Lessons Learned in Forced Feminization You Decide
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"He's here, Sissy- answer the door," she calls confidently from the
dining room where I just poured her a glass of wine.
I steel myself for the humiliating ritual that's been perfected through
rote repetition- though the number of times it's performed, like every
other degradation I suffer through on a daily basis, does little to
lessen the sheer gut punch of the act of pure submission.
I open the front door and step back to allow Sir through, my gaze
downcast as not to make the punishable offense of eye contact. In my
mind, the ridiculousness of this situation is heightened as he's quite a
few years younger than me, not particularly well muscled, and not even
as tall as me in flats, let alone the 5" inch stiletto heels constantly
required of me.
But while he's wearing a trendy button up shirt and simple slacks, I'm
attired in a ridiculous ensemble that's more petticoats and ribbons than
satin dress material.
I used to wear mostly black and detested over the top feminine
accoutrements- so of course Mistress declared that my particular sissy
style would be what she giggling referred to as "l****a Barbie
Princess".
My entire wardrobe now consisted of mid-thigh length dresses and
appropriate accessories in various shades of pink; from Pale to
Electric.
My naturally straight dark hair was dyed and exhaustively maintained
platinum blonde, curled with pink highlights and held with ribbons into
the occasional ponytail, or, more likely (like today), high pigtails
that framed either side of my face in a mass of bimbo blonde curls that
annoyingly flip into my eyes whenever I turn my head.
Of course I have to maintain full, overdone makeup at all times, and my
designer framed eyeglasses were replaced with sky blue contact lens.
Today's outfit was a particularly frilly dress with puffy organza short
sleeves and two full petticoats peeking out from the hem. Slightly
beneath that are the bow tipped stockings that highlight my smooth legs
and dainty ankles, my feet encased and contorted in pink patent high
heels laced shut with sheer ribbons.
Both my hands are adorned in silk, lace lined fingerless mittens.
Despite the physical superiority I would have felt over this man in
another life, now our roles were universally clear. Unfortunately, it's
not just the outrageous clothing I wore, but the enforced behavior that
cemented my role.
I immediately curtseyed deeply, a ridiculously revised one Mistress
taught me that consisted of exaggerated movements and a deep bow that
showed off my enhanced cleavage. In addition, I grabbed the front
portion of my hem and petticoats in each hand, lifting it so my tiny,
inescapable titanium chastity device was on full display to him, it's
integrated PA piercing securely compressing my once proud seven inches
to a mere inch and a quarter.
Panties for me was forbidden so that my emasculated state could always
be shown easily when required, which was often.
When Sir had expressed concern over another "man" living under her roof,
Mistress brutally trained me to increase my submission to him, which
included this completely degrading Greeting ritual. In addition, the
only key to the device, which she had once proudly worn around her neck,
was replaced with a ceremonial, decorative one.
The real key, a specialized hand forged affair, was given to me for the
first time in over three years - so that I may immediately and tearfully
present it to Sir on the same platter I delivered wine and condoms to
Mistress with.
He had laughingly taken it with the smuggest expression- the same one I
sensed he had now as I mentally counted to three as I struggled to
maintain my curtsey and expression.
Despite being a former Mensa member, Mistress insisted my IQ was 85- as
such I must always maintain a vacant, doe eyed stare and a wide,
simpering smile.
After three seconds I straightened, just long enough to sink steadily
down to my knees. Slowly clasping each elbow behind my back, then
crossing my ankles, ("No rushing, Sissy!") I knelt down, curls falling
in my face, to kiss the top of each of his black wingtips - two seconds
of contact exactly with my pursed, moist and colored lips on each shoe.
Still staring at his shoes, I slowly straighten up until I'm back
upright on my knees before performing the next act of my choreographed
sissified submission.
I slowly and deliberately unclasp my arms and bring them up to my sides
like I'm nothing more than a mechanical doll, elbows tucked in against
my slender, tightly corseted waistline, wrists limp at shoulder height,
fingers spread outwards to show off my pretty polish. ("Sissy
Presentation Pose", for Two seconds.)
Then my right hand comes to my mouth so I can "hide" a practiced,
nervously high pitched giggle into my straightened fingertips as my gaze
shyly darts between his shoes and the zipper of his pants. (Three
seconds.)
Then both my arms are back into Sissy Presentation (one second) before
finally transitioning into "Sissy Princess", where I bend my wrists up,
both palms facing outwards, finger tips ever so slightly curled in- a
dainty pose familiar to Disney lovers everywhere.
