Mistress Psyche's Feminization Fantasies


Sissy Girl Stories


Girl Friends

By Priscilla Gay Bouffant

 (A reluctant hairdresser helps a sissy friend, and the favor is returned.)

 “Mr. Terrence, your wife is on the phone,” Janet the receptionist called to me.

I was in the process of giving Virginia Wilson a comb out. Before I could tell Janet to have Phyllis call me back, Virginia stated, “Terri darling, go ahead and speak to your wife. It’s probably quite important. That way, I’ll have your undivided attention when you finish my styling dear.”

I cringed at the name Terri. Janet was just about the only person at the salon (client or employee) who didn’t refer to me as Terri.

When I’d begun working at Michele and Company I had asked for the name Terrence on my nametag. It had come back “Terri.” I’d never even liked Terry, the masculine version. Much too childish. But the feminine form “Terri” insured a lot of teasing from the wealthy socialites, and female staff at Michele’s.

At five foot eight, 140 pounds, with shoulder length dark brown hair, and soft pretty boy type looks; I needed a little help in the masculinity department, especially when one considered my occupation. Throw in a demanding, somewhat full-figured wife, (size 16) who had her own flourishing interior decor business, and the teasing took on greater proportions. Add to that, this same, very pretty wife, heading up a feminist group, and her superior (to mine, of course) athletic abilities (tennis, horseback riding), and it got even more humbling.

Phyllis, and her best friend, Mary Ellen, were partners of sorts. Mary Ellen, an architect, designed many of the same, new, luxury homes, that Phyllis decorated. More like associates. Often they took part in joint ventures.

They had other things in common. Like their husbands.

Rodney, married to Mary Ellen, had a part time job, just as I did. He took a lot of teasing. Not only was he smaller and softer looking then me, he did floral arrangements. I should say, he had once done floral arrangements. All he did now was keep house. I cringed again, just thinking of him

As much as I liked Rodney, I also felt very sorry for him. I didn’t like being around him and Mary. Not after what he was letting her do to him. Worse yet, both Mary and Phyllis were trying to get me to participate.

They were really into it. They wouldn’t even let him use the name Rodney any longer. They referred to him as Sylvia. Sylvia Beth, to be exact

I didn’t have time to think about him, or her, though. Anytime Phyllis called, I had to give her my undivided attention. She insisted on it.

On my way to the phone I decided to remind Linda to see what the hold up was on the new nametag I was supposed to be getting. Michele had insisted I wear the “Terri” tag, so of course I still wore it.

“All my employees wear their name tags, Terri. You’ll simply have to wait for another one to be ordered and delivered. I can’t have you, my only male stylist, making an exception to the rule. Before you know it, the girls would be complaining,” she reminded me.

I wasn’t the only male employee, but I was the only guy that was a stylist. Actually I was a full cosmetologist. I did full makeovers, hair color, eyes, makeup, the works. I was actually pretty good.

 Michele had three other male employees. Her personal secretary, Bobbie, and two shampoo boys, Nikki and Dani.

I felt a little better, knowing that their nametags seemed to have been misspelled also.

Getting to the phone I picked it up to hear my wife ask, “So it’s Mr. Terrence now, is it love? Since when? Do they limp their wrists when they call you Terri dear?” she asked sarcastically.

“Of course not darling,” I replied both softly and meekly.

“Lighten up, Terri, I’m only teasing you. I just prefer to call you Terri. Terrence is just so formal and stuffy. Besides, that “Mr.” stuff at a salon conjures up the wrong impression,” she stated for my benefit.

“Now Terri, concerning my call, I placed a rather large order with Michelle for beauty products. Janet tells me it’s already boxed. Bring it home this evening, and put it in the trunk of my Volvo. I’m taking it to Mary Ellen’s tomorrow. It’s for her, Sylvia, and myself. You’ll be putting it to good use Monday afternoon when you do our hair,” she stated.

“Please darling. Do you have to use the name Sylvia?” I asked with just the hint of a plea in my voice.

