Involuntary Sissy

Like many women of my age I have a sense of resignation about my prospects of finding a life partner. Unlike some, I believe that I have found something more satisfying.

My partner at the moment is sleeping now, bless him, after quite an exhausting evening of emotional manipulation. He won't stay for long -- few of them do -- but every waking moment will be precious.

I first realised that I got a thrill from humiliating men quite by accident. It was a second date shortly after the end of the longest relationship of my life. I was on the rebound, seeking affirmation and finding it fleetingly with meek men I found on dating websites. This one was especially meek and even as I asked him back to my flat I could sense he would be a disappointment.

When I leant in to kiss him on the sofa he froze like a shop window mannequin. Even when I slid my hand up his leg he remained inert. I stopped and asked him if he was alright, because, I said, I would get as much of a response from a china doll.

I thought that this might break the tension, but he blushed and didn't reply. I joked that his red cheeks made him look even more like a doll. "Should I put you in a pretty dress and play with you?"

His shame was all-consuming but I refused to be embarrassed for him. My primary feeling was annoyance. "Come on then," I said. I took him to my bedroom and told him to take off his clothes, although I was so impatient that I took most of them off him myself.

I wondered how far he would let me go before showing some assertiveness. How much more shame could he take? Would he let me do anything to him?

I wondered whether I had a dress that would fit him.

He was slender and I am a size 14 (US 10) but even so I didn't want to risk him damaging my clothes. I was flicking though my wardrobe when the answer became obvious. The worst hen party I have been to involved a dance class that required us to perform in ballet dresses, which we were obliged to buy.

I pulled the dress out. It was essentially a leotard with a short lycra skirt sewn above the hips. It was pink and shiny, which I thought would help with the humiliation, but more importantly it would stretch and it was unlikely I would ever need it again.

"Here you go," I said. Still nothing. I held open each of the leg holes in turn as I lifted his ankles to pop them in. I pulled the costume up his legs, higher than I needed to go so it was nice and snug. Then I threaded his limp arms into the arm holes and lifted the upper body up and over his shoulders, reaching round to fasten the poppers at the neck.

"The first thing a ballerina needs to learn," I said, placing my hands on his chest, "is balance." I shoved him roughly onto the bed. I climbed on top of his supine body and began kissing him. Whether it was through fear or arousal, this time he began to respond.

I reached beneath his skirt and fondled him through the leotard and here there was a response too.

I instructed him to fondle himself while I got a condom. He was ineffectual even at this so I pulled aside the bottom of the leotard and took him in my hand while telling him what was expected of him as a ballerina. "Do you know the basic positions for ballet?" I asked him. I couldn't honestly remember them so I made some up while telling him how well suited he would be.

The more I elaborated, the more I realised that I enjoyed his humiliation and the power it gave me over him. I kept up the fantasy as I mounted him. "You should see yourself... you look so demure... even your little noises are girly... do a girly moan for me... I want a sigh, now, give me one."

I could feel my orgasm building and held onto him tightly, controlling the rhythm as I needed it. As I spilled over I stared at him. His flushed face was turned to the side and his mouth lolled open. I hadn't noticed whether he had come or not and I didn't care.

I told him to take the condom to the bathroom and clean himself up. When he came back, still in his dress, I spooned him as I fell asleep.

He didn't last as a boyfriend. I managed to get him back to my flat once more but although he wore a tight satin blouse and pencil skirt as he gave me passable oral sex it was a disappointment that he was so feeble.

Since then I have developed a routine for my men, which worked particularly well tonight. What I really like is watching their resistance crumble, so the more they protest the more rewarding is their surrender. The first step is to get them naked. A good a line as any is: "Let's slip into something more comfortable."

I leave them to take off their clothes in the bedroom and emerge from my bathroom in a nightdress and with a box for them to open while I clear away their clothes. The box tonight contained an ensemble of floral satin and white lace: a camisole and shorts and a delicate silk dressing gown.

Tonight my lover protested, as many do. "Look, I'm sorry, but I'm not into this," he said.

I asked him what he was afraid of. There is never any answer other than that they just don't want to.

"You're making this really awkward," I say. "Why don't you give me a proper reason, like you're insecure about your masculinity? Hmm? Or uncomfortable with your sexuality?"

No one admits to this. I go on. "Oh my God, don't tell me you're a closet sissy?"

They are defensive, and tonight's was indignant. He declared that he didn't want to wear the clothes precisely because he was not a sissy.

"Oh darling," I said, stroking his cheeks before kissing him gently. "It's not the clothes that make you a sissy, it's wanting to wear them. You don't want to wear them, right?"