But the Disney comparison ends there as, arms still prissily posed, I
bite the corner of my lower lip and hesitatingly lean forward slightly
to gently place my nose against the bulge in his slacks, then more
firmly as I slowly nuzzle and giggle, while occasionally inhaling his
musky scent deeply and sighing with wonton lust. ("Fifteen full seconds
Sissy, and not a moment less!")
He rests his hands confidently on his hips, (Superman style, in strict
opposition to my Sissy Submission) as I feel his member stir and then
grow under his pants, and while mentally counting I reflect on how much
I HATE this and ohmygod how did I let this happen and I'm going to punch
him in his smug face and...
...And then, still nuzzling, I direct my gaze up as I plant a kiss on
the thin material covering his hardened manhood- the only time I'm
allowed to make eye contact is with a penis or semen in the vicinity of
my mouth.
And my wide, faux blue eyes maintain his arrogant, sneering gaze, his
firm crotch hot against my lips as I lean back a bit and look up to face
him, force a smile, and gigglingly dart the tip of my tongue out to
playfully touch his bulge for a moment as I make my eyes sparkle
naughtily and wink like this is our little secret...
...I want the Earth to open up and swallow me whole, to put an end to
this miserable spectacle of sissy servitude that I had in a way helped
create, that I had at one point SOUGHT OUT, a game I nearly had to force
my beautiful, formerly sweet and innocent girlfriend to partake in which
has spun completely out of control...
But of course, the Earth doesn't open up. Instead, I feel another
powerful stirring, this one within my chastity device, and I'm reminded
what put me on the path that lead me here. At the moment, I'm wearing
this ridiculous outfit, pathetically forcing a pose that took months of
practice, tongue out, smiling prissily on my knees before the man I
would be intimately catering to later in the evening to physically
prepare him to make rough love to my former girlfriend, to which I was
now an unpaid maid and source of endless amusement for.
...The same man I would be allowed to, a few times a year, beg for him
to unlock my cage and let me masturbate in some degrading way of their
choosing...
...The man who's watched Mistress serve me his spent cum in all manner
of humiliating ways- most recently by "allowing" me to pour his used
condoms on to my tear streaked but always smiling upturned face, which I
then delicately and diligently collected and sucked and kissed off my
pinky tips, endlessly moaning and lisping my thanks for the "wonderful
gift" as they laughed at my disgusting display...
And I'm brought back to the present again as a gush of sissy juice
squirts out of my cage, trailing slowly down my thigh- my forced smile
turning into an O as an unrehearsed moan escapes my lips and a tiny full
body spasm partially unbalances me for a moment.
My cheeks flush anew as Sir sees my body betray me in the most intimate
way, and I know being a pathetic sissy is exactly what I deserve to be.
My training takes over as I know exactly what to do during all too
frequent leakages like this, and the consequences if I don't.
"Oopsies!" I lisp loudly in shocked surprise, touching my index finger
to my cheekbone, downcasting my eyes again with a giggle. "Pardon me,
Sir, but your-" (I almost choke on the words) "-magnificent cock has
caused this sluts pathetic dolly to leak it's worthless, naughty fluid
again. Please allow me a moment to freshen up!" One arm still
ridiculously posed in the air, the other hand comes down, scooping up
the slimy trail on my thigh with a long painted nail before suckling
most of it up into my mouth, rolling on my tongue before swallowing
loudly. The last bit gets quickly pat on my pursed lips with a smacking
kiss. "Ding! Hehehe! There, all gone where it belongs!"
I then fluidly return to my heavily arched feet, all efficiency now as I
take his coat. "Sir, Mistress awaits you in the dining room, Sir," I
say, lisping excitedly. ("A good sissy is always flamboyantly happy!")
It's then that I finally get to close the front door, stopping dead for
a moment when I catch the laughing gaze of the nosy, gossiping woman
across the street who is well aware of the pathetic neighborhood sissy,
but probably just got to witness this full, pathetic spectacle for the
first time.
Hearing my Mistresses demand for more wine I hurriedly shut the door,
hang the coat, assume Sissy Presentation Pose, and totter quickly and
purposely to the kitchen.
--
Alexia here! I'm on the lookout for real life suitable sissies to train
remotely- check out my previous work 'So You Want to Be Broken' for more
details. I understand that some sissies can't commit to that kind of
full, consensual blackmail enforced lifestyle change, and may consider
less strict training.
