Paid to Play

Nick didn't expect anything the next day. His muscles still buzzed from the panic of the pharmacy trip. Every time he thought about what he'd said at the register, his stomach turned—but his locked clit twitched too. That part disturbed him the most. He was starting to crave her approval like a drug. The app buzzed midmorning. New Task Assigned. "Use the lipstick you purchased. Apply it carefully. Wear the panties. Take a full-body mirror selfie. Show me the sissy you're becoming. Bonus: wear something that shows off your cage. Reward: $200." His chest tightened. The photo wasn't public—but Mistress would see it. And somehow that was worse. He opened the lipstick box with trembling hands. The red was darker than he remembered—rich, slutty, loud. The kind of red that screamed for attention. He'd never applied makeup before. His hands were unsteady. His reflection was stranger than ever. Pale lips turned vivid, glossy, wet. The color made him look… owned. Like someone had claimed his mouth. The panties slid on next—tight, familiar, framing the cage like lingerie on a toy. He tried to stop there, but the bonus line echoed in his head. "Wear something that shows off your cage." He pulled open his drawer. Paused. And then pulled out the smallest pair of shorts he owned—athletic mesh, thin, black, low. The waistband cut across the top of the cage perfectly. It didn't hide anything. It highlighted it. And when he turned to check the angle in the mirror, he saw it—SISSY SLUT, glittering across his lower back in bold, feminine font. The fabric rode low enough to show the top of the tattoo, and just beneath it, CUMDUMP peeked through the sheer mesh, bold and unmistakable across both cheeks. Even standing still, the words screamed. The final humiliation? The faint curve of pink lettering just above the cage, barely hidden by the waistband—Tiny Clit – No Cock Here. He didn't have to read it. He felt it. Burned into him. He held the phone up. Snapped the photo. And stared at it. He looked like a parody. But he also looked… exactly how she wanted. Marked. Dressed. Helpless. He hit send. The app buzzed seconds later. Task Complete. Mistress approves. Then, a voice message: her voice, slow and full of satisfaction. "Very good, my painted toy. I want you to get used to seeing yourself like this. You're not pretending anymore. You're becoming." Nick sat down, trembling. The lipstick tasted faintly of cherry. His caged clit throbbed with shame. He didn't wipe it off. He didn't cover the tattoos. He just sat there—marked, locked, and aching for her next word.