“Why not? Oh, I see. You must like to use that cute little nickname of hers. Sylvie.” Or do you prefer her middle name? Beth,” she asked in a somewhat sarcastic tone of voice.

She continued, “Because I know you wouldn’t dare, ever again, refer to her as Rodney. Would you dear? Not after our previous disciplinary sessions. Especially after the partial role you’ve played in her transformation. Terri my love, I’d appreciate a response from you. Now!” she stated commandingly.

 I knew I had upset her. I didn’t need that. I immediately retreated by saying, “I apologize dear. I really do. I’ll do just as you said. When you see Sylvia and Mary Ellen tomorrow, let them know I look forward to the Monday beauty session.” I said this very submissively.

“Wonderful,” was her quick response, as she added, “You should be getting back to your client. Don’t you think? Give Virginia my best.”

Janet must have told Phyllis who I was working on. Sometimes I felt as if she had spies everywhere.

We both said our good byes and I returned to Virginia, my last client of the day, the nametag forgotten. It’s importance paled in comparison.

Two days from now I’d be giving, Sylvia, more beauty treatments and lessons.

I went deep into thought, both while combing Virginia out, and during the ride home. I thought back to the events of the past few months, especially that evening in bed. The evening that had seemed to set this whole bizarre train of circumstances in motion.

Here I was, being asked, no, expected, to participate and cooperate, in the male to female transformation of another guy. Not a really close buddy. I didn’t have any of those. Just someone whose home I’d been to. Someone I knew socially.

I had experienced, first hand, as a teenager, the embarrassment of this type of transformation. It could be sort of humiliating at times. Especially if one resisted. I knew. I had resisted somewhat. Sylvia wasn’t. Hardly at all. It was puzzling. Maybe she enjoyed it.

I recalled the evening clearly. Phyllis and I had just been making love, and were chatting and basking in the afterglow.  I have no idea why, but I began to tell her of these embarrassing secrets from my childhood. Secrets I had kept from her concerning my nanny, Marie.

Marie had been quite strict with me. She was a firm believer in administering hairbrush spankings. In addition she was a true aficionado, of “Petticoat Discipline.” My mother and older sister Linda, both supported her in these endeavors with me.

As I began to tell my wife of these circumstances, fully expecting some sort of sympathy, she began to belly laugh hysterically. I really had only given her a brief outline, never getting into any details. Not yet anyway. What I did say had a definite effect on her.

Once she composed herself and calmed down some, she got up from the bed saying, “Oh, my goodness. I can’t believe this. ‘Sweet thing’ is finally coming out to me!” she laughed again and went toward the closet. “Oh. This is rich. I can’t wait to tell to Mary Ellen. Maybe Rodney can come out too.” She said as she rummaged through the closet.

“If you’re going to tell the whole story, Terri, let’s do it with some effect. Put this negligee and these high-heeled slippers on, and sit on the settee for me. I’ll sit in my easy chair, and we’ll have a lovely little hen party.” She added as she threw the items onto the love seat. “You heard me, babe. Put them on,” she said with effect

Not wanting to displease her, I dressed myself as told and then seated myself gently on the seat, as I watched her place a headband, brush, tube of lipstick, and bottle of perfume on a mirrored tray. She crossed the expansive bedroom smiling. Then she seated herself beside me the tray on her lap.

“I won’t have a closet queen for a husband. Let’s pretty you up smartly. This Governess of yours, Marie? What did she call you when you were dressed? Let me guess. Was it Teresa?” she asked as she was putting the hair band around my head and brushing, my shoulder length hair. I was frozen. This had been done to me before and I felt just as helpless to resist as I had in the past.

I began to answer her just before she started applying my lipstick, a Pink Frost shade by Sally Chanson. “She liked calling me Celeste,” I replied, just before she told me to “pucker up.”

“Yes, of course, she was French, wasn’t she? Celeste? That’s cute. I like that. I’ll keep it in mind if I decide to permit you to dress around the house once in a while.” She calmly said this as she wet my lips with the creamy lip color.