"He's here, Sissy- answer the door," she calls confidently from the
dining room where I just poured her a glass of wine.
I steel myself for the humiliating ritual that's been perfected through
rote repetition- though the number of times it's performed, like every
other degradation I suffer through on a daily basis, does little to
lessen the sheer gut punch of the act of pure submission.
I open the front door and step back to allow Sir through, my gaze
downcast as not to make the punishable offense of eye contact. In my
mind, the ridiculousness of this situation is heightened as he's quite a
few years younger than me, not particularly well muscled, and not even
as tall as me in flats, let alone the 5" inch stiletto heels constantly
required of me.
But while he's wearing a trendy button up shirt and simple slacks, I'm
attired in a ridiculous ensemble that's more petticoats and ribbons than
satin dress material.
I used to wear mostly black and detested over the top feminine
accoutrements- so of course Mistress declared that my particular sissy
style would be what she giggling referred to as "l****a Barbie
Princess".
My entire wardrobe now consisted of mid-thigh length dresses and
appropriate accessories in various shades of pink; from Pale to
Electric.
My naturally straight dark hair was dyed and exhaustively maintained
platinum blonde, curled with pink highlights and held with ribbons into
the occasional ponytail, or, more likely (like today), high pigtails
that framed either side of my face in a mass of bimbo blonde curls that
annoyingly flip into my eyes whenever I turn my head.
Of course I have to maintain full, overdone makeup at all times, and my
designer framed eyeglasses were replaced with sky blue contact lens.
Today's outfit was a particularly frilly dress with puffy organza short
sleeves and two full petticoats peeking out from the hem. Slightly
beneath that are the bow tipped stockings that highlight my smooth legs
and dainty ankles, my feet encased and contorted in pink patent high
heels laced shut with sheer ribbons.
Both my hands are adorned in silk, lace lined fingerless mittens.
Despite the physical superiority I would have felt over this man in
another life, now our roles were universally clear. Unfortunately, it's
not just the outrageous clothing I wore, but the enforced behavior that
cemented my role.
I immediately curtseyed deeply, a ridiculously revised one Mistress
taught me that consisted of exaggerated movements and a deep bow that
showed off my enhanced cleavage. In addition, I grabbed the front
portion of my hem and petticoats in each hand, lifting it so my tiny,
inescapable titanium chastity device was on full display to him, it's
integrated PA piercing securely compressing my once proud seven inches
to a mere inch and a quarter.
Panties for me was forbidden so that my emasculated state could always
be shown easily when required, which was often.
When Sir had expressed concern over another "man" living under her roof,
Mistress brutally trained me to increase my submission to him, which
included this completely degrading Greeting ritual. In addition, the
only key to the device, which she had once proudly worn around her neck,
was replaced with a ceremonial, decorative one.
The real key, a specialized hand forged affair, was given to me for the
first time in over three years - so that I may immediately and tearfully
present it to Sir on the same platter I delivered wine and condoms to
Mistress with.
He had laughingly taken it with the smuggest expression- the same one I
sensed he had now as I mentally counted to three as I struggled to
maintain my curtsey and expression.
Despite being a former Mensa member, Mistress insisted my IQ was 85- as
such I must always maintain a vacant, doe eyed stare and a wide,
simpering smile.
After three seconds I straightened, just long enough to sink steadily
down to my knees. Slowly clasping each elbow behind my back, then
crossing my ankles, ("No rushing, Sissy!") I knelt down, curls falling
in my face, to kiss the top of each of his black wingtips - two seconds
of contact exactly with my pursed, moist and colored lips on each shoe.
Still staring at his shoes, I slowly straighten up until I'm back
upright on my knees before performing the next act of my choreographed
sissified submission.
I slowly and deliberately unclasp my arms and bring them up to my sides
like I'm nothing more than a mechanical doll, elbows tucked in against
my slender, tightly corseted waistline, wrists limp at shoulder height,
fingers spread outwards to show off my pretty polish. ("Sissy
Presentation Pose", for Two seconds.)
Then my right hand comes to my mouth so I can "hide" a practiced,
nervously high pitched giggle into my straightened fingertips as my gaze
shyly darts between his shoes and the zipper of his pants. (Three
seconds.)
Then both my arms are back into Sissy Presentation (one second) before
finally transitioning into "Sissy Princess", where I bend my wrists up,
both palms facing outwards, finger tips ever so slightly curled in- a
dainty pose familiar to Disney lovers everywhere.
