To Serve... and Dominate

To Serve... and Dominate

As a long-time closeted sissy, I've had a great deal of experience keeping secrets. At fourteen my parents found a pair of my step-sister's panties under my mattress and I was subjected to months of humiliating group counselling sessions with both of my parents, and I vowed to keep that part of my life a secret from that point on. I was successful for the most part aside from a couple of girlfriends who found my "stash", and promptly ended our relationship thinking my collection of panties belonged to other women, with whom I was having an affair. Once, and only once, I confessed that the lingerie was mine, which she said was even worse.

Later in life, as a single man, I stopped trying to hide my outfits, toys, wigs and makeup within the confines of my own home, and often left such items out while I was at work or away. I lived in a fairly quiet little building with senior citizens for neighbors who were quick to investigate any noise or disturbance, so the possibility of a break-in was the farthest thing from my mind... until someone broke in.

I had just returned home from work and found a police cruiser parked at the curb out front of my building but, knowing my neighbors' tendency to file complaints regarding everything from loud music being played out of passing cars to other neighbors tossing their trash in our building's dumpster, I dismissed the empty police cruiser and headed inside. It wasn't until I'd descended the stairs to the basement floor and saw the old lady from across the hall waiting in front of my open door that I realized they (the police) were there for me.

"Someone broke into your place!" she announced redundantly. But I barely heard her, my mind was racing with the realization that at that very moment there was a uniformed officer inside my inner sanctum, the very place where all my secrets lived.

I ignored the old lady and entered my apartment, closing the door behind me, and was met by a wall of a man wearing a blue-uniform under a heavy armored vest. He stood easily three inches taller than my own height of 6'4", and probably outweighed me by thirty pounds or more. He was writing something down in a notebook with leather gloved hands, and he addressed me without so much as a glance. "Is this your apartment?"

I nodded that it was, and then let out a groan as I realized my flat screen and electric guitars were missing from the living-room, but part of me was more concerned with my bedroom and bathroom; two places where some of my most intimate secrets were on full display.

"Do you live alone here?" the officer asked, continuing to write. When I failed to answer, he looked up from his notebook and asked again, "Do you live alone here?"

"Well... yeah," I stammered.

"Hmm," he said, returning to his notebook.

I knew exactly why my answer interested him: the things he'd seen suggested that a woman must live there as well.

"Mind if I look around a little?" I asked, anxious to see what he'd already seen.

"A few more questions first," he answered decidedly. "How long have you lived here... alone?"

"About four years," I answered quietly.

"Does anyone else have access to your apartment... an ex-girlfriend, boyfriend..."

"No," I answered, trying to peer around his massive frame. "Nobody but me and the landlord."

"I see. When was the last time you were home?"

"Around eight-thirty this morning," I replied.

"Is that when you normally leave for work?"

"Yes."

"And where do you work?"

I rubbed my neck, growing annoyed by the line of questions, but answered anyway. "I work at Volaris."

At this, his eyes lit up in recognition, "The factory across the river?"

I nodded.

He chuckled, "Then you must know Bill Browning."

I gulped. He'd just named my boss, a man who wasn't particularly fond of me, and made no secret of it. "I do."

"Good friend of mine," he commented in a way that suggested they'd have something interesting to talk about next time they spoke. "So you were at work all day, you didn't come home for lunch?"

"No... I mean yes."

"Which is it?"

"Yes I was at work all day... no, I didn't come home for lunch."

"Too bad," he sighed. "That means this could have happened anytime after you left this morning. I'm going to need a list of everything they took so we can get it out to local pawn shops, so you'd better take a look around."

Finally, I thought to myself. The officer stepped aside and I got my first look at what was left of my bedroom, what I saw made me gasp. Every dresser drawer and the entire contents of my closet were strewn about the room: my bed was covered in a blanket of satin panties, silk camis, lace teddies and spandex leggings. Equally humiliating were the restraints: handcuffs, shackles, padlocked cuffs and ball-gags. But the real humiliation hadn't even begun.

The officer had come up behind me without making a sound, and I jumped when he spoke, "So, notice anything missing?"

