“This should be the most exciting night of your life,” Mistress
Jennifer told me. “We’ll be celebrating Sissy Dani’s first ‘birthday.'”
It was true. A full year had gone by since Jennifer had first used her
secret hypnotic designs to implant within my mind the personality of Sissy
Dani, a simpering, submissive male lesbian who craved being both beautiful
and bound. In that year, she had also aided many of her dominant female
friends to successfully transform the men in their lives into submissive
feminized slaves as well. Many of them would be at the party tonight.
“Let’s get you into your birthday dress,” Jennifer said, holding out the
“Can’t that wait?” I asked petulantly. I had noted over the last several
months that even as Daniel I was becoming increasingly girlish–my voice
was higher, softer; my gestures and walk more feminine. This “persona
seepage,” as I had come to think of it, had seemingly begun the evening
Jennifer imposed a second set of posthypnotic commands upon me. I was now
compelled to wear feminine undergarments and a light coating of makeup at
all times, whether dressed and acting as Daniel or Dani. I was now
reluctant to wear female clothing when the Daniel persona was in charge–
for fear the “seepage” would increase.
Jennifer, of course, had the solution to my reluctance. “Don’t you want
to be PRETTY, SISSY DANI?” Those were the code words, the special message
that would activate in full the feminine psyche hidden within my own. As
usual, the switch was instantaneous.
Unable to resist (though within, I knew how humiliating the entire
scenario was), I dropped my gaze and held out my arms, wrists touching.
“Transform me, Mistress,” I pleaded. “Bind me into your service as sissy
Jennifer ordered me to remove my male outer clothes and the black lace
undies I was also wearing. She strapped me into a plain white strapless
padded bra and then added white panties. No garter belt this time–the
sheer white stockings she gave me to put on my hairless legs were designed
to stay up by themselves. When she handed me the dress Sissy Dani was to
wear to the party I understood why my lingerie was so simple.
The dress was elegant, sexy, and tight as tight could be. Its shirred
white fabric clung to everyone of Sissy Dani’s curves. It was low-cut and
strapless, the bodice fitting like a bustier. The hem was among the
shortest Sissy Dani had ever worn–nearly eight inches above the knee. A
built-in starched petticoat made the skirt stand out, seemingly revealing
even more of the legs than usual.
Now came the shoes–the barest of bare white sandals with seven-inch
heels. Fortunately, in preparation for the party, Jennifer had made me (as
both Daniel and Dani) practice walking in even higher eight-inch heels for
the past month. In comparison, these were like flats. I looked down at my
feet, and the Sissy Dani persona was enchanted by the sight of my red-
painted toenails winking through the thin straps of the sandals. It was an
extremely sexy sight.
Fully dressed for the party (or so I thought at the time), I was seated
at my vanity for a make-up job. In keeping with the sexy yet virginal white
of my outfit, Mistress Jennifer emphasized the little-girl look of my face
without neglecting the need to make me the sexual center of attention she
wanted me to be that evening. The final effect–with ultra-long lashes,
carefully shaded pale colors in the eyeshadow, a deep coral lipstick, and
my usual embarrassed blush–left the impression of a Monroe-like sexpot
trying to masquerade as a pre-teenager. Jennifer was certain I would be a
My usual bondage jewelry was also added–locked collar, bracelets, ankle
She faced me toward the mirror and snapped her fingers. Instantly, my
male persona reasserted itself. I gazed at my reflection–and the hypnotic
effect of Jennifer’s commands combined with the “persona seepage” left me
with a raging hard-on. Jennifer recognized the look of longing on my face.
“Concentrate on other things, Danielle,” she cooed. “For example, I have
a big birthday surprise waiting for you at the party this evening.” She
grinned evilly–and I shuddered, half in fear, half in anticipation.
“Time to go,” she told me, producing my “outerwear,” such as it was.
First came a pair of opera-length white satin gloves, exceedingly tight and
fetishistic. So tight, in fact, that I could scarcely move my elbows or
fingers once they were on. She forced my arms behind my back and
demonstrated the gloves’ other secret: The two halves of a nylon zipper ran
up the inner side of each glove. Forcing my arms close together, she closed
the zipper, imprisoning my arms as if they were bound in a single glove.
Over this elegant bondage she placed a white satin cape that fell to my
waist, mostly hiding my imprisoned arms–but leaving just enough showing to
make it interesting should anyone notice my awkward condition. “Now you
just stand here like that and get used to it,” Jennifer advised, “while I
get into my own party outfit.”