She finished with my lips and gave me a heavy dose of “Shalimar”. Then crossed the room to sit in her favorite chair.

“Now dear I want you to relax, and tell me everything about this phase of your childhood. I’ll not have you being some sort of sissy cross dresser ruining our marriage. I’ll be as patient and understanding as possible. I prefer you dressing with me in a healthy atmosphere. I don’t want you frequenting professional dommes out of shame. All right dear, continue.” She said firmly.

“Phyllis, I didn’t tell you this because I wanted to “come out.” I pleaded.

She smiled sweetly and said. “Of course not dear, but you should share this with someone. Especially me. I’m your spouse. I fully intend to share it with my best friend Mary Ellen. She’s very bright and understanding. I’m certain she can help us through this.”

“ Now, tell me, when did this start? What type of clothes did Marie have you wear? Did she do your hair? Make you wear make up? What age were you when you stopped this behavior?” she inquired, with a questioning glance.

“ I need to know these sort of things, darling. I want to help you.” she added firmly.

She smiled delightfully as she said this. I was only a little concerned about the possibility of her friend knowing. I also, somehow believed, that this little discussion might prove to be therapeutic. The childhood dressing had haunted me for some time.

I could see my feminine reflection in the mirror and actually felt comfortable with it at the moment, though I had no intentions of making dressing up a habit. My wife’s change of attitude, from laughing at me, to understanding, concerned, supportive spouse, had loosened me up quite a bit.

With that in mind, I began describing my experiences to Phyllis. “I guess I must have been about thirteen, the first time she dressed me as her Little Celeste, as she used to refer to me.”

I went on to describe the clothing first, the memories flooding back. I recalled candidly that during the daytime, poodle skirts with peter pan blouses, were the usual attire. Afternoons, I usually wore party frocks. Always some type of heel. Anytime I was dressed, I could be assured I’d get a lesson in high heel walking. Usually my punishment lasted an entire weekend. Summertime, it could go on a week or two.

Evenings, at bedtime, nightgowns. All very silky and pastel. When my hair got long enough, I was taught to roll it up tightly. Once I had learned, I became the on site hairdresser. I was very popular at my sister’s slumber parties.

Punishments could be for any reason. Bad grades or any trouble at school was a sure thing. Make up? Always. Marie was a real pro. She taught me to do mine and hers in no time.

When I began to tell Phyllis that I had been punished for bad grades while at beauty college, she looked at me with a start. When I continued to tell her that coming home late from a date was a cause for a dress up session, I knew I’d made a big mistake.

“Wait, Terri. Let’s go back. You and I met and began dating, during your second and final year at beauty school. You mean they were still dressing you then?” she asked almost incredulously.

As hard as it was to look at her, I did, and said, taking a deep breath, “Yes, Phyllis, there were times I couldn’t see you because Mother and Marie had me dressed. That way they were assured I’d study for my written and practical tests.”

“My goodness Terri! You were 20 years old! What kind of a sissy were you? You canceled dates with me to let two women put you in a dress and heels, put make up on you, curl your hair, and set you at a desk to study for an entire weekend? Oh. I’m sorry. I forgot. By this time you could dress yourself and do your own hair and cosmetics. Probably your nails too. By this time Little Celeste was making her governess very proud, wasn’t she? she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Well, dear, I’ve heard just about enough. I’m not sure how we’ll handle it. I’m certain Mary Ellen will have a few good ideas.” she stated as I began to interject.

She raised her hand in a “Stop” signal. “Don’t say anything. Don’t ask me not to tell Mary Ellen. We’re best friends. We confide in each other quite often. I’ve made up my mind.” she said emphatically.