"I... I don't really know," I answered, my face flushing red with embarrassment.

Then, before I could say anything else, the officer turned and entered my bathroom. I heard the sound of my shower curtain being pulled back, and the officer said a word that made me sick to my stomach. "Whoa." I knew what had caused him to say it even before I entered the room, so I wasn't at all surprised to find him wearing a curious expression at what he'd found in my shower.

What he'd found was a massive nine-inch cock suction cupped to the tiled wall, and beneath it a large bottle of anal lube. And when he asked, "Is this yours?" My first instinct was to lie.

"No, I..."

The big cop slapped his notebook shut and shook his head. "Now you've done it," he said severely.

"Done what?!?"

"You just lied to the police," he said plainly. "Making false statements, obstruction of justice... you could be looking at two years in jail."

My jaw dropped open and I stood there, dumbfounded.

"I'll ask you again... is that yours?" Still I couldn't answer. "Look," he growled, "either that thing is yours, or the people who broke in here brought it with them. Based on the amount of women's clothing you have in the other room, I'm guessing it's yours, but if it's not then I'll have to report it so we can track these people when they do it again. That means I'll have to call in a forensics team to document everything... and I do mean everything. Either way, if I find out you're lying to me, there will be consequences."

He let me sit with that for a moment before asking one last time, "Is that yours?"

I nodded.

"I thought so. He leaned in and took a closer look at it, it was thick and full of veins, just like the real thing. He turned to face me, towering over me as he spoke. "You use it," he said.

I nodded, unable to look him in the eye.

"Does it hurt?" My breath caught in my throat at the question, and at how close he was standing. I took a step back and he matched my step. "Does it?"

I looked away and he reached out with a heavy leather clad hand and turned my face back to his and held it there until I answered. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes... it hurts."

I thought he was about to ask why I would do something to myself if it hurt, but he seemed satisfied, maybe he already knew. For a brief moment, I found myself feeling intensely vulnerable to be alone with him in my bathroom, a place where I had serviced dozens of men. In fact, it occurred to me that no men had ever set foot in my bathroom unless they were about to be serviced by me. It occurred to me that this cop could make me service him if he chose to, and there would be little or nothing I could say or do to stop him. Instead, he left me standing there and returned to my living-room, once again writing in his notepad.

"Do you have insurance?"

"No," I answered, following him and pulling the bathroom door closed behind me. "They needed to know things I could tell them before they'd give me a policy."

"Such as?"

"Oh," I sighed, thinking back, "like what gauge of copper wire was in the walls, and the exact distance to the closest hydrant... that sort of thing."

He nodded sympathetically, "Yep, that's how they like to roll. And if it turned out you were off on how far away the hydrant was by a few feet, they'd have grounds for denying any claim you tried to make. What you really need is a good alarm to scare burglars away. The good ones are wired directly to the police station... they cost a bit more but I happen to know a guy who owes me a favor, I could have him set you up for next to nothing."

Perplexed by his sudden willingness to help me, I shook my head and politely declined. "Oh I don't think that'll be necessary. Normally this building is pretty quiet, I don't think..."

He held up a gloved hand, stopping me. "I insist. There are more break-ins in this area than you'd think, and even a cheap alarm system would have scared off the people who did this the moment they opened your door. And, not to get too personal, but I get the feeling that you have guests from time to time, perhaps people you don't know very well... maybe even people you don't know at all. I see it all the time. Gay men..."

"I'm not gay," I said a little more abruptly than intended.

He nodded and went on, "... some men invite other men over for a little fun, and when your back is turned those men are actually scoping out your place, trying to find out when you're home and when you're not, whether or not you have a dog or an alarm system. Then they come back with some friends while you're away, and walk away with your hard earned belongings."

The thought of it made me sick. Maybe he was right, perhaps he was the victim of exactly this sort of scam, perpetrated by one of the several "dates" he had with any number of men.

