Three Little Words

“Three Little Words,” Part Five
by c.w. cobblestone


A toothpick is a fine tool for eradicating pebbles from sneaker bottoms. I found that out the hard way.

I thought Jamal’s Nikes looked fantastic after I’d spent more than an hour cleaning, polishing and buffing them. Unfortunately, he didn’t agree.

When I presented the shoes, he snapped his fingers and held out his hand.

“Let’s see.”

I felt proud passing him the once-filthy Air Maxes. As he inspected them my wife leaned in close to her lover on the couch to have a look for herself.

Jamal seemed pleased until he turned one shoe over and frowned at the sole. I shivered.

He held out the shoe. “What the fuck is this?”

“Uh, I … I … sir, I ..”

I wasn’t sure what to say. The shoe looked great as far as I could tell.

He showed it to Carmen. She shook her head.

“He needs to learn, baby,” she said.

“I–I’m sorry, sir, what did I do wrong, please?”

Jamal shoved the sneaker in my face and this time I noticed the problem: A few tiny pebbles were lodged in the shoe’s track.

“That shit look clean to you, white boy?”

“N-no, sir. I’ll get it right out; I’m so sorry, sir.”

“Sorry, my ass.”

I wasn’t prepared for him to suddenly rear back and smack me hard across the face with the shoe bottom. I collapsed onto the carpet and curled up in a ball, holding my face and crying.

“Sit up, sissy bitch.”

Somehow, I managed to pull myself into a kneeling position. Carmen giggled.

“Look, baby, he’s got a shoe-print on his face. But it’s only one side.” She smirked at me and snatched her boyfriend’s other shoe from the couch. “Come over here.”

I shuffled toward her and she slashed the shoe across my left check with all her might. Because I was braced for it this time I didn’t fall over, but remained on my knees crying.

“Now, it’s even; one mark for each cheek, just like rouge.” Carmen cocked her head. “Does it hurt, Ed?”

“Yes, Miss Carmen.”

“Well, then, maybe next time when your master tells you to clean his shoes, you won’t do a half-assed job, huh?”

“No, Miss Carmen. I’m sorry, Miss Carmen.”

“Don’t apologize to me; apologize to your master.”

“I-I’m so sorry, sir.”

“Don’t let there be a next time,” he said, handing me the shoes.

“No, sir, I won’t, I promise. I’ll clean these right up, sir.”

I retreated from the living room and swung by the kitchen to grab a handful of toothpicks before heading to my basement living quarters to work on Jamal’s shoes.

It took just a few minutes to pry all the pebbles out but I spent another half-hour going over every millimeter of the shoes to ensure they’d be perfect. When I was confident enough I slinked back upstairs cradling the Nikes to my chest as though they were spun from gold.

My masters had abandoned the living room; I heard their voices drifting down from the bedroom so I carried the shoes up there. Jamal was kicked back on the bed while Carmen dug through her dresser drawers.

I knocked on the door to their love nest.

“Um, sir, I have your shoes ready, sir. Can I please come in?”

Jamal waved me into the bedroom and held out his hand. I forked over the shoes and stood next to the bed shifting from one foot to the other while he examined my work.

“Not bad, sissy.” He snapped his fingers and pointed. “Now, kneel down right there.”

I obeyed and heard my wife approaching from behind. She draped a silky pink garment over my head and said the three little words that would send my already upside-down life spiraling deeper into chaos and humiliation:

“Put that on.”

I pulled the vestment from my head and noticed it was one of Carmen’s camisoles. I blinked.

“Um … you want me to put this on? But … why?”

Jamal scowled. “Don’t be questioning my woman when she tells you something, bitch. Just do what she says.”

I gulped, stood and started undressing while Master laid down the law.

“It’s been a few days since I moved in here, and something just wasn’t sitting right with me. I finally figured out what it was.”

Jamal looked me up and down. “How many men live in this house now, bitch?”

I almost replied “two,” but caught myself in time.

“Um, one, sir?”

“Damn skippy. Only one man up in this motherfucker — so why you trying to be a man by dressing like one?”

“Um … I …”

There was nothing to say other than, “sorry, sir,” which made my wife scoff.

After disrobing, I slipped into the feminine camisole, which barely covered my genitals. Carmen threw a pair of her lacy pink panties, which bounced off my shoulder and fell to the carpet. I bent and put them on, too.

My wife joined her lover on the bed and I teetered before them in my humiliating outfit, their smirks burning holes in my soul. It was all I could do to keep from breaking down.

