Recent Posts
1
Active Sissy Stories / Re: New Arrangements for Josh
« Last post by BabyJay on Today at 05:22:35 AM »
Oh dear, poor Josh. Desperately trying to hold His wee-wee. Let's hope He manages to as He knows His name will be called and how embarrassing if His nappy leaks causing a wet patch on the front of His pants. Look forward to next episode. :)
2
Active Sissy Stories / Re: New Arrangements for Josh
« Last post by sissyboy1212 on Yesterday at 07:31:05 PM »
Will try to continue this story more soon.
3
Active Sissy Stories / Re: Failed and Faulty
« Last post by sissyboy1212 on Yesterday at 07:28:22 PM »
Thanks Antonia. I don’t judge anyone for trying to make income off their hard work, but i agree this is not the right place for teaser pitches.
Betty would have shut that down un a heartbeat.
Betty would have shut that down un a heartbeat.
4
Active Sissy Stories / Re: Fantasy Hotel
« Last post by sissyboy1212 on Yesterday at 07:25:59 PM »
Cute, intense story! Thanks for sharing.
5
Active Sissy Stories / Re: New stories from Dara Janey available on Kindle
« Last post by DaraJaney on Yesterday at 06:46:59 PM »
And now a third new story: Escape to Victoria
Victor breaks out of detention but finds himself in a different pickle.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H58FL681
Chapter 1
Victor had escaped from the juvenile detention centre during the night but he was still wearing the blue jumpsuit with the institution’s name written across it in big letters. He could get away with it in the countryside at night but it was getting brighter as he approached the town.
On the first street he noticed a side window was slightly open in one of the houses. He crept towards it. He saw the reflection of blue flashing lights as a squad car prowled past the end of the street. He had to get in there.
He lifted the window as quietly as he could and climbed in. It was a bedroom with a thankfully empty bed. He looked around. There was also a dressing table, chair, a wardrobe and chest of drawers. It all looked quite old fashioned. Maybe there were some clothes he could change into in the wardrobe.
He opened the double doors of the wardrobe and was greeted with a row of pastel coloured and flowery dresses. He closed the doors as quickly as he could before any image of himself wearing a pretty dress could form in his mind.
He went back to the window. The police car was now rolling down the street. He stepped back quickly to avoid any chance of being seen but knocked over an empty vase. He desperately tried to catch it but it fell to the floor and shattered.
He braced himself and listened out for any reaction within the house. He heard footsteps coming towards the door. He looked out the window again. The police car had pulled over to the kerb. He was better off taking his chance staying in the house.
The door opened and a middle-aged lady stared at him. He didn’t know what to say – he just held the palms of his hands out, hoping to show that he had no weapon and did not intend to present a threat.
“It’s ok”, the woman said. She pointedly looked out the window at the squad car and said “the police are no friends of mine.” Victor breathed again.
“But they are going to start coming around door to door shortly. Escapes are regular occurrences and they have a routine response. They usually get their man”, she warned.
“So you either give yourself up or …”, she opened the wardrobe door. Victor cringed. She selected one dress. “This one isn’t so bad – powder blue and just a Peter Pan collar.” “There’s no way I could look convincing”, he responded, running his hand over his close-shaven head.
“You’re in luck”, she told him. She reached up into the corner of the top shelf in the wardrobe and produced a polystyrene head with a blond wig on it. “My daughter had cancer and needed this following the treatment. All in vain I’m afraid.”
Victor felt sorry for her naturally but there didn’t seem to be time to talk about that. He could see the police officers pointing up and down the street planning how they were going to cover it door-to-door.
He stepped towards the dress tentatively. She held it up against him. “I think it will fit.” He sighed. It was his only chance. He pulled off the boiler suit. She threw the dress over his head, he pushed his arms into the sleeves and she zipped him up. The flared skirt came to a couple of inches above his knees.
She went to the chest of drawers. “You’ll need to wear tights. There’s no time to shave those legs.” She produced a pair of opaque white tights. He cringed again. Out the window he could see a policeman was approaching the front door of the house opposite and knocked on it.
She helped him put the tights on and pulled them up under his dress and over his boxers. Then she pulled a wig cap over his head and placed the wig on his crown, tugging it downwards all around until it looked right.
He looked in the mirror. It was better than he thought. “I still look like a boy in a dress!” She went to the dressing table and took some make-up from the drawers. She spread something over his face and powdered his cheeks and he looked again. “Better.” There was a knock on the door.
Victor froze. There was no going back now. She gave him a pair of loose sandals that he was able to squeeze his feet into. “What’s your name anyway?” “Victor.” “Right … Victoria so. I’m your Aunt Rita.” She pushed his boiler suit under the mattress and led him into the kitchen and gave him a glass. “Get some OJ from the fridge and sit at the table.”
There was another knock on the door, louder this time. She went through the sitting room and answered it. Victor cringed. He couldn’t believe he was sitting there in a dress, tights and wig hoping to fool them. If it didn’t work, they would make sure to haul him back to the centre still wearing the frock and tights and he would definitely be beaten to a pulp.
“We’ve had an escape from the centre Ma’am. Have you seen anything?” “No, I’m only just up.” “Is there anyone else in the house Ma’am?” “Just my niece.” “Can I come in and take a look around?” “Yes of course.”
