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 !

Cheryll Alison

Stacked Sissy

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Everyone in the hardware store was staring at me. The checkout lady at the front of the store stared when I walked in. The mother and her teenage daughter stared. The guy in the back at the engine shop stared as I walked by.

As I approached the section where they had gas grills set up for display, a woman who was forty-something with striking grey hair coiffed in a bob approached me. "Can I help you, ahh... uh..." She kind of trailed off at the point where normally one would say ma'am or sir.

You see, I had large breasts. And although the potential for large breasts exists in humans and there are many examples, there are few examples on men. Mistress had charged me (her sissy husband) with my latest mission: to buy a gas grill while endowed with large breasts. I was wearing jean shorts with my legs shaved, tennis shoes, and a white T-shirt. My breasts were courtesy of Mistress: expensive forms that were applied to the chest with adhesive. Their realism was stunning, down to the detail of the nipples. Sometimes when Mistress transforms me into her sissy, I am nearly passable. This time, I was not. I had to suffer the embarrassment of large breasts, braless under a t-shirt, while the only other vestiges of femininity were my shaved legs and a light pink lipstick. Otherwise, Mistress had made me keep a small amount of stubble and my hair styled in masculine fashion. I was obviously a sissified male with large breasts.

My hardware store helper was standing, a tad stunned, waiting for me to take the next step in communication. "I'm here to buy a gas grill." She looked relieved, and took the opportunity to focus on the request, rather than the breasts, although her eyes would always seem to end up on my chest if she looked at me.

"Well, we have several models. Will you be cooking for a lot of people?"

"Yes, we entertain from time to time. We cook a lot of breasts. How much is the red one on the end?"

Her reply was less than immediate, due to my comment about breasts, I'm sure. It was a line Mistress had encouraged me to use. However, she overcame her shock at my deadpan comment and replied, "That one is two seventy nine. It's been a good model for us. We haven't heard of any problems with them yet. Would you like me to get Dan to load it for you?"

"Yes, I think that's the one I will go with," I replied. She yelled at Dan to bring one up to the front while I moved with her to the checkout.

She rang up the sale, I paid, and then we waited in an uncomfortable silence for Dan to bring the grill. I could tell she wanted to ask about my unique endowment, but couldn't quite bring herself to do it.

Dan finally brought the grill up, and stumbled mightily as his eyes drifted over my chest. Once he picked himself back up, he mumbled something about where my car was and I told him. I said goodbye to the still-confused sales lady and led Dan to the car. I opened the hatch and he struggled to place the box inside. It became caught on the lip of the hatchback, so I moved behind him to help pull the corner of the box past. As I did, my large breasts brushed his back and he jumped. Already nervous about just what or who I was, I'm sure it was a traumatic experience and his expression was priceless as he turned around.

"Sorry, these get in the way sometimes," I said, holding them up from underneath, one in each hand. He didn't say a word and walked back into the store, shaking his head.

Upon returning home with the grill, Mistress asked the usual question: "Sissy mission accomplished?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said, and related the story to her.

"Good sissy. Now put on your pink satin toolbelt and put that grill together. The girls are coming over in a few hours and you're the entertainment. You get to be a one- sissy wet T-shirt contest."

Mistress never leaves a mission uncomplicated.

Later that evening, I writhed in humiliation as my wife and her two best friends turned the hose on me as my breasts flopped around, showing through my white t-shirt. All I could do is circle the clothesline pole in a bizarre imitation of a maypole dance, since my arms were tied behind me around the pole. As a reward for putting up with a higher-than-average level of humiliation, however, each woman removed her panties and used them to rub me dry; a sensual experience that I thought would end the evening.

Then I saw the proverbial glint in Mistress's eye. With her crooked, cruel little grin, which I cannot resist, she said, "Missy looks thirsty. Let's give her a drink."

Holding my chin in her strong fingers, she tipped my head back and wrung out her panties into my mouth. As she held my head, her friends joined in, giggling.

Sissy mission accomplished? At least for the evening.

"You know, a beer garden with a serving wench might be fun for Superbowl Sunday," piped up one of the gals.

"Good idea," said Mistress. I fell on the ground with the last pair of panties stuffed in my mouth, mumbling incoherently. "I think Missy likes it, too."