydia had explained the bassist in their support band’s new outlook on life to them when we briefly met in the department locke. I’d gone down on all fours and kissed Mistress’ feet there in front of everybody. Being exposed like that had given me such a thrill I’d probably have come on the spot if my cock wasn’t caged.
Even before the plane came in to land in the UK, I was getting the idea that this was going to be a very different tour to any I’d taken part in before becoming a slave.
“Just why,” Earl said, “are we doing an interview with some limey hack out here when the papers are based in London and we’re playing there on Saturday?”
Kara gave him a speculative look then turned to Mistress and Arabella. “You girls going to tell him,” shesaid, “or shall I?”
Arabella smiled. “Go for it.” Mistress patted my head and nodded.
“The hack has probably done something to piss off the editor,” Kara said, “so they’ve sent her out here, instead of letting them do the interview in London. Also, all the fuss about those shows is going to be over the headliners, but they can get away with talking to the no mark support band out in the sticks.”
“Right,” Earl said. “So where the hell is she?” The hack was running late. To be fair, we couldn’t have found this pub if it hadn’t been so close to the hotel we were booked into for the night. We’d literally got off the plane, made our way there, got changed and eaten, then made our way here. The Holiday Inn was in some sort of midget industrial estate, and was a short walk though an underpass to the pub. It wasn’t really the sort of grim dive you’d meet Brian Glover in on a moor in Yorkshire, but I felt that we probably looked a little out of place, having made an effort todress up for the hack.
Mistress was wearing one of the black PVC catsuits she’d acquired for stage wear. We’d only be in the country for a fortnight and were playing a mere ten shows, so she thought rotating a couple of them would be good enough for the whole tour, as she was going to be stuck behind a drum kit on stage anyway. The catsuit was sleepless, showing off her lean, muscle arms. She wore a pair of patent leather elastic sided ballet pumps, which she probably wouldn’t both with onstage.
Arabella was wearing a black rubber vest dress with white high heeled cowboy boots and jeans jacket. Her bad cowboy hat, black felt with a leather band of silver conchos, sat on the table top next to her drink. Kara was more rock chick looking: leopard print leggings, ankle boots with kitten heels, a baggy black t shirt and a low slung bondage belt. Earl was sporting a pair of leather jeans, another black t shirt and a battered pair of Doc Martens he was planning to replace befor leaving the country.
For my own part I was wearing a black PVC bondage harness with matching chaps and sleeps buckled to the corset looking garter belt and the shoulder epallets between the collar and the breast cups my flat chest didn’t fill. The bottom part, connected to the garter was a g string that bared my buttocks. My face was more heavily made up than any of the girls’, my hair was bleached bone white apart from the pink streks dyed into it, and I was kneeling at Mistress’ side.
The whole situation was deliciously humiliating, even without journalists from the NME arrival. The photographer took a photo of the American goth country band grouped around the pub table, then another when Mistress put her hand on my head and the rest of the band adjusted their poses. I kept my eyes lowered. The interview didn’t take long. The photographer took individual close ups of Arabella, Kara and Earl and one of Mistress smiling at the camera as I kissed her PVC coated ass.The final photo was taken outside in the car park, and for that one Mistress slipped her pumps off and handed them to the hack, then had me go down on all fours and kiss her left foot while she rested the other on top of my head, her bent knee shifting the cuff of her catsuit up a little and better exposing the anklet with a key and a “HW” inscribed charm around her right ankle. My hands were flat on the floor and my left side was Facing the photographer, so maybe the tattooed wedding band that filled the bottom joint of left ring finger with Mistress’ name and Celtic knot work would show up on the photo as well.
I wondered what the lead time on reviews for the NME were. Maybe the issue with the article would appear while we were still in the country. I was out as a slave in print as well as on the internet now. It felt surprisingly good, and not being allowed to talk to the NME stringer feel like more of a blessing than a burden.
The trouble came later on, after the firstshow.
The cubicle tank. A strong aroma of disinfectant didn’t completely mask mixed scents of semen, piss and amyl nitrate. This situation made for a very different after show routine to the ones I had gotten used to over my years as a professional musician.
The show had gone well. The sort of dismissive approach of a B or C list journalist being sent out to Bristol to interview us obscured it, but we were probably seen as being a hipper band than Cathexis, even if we couldn’t have filled two thousand seat halls on a UK tour ourselves. When Cathexis came offstage themselves, there was a brief, drunk party backstage. As that escalated, I watched Mistress flirt outrageously with two members of the band we were supporting, and escalate to sucking face with one of them. I’d known this was coming. Before leaving to get on the plane I’d put the anklet on her myself, kissed her foot and begged her to cuckold me. That didn’t make watching her make out with another musician hurtAny less.
Mistress had left with two of Cathexis, the keyboard player and the rhythm guitarist. On her way out, she’d handed me a slip of paper and told me that rather than going back to the Holiday Inn and sulking, I should get changed and go to the club on the paper. Then she snapped her fingers, and I showed my submission and slavery by going down in front of the whole room and kissing her feet before she swept out with the two members of the headline act, heading back to the far nicer hotel that Cathexis were booked into. The contempt I could feel from the audience of band members, roadies, groups and liggers would have made my balls ache even if I wasn’t locked into a chatity device. The fuck me shoes she’d swapped for her pumps for before coming to the Colston Hall excited me as well: open toed courts with cheat heels and a slight platform.
At the Holiday Inn I changed out of the lycra lootard, fishnet pantyhose and high heeled courts I’d hurt on stage into the dress and shoes I’d defeat on the flight over, picked up a clutch bag, and went out to look for a cab. The address turned out, of course, to be a gay bar. Earl had found a list of glory holes online somewhere and given Mistress a copy listing those for the towns we’d be playing on this tour. When I explained myself to the doorman and offered the password I’d been told, I was taken through a back way to the glory holes. I had stepped into an empty one, bolted the door after me, and settled down to wait. I wondered how much of me was visible through the hole. It had a rubber grommet around its edges, protecting whatever was stuck through from splinters.
A tapping snapped me out of my reverie. I looked up and saw fingers in the hole, drumming on the inside of the wall it was cut in. I knelt in front of it and sucked them. They were replaced by a penis, and I started to suck that. It was uncut, and not particularly clean. I didn’t let that both me as I sucked it as deep as I could intomy mouth, humming and swallowing. As the penis stiffened and I eased back the foreskin with my lips and tongue to lick the glans I tasted a sickly sweet tang of dried lubricant and I could taste a definite hint of shit as well. The idea that I was sucking a cock that had already been up somebody’s ass tonight was thrillingly degrading. The downside was that if the cock’s owner had already fucked somebody up the ass tonight, it might take me a while and a lot of effort to bring them off again.
It didn’t. He started spurting in my mouth almost immediately he was fully hard and pulled his cock away quickly as I swallowed his load. A banknote poked through the hole and fluttered to the floor, and I picked it up to check the denomination, wondering if he’d have dropped a larger note if I hadn’t been daydreaming when he turned up. Maybe I could make enough to get into the club proper, if there was butt fucking going on in there. Mistress might have packed the dildos I’d been using formy oral and anal training regimes since I’d became her chatissed sissy slave, but I hadn’t seen any sign of them yet. I thought about Mistress being spit roasted by two of Cathexis or lying back while one fucked her pussy and the other fucked her mouth and felt the aching in my blue balls get worse. The idea that I’d been hoping I’d be allowed to watch them fuck her was the most humiliating part of the whole thing.
“Get up, slave.” I opened my eyes and saw Mistress standing over me, holding her heels in one hand and bag in the other. Her hair was disheveled and her skin had a soft glow to it. My heart and balls ached in tandem as I wondered if I’d ever made her look this satiated and smug. She walked over to the bed to check that I’d spent the night on the floor, then dropped her burdens on it and sat primary, sneering down at me. She snapped her fingers and I crawled forwards and kissed the tip of each toe in turn. This had been a constant piece of etiquette since the new arrangementment began. Whenever she snapped her fingers, I kissed her feet.
“While you’re down there,” she said, “you can lick them clean.” She looked over at the money I’d put on the bedside table. “Looks like you had a productive night as well.” I started licking her soles. “I can’t understand why this turn you on,” she said. “I sucked Ross’ toes last night and it was really gross. Disgusting, Actually. And that was after we’d fucked in the shower so that he could nail my pussy while Taylor fucked my ass. That I did like. I could feel their dicks almost meeting inside me. That was incredible. I’m not sure, but I think they could feel each other’s meat pressing against each other through whatever’s between my colon and my pussy. As soon as Taylor started coming, Ross started up almost at once as well. I might have come as well if they hadn’t brought me off twice already like that. A big hard dick pressing on either side of my g spot. Delicious.”
The soles of Mistress’ feet weren’t all that dirty, but I gave them a thorough licking. I had an idea that one or both of Taylor and Ross had been less concerned with Mistress as a lover than as a prop to convince themselves that they weren’t fucking each other. Rubbing their cocks against each other wrapped in her anus and vagina might have been more of a turn on for one or both of them than my beautiful Goddess was. Of course, saying anything About that would have been incredibly stupid, as well as just sounding like jealous bitching. But I supposed that since Mistress had gone off with Taylor and Ross and sent me away to suck cock in a glory hole at a gay bar I was a jealous bitch, and would remain one as long as I was her slave.
“They both fucked me missionary style in the bed as well,” Mistress said. “It seemed to take Taylor longer to get it back up, so I let Ross fuck me first, then he took over when Ross came. Then, when we woke up, I sucked Ross off while Taylor did me doggy style. Being spit roasted is harder to manage than it looks, isn’t it? It might be possible to respect how quickly you’ve taken to that as somebody who spend years masquerading as a heterosexual if you weren’t so utterly contemptible, disgusting and pathetic. Still, I can understand why you’ve learned to enjoy that, and it’s incredible waking up in bed with two guys with big hard cocks who’ve fucked you hard all night. I’m going to have to try to pick up three guys next time, and go airtight. Or maybe five and give two of them a hand job while the other three fuck all my holes at once. I’m kind of sore, or I might let you go down on my pussy to see if you can find any cummies there to gobble up. Of course, looking at the tips you got in the glory hole last night, it looks like you guzzled plenty of come without that.”