But the Disney comparison ends there as, arms still prissily posed, I
bite the corner of my lower lip and hesitatingly lean forward slightly
to gently place my nose against the bulge in his slacks, then more
firmly as I slowly nuzzle and giggle, while occasionally inhaling his
musky scent deeply and sighing with wonton lust. ("Fifteen full seconds
Sissy, and not a moment less!")
He rests his hands confidently on his hips, (Superman style, in strict
opposition to my Sissy Submission) as I feel his member stir and then
grow under his pants, and while mentally counting I reflect on how much
I HATE this and ohmygod how did I let this happen and I'm going to punch
him in his smug face and...
...And then, still nuzzling, I direct my gaze up as I plant a kiss on
the thin material covering his hardened manhood- the only time I'm
allowed to make eye contact is with a penis or semen in the vicinity of
my mouth.
And my wide, faux blue eyes maintain his arrogant, sneering gaze, his
firm crotch hot against my lips as I lean back a bit and look up to face
him, force a smile, and gigglingly dart the tip of my tongue out to
playfully touch his bulge for a moment as I make my eyes sparkle
naughtily and wink like this is our little secret...
...I want the Earth to open up and swallow me whole, to put an end to
this miserable spectacle of sissy servitude that I had in a way helped
create, that I had at one point SOUGHT OUT, a game I nearly had to force
my beautiful, formerly sweet and innocent girlfriend to partake in which
has spun completely out of control...
But of course, the Earth doesn't open up. Instead, I feel another
powerful stirring, this one within my chastity device, and I'm reminded
what put me on the path that lead me here. At the moment, I'm wearing
this ridiculous outfit, pathetically forcing a pose that took months of
practice, tongue out, smiling prissily on my knees before the man I
would be intimately catering to later in the evening to physically
prepare him to make rough love to my former girlfriend, to which I was
now an unpaid maid and source of endless amusement for.
...The same man I would be allowed to, a few times a year, beg for him
to unlock my cage and let me masturbate in some degrading way of their
choosing...
...The man who's watched Mistress serve me his spent cum in all manner
of humiliating ways- most recently by "allowing" me to pour his used
condoms on to my tear streaked but always smiling upturned face, which I
then delicately and diligently collected and sucked and kissed off my
pinky tips, endlessly moaning and lisping my thanks for the "wonderful
gift" as they laughed at my disgusting display...
And I'm brought back to the present again as a gush of sissy juice
squirts out of my cage, trailing slowly down my thigh- my forced smile
turning into an O as an unrehearsed moan escapes my lips and a tiny full
body spasm partially unbalances me for a moment.
My cheeks flush anew as Sir sees my body betray me in the most intimate
way, and I know being a pathetic sissy is exactly what I deserve to be.
My training takes over as I know exactly what to do during all too
frequent leakages like this, and the consequences if I don't.
"Oopsies!" I lisp loudly in shocked surprise, touching my index finger
to my cheekbone, downcasting my eyes again with a giggle. "Pardon me,
Sir, but your-" (I almost choke on the words) "-magnificent cock has
caused this sluts pathetic dolly to leak it's worthless, naughty fluid
again. Please allow me a moment to freshen up!" One arm still
ridiculously posed in the air, the other hand comes down, scooping up
the slimy trail on my thigh with a long painted nail before suckling
most of it up into my mouth, rolling on my tongue before swallowing
loudly. The last bit gets quickly pat on my pursed lips with a smacking
kiss. "Ding! Hehehe! There, all gone where it belongs!"
I then fluidly return to my heavily arched feet, all efficiency now as I
take his coat. "Sir, Mistress awaits you in the dining room, Sir," I
say, lisping excitedly. ("A good sissy is always flamboyantly happy!")
It's then that I finally get to close the front door, stopping dead for
a moment when I catch the laughing gaze of the nosy, gossiping woman
across the street who is well aware of the pathetic neighborhood sissy,
but probably just got to witness this full, pathetic spectacle for the
first time.
Hearing my Mistresses demand for more wine I hurriedly shut the door,
hang the coat, assume Sissy Presentation Pose, and totter quickly and
purposely to the kitchen.
--
Alexia here! I'm on the lookout for real life suitable sissies to train
remotely- check out my previous work 'So You Want to Be Broken' for more
details. I understand that some sissies can't commit to that kind of
full, consensual blackmail enforced lifestyle change, and may consider
less strict training.
dining room where I just poured her a glass of wine.