“Now as for tonight, I think I’ll ‘walk on the wild side’ and enjoy this ‘new you’. Just for the evening of course.” Saying this she walked towards me, hands on her waist, hips swaying very seductively, smiling all the time. She stopped in front of me and said, “I have a little secret for you Terri. Want to hear it? You see, right now you appeal to me. You know why? You smell pretty, you’re submissively girlish, your dressed pretty, and you look a little scared. I like that in a girl. Did you hear what I said? I like that in a girl. Not a guy, Terri, but a girl.”  She really emphasized the word

“There are lots of girls at Arts and Design College, Terri. Very few guys. The few guys that did attend; well most of them liked girls as girl friends. Not as lovers, Terri, and we women can get very, very lonely. Now Terri, I’m going to let you guess. What am I, your dear wife Phyllis, Trying to tell you?” she asked, peering into my eyes.

I did my best to answer her politely, saying, “Well.” I hesitated.” I believe that your telling me you had a few, adolescent, same sex affairs.”

“Bingo, Terri! Mummy didn’t raise a fool after all. That’s putting it mildly though. I had more then a few. I love them soft and cuddly. In a stereotyped way, you might call me a ‘Butch.’ I like ‘femmes’. Would you like to be my femme tonight, Terri? No wait. How about it “Little Celeste”. Want to make Marie proud, and Phyllis happy tonight?” she said pulling me to my feet.

Before she’d let me be her Celeste though she sent me to the bathroom. Had me shower and remove all hair from the neck down with a depilatory. Told me to keep it that way, in case we should “play” again. Had me paint my toenails also. Told me to keep them painted all the time, even at work.

By the time I got into bed with her, I was Celeste again. Perfume, filmy nightgown, panties, heels, curled hair, full make up. She loved every moment. Made love to me the way one make’s love to a new bride. Even left me there that morning, the “ravaged woman”.  Her “angel of the morning”, she joked over the phone.

My rear was sore. It had good reason to be. She was overjoyed to have taken “another virgin.”

She called me from Mary Ellen’s to wake me around noon. She’d already filled her friend in on the details. I didn’t know it then. I wouldn’t be aware for a couple of more weeks, but they had already decided that Rodney would be the easier of the two husbands to feminize. He’d be the first they would work on.

They’d picked out a name. They would have fun with it. Have me do the honors in the beauty department.

The first time I went there I protested on the way home.

In the two weeks since my deflowering, Mary Ellen had even outdone my beloved governess Marie. Her sissy husband had been an apt pupil.

Sylvia appeared in the living room shortly after we had taken our coats off and sat down. She was wearing what I now know to be called, a French, informal dinner serving uniform. French, as in French maid. The uniform can also be worn afternoons for more formal teas. It’s complicated, but women like Phyllis and Mary can be very precise with their “girl’s” appearance.

Of course, I felt insulted. Worse yet Sylvia was made to curtsy to everyone, which included me. She also called me Mr. Terri and also sir, as in “yes sir.”

She hardly blushed. Was maybe, slightly embarrassed. She’d prepared a beautiful dinner, and served it wonderfully.

Riding home I made a huge mistake. “I will not be a party to this, Phyllis. Don’t ever ask me to visit them again.”

She laughed. That was it. For about five minutes the silence was frightful. Then she turned to me with a grin and said, “Terri, I have a big surprise for you. When I give it to you, you won’t know what’s happening.”

I had no idea what she meant, but it scared me. I got the surprise that evening at bedtime.

I was naked, looking at my hairless body and painted toenails, thinking that this had gone far enough. Phyllis came through the door in full riding regalia. Black dress boots, matching belt, with fawn colored slacks. White turtleneck blouse. Her hair tied back at the nape of her neck with a small white ribbon, bunched in the traditional black hair net.

 She tossed her riding crop and some scarves on the floor near the side of the bed and tackled me. She brought me to the floor, laughing to herself as she did so.

“Surprise Celeste,” she shouted. “Wait until you see how Nanny Phyllis punishes you.”

It didn’t take me long to figure what she had in mind, nor did it take her long to accomplish it.

Lying on the floor, my hands tied behind my back, ankles tied together and attached to the one leg of the four poster bed, I realized how absolutely helpless I was. Two big fluffy pillows elevated my butt.

