Sissy hypno The beginnings
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The Perfect Husband (A Hypno Sissywife Story) free porn video
Carla-Jean took another drag of her cigarette, savoring the sensations of
the exhale for as long as she could. She'd been off cigs for a couple of
years, up until she had that first fight with Mason. The moment he threw
the first bottle, and then the first slap, well... She'd been through a
pack every few days for a while now.
She glanced over to the woman in the driver's seat, Shannon. Carla-Jean
had known Shannon since they were best friends all the way back in first
grade. Despite being a couple weeks younger than her, Shannon had always
been something of an older sister for Carla-Jean. A protector, a
counselor, even a bodyguard when one of the cheerleaders in middle school
decided that Carla had tried to steal her boyfriend. It'd been a long,
long time since those days, but Shannon never changed. The last few weeks
had proven that. Carla-Jean looked hard at the smiling face of Shannon.
How lucky could she be, to have a friend like this? A woman who had gone
so far in the world, still coming back to a no-name town to fix the life
of a friend who'd gone down such a different path. Carla-Jean smiled
sheepishly as Shannon glanced over. "A-are you sure he knows I'm coming?"
"Oh yeah. In fact, he might be a little... enthusiastic when he sees you,"
Shannon said, almost giggling. "Just lightly push him off you if he gets
too huggy. You'll see he's not quite as intimidating as you remember."
"Shannon..." Carla-Jean paused to get a final smoke, then slowly ground
the cig down into the ashtray. The thought of being anywhere near Mason's
hands immediately put second thoughts in her mind. "I don't know about
this. I don't know if I can see him, not yet."
"Don't you worry about Mason, Jeanie. He's just dying to see you." Shannon
laughed. Her use of her pet name for Carla-Jean, a pet name as old as
their relationship, brought a little hope into Carla-Jean's pensive
thoughts.
"Is this really going to work? I don't know about this, Shannon. The
things you said, they sounded, well... I've just never heard of
anything..."
Still keeping her eyes on the road, Shannon's laugh softened into a smile.
She put a hand on Carla-Jean's knee. "Jeanie, trust me on this honey. When
you see him, you'll figure out I wasn't bullshitting you on this stuff.
The stuff I told you last night, well, let's just say it was an
understatement. That Mason you're thinking of is long gone, baby. And
you've got some papers this new Mason wants to sign."
Carla-Jean looked down at the folder of legal documents in her lap. "I...
okay. Okay," she said softly.
* * *
They pulled into the motel parking lot around 9 pm. Shannon didn't so much
as glance at the office, instead pulling into a spot at the end of the
building. It was clear she knew exactly where to go.
"Shannon, wait," Carla-Jean said as Shannon moved to exit the car. "I
don't know. I just-"
"Jeanie, honey, I know. It's okay. Trust me. Okay? You'll see." With that,
they exited and began to walk up the metal stairs to the second floor set
of motel suites.
Carla-Jean followed behind Shannon, glancing nervously around her. This
motel wasn't exactly a good place to stay. In fact, the only thing it was
good for was a midnight parking lot purchase of something or other in
ziploc bags. Hell, she'd seen a someone dumping syringes into a trash bin
in the few seconds since they'd pulled into the parking lot. She wondered
why Mason would have chosen to live here after getting that inheritance.
Surely he could afford better.
Carla-Jean's thoughts were interrupted when Shannon suddenly came to a
stop in front of a door bearing the number '431'. Carla-Jean noted to her
surprise that the door also featured a taped-on print out of some tacky
looking art featuring a big stylized heart with flowers, decorated with
'SWEETHEART XOXO'. It looked trashy, even considering the rest of the
environment.
"This is it," Shannon said, her voice an almost mischievous giggle. It was
clear that whatever was going to happen, Shannon was looking forward to
it.
Carla-Jean felt herself tensing up out of habit as Shannon knocked once,
twice, three times. The thought of Mason slamming open that door, his eyes
burning with a rage she had seen so many times, made Carla-Jean's knees
tremble.
The moment the door opened inwards, Carla-Jean's eyes went as wide as
saucers. The folder of documents fell from her hands like a ton of bricks.
Shannon had been right, she hadn't told Carla-Jean a tiny fraction of what
had really happened to Mason.
"Oh my gawd! SHANNON! You look so darling, sweetiepie!" The falsetto voice
tore through Carla-Jean's mind and only pushed her further into shock.