I steel myself for the humiliating ritual that's been perfected through
rote repetition- though the number of times it's performed, like every
other degradation I suffer through on a daily basis, does little to
lessen the sheer gut punch of the act of pure submission.
I open the front door and step back to allow Sir through, my gaze
downcast as not to make the punishable offense of eye contact. In my
mind, the ridiculousness of this situation is heightened as he's quite a
few years younger than me, not particularly well muscled, and not even
as tall as me in flats, let alone the 5" inch stiletto heels constantly
required of me.
But while he's wearing a trendy button up shirt and simple slacks, I'm
attired in a ridiculous ensemble that's more petticoats and ribbons than
satin dress material.
I used to wear mostly black and detested over the top feminine
accoutrements- so of course Mistress declared that my particular sissy
style would be what she giggling referred to as "l****a Barbie
Princess".
My entire wardrobe now consisted of mid-thigh length dresses and
appropriate accessories in various shades of pink; from Pale to
Electric.
My naturally straight dark hair was dyed and exhaustively maintained
platinum blonde, curled with pink highlights and held with ribbons into
the occasional ponytail, or, more likely (like today), high pigtails
that framed either side of my face in a mass of bimbo blonde curls that
annoyingly flip into my eyes whenever I turn my head.
Of course I have to maintain full, overdone makeup at all times, and my
designer framed eyeglasses were replaced with sky blue contact lens.
Today's outfit was a particularly frilly dress with puffy organza short
sleeves and two full petticoats peeking out from the hem. Slightly
beneath that are the bow tipped stockings that highlight my smooth legs
and dainty ankles, my feet encased and contorted in pink patent high
heels laced shut with sheer ribbons.
Both my hands are adorned in silk, lace lined fingerless mittens.
Despite the physical superiority I would have felt over this man in
another life, now our roles were universally clear. Unfortunately, it's
not just the outrageous clothing I wore, but the enforced behavior that
cemented my role.
I immediately curtseyed deeply, a ridiculously revised one Mistress
taught me that consisted of exaggerated movements and a deep bow that
showed off my enhanced cleavage. In addition, I grabbed the front
portion of my hem and petticoats in each hand, lifting it so my tiny,
inescapable titanium chastity device was on full display to him, it's
integrated PA piercing securely compressing my once proud seven inches
to a mere inch and a quarter.
Panties for me was forbidden so that my emasculated state could always
be shown easily when required, which was often.
When Sir had expressed concern over another "man" living under her roof,
Mistress brutally trained me to increase my submission to him, which
included this completely degrading Greeting ritual. In addition, the
only key to the device, which she had once proudly worn around her neck,
was replaced with a ceremonial, decorative one.
The real key, a specialized hand forged affair, was given to me for the
first time in over three years - so that I may immediately and tearfully
present it to Sir on the same platter I delivered wine and condoms to
Mistress with.
He had laughingly taken it with the smuggest expression- the same one I
sensed he had now as I mentally counted to three as I struggled to
maintain my curtsey and expression.
Despite being a former Mensa member, Mistress insisted my IQ was 85- as
such I must always maintain a vacant, doe eyed stare and a wide,
simpering smile.
After three seconds I straightened, just long enough to sink steadily
down to my knees. Slowly clasping each elbow behind my back, then
crossing my ankles, ("No rushing, Sissy!") I knelt down, curls falling
in my face, to kiss the top of each of his black wingtips - two seconds
of contact exactly with my pursed, moist and colored lips on each shoe.
Still staring at his shoes, I slowly straighten up until I'm back
upright on my knees before performing the next act of my choreographed
sissified submission.
I slowly and deliberately unclasp my arms and bring them up to my sides
like I'm nothing more than a mechanical doll, elbows tucked in against
my slender, tightly corseted waistline, wrists limp at shoulder height,
fingers spread outwards to show off my pretty polish. ("Sissy
Presentation Pose", for Two seconds.)
Then my right hand comes to my mouth so I can "hide" a practiced,
nervously high pitched giggle into my straightened fingertips as my gaze
shyly darts between his shoes and the zipper of his pants. (Three
seconds.)
Then both my arms are back into Sissy Presentation (one second) before
finally transitioning into "Sissy Princess", where I bend my wrists up,
both palms facing outwards, finger tips ever so slightly curled in- a
dainty pose familiar to Disney lovers everywhere.
