The walk of shame of the sissy
Some buried, genetic masculine pride tries to boil its way to the surface to save the hopeless sissy it’s attached to. In mortified shame, suddenly hyper aware of your appearance you quickly mince into a quiet side street, hyperventilating in the restricting corset as it all comes crashing down on you; the total and utter humiliation that you USED to be respected. You USED to be able to walk down the street and make eye contact with a pretty girl who might smile back, not laugh in your face or scoff in disgust.
You need to tear it all off! You ineffectually grab at your dress’s tiny pearl buttons, pull at the lace and ribbon embellishments, but your long nails and frantic movements make the slippery material slide through your clumsy fingers.
You moan in agony and stamp your dainty shoes in sissy frustration, which causes the slender heel to slip on a crack in the pavement. You lose your balance and stumble awkwardly to your knees, your other heel catching a loop of lace on the back of your skirt, preventing you from readily getting back up. You almost break down sobbing as you rock back and struggle to untangle yourself, hampered by your ludicrous nails and fully laced corset, the rustle of petticoats, bells and jewelry almost deafening.
NO! This CAN’T be real, this CAN’T be your life!
You suddenly fold over at the waist in pain, clutching your stomach. And then you’re reminded that of all the things you hate, of all the daily embarrassments and degradation you suffer through, you’re especially ashamed of just how damned HARD it makes you. All throughout your hissy fit tantrum, your sissy clit has been straining in your tiny, tight metal cock cage- a constant reminder that your fetishes and perversions were your downfall. If only you were born NORMAL, right?