“Okay Celeste, unless you want to wind up like Sylvia, you’re going to obey. As long as you obey, you can publicly be Terri. Beginning next week, every Monday afternoon you will be at Mary Ellen’s to teach Sylvia beauty techniques and to prettify her. Teach her well enough, and she can start doing my hair as well as Mary’s. Okay?” she asked as she gave me a shot with the crop.

I shrieked “Yes!”

“Good. Now for you. You’ll continue this shaving and nail care program I have you on. You’ll sleep in nightgowns, and start using a clear polish on you fingers. Got that?” This was followed by another whack, a loud shriek, and another confirmation on my part.

For another five minutes she laid down some more rules concerning my dress, duties and lifestyle, all followed by a smack of the crop. She included my ridding myself of all male underwear and purchasing a dozen or so pairs of assorted panties.

“Make sure you buy them at Mimi’s Maison. She has the best quality and a really fine selection of the frilliest stuff. I really don’t care what you tell her. For all she knows you’re buying them for me. They had better be extra frilly though. If they’re not, I’ll take you back there and make you tell everyone who they really are for.” she threatened adding another whack.

Once she was satisfied, she unbound me and I cried my apology out on her shoulder. As I sometimes had done, with my governess, I went to the bathroom to prettify myself for yet another session in bed. I’d already been deflowered, so this time it was less uncomfortable.

The following Monday, I appeared at Mary’s to begin my tutoring of Sylvia.

The first visit had been a bit stressful for me, but with each one I would grow to accept Sylvia’s increasingly feminine persona.

Upon that first visit I had shown her some make up techniques, using Mary as a model. The next session, nail care, followed by yet another on hair care.

Still, I was reluctant to accept her transformation fully, thus the mild protest on the phone with Phyllis. I paid that evening. She again surprised me at bedtime. That was my last protest as far as   Sylvia’s transformation was concerned.

On this, what would prove to be the most significant occasion, Mary let me in. My wife had already arrived earlier in the day. Mary seemed very excited.

 “Oh Terri, do come in. Sit in the living room. Sylvia is almost ready. You should see her. She’s been practicing all week. She really has done well. She can’t wait for you to see her.” She gushed as if she were the proud mother of a young teen daughter.

Indeed as Sylvia did appear I was very surprised at the progress she had made. She was truly lovely! Wearing a navy blue pleated knee length skirt with a white peasant blouse she had a schoolgirl look about her. A white kerchief was tied “sailor girl” style at her neck. Her sheer hose and three-inch black court shoes set off her legs, and her pierced ears looked lovely, sporting pearl studs.

It was her hair and cosmetic application that really impressed me.

Her beautifully tapered nails were coated with a delightfully youthful shade of Candy Apple Red. Her facial make up was an extravagant blend of seasonal spring shades. Peach blush, over a mixture of beige foundation and translucent pink powder. Her eyes had just a touch of light brown mascara, with a blend of babyish pink and Bermuda Coral shadow. The delicate arch of her plucked and lightly penciled brows accented her innocence

This look would not have been complete without the Candied Red lip liner and lipstick blended with a shiny gloss. Her tame, tasteful, French rolled coiffure made her appear a well-bred coed, at a sorority soiree.

As she curtseyed primly, Mary Ellen first encouraged her to twirl for everyone, and then do a brief promenade around the large den/family room area.

“My goodness Mary! This progress is impressive! Not much for me to do today is there?” I said, hoping everyone would agree.

“Well, she’s been so good this week I asked her what she’d like to do today. Ask Mr. Terri if you and he can play beauty salon sweetie.” Mary Ellen suggested.

I interjected, “Could I ask a favor here? Would it be possible for Sylvia to call me Terri, and drop the Mister?”

“Of course. Sylvia Beth, from now on, you may refer to our hairdresser friend as Terri. Okay?” Mary asked, as if she were speaking to an immature 16-year-old girl.

