Becoming the Fetish Sissy She Always Dreamed Of
David had always lived with a secret desire tucked deep beneath the buttoned-up shirts and sensible shoes. Even as a teenager, he’d found himself strangely aroused by lacy panties, not just wearing them, but the idea of what they meant. Weakness, femininity, submission—the whole concept of being a “sissy” made his heart race and his cock twitch, but also filled him with confusion and shame.
He wasn’t just turned on by lingerie or smooth legs. He fetishized sissification itself—the humiliation, the helplessness, the identity. It wasn’t enough to cross-dress in private or jerk off in a pair of panties. He wanted to become the fetish: a plaything, a doll, a cumslut with no real masculinity left. A true fetish sissy.
At first, he thought he could get it out of his system. He ordered a pair of satin panties online, then a bra, then a pink garter belt with matching fishnets. His hands trembled as he dressed in secret. He felt like a fraud and yet—when he looked in the mirror and whispered “you’re just a little sissy,” something inside him clicked. His dick dripped with precum before he even touched it.
It wasn’t long before David adopted a new name for his sissy self: Dani.
Dani’s descent—or rather, her ascension—into full-time sissydom accelerated fast. She discovered online forums for submissive sissies, and even more exciting, fetish sissies like herself. They didn’t just wear panties; they embraced being turned on by the concept of being degraded, feminized, and used. The idea of being bent over, dolled up in frills and makeup, fucked senseless by a dominant man—or woman—was everything.
Through a site called FemmeVice, Dani met Mistress Bella—a lifestyle Domme with a cruel smile and a closet full of toys. Bella didn’t just accept Dani’s fetish identity—she celebrated it.
“You’re not just a sissy, Dani,” she purred during their first meet-up, tightening the leash clipped to Dani’s frilly pink collar. “You’re a fetish sissy slut. You don’t want to be a woman—you want to be used like one, like the silly little sex puppet you are.”
Dani melted under the weight of those words. Her cock was caged, her makeup perfect, her hole lubed and gaping for Mistress’s favorite strap-on. And in that moment, she realized this was no longer play—it was who she was.
From then on, Dani lived for sissy nights. She’d strut into clubs in lace-up corsets and glittery heels, her padded hips swaying, her little cock useless and locked. Men and women alike would grope her, grab her by the throat, whisper in her ear: “God, you’re such a little fucktoy.” She loved it.
Dani became known in the scene—not just as a submissive—but as a fetish icon. She leaned into the look: exaggerated lashes, fake tits, plumped lips, and a collection of pastel miniskirts and transparent sissy panties. She did sissy cam shows, hosted training parties, and even started guiding other closeted men through their own fetish journeys.
“I used to be scared of who I was,” she told one new sub on her knees in her dressing room. “Now I worship who I’ve become. I am your fantasy come to life—your sissy fetish dream girl—and it turns me on that I fetishize myself more than anyone else ever could.”
And with that, Dani bent her over the makeup table, applied a fresh coat of pink lipstick to her own lips, and prepared to give her audience another unforgettable night in the life of a true fetish sissy.
Becoming the Fetish Sissy She Always Dreamed Of — Part 2: Owned and Obedient
Dani’s reflection had changed.
Where David once saw a hesitant man in the mirror, now Dani stared back: lips painted a glistening cherry pink, eyeliner winged to perfection, her cheeks dusted in blush that made her look freshly fucked. She wore a sheer baby pink mesh bodysuit that clung to every feminized curve—complete with hip pads, a soft belly corset, and her locked chastity cage barely concealed by a flouncy tutu. But none of that compared to the one thing that made her moan with pride every time she saw it.
The collar. Her Mistress’s collar. With the little silver tag that read “Sissy Property.”
Mistress Bella had claimed Dani during a public scene at one of the elite fetish parties in the city. Dani, strapped spread-eagle to a St. Andrew’s cross in pink leather cuffs, had begged and whimpered as Mistress edged her over and over—vibrating the chastity cage, tugging her plug, and mocking her with whispered taunts.
“Tell them what you are, sissy,” Bella demanded, her voice dripping with authority.
“I’m your fetish sissy slut, Mistress! I live to be humiliated and used. I’m not a real woman—I’m just your little hole. I only exist to please.”
The crowd watching had roared with delight, but Dani didn’t hear them. She was floating, delirious, desperate—and then, at the peak of her humiliation, Mistress presented the collar and locked it around Dani’s slender neck. The final piece of her identity clicked into place with that lock.
Now she was owned. Now she was complete.
Mistress trained Dani daily—emotionally, physically, sexually. Dani learned to walk in stilettos for hours without stumbling, to deepthroat on command, to hold her plug all day without complaint. Her diet changed. She was kept in chastity 24/7. She learned to orgasm hands-free, sometimes from nothing but her own degradation.
Some nights, she was taken out to Mistress’s favorite fetish lounge. Mistress would parade her in the most scandalous outfits: micro pink skirts with nothing underneath, fishnet body stockings with hearts over the nipples, high heels and painted toenails peeking out from stripper platforms. Dani loved the eyes on her—the stares, the smirks, the outright erections bulging in men’s pants as they realized what she was.
She was a fetish. A doll. A hole. A walking, breathing sissy wet dream.
One night, Mistress had her crawl on all fours through a dungeon’s back corridor, her leash held high, her ass swaying with each humbling step. “You’re not even human anymore,” Bella whispered. “You’re a fetish object. A thing.”
That night, Dani was blindfolded, gagged with a pink ball, and mounted from behind by Mistress with her largest strap-on while three strangers fondled her, whispered in her ear, tugged her plug in rhythm. She was a trembling, dripping mess by the time it was over—and she thanked each one of them for using her like the fetish sissy she was.
Back home, Mistress began recording new content for Dani’s growing fanbase. Her channel, “SissyDollDani,” had exploded in popularity. Her viewers didn’t just want to watch her dress up—they wanted to watch her be broken. Sissy training videos, deepthroat challenges, plug stretching, verbal humiliation, even scenes where Dani would cry from sheer arousal as she was told how useless her caged little dick was.
She’d be made to chant:
“I am not a man. I am not a woman. I am a fetish. I am a cum dump. I am a toy. I am a sissy.”
And then she’d shudder and leak in her cage, her hole twitching, lips smeared with spit and lip gloss. It was better than orgasm—it was identity.
One night, after a particularly long session where she was spit-roasted between Mistress and another Domme friend, Dani lay curled at her Mistress’s feet, face still dripping with mess and mascara.
“Did you ever think you’d come this far, slut?” Bella asked, stroking her collar.
Dani smiled, eyes glassy with tears and euphoria. “I used to dream about it. Now I live it.”
And with that, she licked her Mistress’s heels, savoring every second of the life she used to fear, and now worshipped.