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The automatic glass doors of the clinic loomed just a few feet away, a sterile, sliding mouth ready to swallow him whole. The reflected glare of the sun on the white paint was blinding, but before Brenda could take the final step onto the concrete threshold, Wendy’s grip on his arm tightened like a vice. She didn’t pull him forward; she yanked him sharply to the right, into the narrow, shaded alcove between the clinic entrance and the landscaping hedge.
Brenda stumbled, his bare feet scrabbling against the rough stucco of the exterior wall. Before he could regain his balance, Wendy stepped in, crowding him. Her body, warm and smelling of coconut oil and expensive perfume, pinned him against the building. The cool wall pressed against his back through the thin fabric of the floral sundress, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from her.
“Wait,” she murmured, her voice low and vibrating with a cruel amusement.
She didn’t look at his face. Her gaze dropped to the hem of his dress, which fluttered around his thighs in the morning breeze. With a deliberate, agonizing slowness, her left hand slid down his hip, her fingers tracing the lace edge of the pink panties before dipping underneath the fabric. Brenda gasped, his hips jerking involuntarily as her manicured nails grazed the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.
Wendy didn’t hesitate. Her hand cupped his crotch, her palm pressing against the soft, hairless skin of his scrotum and the traitorous hardness of his clit. She hummed, a satisfied sound in the back of her throat, as her fingers explored the damp fabric.
“Oh, Brenda,” she whispered, leaning in closer. Her breath was hot and minty against the shell of his ear. “Look at you. Soaking wet.”
She moved her fingers with practiced precision, sliding them through the slick mess of pre-cum that had leaked from the tip of his cock, coating the lace panties. The sensation was electric, a jolt of pure humiliation mixed with a terrifying pleasure that made his knees weak. He was leaking for her, dripping like a needy slut while standing on the verge of being castrated.
Wendy milked him gently, her thumb pressing firmly against the frenulum while her fingers teased the heavy, vulnerable sac beneath. She felt the weight of his balls in her hand, rolling them, testing their heft, reminding him of exactly what he was about to lose—or keep.
“I was going to let Bill take you inside,” she breathed, her lips brushing his earlobe. “I was going to watch them strap you down and slice these useless things right off.” She gave his balls a sharp squeeze, not enough to cause real pain, but enough to make him whimper and buck his hips forward into her hand. “But now…”
She trailed off, her hand still working inside his panties, the wet sounds of her fingers sliding against his skin obscenely loud in the quiet alcove. Brenda’s head fell back against the wall, his eyes squeezing shut as tears of shame pricked at the corners. He couldn’t stop his body from reacting. The degradation, the public exposure, the looming threat of nullification—it all coalesced into a throbbing, desperate need in his groin.
A shadow fell across them. Brenda opened his eyes to see Bill standing just a few feet away, leaning against the corner of the building. He had a perfect view. Bill’s eyes were locked on Wendy’s hand buried in Brenda’s panties, a predatory grin stretching his lips. The front of Bill’s low-riding swim trunks was tented aggressively, the outline of his thick cock clearly visible.
Without taking his eyes off the show, Bill reached down and palmed his own erection. He squeezed the shaft through the nylon fabric, his hand moving in a slow, rhythmic stroke. He wasn’t hiding it. He was enjoying the spectacle, getting off on the power dynamic, on seeing the sissy husband broken down by his wife.
“Look at him, Wendy,” Bill grunted, his voice rough with lust. “He’s loving it. The little freak is humping your hand.”
Wendy turned her head slightly, acknowledging Bill with a smirk, but her focus remained on Brenda. She increased the tempo of her strokes, her fingers slick with his pre-cum, gliding over the head of his cock in a maddening, teasing spiral.
“Did you hear that, Brenda?” she cooed, turning back to him. She bit down gently on his earlobe, sending a shiver down his spine. “Bill thinks you want it. He thinks you want to lose your balls.”
She pulled her hand back slightly, just enough to wrap her fingers around the base of his shaft, squeezing tight, cutting off the urge to cum. Brenda let out a choked sob, his hips thrusting into the empty air, desperate for friction.
“But I’m not sure,” Wendy whispered, her voice dropping to a husky, seductive register. “I think you might want to keep them. I think you might want to stay a little sissy toy for us to play with.”
She pressed her body flush against his, letting him feel the softness of her breasts against his chest, the heat of her mound grinding against his leg. She was dominating him completely, controlling his breath, his pleasure, his future.
“If you keep them,” she breathed, her tongue tracing the shell of his ear, “you have to earn them. You have to prove you’re worth the trouble.
She stroked him again, hard and fast, just for a second, bringing him to the edge of a precipice before stopping abruptly. Brenda cried out, a high-pitched, pathetic sound that echoed in the alcove.
“I’m going to make you beg for them,” she promised, her hand tightening around his balls, claiming ownership. “I’m going to make you get down on your knees and beg Bill and me to let you keep your pathetic little balls. And you’re going to mean it. You’re going to cry and plead and offer us anything we want.”
Bill groaned from his spot against the wall, his hand moving faster on his own cock, the fabric of his trunks straining. “Fuck yeah,” he muttered. “Make him beg.”
Wendy pulled her hand out of his panties, leaving them damp and clinging to his skin. She brought her fingers up to Brenda’s face, glistening with his fluids. She smeared the sticky pre-cum across his lower lip, forcing him to taste his own shame.
“Open,” she commanded.
Brenda’s lips parted, and she slid her wet fingers into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue. He sucked instinctively, cleaning his own filth from her skin, his eyes wide and watering as he stared at her.
“Good girl,” she whispered, pulling her fingers away with a wet pop. She stepped back, leaving him panting and trembling against the wall, his cock throbbing in the open air, his panties ruined. “But we’re not going inside just yet. Not until I hear exactly what I want to hear.”
She looked over at Bill, who was still stroking himself openly, his chest heaving.
“Enjoying the view, Bill?” she asked sweetly.
“Immensely,” he growled, his eyes raking over Brenda’s disheveled form. “But I think he needs a little more motivation to really sell the performance.”
Wendy smiled, turning back to Brenda, her eyes dark with sadistic intent. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m just getting started
*** Note How should I end this let’s have some suggestions ***
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