The Sissy

“You don’t excite me,” she says matter-of-factly, her eyes icy with contempt but her face carefully composed.

She’d found The Stash, the secret storage box of his secret hobby of wearing women’s clothing. He’d built his collection over years, at times discarding everything and starting over. But she found enough pretty underwear, tops, shorts, jeans, skirts, several dresses from casual to formal, pantyhose, stockings, and shoes flat and heeled to know his obsession was his life.

She’d picked up a pretty camisole from the top of the pile. It was baby blue, translucent and trimmed in delicate lace. He’d bought it online then found the size too small and returned it in person to the store in town. A nice middle-aged woman happily helped him find the right size and asked if he wanted to try it on. He’d smiled and said “No,” but he knew she’d noticed him blushing.

Somewhere in the box was a matching half-slip.

Even under his wife’s disapproving glare he couldn’t look at it without a twinge of excitement. ‘If only -‘ he thought but in his mind added ‘uselessly’.

He drank his humiliation, felt it deep inside his soul. This had always been his most delicious secret, the excitement and arousal he got from the feeling of helplessness and the sense of the bitter end where all options disappeared and he was utterly exposed and at the mercy of another. He found it enchanting as always and despite the angry women before him his arousal was so great his cock stiffened in his pants.

He wanted to push her on the bed, strip away her jeans and panties and fuck her in the ass. He knew the sense that she’d welcome this, that she’d love the violent sex was illusion created by his panic.

He knew that it was he that was fucked already.

“If you’re waiting for me to slap you, then you are mistaken,” she continued, that horrible tone without emotion that meant she was in full command of this moment, of this situation, of the tatters of their relationship that she waved in her hand.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For Mommy to punish you with a spanking? With my hairbrush? Perhaps while you wore some panties and pretty lingerie, me in a pretty full slip? I’m just not that woman and I think you know it. I’m normal, darling. Sex is sex and discipline is discipline. And you know how I feel.”

He nodded, the only response possible.

“No, darling, I’m a real woman, female to the core. I’m excited by masculinity, broad shoulders and thick arms, by manly dominance and power. A tall, handsome male that protects me and supports me and is always that kind of presence in my life. The idea that you’ve been hoarding these things, putting them on and masturbating while fantasizing you are a woman has destroyed my illusion that you are that man, that you are … sufficiently male to serve as my husband.”

She paused and glared at him. It was like a hot lamp, that look, making him perspire. He felt warm and damp as she continued.

“Thank God I’m young enough and attractive enough to find a real mate. I get looks constantly, flirtatious comments, male attention. I’ve turned down my share of propositions despite the wedding ring. That would excite you, too, wouldn’t it, Sissy? The sight of another male having me, using me, taking my clothing away, making me take him in my mouth before he spreads my legs to fuck me with his cruel hard cock?”

He looked at her in horror but she could tell.

She nodded affirmatively.

“Yes, I found your browsing history. I feel as if I know you so well now after all these years of marriage. There are several themes…”

She looked down at him contemptuously, her face a study of cruelty and power. He found her awesome in her outrage, surrounded by an aura, a glow he’d not seen since she’d delivered their youngest child. He felt his love for her, deep and full, dominating his being. How could he have disappointed her so?

He’d never wanted her more than in this moment. A wave of humiliation and helplessness washed over him again and he moaned in frustration and need. He couldn’t meet her eye, however. He couldn’t –

“Sissies!” She almost shouted but no, her voice was controlled, powerful, disciplined. She wielded it like a whip and gave him no mercy at all.

“Sissies,” she said more calmly. “Doing what sissies do. Dressing themselves in a manner so as to attract the attention of real men. Presenting their bodies, displaying the pleasures to be found by their use, offering their affection as submissive whores. They have male sex organs but tiny and limp things, their skin shaven smooth and softened by lotions so when a man caresses their skin it feels feminine and pleasant to the touch, keeping their pussies lubricated and ready for fucking, their mouths painted to suggest their willingness to perform fellatio. Moreover, actual sex acts, real men using sissies as women.”

She slowly unbuckled his belt and he looked up to her face surprised and saw no mercy, just the contempt. She pulled the belt from his pants and threw it against the wall, not angrily but a controlled toss. This frightened him as nothing else had.

She smiled thinly, released the button of his pants, then pulled them down, revealing a pretty lavender thong, the front decorated with floral lace. His cock was steely, hard, the tip reddened with blood stuck out above the top of the pretty lace, a short stream of fluid leaking from the hole.

“I know you never wear your male underwear. I know this is called under-dressing. I know a lot more about sissies than I wanted to – I certainly never planned to marry one.”

She pulled down the thong and his cock sprung forward, aching with desire and sexual energy.

She found her largest purse on the bedside table. It was really more of a carry-all. He’d wondered why she’d brought it to the guest bedroom. She withdrew a tube of what he recognized was sexual lube. She handed it to him with distaste. She’d found this, too.

“Jerk it off. I want to watch,” she said calmly.

He opened the tube, squeezed some lube into his palm. He began rubbing his erection, the panties down around his ankles. The feeling of helplessness excited him and shame washed over him. Up and down, up and down, the motion familiar and almost automatic. It felt wonderful but he was so helpless. He looked at her.

“You want me to display my body for your pleasure while you jerk off? Would you like to see my tits? My pussy? My ass? Is there that much male left in you? Men are such visual creatures,” she smiled kindly at him.

