“I Am a Sissy”: The Awakening of Erika
Eric always knew something about him was different. Not just the surface-level stuff—the awkwardness around men, the longing glances at women’s clothing in department stores—but something deep, tender, aching. Even when he was with a woman, there was a quiet voice in the back of his mind whispering, You don’t want to dominate her… you want to be beneath her. You want to be her toy.
He kept those urges locked away for years, like a dirty secret buried under layers of masculinity. Suits. Sports. Stoicism. But late at night, behind closed doors, he’d slip into satin panties, pull a tight camisole over his chest, and gently tuck himself until the bulge disappeared. And when he looked in the mirror, he didn’t see Eric anymore.
He saw Erika.
She was soft, delicate, eager to please. She practiced walking in heels around the house, giggling at her reflection as her hips swayed in the mirror. She started shaving everything—legs, chest, arms—until her body was smooth like silk. She bought a pink silicone chastity cage, locked herself in, and stared into her reflection as she whispered:
“I am a sissy.”
The humiliation. The thrill. The relief of finally giving in to it.
But Erika didn’t become fully real until she met Vanessa.
Vanessa was tall, commanding, effortlessly dominant. From the first message, she had her pegged. “You’re not just curious,” she typed. “You want to surrender. You want to be a good little sissy for someone.”
They met in person one week later. Erika showed up wearing women’s jeans, subtle mascara, and lacy pink panties under her hoodie. She was trembling. She expected judgment. Laughter. But Vanessa only smirked and took her chin between her fingers.
“I want you to say it,” Vanessa said, voice like velvet.
Erika hesitated, her face flushing. But something inside her cracked wide open. The walls crumbled. Her throat tightened.
“I… I am a sissy.”
Vanessa leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “Say it again, but mean it.”
“I am… a sissy. Your sissy. Your little doll.”
Vanessa’s hand slid down Erika’s thigh, inching toward her caged bulge. She grinned.
“Good girl.”
That night, Erika was stripped bare—emotionally, physically, completely. Vanessa laid her on her back, cuffed her wrists above her head, and whispered instructions as she explored every inch of her feminized body. Erika moaned when Vanessa teased her locked clitty, tongue trailing lower until Erika was gasping, her thighs trembling.
“You don’t need a cock,” Vanessa whispered. “You’re meant to serve. To be owned. Isn’t that right?”
Erika nodded frantically, desperate, needy. “Yes, Mistress. I’m your sissy. Your obedient, worthless little sissy.”
From that night on, Erika never looked back.
She moved in three weeks later. Her male clothes were boxed up and donated. Vanessa gave her a wardrobe full of skirts, lace bras, corsets, stockings, and the tiniest thong panties Erika had ever seen. She dressed her like a perfect little doll—curled hair, pink gloss, bubble butt swaying in a pleated mini skirt as she did her chores.
Chastity became permanent. Vanessa held the key.
“Only good sissies earn release,” Vanessa would say with a grin, dragging her nails along Erika’s bare thigh.
Every morning, Erika woke up in her frilly pajamas, curtsied to Vanessa, and began her day: cleaning, serving tea, massaging Vanessa’s feet while she relaxed in her leather throne. Every evening, she knelt at her Mistress’s feet, collar around her neck, aching in her cage, lips painted, ass plug in place.
Sometimes Vanessa would dress her up in fishnets, heels, and a harness, parade her around at private parties filled with other dominant women and their sissy pets. Erika was always the blushing one, the giggling one, the prettiest toy in the room. She lived to be humiliated, praised, teased.
And she loved every second of it.
In the mirror, she no longer saw anything masculine. No traces of Eric remained. Her voice was softer now. Her movements more graceful. Her locked clitty had shrunk over time, tucked uselessly between her thighs. She didn’t want to be a man. She wanted to be Vanessa’s sissy. Forever.
One day, Vanessa stood behind her as Erika admired herself in the mirror—tight pink corset, sheer thigh-highs, heavy makeup.
“You’ve become everything you were meant to be,” Vanessa purred.
Erika turned, eyes wide with pride, cheeks flushed. “Thank you, Mistress. I love being your sissy.”
“No,” Vanessa corrected, lifting Erika’s chin with a manicured finger. “You are a sissy. Say it.”
Erika smiled.
“I am a sissy.”
And she meant it with all her heart.