If he had any doubts about whether to get an alarm system, they were alleviated by what he said next. "You've got two entrances, right? One in the front and another in the back? My guy will install a panel at both entrances equipped with a panic button. That way, if either door is opened, they'll have thirty seconds before the alarm goes off... judging by the state of your place, I'd say whoever was here today was here for a lot longer than thirty seconds, wouldn't you?"

I nodded and shook my head at the same time, "Yeah, I'd say."

"Well, for about five bucks a week, it'll never happen again. And, you'll never have to go through the embarrassment of having another big dumb cop like me poking into your life."

That sold me on the whole thing. I agreed to see his "friend", and have an alarm installed. He called him right in front of me and made an appointment for the next day, and even came by to supervise the installation in person.

I spent the evening returning all my personal belongings back to their drawers, including the massive dildo from my shower, which I would never again leave stuck to the wall in my shower unless I was about to use it. By the time the cop returned with the technician the next day, I'd more or less returned my apartment back to a liveable state (minus my guitars and my flatscreen t.v.)

He was off-duty, thus it was the first time I'd seen him wearing street-clothes, and while I placed his age somewhere in the mid-fifties, I marvelled at how he bulged in his jeans and t-shirt. Somehow, he looked even bigger than he had in uniform, and I think he caught me stealing a glimpse at the bulge in his jeans more than once while his friend installed my new alarm system. His forearms were thick with veins and almost as thick as my calves, and he looked like he spent a good deal of time in the gym, lifting heavy weights until his skin was stretched as tight as a drum.

The technician was about to show me how the system worked when the cop dismissed him and thanked him for his time before showing him out of my apartment with my gratitude. Apparently he had done this for a great number of people, because his fingers danced across the keypad as though he'd been doing it all of his life as he programmed the system. When he was done, the final step was for me to choose a password for arming and disarming the system, which he excused himself to my bathroom to execute in private. I used the first four digits of my Social Security number, which I had used for EVERY four digit password, and pressed enter when I was finished.

Just then, the cop appeared behind me, startling me with his closeness. "All set?" he asked, the mint on his breath mingling nicely with his aftershave, his piercing green eyes looking deep into mine. "Yes, I'm all set. I can't thank you enough for doing this, officer... "

He raised an index finger and smiled before running that finger across my cheek with the softness of a whisper. "Please, call me David."

"Okay," I said, pulling back from him until my back was against the door. "Thank you, David."

"Oh, you don't have to thank me," he chuckled, leaning in closer until I could feel the heat coming off of his body. "Unless you really want to." I was suddenly afraid to be alone with him. His physical strength matched with his authority suddenly made me feel very unsafe, though he'd been nothing but kind to me up until that point.

"What do you want?" I asked, afraid of what the answer might be.

He shrugged, "You're very cute as a boy, I can only imagine what you must look like dressed up as a girl."

Shaking my head, he silenced me before I could decline. "You know, I'm playing golf with Bill Browning tomorrow morning, he likes me, he respects me... I'd very much like to tell him about the brave, intelligent, masculine young man I met the other day. I understand that he can be a difficult man to work for?"

"Yes," I acquiesced, "he is."

"I like doing things for my friends, which is why I left what I saw here yesterday out of my report. I want to help you. I've known Bill for years, and a kind word from me will go a long way with him."

After absorbing the subtext of what he'd said, I looked up at him and asked him point blank: "What would I have to do?"

"Nothing you haven't done before. Dress up in something sexy... put on some make-up... make yourself pretty for me. We'll sit together, have a drink and talk. That doesn't sound so bad, does it?"

I shook my head, but from past experience I knew perfectly well that some dates (and some men) turned bad without warning, and sometimes ended with me washing a mans' cum out of myself. Still, when weighing my worst "date" with a man against the possibility of every man and woman at work knowing about what was found in my apartment, I decided that dressing up and giving this man a handjob on my sofa was the lesser of two evils. Hopefully, that would be enough to placate him.

"What time?"

* * *

With our date set for nine o'clock, I set myself to the task of making myself "pretty" for David. I hadn't shaved in several days and never felt truly sexy or feminine until I'd shaved from my face to my feet, so I did that; starting with my face and neck, moving down to my chest and stomach, then an abrupt U-turn back up to my armpits followed by the few hairs that tended to sprout from my toes, and finally my legs, which I shaved from the ankle up. Only then, after the rest of me was so smooth that soapy water slid down my body with no more resistance than simple water, I shaved my ass and groin. Or, as men tended to refer to it, my "clitty".

