degradedsissy1:It was a shy and somewhat timid teen, and not particularly athletic. So when most o
degradedsissy1: It was a shy and somewhat timid teen, and not particularly athletic. So when most of the other boys at high school were going out with attractive young girls, in the short skirts, their pantyhose, their high heels and their enticingly painted lips it would look on longingly, wonder what it would be like to kiss such a girl; to taste her lipstick; to smell her perfume; to caress her pantyhose encase legs. One day, when a few of these girls were out doing their cheer-leading duties for the school football team, it snuck into the girls change room. It just wanted to smell the perfume on their clothes and feel the soft texture of their clothes for a moment. It was just an innocent curiosity as it snuck into the dressing cubicle used by one of the girls it so worshipped. But one curiosity led to another. It was such an intense rush, being in there with her soft, sweet smelling, feminine things. Within a very few minutes it had undressed and trying on her sheer, shimmery, tan pantyhose. It brought on such an intense, powerful rush. As it gently stroked its rock-hard manliness through the pantyhose and enjoyed the soft friction, it was overcome by an intense feeling of delightful girlyness, accompanied by powerful feelings of shame and guilt. It eventually found itself completely dressed in her light blue short pleated skirt; her white chiffon blouse; her light blue lace-trimmed panties and matching panties and her white patent high-heel pumps. The risk that it might be caught was high. The nauseous feelings guilt and shame were intense. Yet the arousal at the feelings of girlyness; the tactile sensuosity of the feminine clothes as it gently rubbed one pantyhose encased leg against the other were overwhelming. It felt impelled to take an even greater risk to leave the cubicle and walk to the full length mirror at the end of the dressing room. It was further excited by the feminine mince forced by its high heels as it heard their audible click on its short walk to the mirror, At the mirror it was incredibly aroused at the image in the mirror, as it pulled its panties down slightly and started to stroke its throbbing appendage through the pantyhose. It imagined itself to be her. Yet it was having her in a way her boyfriend could never. It was having her and being her, all at once. It felt all the sensations she would feel, dressed in those clothes. But there were still those powerful feelings of shame and guilt. But this was now completely beyond its contro. Had it been walked in on at this point, it was no so committed it could not have brought itself to stop Eventually, it exploded into the pantyhose, experiencing a climax such as it had never experienced before. Suddenly it was all over. The shame and the guilt were there, but the arousal had been spent. Without the arousal, the shame and guilt came to the form as a nauseous feeling of self-loathing replaced the euphoric climax. In the mirror, it no longer saw the sexy, attractive girl, it imagined itself to be, and to be having sex with. Suddenly it saw itself as anyone else would - a sixteen year old boy, dressed in a girl’s clothes. Suddenly it looked and felt humiliatingly ridiculous as he viewed the emasculated image in the mirror and imagined what the other fellow students would think if they walked in now. Words “sissy”, “pansy”, and “faggot” started to swim through his thoughts. It wasn’t going to ever do this again. It rushed back to the cubicle as quickly as he could so as to discard the girls clothes and put them back on the peg - except for the pantyhose. The risk of leaving them there with all his fluids in then was greater than taking them with it Soon, but only just before the girls returned ton their change cubicles, was back in its boy clothes. The shame and guilt lingered but it told itself that as it had now relieved itself of the curiosity it was now satisfied that it was a ‘normal’, red-blooded male….. …..until the next morning when it discovered the girl’s stained pantyhose in its pocket and felt, once again to try them on. It washed them and allowed them to dry before sliding them up its legs. The arpysal was back. But it had no time before going to school, so slipped its boy jeans over the top, followed by the rest of its boy clothes before heading to school. Sitting in class observing the cheerleader, in a fresh, identical pair of pantyhose, whilst he wore those she had worn yesterday was a deeply intimate experience. Once again it was imagining itself to be her. Vicariously feeling every sensation through her pantyhose,. Although it would delude itself for years, this little nancy-boy was already locked into an inescapable future as a mincing, limp wristed, emasculated, effeminate faggot. Today it lives…no, it exists….as a ridiculously effeminate object of ridicule. It no longer has any make clothes. It lives it’s every moment in pantyhose or stockings; in lacy panties and bras; in stiletto heeled shoes and boots; in the most absurdly effeminate sissy dresses imaginable. Its days are spent performing menial domestic duties for its dominant other, and being used as his sexual relief as required. When not so required, it is stored shackled in a cage, in the cellar. Its heavy stainless steel collar has permanently embraced its neck for many years. It can hardly remember what it felt like to not be wearing it. It is frequently attached to a leash, by which it is the led about like a pet animal, or reigned in when it is being used sexually. It is an object of scorn and ridicule for those who know it, and those who used to know it, and a source of deep shame for its family, who have tried to virtually exorcise its existence from their memories. It is neither than man it once aspired to be, nor the woman it once fantasized itself to be. It exists in a kind of sexual black hole between male and female, but not fully either. The euphoric climaxes of those earlier years are but a distant memory. The relics of its earlier delusions of masculinity are locked in secure and inescapable steel chastity. The only climaxes it experiences are vicarious, via those it hosts in its mouth or in its loins, for its superior other, and those to whom he affords its use. It is not a participant in these acts. It is a prop. It does not have sex, but rather it merely serves as a piece of meat in which its dominant other, and other men, relieve themselves. Its life is one of eternal shame; of ridicule and savor by others; of weak surrender and malleability; of total emasculation; of self loathing. Yet, as it feels the soft friction of its pantyhose, and the feminine feel of its clothes, and admires the prissy girly image it sees in the mirror, knowing that it is totally impotent and incapable of bringing itself to a climax that will relieve it of these feelings and urges, it realises that the shame and humiliation have become an essential part of its experience and a source of arousal in themselves. There is no going back. Perhaps there never was. The future it had imagined for itself - a well paid career, a trophy wife, kids social status - gone! It took it many years to accept the reality of its demise,but it now looks back at that first time and wonders if it was ever going to be anything else. -- source link
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