“Is your niece decent?” he nodded towards the bedroom door. “Yes, she’s in the kitchen”, Rita assured him. Victor braced himself and tried to decide how much to smile. Overdoing it might be just as bad as not being convincing. He aimed for a not-unpleasant but slightly surprised look.
The policeman came into the kitchen. Victor looked up from his OJ with his rehearsed reaction. The policeman nodded. “Sorry to disturb.” Victor shrugged, hoping to indicate no problem. The officer gave him a good look over – probably thinking that teenage girls didn’t generally wear such pretty dresses on a normal day.
Anyway, he looked around the kitchen and nodded. He looked into each room in turn. “OK well if either of you see anything suspicious, please give me a call”, he concluded, handing Rita a card. “Certainly officer”, Rita responded. Victor just nodded with a little smile.
Victor breaks out of detention but finds himself in a different pickle.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H58FL681
Chapter 1
Victor had escaped from the juvenile detention centre during the night but he was still wearing the blue jumpsuit with the institution’s name written across it in big letters. He could get away with it in the countryside at night but it was getting brighter as he approached the town.
On the first street he noticed a side window was slightly open in one of the houses. He crept towards it. He saw the reflection of blue flashing lights as a squad car prowled past the end of the street. He had to get in there.
He lifted the window as quietly as he could and climbed in. It was a bedroom with a thankfully empty bed. He looked around. There was also a dressing table, chair, a wardrobe and chest of drawers. It all looked quite old fashioned. Maybe there were some clothes he could change into in the wardrobe.
He opened the double doors of the wardrobe and was greeted with a row of pastel coloured and flowery dresses. He closed the doors as quickly as he could before any image of himself wearing a pretty dress could form in his mind.
He went back to the window. The police car was now rolling down the street. He stepped back quickly to avoid any chance of being seen but knocked over an empty vase. He desperately tried to catch it but it fell to the floor and shattered.
He braced himself and listened out for any reaction within the house. He heard footsteps coming towards the door. He looked out the window again. The police car had pulled over to the kerb. He was better off taking his chance staying in the house.
The door opened and a middle-aged lady stared at him. He didn’t know what to say – he just held the palms of his hands out, hoping to show that he had no weapon and did not intend to present a threat.
“It’s ok”, the woman said. She pointedly looked out the window at the squad car and said “the police are no friends of mine.” Victor breathed again.
“But they are going to start coming around door to door shortly. Escapes are regular occurrences and they have a routine response. They usually get their man”, she warned.
“So you either give yourself up or …”, she opened the wardrobe door. Victor cringed. She selected one dress. “This one isn’t so bad – powder blue and just a Peter Pan collar.” “There’s no way I could look convincing”, he responded, running his hand over his close-shaven head.
“You’re in luck”, she told him. She reached up into the corner of the top shelf in the wardrobe and produced a polystyrene head with a blond wig on it. “My daughter had cancer and needed this following the treatment. All in vain I’m afraid.”
Victor felt sorry for her naturally but there didn’t seem to be time to talk about that. He could see the police officers pointing up and down the street planning how they were going to cover it door-to-door.
He stepped towards the dress tentatively. She held it up against him. “I think it will fit.” He sighed. It was his only chance. He pulled off the boiler suit. She threw the dress over his head, he pushed his arms into the sleeves and she zipped him up. The flared skirt came to a couple of inches above his knees.
She went to the chest of drawers. “You’ll need to wear tights. There’s no time to shave those legs.” She produced a pair of opaque white tights. He cringed again. Out the window he could see a policeman was approaching the front door of the house opposite and knocked on it.
She helped him put the tights on and pulled them up under his dress and over his boxers. Then she pulled a wig cap over his head and placed the wig on his crown, tugging it downwards all around until it looked right.
He looked in the mirror. It was better than he thought. “I still look like a boy in a dress!” She went to the dressing table and took some make-up from the drawers. She spread something over his face and powdered his cheeks and he looked again. “Better.” There was a knock on the door.
Victor froze. There was no going back now. She gave him a pair of loose sandals that he was able to squeeze his feet into. “What’s your name anyway?” “Victor.” “Right … Victoria so. I’m your Aunt Rita.” She pushed his boiler suit under the mattress and led him into the kitchen and gave him a glass. “Get some OJ from the fridge and sit at the table.”
There was another knock on the door, louder this time. She went through the sitting room and answered it. Victor cringed. He couldn’t believe he was sitting there in a dress, tights and wig hoping to fool them. If it didn’t work, they would make sure to haul him back to the centre still wearing the frock and tights and he would definitely be beaten to a pulp.
“We’ve had an escape from the centre Ma’am. Have you seen anything?” “No, I’m only just up.” “Is there anyone else in the house Ma’am?” “Just my niece.” “Can I come in and take a look around?” “Yes of course.”
“Is your niece decent?” he nodded towards the bedroom door. “Yes, she’s in the kitchen”, Rita assured him. Victor braced himself and tried to decide how much to smile. Overdoing it might be just as bad as not being convincing. He aimed for a not-unpleasant but slightly surprised look.
The policeman came into the kitchen. