Sissy story
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99 Sissy Stories free porn video
99 SISSY STORIES by Throne
I've read about things like this happening but never thought I would
experience it. My wife Grace discovered my stash of TV magazines and all
the pictures I'd clipped out of her discarded catalogs that showed
fashions I liked. She had me trapped with no way that I could deny my
guilt or convince her that I wasn't attracted to wearing those things.
She sat me down on a footstool in our den and stood in front of me. She
has a sweet girlish face and an overripe womanly body, which to me is the
perfect combination. Her hair falls past her shoulders in gentle waves
and is dyed golden blond. I looked up at her critical expression and
worried about what was going to come next. After all, I'm short and
soft-bodied, with a meek personality and, though it shames me to confess
it, a below average penis. Make that way below average. And she earned
a lot more than me, so I don't even have any financial leverage.
"I came across your stash of smut a few weeks ago," she told me with smug
superiority. "And then one night you left the computer on when you went
to bed, and you were still logged in. That allowed me to check your
mailbox and files and whatever. You really have a taste for simpering
sissies, don't you, Spencer?"
When I hung my head and looked at the floor she reached down to cup my
chin in her hand. Grace made me look at her and repeated the question.
In barely a whisper I admitted, "It's something I've liked since I was a
kid. I mean, I don't want to... you know... have relations with someone
like that."
"And what do you want?" she inquired confidently, most likely already
knowing the answer.
"I want to... look like that."
"And act like a preening fairy?"
"Well... yes."
"I see." Her tone softened as she went on, "Considering that you're not
any good in bed, I don't stand to lose much there. And it might be fun
to have my own girly sex slave. Of course, you'd have to get over your
dislike for going down on women. You've never done that for me but I'd
expect you to start right away, my little princess."
"You mean... that you would..."
"Would give you a chance to start over. WITH the pretty things you want
to wear and the swishy way you want to act. But only on my terms. So
what's it going to be, sweetheart?"
"Uh... I mean... if you're willing..."
"A simple yes or no will do, Spencer."
"Then... yes."
"Good boy. Better make that 'good girl'. And I can't keep calling you
Spencer. In those stories you like the wife always comes up with a
feminine name. Usually with the same first letter as the male name. So
I thought about it and came up with..." I leaned forward, eagerly
curious. "... Sugar. And no, I'm not asking you what you think about
it. Like I said, this will all be on my terms... Sugar."
Taking a deep breath, I responded, "Yes, Ma'am. Whatever you say. Thank
you."
"Now that I've made myself clear, let's go to the bedroom and you can see
what I bought for you to wear. You go first and I'll be behind you so I
can make sure you put some wiggle in your walk. Let's go, Sugar."
Feeling elated and scared at the same time, I rose and began to walk. By
the third step I had fallen into the mincing gait that I had been
practicing in private since I lived home with my parents and my two
brothers, both of who were definitely NOT effeminate. She followed me
and made a few approving but shame-inducing comments. I didn't mind. In
my fantasies there had always been elements of control and humiliation.
We got to the bedroom and there, laid out on the bedspread, was what she
planned for me to wear. In spite of myself I gasped loudly, sounding
like a bit of an 'attention-whore'. I was gaping at a pale apricot
camisole with matching panties, stay-up stockings (taupe with a subtle
floral pattern), and sexy, glossy shoes (in a light shade of mint) with
two inch heels. My mouth got dry and I couldn't find my voice. If I had
been able to speak I wouldn't have known what to say. This had been my
dream for almost a decade and it might actually be coming true. I mean,
it was coming true but I couldn't believe it.
"Well?" Grace wanted to know. "Are you waiting for an engraved
invitation, Your Royal Highness?"
"N... no," I managed to say, though it sounded more like I was just
exhaling.
I picked up the camisole, which was so light it felt like it wasn't
there. My fingers tingled. I started to slip it over my head but my
wife made a throat-clearing sound.
"Didn't you want to take off your boy clothes first, Sugar?"
My cheeks were suddenly warm and I knew I was blushing. I gingerly set
it back down and began to unbutton my shirt with fumbling fingers. Grace
smiled tolerantly and watched. It still felt like a dream. I was afraid
I would wake suddenly and be back in my usual humdrum life. But no, I
got myself completely naked and reached for the insubstantial garment
again.
Grace said, "You don't have much body hair, Sugar, but we're going to
have to get rid of what little there is. Everything below the eyebrows
goes. I want you smooth and pink all over."
As the camisole slid over my torso I felt incredibly stimulated. Without
at first realizing it was happening, I got an erection. I saw that my
wife was looking below my waist and I glanced down. There was my
unspectacular penis, standing up and announcing its inadequacy. I bit my
lips and pressed my thighs together, thinking even as I did it how
unmanly the reaction was. Grace chuckled and gave my tumescent member a
flick with her index finger.
