Shemale

Sometimes the guardians use a short leash, which is terrible as I’m walking bent over, my head near their waist, and this could last for the whole trip. It’s painful for my back, not to mention more than a little humiliating and the only saving grace being that as I’m covered, can’t see or hear, I have some anonymity.

This was the normal public life of a sima. If we were out of the majority eye, among friends, husbands could allow greater freedoms. Sometimes I wear proper clothes under the robe, and then discard the robe, but more often than not, I just poke my head out of the robe. There’s an opening at the back, at the shoulders, usually zipped shut, intended for when the identity of the sima is required. The brand and the tattoos do that, and all without the face of the sima ever being seen. But it is a wide enough opening that it can be used for revealing the face if allowed.

And sometimes that is all that is allowed, and I kneel at his feet or wherever he places me with only the sima covering off my face, and every other part of the sima dress left on. Sometimes he lets me see, but leaves the gag on, and on those occasions there are usually other sima kneeling at their husband’s feet, similarly attired. But again, looking at them or meeting the eye of the men, is a privilege. The first time I looked without permission, Brant had immediately pressed me to the ground with his foot on my face, and whipped my ass viciously in punishment. He’d then offered the whip to the man I’d insulted, but thankfully the Killian had refused, saying that Brant had dealt with me effectively and besides, I was not doing badly for a new foreigner sima.

“You are beautiful, Three, he’d said, once Brant had let me kneel upright again. Welcome to Killian.”

I’d lowered my head to the floor again, just before his feet, in thanks.

“You’re a lucky man, Tor, he’d said then, patting my head. I think I’ll get myself a Jann too.”