 Sylvia nodded and then I asked suspiciously, “What’s this about playing “Beauty Salon.”

Mary Ellen explained, “We all thought this would be a good time for Sylvia to start to learn to do someone else’s hair, make-up, nail’s, you know.”

Then Phyllis continued, “First, she could work on you, with you describing what to do. Right now Mary and I are completing some specs on a job we’re doing together. By the time Sylvie is done with your make over, the both of you can do Mary Ellen and me.

You, of course, would instruct. Good idea. Huh?”

“Well, I guess it would be okay. Though I don’t want to make a habit of getting makeovers,” I joked.

Everyone laughed. Then Sylvie took my hand and I followed her into the specially designed “Beauty and Relaxation Room” that Mary Ellen and Phyllis were so proud of.

Mary Ellen had purchased this home because of its great size, secluded location, and it’s reasonable price. She also liked most of the layout and design. The exception to this was the huge, four car, attached garage and storage area. In her opinion it was “hideous.”

Looking things over, she and Phyllis noted the multitude of electrical outlets and the vast amount of unused space. It had also been roughed in with plumbing connections.

They had decided to design an area where they and their friends could come to relax, chat, have coffee or tea, and be pampered by none other then me. They would also be free from the bustle of a busy salon.

The room was elegantly furnished, had a sitting area, a sauna, hot tub, lounge, and a dressing and change room. The center of activity was, of course, the salon, which included two professional dryers, three shampoo and coloring sinks, a curtained area, with table for massage and waxing, plus two fully equipped styling stations with wrap around, mirrored vanities.

I’d spent lots of time working here. I was about to have my first session as a model of sorts.

“You two have fun now,” Mary Ellen called as we entered the room.

“Terri, could you help me get some stuff in the dressing room?” Sylvia asked.

I followed her in and she handed me three, generic, charcoal gray colored, plastic, salon style capes. She then put on a hot pink satin, knee length, stylist’s smock. I’d never seen any smock like it. It was a print, with small white flowers, and little baby blue birds all over it. I looked around for the plain navy blue one I usually wore and regretted I didn’t see it.

I suspected that once my treatment was done I’d be expected to wear a smock identical to Sylvia’s. My suspicion’s were soon confirmed as she took a matching smock off a hanger, smiled at me, and said, “Well Terri, let’s get started.”

Following her back into the beauty room, I saw her attire in it’s fully frilled, feminine glory. The robe as I should describe it, was trimmed with lace at the collar, cuffs, and hem. It looked like a dress. Though it had pearl buttons down the front, to the waist, it also had a sash belt, where the buttons ended.  Sylvia had tied her sash at the side in a big bow.

She took no time at all to get a cape on me and begin my shampoo, condition and cream rinse. She had a wonderful touch for this process. I felt relaxed in her hands and comfortable. She wouldn’t be giving me a cutting. She wasn’t skilled enough, but she was going to set my hair.

It seemed like it would be fun. Also I figured that the sooner she learned, the sooner she could become the in-house stylist for the lady’s group that gathered regularly at Mary Ellen’s.

I wouldn’t have to teach her to cut hair. Just the other stuff. Most of these ladies had their own personal hair salon and stylist they visited for their cuttings.

She had really learned to roll hair. Tightly, I might add. Once she rolled me up, she placed a hair net on me and began to do my nails.

“Don’t you want me to get under a dryer,” I asked.

“No silly. Phyllis told me to give you a wet set. We’ll let it dry naturally.” She smiled.

That was going to take some time, which meant, I’d probably still have the curlers in when we did our wives hair.

She did my make up identical to hers, saying, “I’m used to working with these shades, I’ve practiced with them all week.”

The shades looked less pronounced with my dark brown hair versus her sandy blond, but I thought she used a bit more cosmetics on me.

Sure enough, the women waltzed in about five minutes before she finished applying the “White Pearl” polish to my nails.

“Oh my goodness, Mary Ellen, do these two look adorable together, or what!” Phyllis exclaimed.