“But you’re not a man. That’s your little clitty, isn’t it? The thing your lover rubs when he’s fucking your pussy. Does he moan with pleasure as he slips in and out of your tight, lubricated ass? Shut up, don’t answer! I can imagine your fantasies! Jerk it faster, Pussywillow! Now!”

He came, not the hardest orgasm but lengthy, rope after rope of spermatic fluid jetting onto the carpet before him. He stroked automatically, maximizing the sensation, making it go over and over, until finally the last drops stayed on the head of his cock. He gasped with pleasure, looked up at his tormentor.

Again, she reached into her purse, withdrawing an odd construction of plastic and steel. He knew instantly what it was.

“A cock cage,” he said, incredulously.

She nodded but there was no kindness on her face. Again he felt terrified, not knowing what her icy calm meant.

Not knowing what his future held.

“I’m not going to touch it,” she said. “Fasten it on your cock. Not too tightly but firm enough so it won’t come off. You might want to use a little lube.”

He slid the sleeve over his softening cock, attached the brace that surrounded his scrotum, trapping his balls so the device could not be removed. She handed him the lock. It was a tiny thing but the metal that odd color of titanium. He looked at her and snapped it into place.

He knew the sleeve would prevent him receiving pleasure from stroking his dick or from putting it into … anything. He could still urinate. His balls were comfortable, just trapped.

“In your silly videos, the woman then places the key in a necklace around her neck, a symbol of ownership, of taking the power of use of the cock as a sexual instrument away from the man. He merely carries it for her, requiring her permission to use it.”

She slowly removed her blouse, unfastening the buttons slowly, then took it off and almost handed it to him.

“No, wait , go wash your hands and dry them carefully,” she said with what he thought was a sigh of resignation.

He stepped out of his loafers and then his pants and he let the thong fall off of his feet. He walked quickly to the adjoining bathroom and washed his hands, then dried them on the towel there. When he returned, she handed him the blouse.

“Hang it in the closet,” she said.

He took the pretty floral print blouse and hung it as directed, smoothing it on the hanger lovingly.

This time he gazed upon her body, so familiar but still so stimulating to him. Her shoulders were slim, her neck and chest so beautiful. He loved kissing her – her lips, her cheeks, her ears, then down her neck. He loved the sounds of pleasure she uttered while he kissed her, both of them knowing he’d find her breasts and make love to them with lips and tongue, kissing and nibbling and suckling and finally taking her inside his mouth, teasing with his tongue while she made the delicious sounds of an aroused woman.

Her bra was a pretty full coverage to hold her large boobs, beige to match her skin and not show beneath the beautiful blouse. She modeled for him.

“Do you think in time I’ll release your sex, allow you to make love to me? Permit you to remove my bra, kiss me, give me pleasure with your hands, your lips, your cock? There is no key, Sissy. I threw it in the river.”

“Your condition,” she pointed at the cage, “Is permanent.”

He looked at her, horrified at the idea. Never? He grasped the appliance, wiggled it, felt the firm clasp of his sex, noted that there was no tingle, no pleasure, however hard he stroked the shaft. Only cold metal, inside and out. There was a teasing curve so as to be tucked inside one’s clothing.

She laughed, that cruel, full laugh he’d only heard a time or two in thirty years.

“We’re turning over a new leaf, darling. My darling Sissy. What is your girl name, I wonder – No, don’t tell me. Not yet.”

She removed her bra, let her breasts free. They were still full, still warm and lovely and heavy when held, swelling when caressed and loved. He felt his useless cock twitch in response to the view of her bare chest.

She laughed again. “Instead of a husband I have you, Sissy. Mine to humiliate, to amuse me with your antics. I’ll wager a year from now you’ll still be excited by the sight of my body. You’ll twitch and swell but we’ll both know it’s to no purpose. That thing can’t even be cut off – there’s a video of someone trying. It even hurt me to watch it – the wearer finally begged his helpers to stop. The pain was too much. Heat, you realize. Pressure.”

She handed him the bra. “Take it to the hamper. Fold it carefully before you put it in.”

“I’m tired, sissy. I think you’ll do all the housework from now on. At least until I feel sorry for you. Maybe forever because right now, I think you’ve gotten your fantasy.”

He looked up at her, confused.

“You’re her, Sissy. The woman you wanted to be all this time. I’ll give you your first injection this evening. We’ll both watch your body change in the coming weeks. You’ll take the boxes of all your male clothing to the donation center. It’s dresses and skirts and skinny jeans forever, my love. Wigs while your hair grows out, makeup and polished nails. Pretty nightgowns and lacy pajamas. My live in maid and girlfriend. And stop thinking of yourself as ‘He’.”

She glared at him, her decision final.

“What will I wear?”

Contemptuously she waved at the box.

“Your clothes. Now, tell me your name, darling.”

“Allison,” she said. She felt that shy smile she’d practiced come over her face. She knew the features softened when she took over. She watched her wife’s face show just the least bit of surprise as she noticed the change.

“Allison,” she said. “Pleased to meet you.” She held up her skirt to show she wasn’t wearing panties. The dark fur on her sex beckoned, called her wife to the intimacy they shared.

From the purse she pulled a harness and large flesh-colored dildo and vibrator. She smiled at the girl and Allison knew the harness was for later.

“Now help me relax. It’s been an exhausting morning.”

The wife lay back on the bed and spread her legs, her dark skirt pulled up and arranged around her.

Allison smelled the aroused sex and knelt to please her wife.