"Now that doesn't look right on a cute young lady. Cover it with those
panties. Hurry up."
I stepped into the panties and worked them up my slender legs, again
thrilling to the touch of something so girly against my skin. When I had
them all the way on, she directed me to tuck my penis down and arrange it
to stay there. I did, remembering how often I had seen this done in the
stories I favored. I nervously got the stockings on, barely daring to
believe those were my underpinnings encased in them. Stepping into the
shoes, I straightened up and stood there, feet together, arms at my
sides, waiting for inspection and, I hoped, approval.
She told me, "You're not in the military, Sugar. Do something like a
model would with those arms and legs."
I carefully moved my feet apart some, tilted my hips to one side a bit,
and crossed my arms over my flat chest, as if I had something to conceal.
Grace laughed and told me to turn toward the dresser mirror without
losing that pose. I did and was startled to see how feminine I already
looked. With my crotch covered and genitals in hiding, and my chest
rendered neutral, I appeared androgynous, though the clothes suggested I
was not a man. She opened the closet so I could step in front of the
full length mirror on the inside of its door. That allowed me to view
how the stockings looked and the way the shoes shaped my legs and altered
my body language. She had me put my fingers over my nipples and pucker
my lips. It was like looking at someone else, the other person I had
longed to be for so many years.
"All right," she said throatily. "This is getting me hot. Why don't you
get down on your knees, Sugar, reach under this short skirt of mine, and
lower my panties. I am wet and ready to feel your mouth on my pussy.
Unless you'd rather stop now. Is that what you want? To get out of that
lingerie and those heels, not shave your body, go back to walking and
standing like a guy, and forget all this happened. Because once you take
the next step, there's no turning back. Ready for your first taste of
me, Sugar?"
Every time she used my new name I felt weak. When I stole a glance into
the mirror my stiff penis twitched but didn't escape its unnatural
position. I took a deep breath and assured her, speaking in a girlish
voice, sounding as overwhelmed as I felt, that I was ready to continue...
and continue to continue on and on. She smirked impishly at me, her
plump cheeks pink, as I lowered myself to my stocking-clad knees and
reached delicately under her short skirt, found her panties, and gently
eased them down her full shapely legs. Grace stepped out of them and got
onto the bed, lying back and putting her feet well apart. She was still
clothed and the skirt maintained her modesty. I got onto the foot of the
bed and knelt there.
She said, "Why don't you reach under that lovely camisole and play with
your nipples, Sugar? I want to see that. And I want you all heated up
before you start on me. I think you'll do a better job that way. Don't
you?"
I nodded mutely and, mortified but even more aroused than before, did as
I was told. It was extremely stimulating and I was soon panting. My
wife lay there and grinned devilishly. At last she allowed me to stop.
She made me free my penis and stroke myself for a minute until she
observed that there was a drop of clear fluid on the tip of my dick.
"Why don't you wipe that up with your finger and then lick it clean,
Sugar?" she told me.
I uncertainly obeyed and, after she had me tuck myself away once more, it
was time for the main act. As much as I had always avoided using my
mouth on a woman's private part, I now had no choice, not if I wanted to
continue living my dream. So I got into position and, with some
instruction from her, proved to be a competent licker. She joked about
me being her lezzie and then started breathing hard as I edged her toward
a climax. Grace exploded and jerked her hips. After she stopped quaking
she gradually relaxed. I had passed her test. My own needs had been
ignored. She thought it was funny to get me overexcited and leave me
hanging. I quietly pointed that out to her.
She nodded and said, "But where did I get that idea? Hmmm? Do you think
it might have been from those stories you like so much on-line? Hmmm?"
That was true and I admitted it. Teasing and denying was one of my
favorite themes. I loved how the guy would get so eager for release that
he would do anything to please the woman and how, over time, he would
become addicted to fulfilling her most perverse desires in the hope that
she MIGHT grant him some relief. Now it was happening to me. I was kind
of worried. What if she liked it so much that she refused to allow me
relief... ever? But my concern was cut short as she sat up, stretched,
and told me to go to the kitchen and brew a pot of coffee. Soon we were
enjoying it, along with some small pastries she had bought earlier. I
looked across the table at her, hoping Grace could see the love I was
feeling for her. She gave me a reassuring smile but then I detected a
glint of mischief in her eyes, which grew into something stronger.
Grace said, "It's time to tell you the rest of my plan. I mean, besides
the cosmetics I'll be using and the fun I'll have playing with your hair.
What we're going to try is for you to keep reading the stories on that
one site. The good one. What was it called?"
In my weak sissy voice I suggested, "Story-Philia?"
She said, "Right. I love that name and how it means an overdeveloped
interest in fiction, in this case when it's about sissy types. Like you,
Sugar. Anyway, I want you to go there every day and read at least one
story. Whenever you find anything that excites you, I need to hear about
it. If there's something that sounds good when it begins, but then it
goes beyond your limits, I want to hear about that, too. You can tell me
what outfits excite you, any make-up tricks that you like, or even if
there's some spanking or light bondage or whatever that pushes your
buttons. Understand, Sugar?"