“I’ll say. I can’t wait for Terri to get his smock on. He’ll just look so chic.” Mary added.

With no protest at all I let Sylvia assist me in donning the smock. Much to my chagrin, she tied my bow in the back. Facing the mirror I could see the ends. I was quite the sight.

Full make up, gleaming red lips, hair net and bright blue plastic rollers. Nails glistening like pearls. I’d been doing them enough, and letting them grow, so that with the now pointed tips, my small hands appeared to belong to a female. I was crushed. With some clip on earrings, I’d be the picture of the society debutante, prepping herself, prior to her coming out party.

For the next couple of hours Sylvia and I washed hair, did nails and applied make up.

Once our wives were combed out, Sylvie and her spouse excused themselves to make a light dinner. Noticing my glum look, Phyllis inquired what was the matter.

“I just feel so silly looking like this dear.” I whined, nearly in tears.

“Oh, I’d forgotten, your the only one not combed out, I’ll go get Sylvia.” She said getting up.

“No, I don’t mean that. I mean this whole get up. It’s so garish.” I complained.

She stood back from me taking me in, finally saying.  “The only thing garish, are the men’s slacks and shoes you’re wearing. With a comb out, a skirt and blouse, a little jewelry, some padding up top… I’d say you would look just fine.” She paused and then added, “I also believe it would bring a smile to your very pretty face.”

“Please Phyllis, don’t dress me in front of our friends?” I practically begged, the tears beginning to form.

Then, from the doorway, I heard the sweet voice of my dear friend Sylvia saying softly, “Don’t cry Celeste, Mary Ellen and I know everything. We’re here to help you, if you need us.”

I watched Sylvia Beth, in the mirror, walk towards me and stand beside me, and take my hand.

Phyllis smiled, turned and left the room with Mary Ellen, closing the door behind them saying, “Talk with your new girlfriend, Celeste, she’ll explain everything.”

No explaining was needed. I followed her into the change room, where she produced a cute little green plaid jumper, and white blouse with Peter Pan collar. Dark pantyhose followed. Before I put the jumper on she helped me into a waist cinch. She tightened it just enough to produce a defined waistline. Three-inch pumps maybe a half size too small were shoe horned onto my feet.

The coup de grace was the bra and the breast pads. It had been some time since I’d had a feminine chest.

Clip on earrings completed the ensemble, then to the vanity to sit for my styling.

My still damp hair was blown dry into a nice style of big bouncy curls, and sprayed to hold for a while. Perfume, and I was ready for my debut.

I entered the kitchen to polite applause, smiles and hugs. Sylvia and I then began to set the dining room table. Once the meal was ready we sat down to eat.

The best part of the evening for me began after Sylvia and I had cleaned things up and served coffee.

The coffee finished, I sat down next to Phyllis, who pulled me close to her. We snuggled as she continued her conversation with Mary.

Sylvie came in and went right to Mary who pulled her down on her lap. Sylvia’s arms went girlishly around Mary. Sylvie looked back and winked at me as Phyllis smiled and lightly fondled my thigh.

It was then I wondered how long this peaceful moment would last. I wanted it to last longer than the night. I truly wanted to be a wife full time. I had no doubts. I welcomed my entire transformation. Not just “play” at it. A real wife. For Phyllis. Just as Sylvia was for Mary Ellen.

For the next two days I was a content housewife, full time, until returning to work on Thursday. My schedule, at the salon had been part time for a while, as Phyllis’ business had grown. She’d needed me more at the house. I now worked Thursdays and Fridays, 9 to 7. That was all, but it was too much.

So for the two days after my true “coming out” at Mary and Sylvia’s, I had taken advantage of my time off. I spent the entire time as Celeste, wanting to prove to Phyllis I could perform the job of full time wife, to her complete satisfaction.

When she arrived from worked the house was spotless, her meal ready, and I, her wife, was looking and acting as seductive and sexy as possible.

