Sissy Story - Fully Feminized

I stood in the doorway of her bedroom at thirty-one, in nothing but the steel cage locked around my cock, and my face burned before she even looked at me.

Claire sat on the edge of the bed with the silk laid across her lap like a verdict. Pink. Pale. The kind of lace that snagged on every thought I still tried to call mine. She crooked one finger.

“Come here.”

My feet moved. That was the first betrayal of the night, the way my body obeyed before my mouth could invent a reason not to. Cool air kissed the bare skin of my ass. The cage dragged heavy between my thighs, a small metal prison that kept me soft and stupid and aching. I stopped in front of her and kept my eyes on the carpet because looking at her face made my knees soft.

She lifted my chin with two fingers.

“Eyes up. Pretty boys look at their mistress when she dresses them.”

Pretty. The word landed low in my gut and twisted. My cock tried to swell inside the cage and found nowhere to go. A thin, humiliating pulse of pressure. Heat crawled up my throat.

“I am not, ”

Her palm cracked across my left cheek. Sharp. Clean. My head turned with it. Tears pricked my eyes before I could stop them, and something worse happened under the cage: a hard, eager throb that made me want to fold in half.

“You are whatever I say you are tonight,” Claire said. Her voice stayed level. Calm. “Say it.”

I swallowed. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

“I am whatever you say I am tonight.”

“Good. Hands on your head. Feet apart.”

I laced my fingers behind my skull and spread my stance. The cage swung. My bare balls tightened in the open air. She ran a hand down my chest, slow, and pinched my right nipple until my breath broke.

“Still fighting in there,” she murmured. “I can feel it. That is fine. Fighting makes the training stick.”

She picked up the panties first. Sheer pink silk with a lace panel over the front that would hide nothing. She held them open at my ankles.

“Step.”

I stepped. The fabric whispered up my calves, then my thighs, then settled against the cage with a soft, humiliating stretch. Silk against steel. Lace cupping what was left of my manhood like a joke. My cock jerked uselessly inside the ring. A bead of precum leaked out through the slit in the cage and darkened the lace at once.

Claire noticed. Of course she did. She pressed two fingers to that wet spot and held them up for me to see.

“Already ruining your pretty things. Look at you.”

I looked. Clear fluid on her fingertips. Evidence. My stomach dropped and my hips tipped forward anyway, chasing her hand like a dog.

She wiped her fingers on my lower lip.

“Taste.”

I did. Salt. Shame. My own hunger.

“Open the drawer,” she said. “Take out the plug.”

The plug sat on a folded towel beside a small bottle of lube and a remote. Black silicone. Thick enough that my hole clenched just from looking at it. I picked it up. My hand shook.

Claire took it from me and popped the cap on the lube. She coated the toy with long, sure strokes of her fist, the same way she might handle a cock she actually respected. Then she turned me by the hips and bent me over the bed with one firm push between my shoulder blades.

My cheek hit the duvet. Ass up. Silk panties still on. She hooked a finger in the crotch and tugged the fabric aside, exposing me.

“Arch.”

I arched. The position opened me. Cool air found my hole and I clenched hard, useless.

“Breathe out.”

The slick tip of the plug pressed against my asshole. Pressure. More pressure. My body tried to shut her out and failed. The fat head pushed past the ring of muscle and my mouth opened on a sound I did not choose, half groan, half broken little noise that belonged to someone softer than the man I kept insisting I still was.

She worked it in by inches. Stretch. Burn. Fullness that stole the air from my lungs. When the base finally seated flush against me, she patted my ass once, proprietary.

“There. Keep it in. If it slips, we start over with the bigger one.”

I nodded into the duvet. The plug sat heavy inside me, a solid secret that made every small shift of my hips feel filthy. When she pulled me upright again, the weight of it made my knees flex.

She stripped the panties back into place over the base so the plug stayed trapped and private under pink silk. Then she lifted a matching bra from the pile. Soft cups. Thin straps. She guided my arms through and fastened the clasp behind my back. The band settled under my shoulder blades. The empty cups sat on my flat chest like a claim.

“Walk to the mirror.”

I walked. Each step shifted the plug and sent a dull, dirty pulse up into my gut. The cage tugged. The panties whispered. In the full-length mirror, a man in women’s underwear stared back with wet eyes and flushed cheeks, cock locked, ass filled, chest framed in lace.

Claire stepped behind me. Her hands slid up my ribs and cupped the bra as if there were breasts there to hold. Her mouth found the side of my neck.

“Say what you see.”

My throat worked. The words came out thin.

“A man in… in lingerie.”

“Wrong.” Her nails dug into my sides. “Try again.”

The plug flexed when I clenched. My locked cock leaked another bead into the lace.

“A sissy,” I whispered.

“Louder.”