The man who stood in the doorway was, to put it simply, fabulous. The
first thing Carla-Jean thought of was that Ru-Paul show her kid sister was
always watching, one of those drag queens who danced in heels so high they
made Carla-Jean wince. Somehow, this was even more flamboyant. The man was
dressed in lingerie that was halfway between a 1950s pinup model outfit
and the world's frilliest vintage bridal lingerie. It was outlandish: a
long-line bra barely holding two oversized and obviously fake plastic
breast forms, a girdle that forcefully created a wasp-shaped waist out of
a distinctly male torso, panties that looked like they were mostly ruffles
and ribbons, and stockings and garters that would be a little too much
even for an old-school Playboy model. And everything covered in bows, and
frills, and ruffles, like some kind of parody of women's clothing. That
wasn't even covering the frilly matching high-heeled pumps that had to be
six inches tall (at least), the heart-shaped purse, gaudy oversized pearl
earrings, or the fake nails that extended a couple inches past the point
of reason.
But of course, the thing that really drew Carla-Jean's attention and shock
was the beaming face of the man who stood before her. A huge mass of
platinum blonde hair (clearly a wig, a cheap one at that) was curled into
an outrageous bouffant, an equally huge frilly pink headscarf decorated
with fake roses and little ribbons tied off in an adorable little bow
under the man's chin. And just up from that chin, the start of what was
either a makeup disaster or masterpiece. It was the heaviest coating of
makeup Carla-Jean had ever seen, leaving the man's face with an unnatural
matte look, almost like a living plastic doll (but only the kind of doll
that got parents up in arms and got toy companies sued for indecency).
It was so much makeup, in fact, that Carla-Jean didn't immediately realize
who she was looking at. It was until the tattoos on his arms and shoulder
caught her eye that she gasped aloud, freezing mid-motion as she kneeled
down to pick up the dropped folder.
"Good to see you too, sweetie," Shannon grinned, sarcastically matching
the flapping limp-wristed hand motion of the man in the doorway. "Aren't
we fabulous today, cupcake? Cute panties, very femme."
"Oh thank you Ma'am, I just looooved the pretty little ruffled rear,"
Mason giggled, spinning expertly on his pink heels like an over-excited
cartoon princess.
Carla-Jean gasped again, just now remembering to breathe. Shannon looked
over her shoulder, smirking at her stunned friend. "Mason, don't you want
to be polite and say hello to your darling wife?"
"C-Carla-Jean! Oh my goodness!" Mason gasped in his strained falsetto. He
minced forward, and dropped into a shockingly dainty curtsey despite
wearing nothing so modest as a dress or skirt. "I know I have been such a
h-horrible, bad, good-for-nothing husband, I am so, so, s-so-" Before he
could finish his apology Mason burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably,
his constant falsetto pitch making an almost chipmunk-style sound as he
bawled.
Carla-Jean snapped into reality when Shannon grabbed her hand and pulled
her inside, even as she used her other hand to push the crying Mason into
the motel room ahead of her. The crossdressed man strutted with a
scandalizing sashay of his hips even as he sobbed. The inside of the room
was what Carla-Jean expected judging from the exterior, with the addition
of very frilly and very gaudy decorations and clothing strewn about over
every inch of open space.
Shannon grabbed Mason's hand and spoke firmly. "Mason, dream pink lace
broken porcelain. Clear state, pink doll stands, pink doll stands pretty."
It was almost like a spell. Mason immediately stopped sobbing like a
switch had been flipped, now suddenly standing up straight in a girly
pose. He was perfectly still, like some flamboyant mannequin, his eyes
rolled slightly up like as if in a daze.
Carla-Jean was still shaking slightly as Shannon walked back to her and
guided her to a chair at the room's small writing desk. "What, w-what..."
Carla-Jean whispered.
"I told you, Jeanie. There's nothing a little hard work can't fix. Well,
hard work and experimental 'forced mental reconstruction' techniques
utilizing drugs that officially do not and never have existed. When I told
you there are things out there, things that are only known by people who
have the ability to make whoever they want disappear to a black-site at
the snap of their fingers... Things that make Hollywood's idea of hypnosis
look like a trick from a sub-par talent show magician... Well, I wasn't
kidding. I pulled a lot of strings for this, but as you can see I think it
was worth it."
As Shannon spoke, Carla-Jean kept staring at the sight of Mason posing
like some caricature of a princess. She never imagined that seeing revenge
in motion would feel so deeply satisfying to her. Normally she couldn't
stand the sight of anyone getting hurt or abused, but this...
