The stream ended an hour ago.
But the humiliation hadn't.
Amber sat cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through comments and donation messages, laughing softly to herself while I knelt in silence at her feet, still in the same sheer apron, still forbidden to sit, still wearing the flat cage that kept my cock crushed completely out of existence.
Every inch of me hurt—my knees, my thighs, my pride. But I stayed where she put me.
Finally, she looked up.
"You did well today, SISSY. The stream loved you. But online humiliation only goes so far, don't you think?"
She stood, grabbed the leash from the wall, and clipped it to my collar.
"We're going for a walk."
I froze.
"Don't worry," she said with a grin. "You'll be dressed."
She led me to the bedroom, opened a drawer, and laid out the outfit on the bed.
My stomach dropped.
A cropped pink hoodie with "NO COCK" printed across the front in bubbly white letters. A pleated mini skirt that barely covered my ass. Thigh-high socks. No underwear.
And at the center of it all… a laminated card on a lanyard that read:
"PUBLIC USE – ASK MY MISTRESS FIRST"
Amber helped me dress. Slowly. Deliberately.
The skirt was so short the outline of the flat cage was clearly visible beneath it, every step making it swing forward with quiet metallic weight. My balls felt more exposed than ever, dangling freely under the hemline like a warning label.
Once I was dressed, Amber stood back and admired her work.
"Perfect," she said. "You look like a little cockless bimbo slut."
I looked down at myself and felt the heat of shame rise so hard I thought I might pass out.
Amber pulled me to the front door.
"We're not going far. Just around the block. But I want you to feel it. The wind. The eyes. The truth."
She opened the door and tugged the leash.
I followed.
Every step felt like a countdown to my soul disappearing.
It was dusk. A few neighbors were still out. One older couple walked past us with widened eyes. A man jogging slowed down and did a double take. I saw one girl on her porch raise her phone—snapping a photo or video, I couldn't tell.
Amber didn't care. She walked slow and proud, like she was parading a prize.
Halfway through the walk, she stopped under a streetlamp and pulled out her phone.
"Let's get a picture."
She positioned me so the sign around my neck faced forward, had me kneel beside her feet, and pulled up my skirt just enough to show the bottom edge of the cage and the heavy sag of my balls.
She snapped the photo.
Caption:
"SISSY walked 0.3 miles today with no cock, no underwear, and no shame."
We walked home in silence.
When we got inside, she wiped my makeup off with a warm cloth, helped me undress, and refitted the flat cage.
As she clicked the lock shut, she looked me in the eye and said quietly—
"You're getting closer."