Be supportive … be supportive … be supportive …

Jamal shook his head. “Damn, bitch, you are one ugly-ass woman. That body hair got to go. And you need to put some motherfucking makeup on.”

Carmen sat up. “Don’t even think about using my good makeup. Hang on.” She slipped out of bed and ducked into her walk-in closet, emerging with a small travel bag.

“Use that until you can get your own,” she said.

I took the bag from her as the realization hit me like a swift kick in the nuts — if I was going to be buying my own makeup, that meant I’d be wearing it regularly.

As if reading my mind, my wife said, “We’re gonna have to get you your own wardrobe, too. For now, go shave and put that shit on.”

Jamal added: “You got 15 minutes to be back here, bitch.”

“Y-yes, sir.” I literally ran down to the basement utility sink, under which all my shaving equipment and other toiletries had been relegated since Jamal took over the master suite days earlier.

I took a deep breath and tried to sell myself on this new reality.

Okay, Eddie, this is no big deal. Be supportive. So what if you have to shave and dress like a woman at home? With everything you’re already dealing with, what difference does it make? There’s not much more they can do to humiliate you, anyway, is there? If it puts Carmen’s boyfriend at ease by having you dress feminine when you’re at home to reinforce that he’s top dog, what do you care? All you do is clean, anyway; you can clean the house wearing sweats or you can clean the house wearing some girly outfit. It doesn’t matter.

Oh, bullshit. Who the hell do you think you’re kidding, Eddie? Look at you, shaving your goddamn legs. You pathetic bastard. Look at what they’re turning you into. Get away from this shit, Ed. For the millionth time, get out. Leave now before you completely lose yourself to these cruel, selfish pieces of shit who only care about you supporting them financially and making your life miserable.

Stop, it Eddie. You really need to stop thinking this kind of nonsense. Do you want to hold your marriage together or don’t you? Carmen told you it wasn’t going to be easy, and you looked her in the eye and promised her you wouldn’t run away, no matter how hard it got. You also took a solemn oath during your wedding vows to stick it out through thick and thin, for better or for worse. So, stop whining; you’ve got 10 minutes now finish shaving, make up your face, put on Carmen’s outfit and get back to the bedroom before you get your ass kicked.

The fear of Jamal’s wrath kickstarted me into gear. I stopped arguing with myself and focused instead on making myself as feminine as possible, taking solace in the notion that this was something I’d only be required to do at home.

My masters crushed that idea shortly after I reported to them in the bedroom.

I knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Carmen said.

Jamal whistled. “You’re starting to look like a real bitch now. Come here and lift up that camisole. Let’s see how good you did.”

I was beyond humiliated as I held up the garment, exposing my denuded genitals. I was then made to turn around and spread my butt cheeks, and I wanted to crawl into a hole.

“Looks, good, sissy,” he said slapping me on my ass and making me jump. Carmen giggled.

“You’re gonna have to grow that hair out long, sissy,” Jamal said. “When it gets long enough, you’ll get a perm. I like blondes, so you can go ahead and get it dyed now.”

“I’ll take him to Bianca’s salon,” Carmen said. “They’ll get a kick out of the pussy. And then after his hair is done, maybe take him shopping for some dresses and shit he can wear to work.”

I almost fell over. “Um … uh, … I have to … um, wear women’s stuff to work, Miss Carmen?”

“Yeah, wear it to work. This is your big coming-out party, Ed. Although we need to find you a female name.”

“Buh, um, but, Miss Carmen … um, uh, what do you mean? Coming out?”

“Yes, coming out. You’re gonna be a transgender. Like, for real. Like Kaitlyn Jenner.”

My jaw dropped and I glanced from Carmen to Jamal, barely able to breathe.

“This is how it is, sissy,” Jamal said, lighting a blunt. “Like I said, there’s only room for one man up in this motherfucker. You can be the maid around this bitch. It’s what you do anyway. And when my baby comes, you’ll be the nanny.”

“Wha … wha … what should I tell … um, everyone at work, sir?”

“Tell them you’re a goddamn transgender, what the fuck do you think you should tell them? Nobody gives a fuck about that shit anymore. You ain’t gonna lose your job.”

“But … my ****** …”

Carmen scoffed. “Who, your mom? Your sister? They won’t be surprised; they already know you’re a sissy.” She turned to her boyfriend. “Now, then, baby, what name should we pick out for our new maid?”

“Fuck if I know, he’s a goddamn sissy, call him sissy.”

My wife clapped and laughed, and sealed my fate with three little words:

“Cissie it is.”