"He broke in the first couple of days. Most do. To be honest a lot of the
past few months has been personal tinkering with the final touches of the
conditioning. You have my personal guarantee that no matter what happens,
this pretty little princess will never be able to hurt you or anyone else
ever again. They aren't even able to hurt themselves."
"C-can he hear us?" Carla-Jean asked, her voice quiet and tinged with
fear.
"Oh yeah. Mason's still inside there. He's fully conscious. You can think
of it like a one-way window. He's seeing and hearing everything, but we
just get the new Mason. He has a new name, by the way. Lucile Froufrou.
Very subtle, I know. We let him pick it out himself. Well, actually it was
his second choice. He wanted 'Lucile Lovescox' but the county clerk wasn't
going for that name change."
Despite herself Carla-Jean laughed, her giggles turning to a snort at the
thought of this bizarre drag queen version of her ex-husband prancing into
a county clerk's office and demanding to get their birth certificate
turned into something that sounded like the top billing for a drag show.
Shannon spoke again after Carla-Jean finished laughing, but her voice was
now much more serious. "I have to tell you something. You know I don't
keep lies between me and you. When we conditioned him, we had to know
exactly what he did to you..." Shannon didn't go any farther.
Carla-Jean averted her gaze.
"It's okay, Jeanie. Believe me, I'm making sure this bastard gets
everything he deserves. This big strong man's going to experience hell in
heels and frills. By the time I'm finished, it'll be revenge tenfold."
Carla-Jean still didn't speak for a few moments, her thoughts dark. "I...
I want to know. About this, all of this. I want to know what this
conditioning does to him."
"I'll give you the full details later, honey. There are some very
entertaining videos I think you'll really enjoy. First we need to deal
with those papers. But, well, if you really want the gory details... For
now, let me just say this. As you can probably guess, Mason's choice of
romantic partners hs changed. But trust me, I didn't just make it that
simple. What's the fun in that?" As she spoke, Shannon reached over and
picked up one of the frilly pieces of clothing strewn around the motel
room. She lifted up a frilly pink peignoir robe and showed it to Carla-
Jean with a wink, grinning as she continued.
"Whenever Mason giggles and minces his way into some hunk's bed, the real
Mason comes out. He gains full control over his own body, except for his
voice. That keeps on chirping and squealing in delight, begging for more.
There's just one little catch... His body won't let him use its strength.
Not even up to five percent of it. I don't have stats but I'm pretty sure
in this state he'd lose a wrestling match against my five year old niece.
I'd put money on that, in fact. He can struggle and wrestle with all his
might and his partner will just think he's into a little rough play. The
more he struggles, the more Lucile's voice speaks up to let the hunk know
just how much he's loving it. I know, I know, very evil of me. Pardon me
if I don't feel bad about giving Mason here a little taste of his own
medicine."
Carla-Jean looked at Shannon, suddenly seeing the side to her friend that
those years of giggling in classrooms and childhood bedrooms had hidden
from her adult eyes. She was scared by what she saw. She couldn't argue
that Mason hadn't done worse to women (she knew after finding those
horrible videos that Mason wasn't just unfaithful, his other girls got
treatment every bit as bad as she did or even far worse). But the sheer
and unapologetic enjoyment in Shannon's voice didn't sound like justice to
her. To her surprise, Carla-Jean found herself not feeling the slightest
desire at all to oppose her friend's actions.
"Hunks?" Carla-Jean asked. "You mean...?"
"You couldn't even imagine. I'm telling you, the videos I'm going to show
you..." Shannon smirked. She dropped the peignoir robe and walked over to
the writing desk where the folder of legal documents laid open. "First,
let's get his signatures on these. I'm glad you contacted me before he
blew through much more of that inheritance, Jeanie. You should be set to
buy that house in Charleston you were talking about, and still have more
than enough to live off of."
Carla-Jean glanced at the documents. She smiled, the thought of starting a
new life, a quiet life, had seemed like the most remote of fantasies
before Shannon had shown up and flipped her nightmare of a life upside-
down. Carla-Jean looked hard at Shannon. The things she had seen today
told her that Shannon was far more dangerous and wickedly ingenious than
she ever imagined, but in its own twisted way it only made her love her
friend more for it. Shannon was like something out of some crazy spy
thriller, or some action movie with helicopter stunts and budgets larger
than the GDP of many island countries, and here she was doing it all for
Carla-Jean. Carla-Jean pushed aside her moral concerns with a growing
smile. For the first time in years, she felt a hint of real power behind
her decisions.
