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 !

Kelly Ann Rogers

The Boy Nanny

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Over the following couple of weeks, I started to regain my strength, and began the first phase of my training. Because I was a little girl, and all little girls had dollies, I got a Barbie. I was required to carry her at all times and she became my constant companion.

"You want to be an actor," Sheila mocked. "Here's your chance to demonstrate some of your skills. You're a baby, act like one." So, I waddled around with a stiff legged gait and talked with a cute little lithsp. I wasn't allowed to use big words; those were for grownups. Worst of all, I had to talk to my dolly. I was to keep up a constant stream of babyish patter so she wouldn't get bored or lonely. After a while, talking all the time like a little girl, I found it hard not to think like one as well.

That actually turned out to be a good thing. I discovered that if I did what they wanted, they praised me and treated me like a cute baby. If not, I was punished. I couldn't believe how sensitive I was to punishment. My moods were remarkably fragile, I cried easily, and before too long, even an angry glance from Mrs. Spinner, Sheila's housekeeper and my trainer, would demoralize me. And she seemed to be angry with me all the time.

In truth, Mrs. Spinner could barely contain her contempt for what I had done and what I had become. Who could blame her? I was a rapist who now slept in cotton baby dolls, spent his days in little jumpers, or rompers, and always wore a diaper and ruffled rubber panties. The least show of resistance from me was met with punishment from her. She would whip the backs of my thighs with a small leather crop for the slightest indiscretion and just loved to pull me from one task to the next by the chain running from my nose ring. If she lost patience with me, she would just tether my chain to a hook on a closet door so that I had to stand perfectly straight with my head tilted as high up as it would go to keep the ring from pulling. It was even worse, when she would attach the chain to my baby booties, so I had to bend over with my ass up in the air. She would whip me and leave me there, with a silver hand mirror on the floor in front of my face.

"Good for your disposition," she grunted.

Since I spent so much of that time crying, I'm not sure how she wanted my disposition to turn out. It didn't matter; I was a wreck from the hormones and the stress, I was constantly working to play my role so I wouldn't be whipped by Mrs. Spinner, and I was scared to death of Sheila. Whenever anyone else was around, most often one of Sheila's girlfriends, but an occasional male friend as well, I was tormented and humiliated. As exhausted as I was by all of this, I wasn't even sleeping well.

I wasn't allowed to use the bathroom and was forced to go in my diaper. Tommy took care of changing me, and was always very tender about it. He was especially caring rubbing cream on the welts on my legs, and he almost always managed to give me an erection by playing with my penis. But they were never allowed to last long and always ended with that cold spray and my chastity device being put back on.

I didn't know it at the time, but Tommy and Mrs. Spinner were playing good cop _ bad cop. She was the hard case and was constantly degrading and punishing me. He would comfort and care for me. I became more and more dependent on him for emotional nurturing. Although I didn't realize it, he was treating me as if I was his little girl.

Mrs. Spinner also taught me to set my hair, and introduced me to girly makeup, nail polish, and perfume. Being a baby, my skin had to be baby soft and smooth, and my regimen of hair removal, skin care, hair care, and so forth took hours each day. During the rest of the day, I would help with the apartment. With two of us working at it, every room was always immaculate. And Mrs. Spinner occupied my free time by tying the chain from my nose to the vanity and having me change my hairstyle or make up. I curled and braided, wove ribbons and clipped barrettes. I played with eye shadow and blush and lipstick. I already had some skill from years of using stage makeup, but now I was to develop the ability to make myself look like a girl. I was always perfectly groomed. Still, I looked perfectly ridiculous.

After about a month, I had apparently learned all I needed to as a baby, so one evening, Sheila announced that it was time for my transition to puberty (lucky me, I got to skip the rest of my preteen years). To celebrate, there would be a big party.

"Whittle girls whove big parties, don't they?" Mrs. Spinner taunted as I sat before her on the floor of my bedroom with my feet straight out in front of me like a baby. They really liked to have me sit like that and play with my Barbie when their friends were visiting. It never failed to humiliate me.

"Don't you just adore the nice new party dress Aunt Sheila bought you?" I was encased in a pink satin party dress with sheer puffed sleeves that ended in the middle of my now skinny upper arms. There was a lace placket across the bodice and two rows of lace at the hem. A waist band of organza roses trailed pink ribbons down to the hem on each side, and, like any toddler's party dress, it barely reached mid thigh. This gave periodic glimpses of the ruffled pink panties that covered my diaper. I had little white lace anklets on my soft smooth legs, and white Maryjanes on my feet. Mrs. Spinner had directed me as I set my hair in small curlers, which I wore for a whole day. When they were removed, I had corkscrew curls everywhere. They were pulled back from my face on one side with a rhinestone studded comb. My face glowed with soft makeup and the constant blush of shame that burned my cheeks.