But the Disney comparison ends there as, arms still prissily posed, I
bite the corner of my lower lip and hesitatingly lean forward slightly
to gently place my nose against the bulge in his slacks, then more
firmly as I slowly nuzzle and giggle, while occasionally inhaling his
musky scent deeply and sighing with wonton lust. ("Fifteen full seconds
Sissy, and not a moment less!")
He rests his hands confidently on his hips, (Superman style, in strict
opposition to my Sissy Submission) as I feel his member stir and then
grow under his pants, and while mentally counting I reflect on how much
I HATE this and ohmygod how did I let this happen and I'm going to punch
him in his smug face and...
...And then, still nuzzling, I direct my gaze up as I plant a kiss on
the thin material covering his hardened manhood- the only time I'm
allowed to make eye contact is with a penis or semen in the vicinity of
my mouth.
And my wide, faux blue eyes maintain his arrogant, sneering gaze, his
firm crotch hot against my lips as I lean back a bit and look up to face
him, force a smile, and gigglingly dart the tip of my tongue out to
playfully touch his bulge for a moment as I make my eyes sparkle
naughtily and wink like this is our little secret...
...I want the Earth to open up and swallow me whole, to put an end to
this miserable spectacle of sissy servitude that I had in a way helped
create, that I had at one point SOUGHT OUT, a game I nearly had to force
my beautiful, formerly sweet and innocent girlfriend to partake in which
has spun completely out of control...
But of course, the Earth doesn't open up. Instead, I feel another
powerful stirring, this one within my chastity device, and I'm reminded
what put me on the path that lead me here. At the moment, I'm wearing
this ridiculous outfit, pathetically forcing a pose that took months of
practice, tongue out, smiling prissily on my knees before the man I
would be intimately catering to later in the evening to physically
prepare him to make rough love to my former girlfriend, to which I was
now an unpaid maid and source of endless amusement for.
...The same man I would be allowed to, a few times a year, beg for him
to unlock my cage and let me masturbate in some degrading way of their
choosing...
...The man who's watched Mistress serve me his spent cum in all manner
of humiliating ways- most recently by "allowing" me to pour his used
condoms on to my tear streaked but always smiling upturned face, which I
then delicately and diligently collected and sucked and kissed off my
pinky tips, endlessly moaning and lisping my thanks for the "wonderful
gift" as they laughed at my disgusting display...
And I'm brought back to the present again as a gush of sissy juice
squirts out of my cage, trailing slowly down my thigh- my forced smile
turning into an O as an unrehearsed moan escapes my lips and a tiny full
body spasm partially unbalances me for a moment.
My cheeks flush anew as Sir sees my body betray me in the most intimate
way, and I know being a pathetic sissy is exactly what I deserve to be.
My training takes over as I know exactly what to do during all too
frequent leakages like this, and the consequences if I don't.
"Oopsies!" I lisp loudly in shocked surprise, touching my index finger
to my cheekbone, downcasting my eyes again with a giggle. "Pardon me,
Sir, but your-" (I almost choke on the words) "-magnificent cock has
caused this sluts pathetic dolly to leak it's worthless, naughty fluid
again. Please allow me a moment to freshen up!" One arm still
ridiculously posed in the air, the other hand comes down, scooping up
the slimy trail on my thigh with a long painted nail before suckling
most of it up into my mouth, rolling on my tongue before swallowing
loudly. The last bit gets quickly pat on my pursed lips with a smacking
kiss. "Ding! Hehehe! There, all gone where it belongs!"
I then fluidly return to my heavily arched feet, all efficiency now as I
take his coat. "Sir, Mistress awaits you in the dining room, Sir," I
say, lisping excitedly. ("A good sissy is always flamboyantly happy!")
It's then that I finally get to close the front door, stopping dead for
a moment when I catch the laughing gaze of the nosy, gossiping woman
across the street who is well aware of the pathetic neighborhood sissy,
but probably just got to witness this full, pathetic spectacle for the
first time.
Hearing my Mistresses demand for more wine I hurriedly shut the door,
hang the coat, assume Sissy Presentation Pose, and totter quickly and
purposely to the kitchen.
--
Alexia here! I'm on the lookout for real life suitable sissies to train
remotely- check out my previous work 'So You Want to Be Broken' for more
details. I understand that some sissies can't commit to that kind of
full, consensual blackmail enforced lifestyle change, and may consider
less strict training.