"I want to choose what kind of 'hunk' he's looking for," Carla-Jean said
suddenly, surprising even herself. Shannon grinned, eager to plot more
humiliations for the immobilized and very unwilling drag queen standing
perfectly still in the corner.
"Oh yeah? What were you thinking?"
"Someone mean. Like him. Or, like he used to be, whatever. Someone who
treats him like shit. But no matter how he's treated, he treats them like
they're his Romeo or something. He should be absolutely obsessed with
pleasing them, like some... parody of a 1950s housewife, something like
that. A perfect little homemaker."
Shannon snorted with laughter. "Jeanie, you wicked little thing. I love
it! Fortunately, I was planning something already pretty similar. It's a
fantastic idea! Shouldn't take long at all. I'll let you know when I get
him on the dating apps, you can play matchmaker."
Carla-Jean glanced over at the frozen form of the man who had done so much
to bring hurt into the world. She thought about the bruises she had for so
many nights. She thought about how many times she fell asleep crying,
alone in a bed that only brought her memories and nightmares of pain,
spending every moment afraid he would return. She thought about what it
meant to match his cruelty inch-for-inch. Did that make her just as bad?
Worse?
She decided she didn't care.
"I don't want him to go run away and start a new life. Not yet. I want to
make sure every person he's ever met gets to meet the new Mason," Carla-
Jean spoke with a sudden conviction. There was a tone to her voice that
even made Shannon raise an eyebrow.
"My thoughts exactly. It's no fun otherwise, Jeanie. Now, let's get him to
sign these papers." Shannon turned to the paralyzed crossdressing Mason
and spoke in that same firm, controlled voice. "Mason, dream pink lace
porcelain giggles. Resume state, pink walk and talk dolly, pink dolly
obeys."
Mason snapped back to life as if suddenly re-animated.
"Lucile, sweetie, we need you to sign those papers," Shannon said with a
snicker. Mason, eyes dull and his wide ditzy smile still on proud display,
pranced over to the desk with a wiggle in his high-heeled walk. Carla-Jean
watched his every moment. It was an outrageous movement, his hips working
overtime. His mincing steps tiny in length, he placed each foot placed in
front heel-to-toe in a straight line with each swing of hips. Carla-Jean
giggled at the sight.
"Lucile, don't you want this money?" Carla-Jean asked with genuine
curiosity as her sissified ex-husband and abuser gleefully signed page
after page of divorce papers that handed over every penny he owned.
"Oh no, I won't need money when I find a sweet handsome man to marry,"
Mason giggled in that outrageous falsetto. For a moment, Carla-Jean
thought she saw a hint of pain in his dolled-up eyes.
"Until that happens, Lucile here won't have any trouble finding some
steady work to afford this room," Shannon said as she walked over to the
cheap motel nightstand and carefully used two fingers to lift up a frilly
pink pair of panties with a heart-shaped cutout in the rear. The panties
didn't exactly look brand new. Carla-Jean's eyes widened a little bit, and
Shannon smirked. "As you can imagine, business is good."
* * *
Carla-Jean was quiet for the first few minutes of the ride back to her
apartment. This time, however, it wasn't from fear. She wouldn't be afraid
of Mason ever again. That man was dead. Well, to be more accurate,
imprisoned. Imprisoned in the unbreakable and currently very frilly cell
of his own body. When she began to speak, Shannon listened closely,
delighted to find that Carla-Jean was formulating new ideas for her ex-
husband's fate as fast as she could memorize them.
Back in the motel room, Mason was preening and primping in front of the
filthy mirror, staring deep into his own eyes. Inside his head, an endless
and futile stream of rage echoed for no one but himself. In reality, only
a falsetto giggle left his painted lips. As he pulled the corset strings
tight, Lucile giggled and hummed to himself, joyous from nothing more than
the sensation of satin and silk on skin.
His body brushed out its wig and began to style it in a new style, eager
to make itself as pretty as possible. After all, he had a husband to find.
And to find a perfect husband, he would need to be the prettiest thing to
ever grace a skirt and heels. Perhaps the man who was coming up to his
room next would be that perfect husband. And if not, there was always the
next man, the next night, the next town over.
He would wait for the perfect man, the perfect lover, the perfect husband.
There was quite literally nothing else he could do.
Hortense
- 22.07.2020
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