Secrets in Satin — Our Sissy Love Story
I always knew my husband had secrets. Little things: the way his eyes lingered on lace lingerie in catalogs, how he blushed when I teased him about soft fabrics or painted toenails. He was sweet, gentle, and always so eager to please. I loved him deeply, but something always hovered just below the surface—something he kept tucked away like a forbidden desire.
Then one rainy afternoon, I found it.
A locked drawer in his closet had been left slightly open. I wasn’t snooping—just looking for an umbrella. But there it was: silk panties, garter belts, padded bras, a chastity cage, a delicate pink collar with a heart-shaped lock, and a handwritten journal titled My Secret Sissy Life.
My breath caught.
Part of me wanted to feel angry. Betrayed. I was his wife, his partner—how could he keep something so intimate hidden from me?
But instead, I sat on the bed with his journal in my lap, heart racing as I turned the pages. It was raw, vulnerable, and beautiful. He wrote about how long he had felt this way. How badly he wished he could be a soft, obedient sissy. He wrote about shame, guilt, and his secret fantasies—being dressed, trained, loved… and owned.
By me.
That night, I didn’t say anything right away. I waited until he came to bed. Then I rolled over, looked him in the eyes, and said softly, “Baby… I found your drawer.”
His face drained of color.
“And I read your journal.”
He started to stammer, to apologize—but I placed a finger to his lips.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped you. I could’ve loved you through this.”
Tears filled his eyes. “I was scared. I thought you’d leave me…”
I kissed him gently. “I’m not leaving. But things are going to change.”
And they did.
The Sissification of My Husband
I didn’t just accept his secret—I embraced it. I became his guide, his trainer, his loving wife… and his firm mistress.
We started with daily rituals: he would wake up, kiss my feet, and ask for permission to wear his pretty panties. He was still shy at first, but with each day I saw more of her emerging—my sweet, submissive sissy girl. I gave her a new name: Lacey.
Her eyes sparkled the first time I said it.
I bought her her first proper sissy outfit—pink satin and white lace, with matching ruffled panties and sheer white stockings. I taught her to walk with grace, to curtsy when I entered the room, to serve tea on her knees with a ribbon in her hair.
But I was not just gentle.
Lacey needed structure, rules, discipline.
So I gave her a locked chastity cage—delicate and pink, like her. Her little clitty became mine to control, a symbol of surrender. She would beg to be allowed out, plead with teary eyes, but I reminded her: good sissies don’t get to decide.
We turned weekends into Sissy Training School. She learned how to apply makeup, how to pose for photos in her frilliest outfits, and how to keep her little secret exposed in ways that made her blush constantly. I had her practice walking around the backyard in heels and an apron while I watched from a lounge chair, giving commands.
She loved it. She thrived.
And I thrived too. I never knew how much pleasure there could be in having a partner who wanted so badly to be molded, shaped, owned. Her submission was intoxicating.
Living Out Loud
Eventually, I decided Lacey shouldn’t have to hide anymore.
We started with a shopping trip. I had her dress in a modest but feminine look: leggings, a cute crop top, light blush, and a long wig. She was shaking as we stepped into the boutique—but I held her hand tight.
“You’re beautiful,” I whispered. “Own it.”
And she did.
The salesgirl complimented her boots. A man in line smiled at her. She blushed the whole time, but by the end of the day, she was walking taller.
We started going out more. She would wear panties and bras under her clothes to the office. On weekends, I’d make her serve drinks at our friend gatherings in a maid’s outfit. A few close girlfriends found out—and loved it. They flirted with her, teased her, even helped pick out her next outfit.
Lacey wasn’t just a fantasy anymore.
She was real. And she was mine.
Our New Life Together
Now, every night, Lacey kneels beside my bed and thanks me for helping her live the truth. She tells me she’s never felt so alive, so loved, so complete. And I tell her she’s my perfect little sissy wife.
Our marriage has never been stronger.
There is no more hiding.
Just satin, lace, love… and a beautiful life we created together.
Secrets in Satin: Part 2 — A Night of Sissy Obedience and Feminine Worship
That night, the air was thick with perfume, candlelight flickering against satin walls as I sat at the edge of our bed in a silk robe, legs crossed, drink in hand.
Lacey stood before me, trembling in her newest outfit—a pastel lavender babydoll nightie, sheer and soft, with frilly lace trimming that barely covered the matching ruffled thong beneath. Her little cage strained against the thin fabric, locked and helpless. She was blushing, eyes downcast, hands nervously folded in front of her, like a schoolgirl awaiting a lesson.
“You’ve been a very good sissy lately,” I said, my voice low and steady. “But tonight, I want to see just how far you’re willing to go to serve your Mistress… and prove you were born to be trained.”
“Yes, Mistress,” she whispered, voice delicate, barely audible.
I snapped my fingers. “On your knees, slut.”
She obeyed instantly, sinking to the floor with elegance, knees spread just enough to let the lace of her thong stretch over her locked clitty. I let my eyes roam over her body—shaved smooth, scented, soft, and completely feminized. I had worked hard to get her here, and she had become something divine.
“Tell me what you are.”
“I’m your obedient sissy, Mistress. Your girl. Your toy. Your property.”
“And what does a toy do?”
“Whatever her Mistress desires.”
I smirked, parting my robe just enough to tease her. Her lips parted, breath hitching.
“Beg.”
She looked up at me, doe-eyed. “Please, Mistress. Please let your toy serve you. I want to be your good little sissy. I want to kiss you, taste you, worship you. Please let me prove how devoted I am.”
“You may begin,” I said, leaning back.
She crawled forward, her lips brushing against my thigh first, then higher, leaving gentle kisses as she murmured soft affirmations. “Thank you, Mistress. Thank you for letting me serve…”
As her mouth met my heat, I threaded my fingers through her hair, holding her in place. “Slower. You’re not a man. You’re a girl now. Use your tongue like one.”
And she did.
Eager, graceful, feminine—Lacey moved with reverence, with obedience, with devotion that made my toes curl. Her tongue worked slowly, swirling and teasing, eyes looking up at me for approval like a proper, well-trained submissive. Her little caged clitty was twitching with need, untouched and denied.
“You don’t get pleasure, baby,” I purred. “Not unless I give it. Tonight is about me. Your only job is to make me moan.”
I rocked against her mouth, letting the waves build. “Don’t stop until I tell you. And when I cum, you’ll thank me like the sissy you are.”
She nodded, mouth never leaving me, her soft whimpers mixing with my rising moans until I finally let go—gripping her head, hips pulsing, Lacey drinking me in with desperate adoration.
Afterward, I pushed her gently back to the floor.
“You pleased me, Lacey,” I whispered, brushing a lock of hair from her flushed cheek. “But pleasure for you… that’s a privilege.”
She whimpered.
“Tomorrow, you’ll wear your butt plug to brunch. In panties and nothing else under your sundress. I want your cage aching and your heart fluttering.”
“Yes, Mistress,” she whispered.
“And if you’re good…” I trailed my fingers over her cage, making her shiver, “maybe I’ll let the girls watch next time.”
Her gasp was priceless.
My little sissy was no longer a secret. She was mine. Body, mind, and soul.
And the world? It was just beginning to see what a proper sissy could truly become.