"He's here, Sissy- answer the door," she calls confidently from the
dining room where I just poured her a glass of wine.
I steel myself for the humiliating ritual that's been perfected through
rote repetition- though the number of times it's performed, like every
other degradation I suffer through on a daily basis, does little to
lessen the sheer gut punch of the act of pure submission.
I open the front door and step back to allow Sir through, my gaze
downcast as not to make the punishable offense of eye contact. In my
mind, the ridiculousness of this situation is heightened as he's quite a
few years younger than me, not particularly well muscled, and not even
as tall as me in flats, let alone the 5" inch stiletto heels constantly
required of me.
But while he's wearing a trendy button up shirt and simple slacks, I'm
attired in a ridiculous ensemble that's more petticoats and ribbons than
satin dress material.
I used to wear mostly black and detested over the top feminine
accoutrements- so of course Mistress declared that my particular sissy
style would be what she giggling referred to as "l****a Barbie
Princess".
My entire wardrobe now consisted of mid-thigh length dresses and
appropriate accessories in various shades of pink; from Pale to
Electric.
My naturally straight dark hair was dyed and exhaustively maintained
platinum blonde, curled with pink highlights and held with ribbons into
the occasional ponytail, or, more likely (like today), high pigtails
that framed either side of my face in a mass of bimbo blonde curls that
annoyingly flip into my eyes whenever I turn my head.
Of course I have to maintain full, overdone makeup at all times, and my
designer framed eyeglasses were replaced with sky blue contact lens.
Today's outfit was a particularly frilly dress with puffy organza short
sleeves and two full petticoats peeking out from the hem. Slightly
beneath that are the bow tipped stockings that highlight my smooth legs
and dainty ankles, my feet encased and contorted in pink patent high
heels laced shut with sheer ribbons.
Both my hands are adorned in silk, lace lined fingerless mittens.
Despite the physical superiority I would have felt over this man in
another life, now our roles were universally clear. Unfortunately, it's
not just the outrageous clothing I wore, but the enforced behavior that
cemented my role.
I immediately curtseyed deeply, a ridiculously revised one Mistress
taught me that consisted of exaggerated movements and a deep bow that
showed off my enhanced cleavage. In addition, I grabbed the front
portion of my hem and petticoats in each hand, lifting it so my tiny,
inescapable titanium chastity device was on full display to him, it's
integrated PA piercing securely compressing my once proud seven inches
to a mere inch and a quarter.
Panties for me was forbidden so that my emasculated state could always
be shown easily when required, which was often.
When Sir had expressed concern over another "man" living under her roof,
Mistress brutally trained me to increase my submission to him, which
included this completely degrading Greeting ritual. In addition, the
only key to the device, which she had once proudly worn around her neck,
was replaced with a ceremonial, decorative one.
The real key, a specialized hand forged affair, was given to me for the
first time in over three years - so that I may immediately and tearfully
present it to Sir on the same platter I delivered wine and condoms to
Mistress with.
He had laughingly taken it with the smuggest expression- the same one I
sensed he had now as I mentally counted to three as I struggled to
maintain my curtsey and expression.
Despite being a former Mensa member, Mistress insisted my IQ was 85- as
such I must always maintain a vacant, doe eyed stare and a wide,
simpering smile.
After three seconds I straightened, just long enough to sink steadily
down to my knees. Slowly clasping each elbow behind my back, then
crossing my ankles, ("No rushing, Sissy!") I knelt down, curls falling
in my face, to kiss the top of each of his black wingtips - two seconds
of contact exactly with my pursed, moist and colored lips on each shoe.
Still staring at his shoes, I slowly straighten up until I'm back
upright on my knees before performing the next act of my choreographed
sissified submission.
I slowly and deliberately unclasp my arms and bring them up to my sides
like I'm nothing more than a mechanical doll, elbows tucked in against
my slender, tightly corseted waistline, wrists limp at shoulder height,
fingers spread outwards to show off my pretty polish. ("Sissy
Presentation Pose", for Two seconds.)
Then my right hand comes to my mouth so I can "hide" a practiced,
nervously high pitched giggle into my straightened fingertips as my gaze
shyly darts between his shoes and the zipper of his pants. (Three
seconds.)
Then both my arms are back into Sissy Presentation (one second) before
finally transitioning into "Sissy Princess", where I bend my wrists up,
both palms facing outwards, finger tips ever so slightly curled in- a
dainty pose familiar to Disney lovers everywhere.