“A sissy.” My voice cracked. “Your sissy.”

“Better.” She reached around and flicked the cage with one fingernail. Metal rang soft. “This stays locked until I decide you have earned even the hope of release. Your cock is a decoration now. Your hole is the useful part. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She smiled against my skin. Then she opened the wardrobe and took down a dress. Black. Short. Soft fabric that would cling. She dropped it over my head and tugged it down my body until the hem sat mid-thigh and the neckline sat low enough to show the lace edge of the bra. She added stockings next, rolling them up my legs with efficient hands, clipping them to a garter belt she fastened around my waist over the dress so the straps framed my thighs.

Lipstick last. She painted my mouth a dark pink and made me blot on a tissue. When she finished, she turned me back to the mirror.

I barely recognized the shape in the glass. Soft mouth. Dressed body. Plug seated. Cage hidden under silk and skirt. The man I had been that morning was already thin as paper under the surface.

Claire’s hand slid under the hem of the dress and cupped my caged cock through the panties. She squeezed. I hissed.

“You hate how pretty you look,” she said. “And your body is dripping for it anyway.”

She was right. My hips stuttered forward into her palm. The plug rocked inside me. A broken sound left my throat.

She let go and pointed at the floor.

“Kneel.”

I knelt. The dress rode up. Cool air found the backs of my thighs. She sat on the edge of the bed again, knees apart, and hiked her own skirt. No underwear. Her cunt was already slick, pink, open for me. The scent of her hit me hard enough that my mouth watered before I could stop it.

“Worship. Slow. Use that painted mouth the way I trained you.”

I leaned in. My first lick was tentative and she corrected me with a hand in my hair, dragging me flush against her. My nose pressed to her clit. My tongue found her folds. Wet. Hot. She tasted like salt and power. I licked the way she had taught me in quieter nights, long strokes, then a focus on her clit while she held my skull and used my face.

The lipstick would smear. I knew that. I kept going. The plug shifted every time I adjusted my knees. My caged cock throbbed in helpless little jerks against the silk. Shame sat thick in my chest, and under it a worse thing: the bright, stupid need to be good for her. To be the soft, obedient thing in the mirror. To take whatever came next without argument.

You still have a job and a name and a life outside this room, some cold corner of my mind snapped, sharp as a door slamming. Stand up. Wipe your mouth. Walk out before the dress becomes the only skin you remember.

My tongue did not stop.

Claire’s breath roughened. Her thighs tightened on either side of my head. She pulled me off her by the hair before she came, leaving me gasping with spit and her wetness shining on my chin.

“Not yet,” she said. “You come after me, and only if I allow it. Tonight we start the real work.”

She stood, crossed to the dresser, and came back with the remote for the plug. She pressed a button.

Vibration bloomed deep in my ass without warning. Low. Steady. My whole body jolted. A cry tore out of me, high and open, and I clapped a hand over my mouth.

Claire pulled my hand down.

“No. I want to hear what you sound like when I turn you into this.”

She thumbed the remote higher. The plug buzzed harder against the spot inside me that made my locked cock jump and leak in a steady, pathetic drip. My hips rolled. The dress rode higher on my thighs. I was on my knees on her carpet in stockings and lipstick, shaking, hole stuffed, cock useless, and the worst part was how much of me had already lined up to be ruined further.

She crouched in front of me so our faces were level. Her free hand stroked my cheek with something almost like care.

“Listen carefully. From tonight, you do not get to put the man back on when you leave. The cage stays. The training deepens. You will learn how to walk, how to speak, how to take, how to thank me for taking you apart. Permanent means permanent, little sissy. I am done playing house with half measures.”

The vibration kicked up another notch. My vision blurred. A raw sound dragged out of my throat as my body tried to fuck itself back onto a toy I could not escape.

Claire stood, unzipped her skirt the rest of the way, and let it fall. She stepped out of it and walked to the bed, where a thick pink strap-on waited on the sheets, harness already buckled, the shaft glistening with fresh lube. She stepped into the straps and drew them tight around her hips with practiced hands. The dildo jutted from her, long and blunt and aimed at me.

She sat on the edge of the mattress and patted her thigh.

“Crawl here. Panties down. Ass up on my lap. I am going to fuck that plugged little hole until you forget the shape of the word no, and when I am done stretching you, we start on the rest of your life.”

My palms hit the carpet. The dress hung off me. The plug still buzzed deep and mean. I crawled toward her on shaking knees, silk and steel and lace clinging to every inch of the man she was about to erase, and as I reached her boots the remote chirped one last time and the vibration surged so hard my arms almost gave out.

Claire’s hand fisted in my hair and dragged my face up to look at the strap-on glistening an inch from my painted mouth.

“Open,” she said. “Show me you understand who owns what happens next.”

My lips parted.