A Reminder 6

I guess you could say I was lucky to be called out of our site meeting, but at the time I wasn't sure. The superintendent droned on about the impact a new elementary school would have on our district's budget. Teachers all packed into the multi-purpose room, exchanging pleasantries before settling in, eating shitty snacks the school provided as Mr. Ryan clicked through his PowerPoint. I shifted uncomfortably in my metal folding chair, trying to find a tolerable position. It was hard to focus when the snaps of my new uniform pressed uncomfortably beneath my testicles.

The flamboyant and often uncomfortable "uniforms" were sent from Mistress via text. The latest product link brought to you by Amazon. My heart always skips each time I see the next slutty costume I'll be wearing. I order them as quickly as they come, thoughtlessly paying the overnight shipping fees.

I'm always honest when the lingerie is uncomfortable... Whether the bra has some kind of cheap wiring, or the garter belts are too tight, or the panties are a complete size too small, her retort is more or less the same. "As a slut, sometimes you need a bit of discomfort as a reminder. A reminder of what a desperate little fuck toy you've become". It's an expected response, but I always lap up every syllable.

The panties I wore to work that day were pink and lacy, a color that emasculated and a fabric that rubbed abrasively. She was accurate in her selection, a true reminder that moaned sissy slut.

It was as though the texture insisted it shall not be forgotten. As I shifted and shuffled, the snaps continued to chafe. That sweet discomfort brought a fresh wave of arousal. I had never worn one of my uniforms to work, and the nerves turned me to mush for most of the day. A janitor walked through the building with a walkie in hand, our school-site principal suppressed a yawn, and the PE teacher stared blankly at a nearby wall. No one noticed the blunted moans of the pink panties from beneath my khakis.

Seemingly beckoned by my daydream, as Mr. Ryan paused between slides, my phone buzzed on the table and its screen glowed white. A text banner appeared across the locked screen: "I would like to see that you're wearing your uniform."

Malaise vanished in a cortisol shot, my body went weak. I quickly grabbed my phone as a colleague stole a sideways glance. I immediately fumbled it to the floor. When I went down to retrieve it, my head thumped against the table, causing everyone's stationary to jump. My ears thoughtfully turned pink to match my uniform.

Eleven simple words from Mistress and I lost all composure. Can you blame me? As I settled back into my seat, others looked. Someone put a hand to my forearm to ask if I was alright. I nodded silently, but felt the sentiment untrue. Reflexively, my legs began to fidget while warmth spread to my cheeks. I thought I heard the snaps of my lace panties tapping against the metal folding chair as if I were clinking glass to make a toast. I abruptly stopped fidgeting.

Mistress had called me out of the meeting with a personal request. After a moment of anxious deliberation, I found the courage to excuse myself. I felt obliged to cooperate immediately. After all, I wanted to be a good boy, and my mistress could be quite impatient. I started to the back of the MPR. As I headed towards the bathroom, I made nervous eye contact with people I'd known for years. My erection was becoming apparent underneath my khakis, slowly arching towards the waistband of my lingerie. I walked faster. With each step and hurried glance, the head of my cock throbbed, ticking steadily upwards as it rubbed against the lace panties. It quickly struck twelve like the minute hand of a clock. I shouldn't let my mistress wait. She doesn't like me dawdling.

By the time the stall door closed in the men's restroom, my whole body ached. I awkwardly wrestled the khakis over my shoes, and onto the tile floor. I hung them on the door hook with haste, and managed my usual positions, snapping photos on a timer. Full frontal view-- a petite cock fully visible, protruding out sideways from my uniform's crotch. Two more pictures of my backside. First position-- my hands against the wall and back arched. I slowly slid my trembling fingers up the stall, counting with the timer in my head. Second position-- my panties slid off to one side, face pressed against the stall. Hands delicately spread my cheeks apart to reveal a perfectly shaved "pussy". Cleanliness was mandated by Mistress.

I sent my work and inspected the details of each photograph as I waited for a response. I thought she would be happy with them, but worried about my femininity. I had made a habit of stretching each day so I could properly arch my back like a true, hand-to-god, slut. I thought it was yielding decent results. A text bubble appeared with her message.

"Good boy. In the school bathroom? Very naughty. First stage, 75%."

I was to masturbate until I felt three-quarters of the way to ejaculation, then immediately take my hands off. Proof is to be recorded and sent promptly. No further action is permitted until Mistress responds. It's basically second nature at this point. First stage is a reward given mostly during remote sessions. In public, it was what I yearned for and dreaded simultaneously.

I started edging, my dry grasp glided after years of practice. I always start this way, as a carpenter delicately sanding away those last imperfections. When I feel the outskirts of first stage, I become glass-eyed with desperation. It didn't take long to reach 75% with my pink panties and the smell of bleach and urinal cakes in the air. My hands came off and a dull thump reverberated across the tiled walls. My cock had struck my pubic bone violently, like someone's head against a conference table. My swollen flesh pleaded for more as I stopped the video, gently palpitating and beading precum. I sent it to Mistress and waited.

"Excited to be a sissy at work?" Before I could answer the next bubble appeared. "Thirty-five seconds is a little quick for 75%. You must be excited. Let's calm you down..." Another break in the text chain. "Squeeze those pathetic testicles and say thank you to your mistress, because I shouldn't be wasting my time with an eager little cum slut moonlighting as a school teacher."

I cooperated. Brandishing them like two ripe plums, squeezing until they flushed. "Thank you Mistress, I don't deserve your generosity." I whispered. Each S hissed across the hollow bathroom before dissipating into ether.

"Don't you have somewhere to be pet? Why would you indulge the thought of sneaking off to the bathroom for a wank? It's pathetic really." Mistress tested.

"This is where I need to be. I am your pet first and foremost, and I do as you please." Recited as a mantra and sent with a speed that Mistress appreciates.

"Should I leave you at first stage? Your pathetic cock hard and dripping? I'd imagine it'd be an issue to return like that. Imagine the embarrassment! I think that would please me." Mistress teased.

I texted frantically while my cock continued to pulse. "Please Mistress, I'll do anything. I'll do anything to cum."

The text bubble hung on three little dots. It lasted an eternity. "Would you like to cum all over your new pink panties or on the toilet seat pet?"

Cum covered panties at a district meeting wasn't an option. Evidence had to be disposed, not worn. Mistress knew what she was doing. "The toilet seat, thank you Mistress." I knew what that entailed, and thought about water from the bathroom sink and the breath-mints I sadly left in my classroom.

"Good slut, skip to third stage. Don't waste a drop." On a whim she added, "You have two minutes. I don't want a pet who thinks it's okay to skip his meetings. And don't forget to say thank you to your mistress."

"Yes Mistress." I sprang to my feet, whirling around to face the toilet seat, and began at a frenzied pace. My hand squeezed until fingernail indentations appeared in the meat of my palm, my penis constricted inside. The pressure was forceful enough to stop blood from circulating. Shamelessly hunched over the seat with a phone in hand, the screen bobbed as I jackhammered a tight fist over my helpless erection, again and again. The pink head of my cock came in and out of focus as I stopped paying attention to the quality of the video. A minute had gone by. Sensation came, rising from deep within, building slowly and surely, brimming to the breaking point, ready to explode when-- the men's room opened and footsteps echoed briskly to the bathroom sink.

My cock throbbed with agony, squeezed purple with force. It convulsed to no avail as the stranger pulled a paper towel from the dispenser. A single pearl of white seeped upwards and held, glistening in the fluorescent lighting. The man blew his nose, sniffling and shifting on his feet. I held my cock down like a victim in a shallow pool, it convulsed and thrashed. The footsteps resumed towards the exit, when they suddenly stopped and seemed to pause. "Hello?" Said a voice.

I held my breath, pant less, hovering pelvis first over the toilet, my buttocks clenched and wrapped in pink lace, cum demanding to be released. Please leave, please leave, I can't thank Mistress while you're here. Two minutes was coming quickly.

The silence was deafening. Suspended in fear and pain, I exerted the last morsels of will to hold off the completion of my orgasm. My cock felt like a pressurized can, liquid pushing out when the tab refused to be pulled. At the brink of eruption, the footsteps echoed once again, then disappeared as the door gently swung shut in its frame. I released my cock with a gasp as ejaculate pulsed once, twice, three times across the toilet seat before dripping down my shaft and over my scrotum. It collected at the waistband tucked underneath my taint. Panting between strands, I had uttered in blissful relief "Thank you Mistress, thank you Mistress, thank you Mistress."

As I stopped the video, clarity set in, followed swiftly by shame. It's funny how hot-blooded lust can play tricks on you. How quickly we forget once we're coaxed sexually to perform again. I stood speechless in nothing but shoes, a shirt, and the pair of pink lace panties. Heavy cum glazed half the seat. A bit oozed down the base and onto the muted grey tile. I stared at the horrible mess I had made while Mr. Ryan droned on outside.

There was no question about what was to happen next, whether I had a change of heart or not. Mistress had control, and she didn't like to wait. Revolted and agonized, I put my bare knees to the cold tile, extended my phone for a selfie, and started recording. I would lap up every drop; none would be wasted. I would even get on all fours, ravenously trying to capture the small amount that had dripped down the base and onto the tile. I would send the results, adjust my uniform, put on my pants, and walk out of the bathroom with the smell of cum on my breath. The aftertaste was just another reminder of what a little fuck toy I had become.

As I put my hand on the bathroom door, ready to rejoin my peers as best I could, I received another message. "Good boy" Mistress replied, and I felt something stir in a web of pink and lace.