SISSY & CROSSDRESSER

I see very little material in Brazil that talks openly and honestly about them, even though it's reasonably common in the BDSM scene. I consider it a very intense fetish for those who live it, and it's hard to find texts and reports, so I decided to share my experience with these girls with you. Especially my first experience:

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And there I was, on my way to another meeting. At 18 years old, I already had experience with various fetishes, but this would be the first time I would have a “Sissy” at my disposal.

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I was naturally agitated and excited, plotting cruel and perverted situations in my head, when I came face to face with that creature. Tall and slender, with straightened shoulder-length hair, delicate features, and a small mouth, she stood there, shy, holding a backpack and looking at the floor. I was wearing a tight leopard-print skirt, thin stockings, a black corset, and short boots. She wore tight jeans and a slim T-shirt. I approached and stared at her fixedly. She looked away, letting out a low moan: “VERY PLEASED TO MEET YOU, MA’AM. I’M LILY.” I kept silent for a few seconds and said: “YOU HAVE A BITCH’S NAME.” She blushed and smiled, gathering the courage to look at me. “LET’S GO, I DON’T HAVE ALL DAY FOR YOU,” and I started walking. She followed, offering to carry my bag.

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On the way to the hotel, I began the questions: “ARE YOU HAIRLESS?” “DID YOU PREPARE FOR ME?” “WHAT COLOR IS YOUR PANTIES?” She stuttered between the “YES, MA’AM” responses she gave me. We arrived at the place, left our documents, she paid, and we went up the stairs toward our room. I noticed the way she walked, her hips moving lightly, her delicate hands, and her perfectly shaved arms and neatly styled hair. It was the first time I felt the energy of a sissy, her fragility and femininity. We entered the suite, and I immediately ordered her to go to the bathroom, undress, and wait to be called. I spread out on the bed everything I had prepared for that session, as we had discussed. There was perfume, lipstick, blush, mascara, jewelry, one of my lace nightgowns (used and with my scent), 7/8 stockings, a garter belt — basically, I brought my personal items to dress her. I also brought a large, heavy dictionary, a big wooden school ruler, and chalk. My mind was racing, thinking about how I would develop the situation. I ALWAYS had an instinct for everything, absolutely EVERYTHING, so I let my essence and personality take over again.

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I ordered her to come out of the bathroom on her knees. She did so. She crawled to my feet, trembling uncontrollably, as if she were being electrocuted. I examined her with my eyes. Her body was delicate and fragile. I saw the pink lace “panties” outlining her hips. I touched her and stroked her hair affectionately while speaking in a wicked way: “I’M GOING TO TEACH YOU TO BE A REAL GIRL.” She moaned, her eyes watering. I felt an absurd level of surrender and knew exactly what to do at that moment.

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She grabbed her backpack, took out a plug and a pair of very high, thin heels, placed them on the bed, and was dazzled by the things I had brought for our afternoon together. I carefully applied her makeup, dedicating myself to each step in a sensual way. UAHLÁ — she was ready and beautiful, with painted lips and well-lined eyes, perfumed, and wearing my nightgown, which, by the way, had become quite short and small on her, but she loved that vulgar air. While she put on the heels, I drew a chalk line across the floor that crossed the room. We started the training. I plugged her and applied several spankings and humiliations, using her “lack of feminine posture” as the basis for the humiliation. She had EXTREME difficulty balancing in the heels, so I was going to teach her to walk like a girl should walk. I made her walk on the line without swaying, and every time she stepped off the line, I gave her a hard ruler strike on the ass. Her “little dick” kept growing and slipping out of her panties multiple times, so I scolded and hit her, making her tuck it back. I always heard a breathless, horny “SORRY, MA’AM.” She was sweating, trying to balance by opening her arms, and I corrected her firmly, delivering strong ruler strikes. After almost 40 minutes, with her ass already striped from so many hits, I made her balance the heavy dictionary on her head and walk toward me in a sensual way. And there she was, parading around the room, dressed and perfumed, with her swollen little dick showing under her panties for me.

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After a few more games, like “refining the voice” and “training feminine gestures,” I ordered her to kneel and massage my feet. She did it with so much care. I then noticed she was crying. I asked firmly and coldly, “WHY IS THE BITCH CRYING?” She replied softly and shyly, “BECAUSE I’M HAPPY!” “I’M HAPPY THAT YOU, MA’AM, ARE TURNING ME INTO A REAL GIRL.” I could understand the greatness and intensity of the fetish, and a feeling of satisfaction filled me with joy. After that, she served me a few more times before moving to another state, and we lost contact. Since then, I realized that adult women can still enjoy “playing with dolls.”