I kept licking at Mistress’ feet. She hadn’t told me to stop yet. “And of course, I don’t want you licking my pussy after you’ve been sucking cock all night, do I? Your filthy faggot mouth is probIt’s necessary a lot dirtier than my feet. You can stop licking. Go and brush your teeth and shake. Just because we’re on tour, doesn’t mean you’re allowed poor hygiene. You can get an enema and shower as well. After that you can pack up while I shower myself, but for now I’m going to allow you first shot at the bathroom while I bask in this warm glow. Does it feel emasculating to know that a couple of strangers I’ve only just met gave me more sexual pleasure last night than I’ve had from you in years?”
“Yes, Mistress,” I said.
“And how does that make you feel?”
“Utterly worthless, Mistress.”
“Not yet it doesn’t,” Mistress said. She took hold of my chin and tilted my face up so that I couldn’t avoid meeting her eyes. “You Haven’t even began to feel worthless yet, slave. This is just the start. You’ll feel a lot more worthless by the end of this tour, and it’s only going to get worse. Think about me being gang banged like Annabel Chong or dozens of guys covering me with cum so thick it looks like I’ve been painted with wallpaper paste. Think about me sitting in a bath full of come from a hundred guys. Does that idea turn you on, faggot? Would giving me a tongue bath while I’m dripping with come from make you pathetic little weenie swell up in its cage and your balls ache?”
“Yes, Mistress,” I said. Mistress slapped my face, hard.
“So you I didn’t want to see your Goddess humiliated and degraded like you are? Close your eyes and open your mouth.”
I did. Mistress spat in my mouth.
“You’re dismissed. Go clean up and make it fast. My warm glow won’t last forever, and you don’t want to try my patience, do you slave?”
I swallowed, stood and curtsied. “No, Mistress, I don’t,” I said. “Thank you, Mistress.”
I was quite proud of myself for managing to walk six feet to the box en suite without stumbling or flinching. I held myself from head to foot, brushed my teeth, showed quickly, and redid my makeup. Finally, I braided my hair and clipped it on the back of my head.
I spent the whole time thinking about how thoroughly my sponge bag had changed since my last visit to the UK. When I’d toured as part of Lux Aeternum it had contained one of the cheap plastic Wilkinson Sword safety razors, three boxes of Japanese razor blades, a stick of the cheap citrusy smelling Gillette shaving soap or one of the even cheaper Palmolive sticks the Brits Did, a badger hair traveling shaving brush, a moisturizing aftershave that was supposed to smell like Bay Rum but didn’t at all, a tube of combination shower gel that also worked as shampoo, an expensive Braun electric toothbrush that I’d acquired purely to use in Europe, gel toothpaste that was supposed to do the work of mouthwash as well, a reel of dental floss, a small bottle of jojoba oil in case the aftershave failed to moisturize, a tube of exfoliating face scrub, a face flannel, a bar of neutrogena soap in a plastic shell and an aerosol deodorant.
All of that, and the battery leather bag it had lived in, originally black but fading to brown along the seams and creams, were gone. I now had a transparent PVC bag with a pink trim and no pockets to make it easier for Mistress to check its contents. The Lady-shave I’d replaced my safety razor with was pink, as was my new toothbrush, and even the gooey shaving gel I was using now. Mistress had said that she’d allow me to use a ladies’ safety razor if I could find a nice bakelite one from the ’50s, but if she did anything that even claimed to resemble bay rum was going to be out. I now had three sorts of moisturizer (two for my face and one a body oil), a perfumey smelling Hugo Boss roll on deodorant that worked just as well as a spray now I was shaving my armits, a bar of scented soap, a pump stone and an exfoliating face wash with an even stronger perfume smell than the deodorant. I was still using the same gel toothpaste, but but that had been replaced after Mistress throw out my male hygieneand grooming products. My makeup bag was an identical transparent and pink pouch, and was even more overstuffed than my sponge bag. I had a sort of smaller supply shuttle bag to fit in a handbag or purse, just big enough to hold a lipstick and eyeliner pencil or three, a couple of bottles of nail varnish and a compact.
It shouldn’t have come as any surprise that my bathroom routine took longer since my feminization, but when I got out of the bathroom, Mistress was still tapping her foot with theatrical impatience. She had shed her catsuit and was waiting for me holding something in either hand.
“This is what you’re wearing for the trip to Cambridge,” Mistress said. I took the pink rubber to go from her and pulled it on. It barely covered my device, and was tight enough that the metal cage was visible through it. She snapped her fingers then, when I’d kissed her toes, had me stay on my knees as she fastened a thick leather collar round my throat and locked it shut with a miniature lucky padlock. “A slave has no secrets,” Mistress said. “A slave has no pride. I’m going to make sure that everybody on the tour knows where to find you when I send you to a glory hole. Think about sucking off our roadies, Cathexis’ crew, audience members, journalists, people who used to think you were a man rather than a come guzzling mouth on the other side of a hole in a gay bar. Everybody’s going to know what you are.”
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