Moments later, she reappeared. Involuntarily I gasped–she was
beautiful. Her dress was a classic evening gown–halter-collared,
barebacked, clinging in all the right places, with a slit up the side to
reveal her gorgeous legs–but made entirely of red kid leather. Her
stockings were also red, and her shoes were of matching leather in a six-
inch heeled pump.
Jennifer clipped a gold chain leash to my collar and tugged lightly.
“Let’s go, Dani–your public awaits.”
The party was held at Mistress Susan’s home. Mistress Susan was the
sister of Teasing Tammy (nee Tommy), and was the instigator of his
transformation into that alluring teenager whose purpose was to gain new
“recruits” to the growing legion of feminized submissives. Among the guests
at this birthday party for my own imposed female persona were Tammy, Little
Miss Mandy and “her” mother Carla, and Busty Barbie and “her” wife-
mistress, Maria. Each of the three had, I was told, prepared an
entertainment for the celebration.
When everyone had arrived, the festivities began. First into the
spotlight was Tammy. Susan had outfitted her little “sister” in a dressy
version of her usual teen-age sexpot attire. The buxom little redhead wore
a pink sequined mini-dress with a diagonal-cut hem: It started at knee-
length on her left side and rose to stocking-tops (revealing a hint of
garter) on the left. Along the outside of the left leg her specially made
pink stockings had an inscription, running from the thigh to the ankle:
“Cockteaser.” She also wore six-inch pink pumps.
Like me, Tammy was only a part-time submissive. Susan brought her out
for special occasions like these or for missions to lure in prospective
feminization victims. Also like me, Tammy’s other self, Tommy, was acutely
aware of everything he was forced to undergo when in the thrall of the
Teasing Tammy persona–so I understood the humiliation he would feel after
the party when Susan released him from her control.
Tammy’s act consisted of her playing up sexually to one of the un-
feminized male submissives at he party, while singing–in a Betty Boop-ish
voice–“I Want to Be Loved By You.” Her instructions were to turn the man
on as much as possible–both for her own humiliation as his, since he would
be forbidden to relieve his frustration by his own mistress.
The act was a rousing success. The party-goers loved it–and the poor
submissive ended up with a raging erection; but tied to a chair as he was,
he could only long for release–in more ways than one.
Completing her number, Tammy curtsied and retreated to Susan’s side,
where she was immediately returned to her own bondage–silver handcuffs
behind the back and leg restraints–and then Susan played a little trick of
her own: Snapping her fingers, she returned Tammy to Tommy. As the
realization of what he had just done hit him, Tommy turned bright red and
would have run from the room had Susan not restrained him.
Next on the makeshift stage was Little Miss Mandy. Unlike most of the
other feminized slaves in our circle, Mandy had not been transformed
through hypnosis but through rigorous training by his mother Carla instead.
She had turned down the mesmerizing route, thinking it would be more fun
(and more embarrassing to the former Martin) if the 14-year-old boy were
constantly aware of his increasing feminized appearance and personality.
Normally, Carla kept Mandy dressed in sissy-boy attire (velvet or satin
shorts, satin skirts, big bows, etc.) rather than full female regalia, but
tonight she had gone all out. Mandy gave the appearance of an oversized
eight-year-old girl in a pale blue party dress with lace and ruffles all
over it, little puffed sleeves, opaque white stockings, and white patent-
leather Mary Janes with three-inch heels. The effect was emphasized by a
little organdy apron tied over his skirt, with a big bow showing at the
Still there remained a touch of the androgynous to his appearance, since
Carla had chosen to forego a wig for the cross-dressed boy, simply curling
his short black hair tightly and affixing a large pale blue ribbon to the
left side. His face was lightly touched with cosmetics, just enough to
soften his features. Many of the other “little-girl” submissives at the
party were clearly jealous of his femininity.
For her performance, Mandy sang the classic “I’m a Little Teapot,”
replete with the appropriate gestures. When completed, she curtsied, then
(as ordered) stuck her thumb in her mouth in little-girl fashion. The
audience ate it up.
Last up was Busty Barbie. Once known as Bob, he was the only adult in
our group of fem-slaves who lived full-time as a woman. How could he do
otherwise? His wife, Maria, perturbed by his obsession with big-breasted
women, had used a combination of hypnosis, special drugs and breast
implants to turn him into a heart-stopping version of what he loved most.
