I knew I wanted to submit to Mistress Blunt, but I wasn’t exactly sure how. She looked so beautiful on her website. I’ve worn panties for years because they feel so pretty, but I didn’t feel that simply crossdressing was enough of a reason to submit. I wrote to Mistress Blunt inquiring and she said that it sounded like I wanted to become her.
This threw me off. Mistress Blunt explained that it was natural for someone like me to seek out a crossdressing mistress, a crossdressing dominatrix. When I am crossdressing, NYC feels more tolerable. My panties are like a little wood sprite on my shoulder cheering my spirits through a tough day in the office. “Lace!” my panties yell out to me. “Pretty, pretty panties!” My panties remind me of myself. Somehow I never combined my desire to submit with crossdressing, but I am glad I did because Mistress Blunt introduced me to sissification and I will never be the same.
I was nervous about becoming Mistress Blunt’s sissy, an idea she introduced me to through our email exchange. I accepted the idea, but I was nervous: what if it was too much? What if I went too far? But my panties seemed to like the idea, so I found my prettiest pair (a beautiful lacy sea-green) and I went to Mistress Blunt’s gorgeous dungeon, curious but not quite knowing what to expect.
Mistress Blunt’s dungeon soothed me. So many wonderful objects, full of plants and a record player playing old Eartha Kitt songs. “Mink Schmink” I remember, and I gave a sheepish grin as it played. In the song, Kitt goes through a list of various feminine pleasures and tosses them around playfully, casually, joyfully. Mink schmink, money schmoney, silk schmilk, satin schmatin. It’s a song I’ve listened to many times.
“You know it?” she asked. I said I did.
“Good, because it’s about me!” We both laughed, and then she stared into my eyes. She put the song on again and told me to striptease for her.
I hadn’t expected it, but Mistress Blunt allowed me to limber up and then I let Eartha carry me. I knew my striptease would not be the one of my dreams. But still, suddenly, thanks to Mistress Blunt, I knew that being a stripper was one of my dreams. The heightened femininity, the crossdressing and undressing, allowing the act of strip to embody the act of sissification. I’m not the best dancer in the world, but I took off each layer—jacket, tie, shirt, pants—with gusto. Afterwards I made sure to fold them very carefully, and then I left loose, posing and flaunting.
Mistress Blunt was delighted with my performance, offering a big laugh and applause. And as quickly as it started, it ended: Mistress ordered me to my knees, so she could apply makeup. But she knew I would get excited as that happened, knew that it would bring-forth my masculinity. So she decided to cage that up and slip a pink, plastic chastity cage over my cock.
My cock suddenly became invisible to my whole sense of being. Caging was crucial for sissification. I then stood still as Mistress applied eyeliner—giving me a lovely cat’s eye—, sparkly green eyeshadow to match my panties, and black lipstick that made me feel fierce. Mistress Blunt is such an amazing crossdressing dominatrix because she knew exactly how to
make me feel pretty, exactly how to help me grow through this process.
I couldn’t believe I had ever wanted to hold back. And once I was all dolled up, Mistress said it was time for the next stage of sissification: begging to suck her cock. She pulled out a strap-on, sat down, and I began pleading on my knees for the right to enter the next stage of sissification, begging for the honor of wrapping my lips around her dildo. Mistress Blunt told me this was a big step, and I really had to earn it. I promised I would do the best, beyond the best… whatever I could do.
She grabbed me by the hair and my mouth opened. Mistress Blunt pushed her cock to the back of my sissy throat and I did the best job I could taking it. I gagged. My eyes watered, making my makeup messy. I did my best to yell “Thank you, Mistress Blunt!” as her cock filled up my mouth,
my world. My instinct was to touch myself, but my cage rendered my penis useless. Mistress Blunt pulled out, attached nipple clamps to my body, and then told me to go again, but more dramatically, so each bob of my head was a strong, sharp tug.
I kept sucking and sucking and sucking until I was overwhelmed. I collapsed on the floor into a ball, crying. I was a sissy. I was Mistress Blunt’s sissy. She let me cry myself out for a while, shaking and vibrating with her power. Mistress Blunt began soothing me, rubbing me cheek a little, and allowing me to rub her feet.
Eventually, she unlocked me, allowed me to kiss her boots, and then I left. Panties aren’t enough now. I need to be fully sissified by Mistress Blunt. To have my head empty and my face pretty and my mouth full of her cock is as free as I’ll ever feel. I can’t wait to go back.