poem by Ashley
story and illustrations by Mat

To a Dominatrix, nothing can hold a candle
To that thing Mistresses call a ‘manhandle’.
It may come as a shock,
But a sub-sissy’s cock
Must be yanked when not under her sandal.

Mistress caught her sissy-boy mid-splatter. “What do you think you’re doing?” she scolded. “You know you’re not permitted to pee standing up. Look at the mess you’ve made. The seat. Even my hand-polished parquet floor.”

“Sorry, Mistress, I—”

“Stop!” Mistress commanded. “I’d make you clean this up, naughty hands bound behind your back, but there isn’t time. My cheerleaders are all but at the door. And what if they need to go? This bathroom isn’t fit for their lovely little bottoms.”

“Sorry, Mistress, I—”

“Hush. I have an idea.”

Installed in the corner of the parlor while the cheerleaders enjoyed cakes and charades, sissy-boy lay ready. “I’m sorry the powder room is unavailable,” Mistress had told them. “But when need arises, please make use of the convenience.” She cast a glance at sissy-boy. Some of the guests giggled.

Eventually one of them wandered over. “But how does it work?” she ventured. The others circled round, equally eager for instruction.

“You simply crouch over the opening,” Mistress explained. “And when you’re done, just give the little lever a tug, and all will be swallowed away. There’s no TP, but the contraption’s tongue, gentle but efficacious, will clean your nether parts most satisfactorily, I assure you.”

Before evening’s end, many took a second turn upon the novel toilet, some of them more than that, for they’d discovered sissy-boy’s nose fit their sexual notch to perfection.

“You’ve done well,” Mistress complimented her sissy-boy, giving his much-abused penis a little pat following the final flush. “Now to clean you up.” And with that, she licked away the abundance of girl-froth which covered every inch of his face.