I had been living in a very protected environment for a couple of months now, and I was used to being dressed as a baby in front of Sheila, Mrs. Spinner, and Tommy. I actually enjoyed the pampering required to get me ready for this party and had started to revel in the femininity of my outfit. But when Mrs. Spinner led me out to Sheila and Amanda, reality came crashing in around me. They burst out laughing.

"Well, how is my big strong rapist now?" Amanda sneered as she circled me. Come here you little shit. I approached her fearfully, and she rewarded my caution with a resounding slap across my face. "You're pitiful."

I started to cry, but she cut me off, grabbing my chin the way an angry mother does. "Don't you dare ruin your makeup!" I managed to control myself as she stared into my eyes while Sheila snapped a short golden chain through my nose ring, threaded it to the side, and snapped it to one of my earrings, instead my collar. Well, that was slightly less ridiculous than it had been.

Amanda went on, "You're helping Mrs. Spinner serve tonight. Just remember though, you are a waitress, not a waiter. And, you will need one more lesson before the party starts. Mrs. Spinner really wanted to do this herself, but I insisted that I get the privilege. You need to learn how to curtsey."

I started to shrink away, but Amanda slipped her finger under the gold chain and pulled me back by the nose. "Yes, princess, you've got to be on your best behavior for our friends tonight. We don't want them thinking were raising a ragamuffin here do we?"

Actually, curtsying is no big deal. I picked it up in about two tries. I'm a dancer (well, I used to be) remember? Amanda was delighted. She virtually shrieked with glee once I had gotten it just right. Sheila and Mrs. Spinner both rushed in, with Tommy a step behind. I guess they all thought I had attacked Amanda again. Instead, they found me with my head bowed, and in a deep curtsey in front of her. Sheila laughed and Mrs. Spinner snorted as Amanda looked on giggling. Tommy gave me an appreciative wink when none of the others were looking.

"This might work," Amanda said as the doorbell rang. She turned to a mirror to check her lipstick. "Go let our guests in, angel. It's going to be a big night for you." She sounded positively loving as she glanced over her shoulder with her biggest smile. It warmed my heart as I headed for the door.

My mind was still captivated by Amanda's momentary kindness as I opened the door, but as soon as it swung aside, that warm feeling was replaced with cold dread. I wanted desperately to run, or fall through the floor, or jump off the balcony, anything but stay where I was. Standing right in front of me, just looking up was Samantha Marshall, a hot litigator with a large downtown firm. She had spent a few evenings with me and seemed to enjoy my attentive manner and the time I had spent with my face buried in her pussy. At first she was confused by the big baby girl standing in the doorway in a full curtsey, then her eyes widened in shock as she realized who I was, only to crinkle in the corners a moment later as she began to laugh.

"Why hello cutie; what a pretty dress. Did your mommy pick that out for you? Or did you select it yourself? By the way honey, what's your name?"

"She doesn't have a name yet." Sheila came sweeping in to embrace Samantha." We'll fix that later."

'Huh? What does that mean,' I started to think, but then the bell rang again, and again, and before I had a chance to consider just what Sheila had meant, the rest of the guests had arrived and gone through the same combination of confusion, shock, and amusement that Samantha had. Well, this should be a terrific party, everyone's already laughing. I had slept with many of the women, and knew most of others socially. Thankfully, there were no men. That was strange, but I was grateful. Not that it mattered, I was thoroughly humiliated in any case as one by one they entered, I curtsied, and they passed through the foyer laughing.

Soon, I was serving drinks and hor's devours. The women couldn't get enough of me, or pass up an opportunity to pinch, rub, grab, or embarrass me. They teased me incessantly and generally acted like little boys in the school playground. I couldn't count the number of times someone flipped up my skirt or stood behind me to reach around my chest and fondle my growing breasts. I sat on their laps and on the floor at their feet. I served and cleaned up. They dropped things constantly just to see me bend over to pick them up. The first time I tried to bend at the knee, but was roundly chastised, and from then on simply bent at the waist, knees straight, showing off my panties. They engaged me in conversation to force me to talk in my little girl lisp, and once one of them asked about my dolly, I was forced to talk about it with almost all of them. They told me about their dolls too. I never knew that so many little girls had such close relationships with their favorite dolls.