As I readied myself for work both Thursday and Friday, I dreaded ever having to be Terri again. Friday evening in bed I cried to Phyllis, begging her to let me be “her Celeste” always.

She laughed, “Let you? You are a featherbrain, aren’t you, little girl? I demand you be my wife!” she said with mock firmness. “Why on earth you didn’t give two weeks notice first thing yesterday I don’t know?” She picked up the bedside phone and dialed.

Smiling, she spoke into the receiver, “Michele? Hi sweetheart. Your niece Candy? The one who just moved in with you from Chicago? You should be able to hire her full time now, instead of part time. You now have an opening. That’s right honey, she just resigned her position.”

Phyllis laughed and listened for a time and then said, “Thanks for everything. Sure she’ll come in for some appointments. Her and Sylvia.” Then looking at me and smiling, “They had better. Mary and I want them looking really hot.”

She listened for a short time longer, then closed with, “Thanks again for everything. Good luck with Bobbie. Let me know if you need anything. Priscilla Claire? That’s a lovely name! She exclaimed. “Wish I’d thought of it. I’m jealous.”

Another short pause and, “Reddish blonde? Perfect. I’d say really tight skirts would be in order too. She’s going to look so good, typing up your invoices for you, regardless, Michele. Bye dear.”

Putting the phone down she rolled over on top of me, pinning my arms to the bed and smiling, “Let’s celebrate your new job, Celeste honey.”


It’s a quiet Saturday morning in the Spring. I hear a light knock on my bedroom door. I turn over and look for Phyllis and remember she’s not there. She’s in her room or Mary Ellen’s.

It’s Sylvia peeking in smiling. “Get up sleepy head. It’s Saturday. We serve breakfast in bed. Remember? Don’t forget to wear taffeta.” she reminds me.

I showered the night before and slept in my cinch. My hair’s up in rollers. It doesn’t take me long to dress or make up. I do it all the time now. Check my nails. Perfect. Sylvia and I were at Michele’s yesterday. That cute, former shampoo boy Dani did our nails.

Only he’s not Dani any longer, nor will he ever be again. Carlotta. Perfect name for some one with jet-black, really curly, heavily jelled hair. Those dark smoldering eyes and that beauty mark. Lucky girl!

“What time did they get in? Sylvia asks. “I fell off to sleep at eleven.” She adds.

“Midnight.” I answer plainly. The disappointment showing in my voice.

Naturally Sylvie asks me, “So yours didn’t come for you either?”

“No, but I had my velvet collar on just in case. She always brings my leash when she does come. I wonder whose room they’re in?” I say as I walk away to check.

I hit it on the first try. The new house is large, but not gigantic. They’re in Mary Ellen’s.

“Come in,” Mary Ellen calls as I lightly knock.

I enter give a polite curtsy and ask, “What time would you ladies like to have breakfast?”

Mary Ellen is deep in thought. The straps on her bright red negligee are off her shoulders, her negligee pulled down below her breasts. Phyllis, completely ignoring me has one of those beautiful, creamy white breasts in her crimson, mouth, biting it softly and occasionally sucking it with her lips.

Mary sighs, “We’ll eat in an hour. No, make that an hour and a half,” she smiles, both beautiful women going underneath the covers.

I close the door, go back to the kitchen, and look at the clock.

Sylvia asks, “What do they want for breakfast?”

“The usual,” I say. “Though not until 10:30 though.” I add with a wink.

“I guess we may as well do some ironing then.” Sylvia replies, knowing full well what’s going on. Then she adds, “Do you think you’ll have time to color my hair Monday? I’d like to go strawberry blonde.”

I smile and say, “You’ll look great!” Then I add, “When I went reddish blonde, Phyllis couldn’t keep her hands off me. Look out!”

We smile at one another and laugh. Whenever they do want us we’re ready. Of course breakfast will be served promptly at ten thirty. Sylvia and I are quite content. Thrilled to be best, sissy girl friends and at our wives beck and call.



Sissy Girl Stories