Personalised Story: Texas Femdom Prison: Part 6 (Patreon)

Anna pulled the car up the long gravel drive to the ranch, the tires crunching under the weight of the vehicle. Kenny sat in the passenger seat, his body squeezed into the frilly black-and-white sissy maid uniform that Anna had chosen for him.

The short skirt barely covered the top of his thighs, the white apron tied tight around his waist, and the black stockings clipped to garters that dug into his skin. His feet were locked into shiny black heels that forced his posture into an awkward, feminine sway.

A matching maid's cap sat on his head, and the chastity cage beneath the skirt pressed constantly against the thin fabric of his panties.

She parked near the main entrance and killed the engine. Without a word, she stepped out and opened his door. Kenny climbed out carefully, the heels wobbling on the uneven ground. Anna took his arm and guided him toward the front steps where the Spanish mistress and the Asian mistress waited.

The Spanish mistress wore tight black leather pants and a cropped top that showed off her toned stomach. The Asian mistress stood beside her in a red corset and thigh-high boots, her long dark hair pulled into a high ponytail. Both women smiled as Anna approached with Kenny.

"Right on time," the Spanish mistress said.

Anna nodded. "He's all yours for the next few weeks. Make sure he remembers every rule."

The Asian mistress stepped forward first. She took Kenny's wrists and pulled them behind his back. Cold steel cuffs snapped around each wrist with a sharp click, the chain between them short enough to keep his elbows nearly touching. She tested the hold, tugging once to confirm the restraint held firm.

The Spanish mistress knelt and wrapped thick leather cuffs around his ankles. She connected them with a short chain that forced his steps into a restricted shuffle. Kenny's heels scraped the stone as he tried to keep balance.

Next came the collar. The Asian mistress lifted a wide leather band lined with soft padding and buckled it around his neck. The metal D-ring at the front caught the light. She clipped a long leather leash to the ring and gave it a gentle tug, forcing Kenny's chin up.

"Walk," the Spanish mistress ordered.

They led him up the steps and through the heavy front door. The leash stayed taut in the Asian mistress's hand as Kenny shuffled inside, the ankle chain clinking with every small step. Anna watched from the doorway, arms crossed, until the door closed behind the group.

She turned back to the car and drove away without looking back. Her mind already moved ahead to the empty basement at home. She pictured the space cleared of boxes, the walls reinforced, the ceiling fitted with sturdy eyebolts.

She would order heavy wooden posts, a custom St. Andrew's cross, and a padded bench with built-in restraints. Chains, cuffs, spreader bars, and a selection of gags and plugs would line the shelves. The project would stay secret until it was finished, and then Kenny would learn exactly how she planned to use the new basement for her own pleasure whenever she wanted.

By the time she reached the house, her hands were already on her phone, scrolling through suppliers and measuring the basement dimensions in her head.

Anna spent the next several days transforming the basement into a private dungeon. She cleared every box and shelf, reinforcing the concrete walls with heavy brackets and installing thick eyebolts into the ceiling joists.

A professional contractor arrived under the guise of a home gym renovation, but his real work involved framing out a small barred cell in the far corner. The steel bars were welded into place with a heavy lockable door, complete with a narrow cot bolted to the floor and a drain in the center for easy cleaning.

She ordered a custom St. Andrew’s cross made of solid oak, its surface padded with black vinyl and fitted with multiple D-rings along the arms and legs. It stood eight feet tall once mounted to the wall, ready to spread a body wide for flogging or caning.

Beside it went two padded benches—one for spanking with adjustable height and built-in wrist and ankle cuffs, the other a longer restraint table with stirrups that could lock legs apart.

Shelves lined one entire wall. Anna stocked them with leather floggers in varying thicknesses, thick canes, paddles, riding crops, and a collection of single-tail whips. Drawers held cuffs, spreader bars, gags, blindfolds, and an assortment of plugs and dildos in every size.

A large metal cabinet held the heavier gear: chains, ropes, suspension cuffs, and a heavy wooden stockade she planned to use for extended sessions.

Every evening after work she descended the stairs to test the new equipment herself, running her hands over the smooth wood and cold steel. She pictured Kenny locked in the cell, stripped and waiting, or strapped to the cross with his ass exposed for her to mark. The thought of having him completely at her mercy without needing to drive anywhere sent a rush of heat between her legs.

By the end of the week the space was finished. The air smelled of new leather and polished wood. Anna stood in the centre of the room, running a flogger through her fingers, already planning exactly how she would use every inch of it on him when he returned.

The mirrors lining every wall of the ranch playroom threw Kenny’s reflection back at him from every angle. Pink satin clung to his frame, the frilly maid dress so short it barely covered the top of his thighs while the matching apron sat high on his cinched waist.

Lace-trimmed stockings stretched over smooth legs and ended in glossy pink heels that forced his calves to flex with every twitch. Real gold hoops swung from his pierced ears, catching the light each time his head bobbed.

A tiny silver stud glinted on his tongue whenever his lips stretched around the thick black dildo mounted on the fucking machine in front of him. The matching machine behind him drove a second fat dildo in and out of his stretched hole in steady, merciless thrusts.