Barbie was now a lust-inducing buxom brunette, her boobs expanded to a
38D. The hypnotic commands that created the Barbie personality had several
interesting twists: the more often she saw herself with big breasts, the
bigger she wanted her boobs to get (although Maria had recently “turned
off” that command–she didn’t want Barbie to get gross); Bob, when released
from the Barbie persona, was compelled to gaze upon the vision of Barbie he
had become–and come in his panties; finally, Bob had constant awareness of
all that happened to Barbie–and Maria frequently ordered him to report on
his reactions to it. He had told me it was a greatly humiliating
And that was to be his “act” this evening. Barbie wiggled and jiggled
her way into the performance area. She wore a see-through red black blouse,
through which her large tits, carefully powdered and rouged, showed
provocatively. Her skirt was a tight black leather mini, considerably
hampering her ability to walk freely, especially in the six-inch heeled
pumps she also wore. Her dark hair hung below her shoulders in a Farah-like
wave, framing a skillfully made-up face with bee-stung red lips.
“I have been–requested,” she began, “to describe my activities and my
feelings as I prepared for this evening’s gathering.
“As usual when appearing in public, I began with a long bubble-bath. As
I stripped naked, I found my hands again straying to my breasts, tweaking
the nipples, heaving the heavy globes together. My mind struggled to
prevent my body from teasing myself so, but without effect. My Mistress’
hypnotic commands are too strong. After successfully causing my cock to
harden, I stepped into the bath.
“An hour later,” she continued, “powdered and dried from the bath, I
began dressing for the party. I started with my black satin panties, garter
belt and black sheer stockings. The I stepped–struggled, really–into the
exquisite tightness of my leather skirt. My body thrilled at the feel of it
across my hips and thighs; my mind tried to push those feelings away, again
without success. Finally I slipped on my six-inch pumps.
“Then I sat at my vanity to begin my makeup. I accented my eyes with
long false eyelashes, and deep green shadow, and carefully touched up my
plucked and arched eyebrows. next came a rose blush, followed by a coat of
glistening red lipstick. I freshened my nail polish with the same red
“Now, came the part my body loved and my mind most detested. I could
feel my arms and hands shake as my conscious struggled with my unconscious.
But, as always, the unconscious won–my hands picked up the powder and
lipstick again, accenting the white of giant boobs and the red of the
nipples. Looking at my luscious tits in the mirror, I felt my cock begin to
“Now came the finishing touch–the blouse that would both hide and
reveal my breasts to the world. Once it was in place, Mistress Maria
entered my room and snapped her fingers. Barbie was gone–Bob in her place
within my mind. I stared at the reflection in the mirror and–as it had
every day for the past several months–my cock shot its load into my
panties at the sight of my transformed self.”
The entertainment complete, Mistress Jennifer announced it was time for
my surprise. Suddenly, from behind, I felt a pair of hands thrust a ball-
gag into my mouth, tying it tightly. Next I felt the zipper on my dress
being pulled down. Shortly, the dress fell in a bundle to my feet. Now,
Mistress Jennifer reached behind me and undid the hooks on my bra. It, too,
fell to the floor.
I stood there, half-naked in my sheer white hose and high white sandals,
unable to move because of the way my arms were bound by the satin gloves,
unable to protest because of the way my mouth was gagged. Jennifer smiled–
the smile I knew meant additional humiliation for me. “You look
“MDUL”so”MDNM” Pretty, Sissy Dani.”
Instantly. I no longer cared how I looked. I actually longed for the
humiliation I was receiving. Such was the effect of the Sissy Dani persona
upon me. Now, Jennifer produced a syringe from her bag. “This, Sissy Dani,
is the same drug which produced such wonderful results in Busty Barbie.”
She stuck the needle under each of my breasts, as my eyes gaped.
“Oh no, Dani,” she responded to my unasked question, “we’re not going to
make you as buxom as Barbie. Just enough to give you cute little boobs for
the rest of your life.
“After all,” Jennifer continued, “you’re going to need them. From this
point forward, the sound of snapping fingers will no longer return Daniel
to control of your mind.’ She demonstrated. Indeed, the switch in personas
I expected did not occur. But did that mean–
“Yes, Dani, this is the end of your double life,” she went on, as I felt
and watched my tits begin to grow. “From now on, you’re Pretty Sissy Dani