But the Disney comparison ends there as, arms still prissily posed, I
bite the corner of my lower lip and hesitatingly lean forward slightly
to gently place my nose against the bulge in his slacks, then more
firmly as I slowly nuzzle and giggle, while occasionally inhaling his
musky scent deeply and sighing with wonton lust. ("Fifteen full seconds
Sissy, and not a moment less!")
He rests his hands confidently on his hips, (Superman style, in strict
opposition to my Sissy Submission) as I feel his member stir and then
grow under his pants, and while mentally counting I reflect on how much
I HATE this and ohmygod how did I let this happen and I'm going to punch
him in his smug face and...
...And then, still nuzzling, I direct my gaze up as I plant a kiss on
the thin material covering his hardened manhood- the only time I'm
allowed to make eye contact is with a penis or semen in the vicinity of
my mouth.
And my wide, faux blue eyes maintain his arrogant, sneering gaze, his
firm crotch hot against my lips as I lean back a bit and look up to face
him, force a smile, and gigglingly dart the tip of my tongue out to
playfully touch his bulge for a moment as I make my eyes sparkle
naughtily and wink like this is our little secret...
...I want the Earth to open up and swallow me whole, to put an end to
this miserable spectacle of sissy servitude that I had in a way helped
create, that I had at one point SOUGHT OUT, a game I nearly had to force
my beautiful, formerly sweet and innocent girlfriend to partake in which
has spun completely out of control...
But of course, the Earth doesn't open up. Instead, I feel another
powerful stirring, this one within my chastity device, and I'm reminded
what put me on the path that lead me here. At the moment, I'm wearing
this ridiculous outfit, pathetically forcing a pose that took months of
practice, tongue out, smiling prissily on my knees before the man I
would be intimately catering to later in the evening to physically
prepare him to make rough love to my former girlfriend, to which I was
now an unpaid maid and source of endless amusement for.
...The same man I would be allowed to, a few times a year, beg for him
to unlock my cage and let me masturbate in some degrading way of their
choosing...
...The man who's watched Mistress serve me his spent cum in all manner
of humiliating ways- most recently by "allowing" me to pour his used
condoms on to my tear streaked but always smiling upturned face, which I
then delicately and diligently collected and sucked and kissed off my
pinky tips, endlessly moaning and lisping my thanks for the "wonderful
gift" as they laughed at my disgusting display...
And I'm brought back to the present again as a gush of sissy juice
squirts out of my cage, trailing slowly down my thigh- my forced smile
turning into an O as an unrehearsed moan escapes my lips and a tiny full
body spasm partially unbalances me for a moment.
My cheeks flush anew as Sir sees my body betray me in the most intimate
way, and I know being a pathetic sissy is exactly what I deserve to be.
My training takes over as I know exactly what to do during all too
frequent leakages like this, and the consequences if I don't.
"Oopsies!" I lisp loudly in shocked surprise, touching my index finger
to my cheekbone, downcasting my eyes again with a giggle. "Pardon me,
Sir, but your-" (I almost choke on the words) "-magnificent cock has
caused this sluts pathetic dolly to leak it's worthless, naughty fluid
again. Please allow me a moment to freshen up!" One arm still
ridiculously posed in the air, the other hand comes down, scooping up
the slimy trail on my thigh with a long painted nail before suckling
most of it up into my mouth, rolling on my tongue before swallowing
loudly. The last bit gets quickly pat on my pursed lips with a smacking
kiss. "Ding! Hehehe! There, all gone where it belongs!"
I then fluidly return to my heavily arched feet, all efficiency now as I
take his coat. "Sir, Mistress awaits you in the dining room, Sir," I
say, lisping excitedly. ("A good sissy is always flamboyantly happy!")
It's then that I finally get to close the front door, stopping dead for
a moment when I catch the laughing gaze of the nosy, gossiping woman
across the street who is well aware of the pathetic neighborhood sissy,
but probably just got to witness this full, pathetic spectacle for the
first time.
Hearing my Mistresses demand for more wine I hurriedly shut the door,
hang the coat, assume Sissy Presentation Pose, and totter quickly and
purposely to the kitchen.
--
Alexia here! I'm on the lookout for real life suitable sissies to train
remotely- check out my previous work 'So You Want to Be Broken' for more
details. I understand that some sissies can't commit to that kind of
full, consensual blackmail enforced lifestyle change, and may consider
less strict training.
Brandy
- 14.10.2021
- 14
- 0