His tramp-stamp tattoo—“Ride me”—arched across the small of his back just above the cleft of his ass, the black ink stark against pale skin. A fresh navel piercing winked above the hem of the dress every time his stomach clenched. Full bimbo makeup painted his face: glossy pink lips, heavy lashes, and cheeks dusted with shimmer. The chastity cage inside the pink panties pressed tight, a constant reminder that his cock stayed locked and useless.

The Brazilian mistress stood to his left, leather crop whistling through the air before it cracked across his left cheek. “Look at yourself, sissy. Mouth full, ass full, and still begging for more like the desperate little fucktoy you are.” She struck again, harder, leaving a bright red stripe. “That tramp stamp tells the truth. Anyone who sees it knows exactly what you’re for.”

The Russian mistress on his right swung her own crop in perfect rhythm, painting matching welts across his right cheek. “Such a pretty little maid. Hoops in your ears, stud in your tongue, and that cage keeping you dripping and empty. Does it feel good, slut? Getting both holes fucked while we mark your worthless ass?” She delivered three rapid strikes, each one making his hips jerk forward and drive the front dildo deeper into his throat.

Kenny’s eyes watered as he stared at his own reflection. Every mirror showed the same humiliating scene: the pink dress riding up, the machines pistoning, the crops rising and falling.

Saliva ran down his chin and dripped onto the polished floor. His tongue stud clicked against the dildo shaft with every sloppy slurp. The Russian mistress leaned close, her breath hot against his ear. “Keep watching. See how pathetic you look. A locked sissy maid getting machine-fucked and whipped while his wife is miles away planning even more ways to break him.”

The Brazilian mistress grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back just enough to let the dildo slip from his lips for a second. “Say it, whore. Tell the mirrors what you are.”

Kenny’s voice came out hoarse and broken. “I’m… a sissy maid… locked and fucked for Mistress Anna…”

Both crops landed at once, the sharp sting making his whole body jolt. The machines never slowed. The mirrors kept reflecting every degrading second back at him while the two mistresses continued their steady, vicious rhythm across his reddening cheeks.

“Faster,” the Russian ordered, and the rear machine sped up, pounding deeper. “Show us how much you love it, pink slut.”

Kenny’s lips stretched wide again around the front dildo, tongue stud dragging along the underside as fresh welts bloomed under the crops. The tramp stamp flexed with every thrust, the words “Ride me” flashing in mirrors like a permanent brand. The Brazilian mistress laughed low.

“Good girl. Keep sucking. We’re not stopping until you are leaking down your stockings and you’re crying from how full you are.”

The Russian mistress traced the fresh welts with the tip of her crop. “And when we’re done, we’ll send pictures to your wife so she can see exactly what her sissy husband looks like getting broken in pink.”

Kenny moaned around the thick shaft, eyes locked on his own reflection as the machines kept driving into him and the crops kept falling, turning his ass into a canvas of bright red stripes while the mistresses’ voices filled the mirrored room with relentless, filthy degradation.

The mirrored walls threw Kenny’s reflection back at him in endless repetition. Pink satin hugged every curve of his body, the short maid dress riding higher with each forward thrust of his hips. The matching heels forced his posture upright, calves trembling while the machines kept their relentless rhythm.

One thick dildo slid in and out of his stretched mouth, the other pounded deep into his ass, the wet sounds filling the room with every stroke.

Kenny’s mind stayed locked on Anna. Every time the front machine drove the shaft across his tongue stud, he told himself this was exactly what she wanted. He had signed the papers. He had walked into the ranch in full sissy gear. He consented to all of this. He had let them pierce him, tattoo him, lock him. This was his choice. He wanted it. He needed to become the perfect submissive she deserved.

The Brazilian mistress cracked her crop across his left cheek again. “Look at that tramp stamp, ride-me slut. That ink is permanent, just like your place on your knees.”

The Russian mistress answered with three sharp strikes on the right side.

Kenny moaned around the invading dildo, saliva running down his chin and dripping onto the floor. His thoughts stayed fixed on Anna. He wanted to please her. He wanted to make her proud. Every thrust into his throat and every lash across his ass was another step toward becoming the obedient toy she could use without limits.

The machines never slowed. The crops kept falling. His ass burned, the welts bright and hot, but he kept his eyes on the mirrors, watching himself take it all because Anna would expect nothing less.

The Brazilian mistress grabbed his hair and yanked his head back just long enough for the words to spill out. “Tell the mirrors what you are, pink whore.”

Kenny’s voice came out hoarse and eager. “I’m Anna’s sissy. I consent to everything. I want to be perfect for her.”

Both crops landed at once. The Russian mistress leaned in, her voice low and mocking. “Good girl. Keep sucking. Keep getting fucked. Your wife is going to love how broken and eager you are when she comes to collect you.”

Kenny opened his mouth again, lips stretching wide around the thick shaft. His tongue stud dragged along the underside as the machine resumed its steady thrusts. The rear dildo slammed deeper, stretching him further, but his thoughts never left Anna.

He wanted to be exactly what she needed. He wanted to take every command, every punishment, every humiliation so she could smile and know her sissy had surrendered completely.

The crops continued their steady rhythm across his reddened cheeks. The machines kept driving into both ends. Kenny stayed focused on the single goal that mattered: becoming the flawless submissive Anna would be proud to own.