Just before midnight, Sheila stood up and called for attention. "I'm glad you've all had a good time playing with our little girlfriend here." She gestured me over and affectionately put her arm around my shoulder. She smiled down at me in what I almost took as a loving way. I suddenly realized that she was proud of me. Then I saw her expression change as she turned back to the group and realized that she wasn't proud of me, she was proud of what she had done to me.

"It's hard to believe, but this darling little girl was once a nasty rapist, and I know that many of you are still angry about that. So our next activity will be group punishment." She turned and grabbed my arm as I started to withdraw in fear. My first thought was that I had never realized how strong she was. As soon as that thought had popped into my mind, I realized the truth. I was now a weakling. With her other hand she clipped a chain onto my nose ring and pulled me to the center of the room. Amanda was sitting in a straight back chair. Sheila laid me down over Amanda's legs and tied the chain to one of the legs of the chair.

"Girls," Sheila beamed, "it's time for a little payback to little miss rapist here. She pulled down my panties and took off my diaper. My pretty pink ass sat in full view as I started to whimper.

"Amanda, dear, your honor." She gave Amanda my hairbrush, and Amanda wasted no time, raining well placed blows onto my behind. The women erupted in cheers and then started to taunt me.

"Bad girl, you're such a nasty little slut."

"Coward!"

"Wimp."

Bad, Bad Girl. . ."

By the time they were done, I wished I was dead. My ass was on fire and my ego was crushed even further. I felt like the worst, most despised person on the face of the earth. Amanda pushed me onto the floor. I just lay there whimpering, attached to the chair by the chain.

"OK girls, time for our next activity. Our little darling here has never had a name and now that she is about to grow up, she needs one."

"Bambi," someone shouted out.

"Missy!"

"Cissy!"

"Ali!"

"Colleen!"

"Jessica!"

One after another they shouted names, sometimes laughing, sometimes drawing a "That's it!" Or, "That's too nice," as they went along. Some wanted to humiliate me; others just wanted a cute name.

What the heck I thought, none too clearly, I might as well throw in my own two cents, "My mom said that she was going to call me Ashley if I had been born a girl."

This was met with a moment of stunned silence, and then the beginnings of objections.

"He can't name herself," someone shouted, "We get to do that."

"Wait a second," Sheila interrupted, "I think we should grant her mother's wish. After all, she is about to get a daughter!" Everyone laughed.

"And a granddaughter too!" More laughter.

"What?" I shouted, turning just far enough so as not to pull the ring out of my nose.

"Yes, you jerk," hissed Amanda as she swatted at my head with my hairbrush, "I'm pregnant."

Amanda and Sheila explained the whole thing over the next few minutes. Amanda wanted the baby, but she had no intention of taking care of it. She loved her job and her freedom too much. So I was going to be trained to be the nanny. Since it was my baby, I, as the other biological parent (they wouldn't use the word father), should take care of it. I now had about seven months to get ready.

Then they dropped the next bombshell. "He'll breast feed too," proclaimed Sheila; I know just how to manipulate his hormones to make sure he's lactating when the baby is born. Isn't that great ASHLEY?" She turned on me with the most demanding look I had ever seen.

"Y . . Y . . Yes Ma'am," I stuttered, without really understanding what was going on, but knowing what I had to do. The rest of the women again broke out into cheers and hoots.

"So I'm afraid your childhood is over, Ashley dear." Sheila looked down at me, "Tomorrow you become a teenager, and by the fall, you'll have your own baby to care for. Isn't that just what every young girl dreams of, a baby of her own? Of course, you can't be the mommy. Amanda's the mommy. But I'm sure that you'll want to be the best boy nanny ever, won't you?"

I was still lying there sobbing when Tommy came into the room to get me. He led me to my bedroom, undressed me, and gently applied some kind of soothing ointment to my inflamed butt.

"Do you think you still need a diaper, sweetheart?" I wanted desperately to get rid of it, but I was afraid I couldn't control my bowels or bladder. It had been three months since I'd last been allowed to.

"Yes, Tommy, I'm afraid I do." Add another humiliation to my scorecard. I had to agree to be diapered because I couldn't control my own body.

"I'll put it on for you then. But in a couple of days I want to see you in these." He held out a pair of the sweetest jade colored panties. I gave him a weak smile, but was too tired and sore to really care. I feel asleep almost as soon as the light was out.