I told her, "Yes, Ma'am." It continued to give me a tingle every time
she used my new name. "Did you want me to tell you what I find... when
we go to bed?"
"That might be good. But it also might get me agitated and then I'll
need to feel your tongue again, between my legs, to calm me down. And,
you know, that could turn into an out-of-control cycle. You tell me
what's in a story, I get horny, you have to satisfy me, and then I'm even
more eager to hear the next one. It might get nasty, with me sitting on
your face and riding you that way. And maybe neglecting your need for
release. Poor, poor sugar, turned into my submissive sex toy."
Her words had me shivering with anticipation. I could already feel what
she was talking about, since she hadn't let me finish, even after having
to toy with my own nipples and stroke myself in front of her. Our course
might already be set. She told me to go to the computer right away, so I
would have something to recount later on. Leaving her to snuggle under
the covers, I got up and straightened the little bit I was wearing. She
told me there was a nice pink robe, short and with a belt, hanging in her
closet, and it was for me. I got it and happily wrapped myself up in it,
stroking it's soft material and admiring the pink, faux fur collar. She
giggled at the way I was preening and then told me to scram so she could
nap.
While my wife slept the sleep of the well satisfied and wholly
victorious, I got the computer turned on and went straight to that site.
First I checked the day's new stories. They had some kind of a team, I
think they called it their Task Force, who made sure that contributions
were posted soon after they were received. I had long appreciated the
work those anonymous people did. Anyway, there was a recently arrived
story by one of my favorites whose nom d' smut was Z.Z. This author
always had clever storylines, effective predicaments to put his lead
characters into, and a trick of leaving the guy trapped with no way to
escape. I leaned closer as I read, eventually reaching a particularly
powerful passage...
< Among the night's deep shadows, I cowered in the underbrush, naked
except for that stiff high collar, the crushingly tight corset, those
fishnet stockings, and locked-on high heels. It was no use to try to rub
at the cosmetics so artfully applied to my face; they wouldn't come off
without that special substance that Janice had told me about. I took a
few steps, aware of how the corset pushed up the soft flesh of my chest
into breast-like mounds that jiggled with every step. It was so awful to
have my body, hairless all over and pink, exposed while I tried to figure
out how to get back to the her house. Then, suddenly, I heard voices
approaching. One male and one female. I could make out enough of what
they were saying to realize it was a young couple looking for the perfect
spot for some lovemaking.
Crouching low, I almost yelped as a bramble bush poked me between my
unprotected bottom cheeks. The couple stopped only a half dozen feet
away and the girl, a real beauty, spread a blanket on the ground. They
stood there and embraced. It was an erotically charged scene and I
started to get erect, except that the fiendish chastity tube Janice had
locked on me made that impossible. Worse, as my penis attempted to
expand, it pressed against the needle-sharp spikes that lined the cruel
device. All at once it was twice as hard to keep silent. But I couldn't
risk discovery. They began to undress each other and I had to clamp my
jaws.
I should have looked away but I was mesmerized. Even that bramble bush,
still rudely jabbing me, couldn't stop me from getting ever more aroused.
Breathing hard, my legs beginning to protest from that squatting posture,
feeling the excitement registering even in my nipples, I saw the girl's
shapely bosom as it was lit by a down-slanting shaft of moonlight.>
Whew, that was wild stuff, and up to Z.Z.'s usual high standards. But it
wasn't a scene we could recreate. Still, I would have to tell Grace all
about the way the guy had been dressed. Or should I say 'undressed'?
Scrolling down, I happily discovered a fresh contribution from another
favorite of mine, Thorne. He tended to vary his themes a lot, going from
sweet and sentimental to rough and unforgiving. This one appeared to be
somewhere in the middle. It was one of several he had done with similar
titles, this one being called SISSY SISTER'S SISTER SISSIES. Wow, he was
really stretching to keep giving them matching names. I began to read
and my eyes got wide.
That was when one of Thorne's well placed but slightly overlong
flashbacks appeared. He made it believable, if only in a fantasy
context. I decided to check the Reviews later, to see if anyone had
criticized his structure or believability. Some of the readers could get
very particular about those matters, among others. My main interest was
in the action. And Thorne's incisive understanding and depiction of the
psychological aspects of character development. Plus, he always gave me
a boner that just wouldn't quit. Which was a problem at that moment,
again, after how Grace had raised my sexual temperature and then and not
given me any way to cool off properly.
I hit Thorne's name and was whisked by computer magic to his extensive
library of perverted prose. Skipping around, I found quite a few
examples that Grace would most likely enjoy hearing about. For
instance...
Jayla
- 10.08.2022
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