Or "Boi-Pussy".

To this day, I never really understood why so many men who fuck other men feel the need to camoflauge reality from themselves by pretending that they are fucking a woman instead of a man dressed like one. Personally, I always thought it was far more exciting to embrace the truth of it, that I was (and am still) a man, and the emasculation that occurred during this self-inflicted feminization is erotic and taboo. I was addicted to it, and it was in my thoughts all night and day, but it only worked for me if I was in control (at least to the extent of being able to say no without repercussions). This felt dirty, and not in the way I normally like it.

Fresh out of the shower, I slipped into a simple thong (1 size too small to facilitate a good "tuck"), and then into a pair of shiny black leggings. I felt confident that Dave's hands would do some wandering so I opted for a modicum of modesty over sex-appeal, as opposed to, say... fishnets and a short skirt. I hoped that it would send the right signal, the message reading loud and clear that my lower extremities would not be on the menu for this once in a lifetime meal. But closing the door to my ass meant opening the windows to my two remaining means of pleasuring a man: my mouth and my hands.

I'd pleasured men so many times that it had been more years than I could count that I'd failed to make a guy cum with a five minute blowjob. It became so second-nature to me that I'd even do it to guys I didn't even like, just to end the date and get them to leave, so I wasn't particularly bothered by the prospect of servicing Dave. I'd done it before, and part of me thought I almost owed him something. Honestly, as I painted my eyes dark and my lips fire-engine red in my bathroom mirror, the idea began to grow on me.

The bulge in the pants of his uniform had been impressive, and I found myself craving to see it. That was a good thing, I thought; it would make what I had to do much easier. Who knows, maybe I'd even enjoy it?

I strapped myself into a black bra and stuffed it with a pair of silicone "tits", and then pulled a hooded sweatshirt over my top half. Once capped off with my blonde wig, teased to the point of looking like I'd slept in it, I spritzed myself with some perfume, checked out my own ass in the mirror and looked myself in the eye. "Okay, Krissy. Let's do this."

Dave arrived exactly on time, tapping gently at my door.

I steadied myself, smiled, and opened the door.

Dave was now all dressed in black, his jacket was open and I could see his badge on one hip, his gun holstered on the other. He had a six-pack of non-alcoholic beer in one hand, and he nearly dropped them when he got his first look at me. "Wow," was all he could say, though I suspect he was being overly generous.

Mindful of the old woman living directly across from me, who at that very moment was likely crawling out of her overstuffed chair and hobbling across her living-room to peep at this mysterious stranger intruding upon her imminent domain through the glassed hole in her door, so I urged him to hurry inside, and closed the door.

Now, it's important to know, I don't pretend to be a female when I'm with men. I speak in a normal voice, though I do try to smile and keep my legs together. My nails and toes were painted to match my lips, and the sweatshirt helped hide my broad shoulders while managing to make my ass look small and round by comparison. All in all, I felt confident and sexy, and sometimes guys will take that over being "passable as a female".

Dave's next words were the same as the first, "Wow," followed by, "look at you."

Accepting the compliment, I reciprocated, "Look at you, too!"

"Bah," he scoffed, "I just threw on whatever was clean."

"Well," I said, feeling myself blush a little, "come on in, make yourself comfortable!"

Dave plopped the six-pack down on my coffee table and eased himself onto my sofa, sliding off his coat and taking a look around at my place. I sat down on the far end of the sofa and turned towards him, "It's nice to see you again, and under better circumstances than the other day."

"Well I'm glad I did, and you look amazing. Seriously. I didn't know what to expect, but you certainly didn't disappoint."

"Thanks," I said, beaming at the compliment despite my effort to remain casual. "I do what I can with what little I've got."

"Listen," he said, suddenly serious in his tone, "I need to say something... it's about my being here... about what I said yesterday."