A Submissive Sissy

Here you'll find my favorites Sissy & Femdom stories, the best one I've ever read over the net since many years and believe me, that's a lot ! I'm also a wool fetishist, so you may come accross this type of topic around here too... Hope you'll like it !

Sian Seteyan

Therapy

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Chapters

It had become too much, the yearning, the desires, the constant twists of the head at the sight of a sweater - I would actually alter my course on the way to work to follow a pretty girl in wool. I felt like a stalker. But that is what a fetish is all about - desire attached to a physical object. Cashmere, mohair, angora - the words drove me crazy. And my sweater collection was becoming ungainly - over two hundred sweaters packed away in storage areas all over town. So I decided to seek help. Actually my girlfriend suggested it as she left me - slamming the door in my face. She had come upon my computer collection of erotic sweater pictures and stories. I think it was while she was reading the story entitled CASHMERE HAREM that she decided to leave me.

I found a therapist in the local paper, one that specialized in sex dependency problems, and I made an appointment. Her name was Dana Solner. She was nice, kind, a good listener. After our first consultation I got over her appearance - she was pretty, but not beautiful, strong Judaic features, but she had enormous breasts. I mean gorgeous. Sweater fetishists obsess about breasts because we all want to see a tight sweater over a nice pair of tits. As crass as that sounds. I myself often, um, used to dress in women's clothing, and with a pair of huge fake tits, I would try to become this image of a sweater girl - preening in front of the mirror, turning my tits this way and that. Trying to see how the light caught the edge of my angora cardigan, my mohair dress, as it wrapped my entirely unrealistic bosom in soft fuzzy sensuality.

...This is what I have to give up. This is why I went to see Dana Solner. And she did wear a sweater one day, and I did have a relapse, dreaming about her tits under the simplest of turtleneck sweaters...But she understood. She did not do that again.

We talked the fetish out, then we did some Freudian type stuff, talked about my family, my parents. And then she said she thought she could help me, with hypnosis. I was skeptical, a normal reaction to the whole field of hypnosis and post-hypnotic suggestion. I assured her I would be a difficult subject, that I would not go under easily. Boy, was I wrong. Over the course of two weeks she put me under a dozen times. The session would start, I would get comfortable, she would start to talk to me - and then I would wake up. And my time would be up. I would not remember what had been said, what had happened. But I felt better. And the old yearnings started going away.

I tested myself, walking into department stores and staring at the racks of sweaters. Normally this would drive me crazy. But I seemed to be unaffected. It did feel like I was standing on the edge of something, I mean I would hear this whistling sound, like the wind, far off - but the racks of sweaters did not get me dizzy with excitement. I could walk past sweater girls. I did not obsess about the online sweater picture sites, nor did I masturbate as frequently. I felt good, like a taut rope. I kept going to Dana, and she kept putting me under, but she and I both knew I was done. Which was sad - I felt like we had become friends.

After a particularly short session, she said that I was making great progress. And that I had not even noticed the sweater she was wearing. And I guess I hadn't. Something inside of me shivered, and I said without thinking, "I am cured." Dana smiled, inviting me to continue. "I am no longer a sweater slut." I grinned, embarrassed. Why had I said 'sweater slut'? She did not seem to notice. She said, "What do you want to do?" And I answered, "Get rid of all my sweaters." I swallowed. "Do you want them?" What was I saying?

Dana stood up, still smiling. She walked over to her desk, and removed her jacket. The sweater she was wearing was a sleeveless cowlneck, cashmere, a beige conservative sweater for layering under a suit. Her breasts filled it perfectly, and I felt my heart skip. But I was cured. "Well," Dana said, "Are they clean?" Suddenly I was hot with embarrassment. I nodded, unsure of myself. She smiled again, her wide lips wrapping around her angular features. "O.K.," she said, and she leaned over her desk, writing something on the back of one of her business cards. Her breasts hung pendously, straining the sweater. But I was cured. I looked around the room. Trying to think of something else. She handed me the card. "Bring all your sweaters to my house this weekend. Saturday at noon. Don't tell anyone that you are coming - it is very unprofessional of me. Do you understand?"

I left the office in a bit of a daze. Was I finished seeing Dana Solner as a therapist? Were we something else now, I mean, was she coming on to me? Or was she just being nice? I thought about calling it off, maybe I was being crazy, but Saturday arrived before I could do anything. And I got in my car, and drove to her neighborhood, with my sweaters packed away in my trunk. She lived in a fashionable suburb just outside of the city. It took me some time but I found her street and swung into her driveway at 11:55. I was very satisfied with myself for being on time. I opened the car trunk and took out the two enormous bags of sweaters. I couldn't carry the extra cardboard box. So I just left it in the trunk and walked up to the door.

It was strange house, new and old at the same time. I rang the bell, waiting there in the cold, feeling stupid suddenly with these two huge duffle bags. And then Dana answered the door. In an astoundingly tight angora dress. Black and fuzzy, it was cut short at the waist, tailored to be form fitting. Long sleeves, and a daring V-neck, it was all my problems wrapped up in one piece of clothing. I stood there, my mouth hanging open. "Terry, you have arrived., Well, come in?" I stood there frozen. I think I felt betrayed. Why was she dressed like that? "Wha. What are you wearing?" She looked down as if she was just realizing what she had put on. "Oh. Right. Look just come in, and it will be clear." I followed her numbly, through a short foyer. She looked at the bags and said, "Is that all of your sweaters?" I nodded and then remembered the extra box. "One more box, in the trunk." "And your bras and lingerie, did you bring those?" I stopped again, flummoxed. But then I realized I HAD brought them, they were in this bag. I had not thought anything of it. I didn't answer, but she looked back and smiled.

I followed her in to the living room, and there my body halted, my brain reeling in confusion. Another woman stood there, a tall, powerful woman, curves like a serpent, dark hair, leather or latex her only covering. At her feet, a man knelt, in a leather jockstrap and harness, a dog's collar around his neck. I looked at this tableau, then across the room at Dana, who was sitting against the arm of an overstuffed velvet sofa. "Wha-"

The dark haired one, she cut me off. "So this is your sweater girl?" I dropped the bags. I backed up. Dana looked at the other woman quickly. "Not yet, Talon." Dana stood up, smoothed out her dress. "Well Terry, you are probably wondering what this is all about?" I nodded, still backing away. "And you probably want to leave?" I nodded again, my voice caught in my throat. "Well, before you go, I was wondering, would you like to touch my angora?" Something clicked in my head. Dana said it again, but all I heard was "touch my angora."

The next thing I knew I was stripping my clothes off, until I was naked, in front of these two women, I was carefully folding my clothes, and then I turned to Dana, and knelt there on the floor. I could see myself doing these things like I was watching a movie. And I was powerless to stop.

"You see, it worked." Dana looked proudly at the domina. "And wait until you see what else he will do." She knelt over me, her breasts hanging over my upturned face. "You are a submissive female. You will do everything you can to please us." At each sentence my body twitched. "You are aroused by sweaters." . Her angora breasts suddenly made me ache with desire - I raised my hands towards them and moaned. "If either myself or Lady Talon (a gesture, a giggle) says the words 'Ed Wood' you will fall into a trance and await instructions. Now, get dressed Mary. You know what to wear."