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On most maps of the continent of Orsterra, the desert settlement of Whitedune barely rated a mention. It was a small, nondescript town in the Sunlands just southwest of Sunshade, with no real cultural landmarks or tourist attractions that might make it worth seeking out.
“Make way for the thieving sissy boy, everyone! Clear a path for the thieving, panty-chewing sissy boy!”
However, as a red-faced Therion stumbled his way down yet another dusty, winding street lined with jeering townspeople, the heavy sign around his neck swinging back and forth with every uneasy step he took, he decided he was going to make it his life’s mission to ensure Whitedune was prominently displayed on every map ever printed. Preferably with “AVOID AT ALL COSTS” printed next to it in bold letters.
Therion had only really found the town by accident after getting turned around on his way through the desert, and he certainly hadn’t intended to stay long. All he wanted to do was restock his travelling supplies, lighten a few people’s wallets, and continue on toward Sunshade.
Unfortunately, in a monumental stroke of bad luck, one of the tavern patrons he’d tried to pickpocket was actually the captain of the town guard, who hadn’t been quite deep enough into her ale not to notice the sudden absence of her gold. And as it turned out, she had one hell of a left hook when she was sloshed.
A few hours later, Therion woke up in chains with blurry vision and an aching jaw. Still dizzy, it took him a little while to process that the armored figure looming over him was the same tanned, curly-haired brunette who had laid him flat in one punch earlier.
After introducing herself as Captain Rhea, the brunette had told him that any criminal captured in Whitedune was given a choice between two punishments, each harsh in their own way. The first was to be given a permanent physical reminder of his crime - in this case, the removal of his right hand. The second was something called the “walk of shame”, which Therion had agreed to almost as soon as the words left her mouth.
Looking back, he wondered if learning how to pick locks left-handed might have been the better option.
The moment he made his choice, Rhea and a retinue of female guards under her command had dragged him off to some kind of spa, where they’d bathed, waxed, and made up the struggling thief until he was almost unrecognizable. His fingernails and toenails were painted a deep purple that matched his favored outfit, and his eyelids were decorated with a soft lavender-colored powder. Even his messy white hair had been lovingly shampooed, and one of the girls had clipped a little purple bow-shaped barrette into it on one side.
Begrudgingly as it may have been, Therion had to admit that whatever spa treatment they’d used on him worked wonders. His skin, rough and calloused from years of life on the road, was now as soft and smooth as the supple body of one of Sunshade’s famous dancers.
And then, much to his embarrassment, they’d dressed him in an outfit to match. Between the tiny purple top that barely covered his chest, the baggy silk pants, and the cloth armlets that covered everything from his wrists to halfway up his upper arms, he looked like he’d just stepped off the stage at the Sunshade Tavern. The only flaw in the outfit was the open-toed purple heels Rhea had padlocked onto his feet. Even with his natural dexterity, it took most of Therion’s concentration just to walk in the outlandish footwear, so he certainly wouldn’t be dancing any time soon.
When Rhea and her girls stood him in front of a full-length mirror to show off just how completely they’d feminized him, he’d assumed he had a pretty good grasp on what the walk of shame would entail. They were going to drag him all across town looking like this, have a good laugh at his expense, and then kick him out into the desert. If he was lucky, they might even give him his old clothes back first.
Then Rhea had brought out the other “accessories” he’d be wearing, and Therion realized he’d underestimated just how sadistic Whitedune’s guards could be.
A slap to the rear from someone in the crowd knocked Therion off balance, bringing his thoughts back to the present as he tripped over his loosely-linked manacles around his ankles and crashed to the ground.
“Hey, no laying down on the job, sissy!” Rhea barked, “helping” Therion back to his feet by yanking harshly upwards on his leash until he managed to stand. “We’ve still got a couple laps of Whitedune to go!”
Grumbling indistinctly through the mass of cloth wedged between his lips, Therion reluctantly stumbled onward, his ass still stinging from the swat. If he’d had a choice in the matter, he would’ve given whoever spanked him a black eye, but his hands were all but useless right now. Rhea had padlocked them into a pair of round metal mittens, then cuffed his wrists and elbows behind his back for good measure.
The mitts and cuffs were far from the only metal toy the perverted guards had forced Therion to wear. A leather leash ran from Rhea’s hand to a metal collar around Therion’s neck, allowing her to lead the helpless, hobbled sissy back and forth across Whitedune with minimal effort. In addition, an engraved iron sign had been hung around his neck by a rope, proclaiming to anyone with eyes that he was a “PANTY-CHEWING SISSY”. It wasn’t an inaccurate description - not only had Rhea personally packed two pairs of her dirty undergarments into Therion’s mouth before they embarked, but three of her loyal guards had each contributed a pair of their own. A purple silk cloth tied tightly over Therion’s mouth and nose kept him from working the panties out of his mouth, and a third pair of Rhea’s panties had been pulled over his head as a hood.
Judging by the distinct wetness and the smell of arousal, Therion had a feeling Rhea had been wearing this pair while she was dressing him up.
In the midst of the mocking crowd, Therion caught sight of a slender blonde woman who seemed to be watching him more intently than the others. Noticing she’d caught his attention, she winked and blew the humiliated thief a kiss, making him wince as the final part of his attire made itself apparent. Underneath the baggy pants of his costume, a tight metal cage was padlocked around his manhood - “just to make sure the dirty little sissy doesn’t enjoy himself too much,” Rhea had said as she put it on him.
She’d made sure to show off the padlock to Therion, too. It was a special experimental lock invented in Grandport, rumored to be unpickable with conventional tools. Even if Therion’s hands were free, the only way he was getting this cage off his dick was with the key - which Rhea had taken immense pleasure in sliding between her generous cleavage right in front of Therion.
“Chop, chop, sissy! Daylight’s wasting!” Rhea laughed, giving the leash a few sharp tugs to spur Therion onward. “If you think this is bad, just wait until we reach the town square! We’ve got a nice, sturdy pillory there so everyone can take their turn spanking your naughty sissy ass red! And remember, you’d better be a good sissy bitch and do what you’re told, or I might forget to give you the key to your little cock cage when we’re done!”
As another passerby reached out and pinched Therion’s increasingly sore rear, all he could do was look on the bright side. At least once he got out of here, he’d never have to wear an embarrassing outfit like this ever again...
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