He was sitting on the bed, so I took the shorts and laid them on his lap, squeezing him and kissing him again.

"Tell me you don't want to wear them," I said as I stroked him through the fabric.

He did as I asked. I pushed him back onto the mattress while continuing to stroke.

"That's better," I said. "Say it again, now."

I removed the shorts and took him into my mouth for a minute to let the tension subside.

I withdrew and crouched at the foot of the bed, threading the shorts onto his dangling legs and swiftly up to his knees before he started trying to kick them off. I held them there with one hand while rising back onto the bed to resume my oral ministrations.

With his struggles over, I slid the shorts smoothly over his thighs and drew them with both hands under his bottom till the elasticated waistband snapped into place. I turned my attention to the camisole.

"Almost there now," I said. "Arms up."

He asked if he really had to. "I want you to look sexy for me," I told him. "We just put this over your arms, like this, and you'll feel your silly inhibitions slip away."

The lacy straps settled on his shoulders as I tugged down the silky bodice. "Now you'll let me take care of everything."

I handed him the organza gown to put on himself while I went to fetch some more surprises.

"Now, you need to show me you can follow orders like a man," I instructed, "not just sit there pouting like a sissy."

I told him to get on his hands and knees and face the wall. I massaged him through the silk for a minute as I readied a tube of lubricant, then drew down his shorts. With lubricant on both hands I reached between his legs and stroked him intensely. While one hand continued to nurse his erection my other spread lubricant around the delicate entrance to his bottom.

I teased him as I ran a moistened finger in a circular motion before dipping it lightly in.

"You do look demure, darling, but I know you can take this." I thrust in my finger deeply, twisting it on its way out and adding a second for the next round.

He cried out for me to stop but whether it was my continued stroking or the effect of the sexy lingerie he stayed in the same position, accepting his role as a passive sex object.

I sensed that he was approaching the first stages of sexual gratification so I removed my hand from his cock and applied lubricant to the strap-on I'd fetched while he was putting on his gown.

Penetrating men in this position is all about angle, and I had to push his knees apart a little and press his shoulder blades sharply down to get him to present properly. With my lubricated fingers as a guide I breached him with little fuss.

He was crying "no" again but it was little more than a whimper. I shifted position partly so I could reach around to resume my stroking but also so I could pin him if he tried to assert himself.

I encouraged him to relax while describing what was happening to him. "Feel how deeply you're taking me, darling, my whole length coursing through you."

It's very difficult for men not to groan when being taken, both from discomfort and relief as the strap-on moves within them. I wait till they start doing this before switching from masturbating them to stimulating myself.

Sure enough, my lover learnt that letting go completely made his penetration smoother and he sighed in resignation.

"Oh, listen to that," I said. "I think we can see your true colours now, can't we?"

I concentrated on my needs, turning myself on while I humiliated him. "You played it all shy... pretending you didn't like being all girly... but look at you now."

I was sighing too, delivering my monologue in shortened breaths. "You're loving it... dressed in your delicates... leading me on... panting... panting... panting like a sissy whore."

The purpose of my teasing is to get them to show one last bit of resistance before crushing it. For some it's already too late, but this one tried to raise himself up on his arms and twist his body away. I was ready for him. With my knees tucked inside his and spread wide, I leaned forward so that the dildo pinned him like a butterfly. I coiled one arm around his waist and with the other grabbed a handful of hair to pull his head as far back as it would go.

His arms, already tired from holding himself up for so long, flailed uselessly as he alternately tried to lash out and push himself upwards.

I could feel his strength ebbing along with his willpower. "Do you know the best thing about having a strap-on cock?" I asked. "It stays erect all night. Would you like to go on all night or shall we get this over with?"

Then he said the golden words: "Let's just get this over with."

I was gentle with him from then on. I unclipped the still-deep dildo from my harness and turned him over to masturbate him to readiness. I guided him inside me and rode him tenderly, leaning forward to rub his nipples through his camisole. "I love you, sweet sissy," I told him, forcing him to flinch even as he began to enjoy himself. "There's no need to deny it anymore. There's no going back now."

I began to lose my train of thought as I found my rhythm. I looked down at his pitiful body and felt pulses of pleasure as tears rolled down his crimson cheeks. I squealed and heard him squealing too, his face contorting as he lost his fight to control his orgasm. My own orgasm rolled in waves. I threw myself forward and embraced him till the intensity subsided.

I removed the dildo as I dismounted and drew the satin shorts back up. He closed his eyes, probably to shut the world out. "You look such a picture," I said. The camera on my phone clicked. Another one for the album.