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 !

Prissy Chrissy

Pink Christmas

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"Wakey, wakey, Neal, baby," my stepmother's honey dipped voice summoned me from dreamland, "It's time to get up and about on your big, big day."

"Go 'way, Monica, 'm sleepy," I grumbled in reply.

"No whining now, sleepyhead," Monica cheerfully countered, grabbing the coverings I had been attempting to pull over my head and yanking them down.

"Okay, okay, I'll be down in a few minutes," I said, giving in to the inevitable. I feebly sat up and opened my eyes.

Just in time for Monica to draw back the curtains and flood the room with morning sunlight, painfully blinding me. "Right this second, grumpy gus," Monica chirped, ignoring my whimpers of pain. "It's Christmas morning and the whole family is just waiting for you." Taking firm hold of my hand she pulled me stumbling out of the room.

Naturally, I hated being led about like a child. Unsucessfully, I tried to pull free from her grip. "I'm not a little boy!" I complained, {For what must have been the millionth time!} unable to keep a whining tone from entering my voice. I was in fact twenty-two years old, the same as Monica, and fought a constant battle to get her to treat me accordingly.

"Oh, sweetheart," Monica soothed in exactly the tone used for cranky toddlers. "I'm not treating you like a little BOY."

Despite her reassuring tone, something about what she said set off little alarm bells in my mind, and she still did not release my hand. Quite the opposite in fact. As we neared the stairs she pulled me closer and protectively wrapped her arm around my waist. "Watch your step, baby. Down we go." 'Great,' I thought, 'Complain about being treated like a kid and she starts treating me like a toddler.'

"I'm not a BABY! And I can do it myself!" I whined. Realizing even as I spoke that I had managed to sound just like a petulant three year old.

"Of course you can, sweetheart," Monica crooned in Motherly tones that I am sure would have pacified any tot. "But your not fully awake yet and you don't want to have an accident on Christmas Morning, do you?"

Sighing in frustration, I shook my head in reply. There was no use in fighting. Monica, of good heart but simple mind, took her role as "Mother" much too seriously. I supposed she had a point, anyhow. My vision was still more than a little blurry and I could easily have stumbled without her strong, yet gentle, guidance.

"There, that's settled then," Monica happily purred. "Oh, honey, I know we haven't always seen eye to eye in the months since you've returned home. I really only recently began to understand your needs. But I promise that from now on I'll be the Mommy of your dreams. And no-one is going to treat you like a little BOY ever again."

There it was again! She was definately putting an odd stress on the word "boy" Maybe if I had been more awake that would have alarmed me more than it did, but I only dismissed that and the strange speech as more of Monica's "Mommy" syndrome. I actually almost giggled at the promise of never being regarded as a child again. That really would be a Christmas miracle! Standing at barely five foot three in platform shoes, and with a baby face, to boot, I could easily get into movies for half price. Monica was by no means even the worst in the family about acting like I was a little boy instead of a man. My fourteen year old sister, Jennifer, was worse. Monica's younger sister, Erica, was absolutely horrible.

Needless to say, I was not thrilled when Erica's mocking voice greeted our arrival in the living room. "Oh, how cute!" she squealed, "I just love your darling pee-jays, Nelly-kins."

This was followed by a chorus of laughter. I stood there, open mouthed and blinking to clear my vision, trying to figure out what in the world was so funny. "Nelly" had been a nickname the kids at school stuck me with way back in first grade, and Erica had added the diminutive suffix months ago. She had never before used it within Monica's hearing, but it was not too much of a shock and should not have led to such widespread mirth.

My eyes finally focused and I took in my audience -- And could not stop a whimper from escaping my suddenly trembling lips! Father was there, and Jennifer and Erica, of course, and Monica and Erica's Mother, Jessica {But she insisted on being called Nana, making clear where Monica got her maternal instincts} and they were all laughing, -- At me! -- but that was not what had brought me to verge of the tears.

The cause of my distress was the man sitting next to Erica. I had not seen him in years, but even if I did not recognize his face I could never forget his laugh. God knows I had heard it enough. More than enough! None other than Mick Donnoly, the bane of my existence, number one on my list of characters from childhood I never wanted to see again, the bone-headed, ham-fisted farmboy who pinned the hated nickname of "Nelly" on me in the first place, had returned to torment me.

I was fully awake, now, and Erica's taunt suddenly made ghastly sense. With a heavy heart, I looked down at myself, desperately praying that my rapidly returning memory of the previous night was only a bad dream. Unfortunately, I rememberd correctly, and it was my life that had suddenly become a nightmare.

I was wearing my sister's pink, one-piece footsies.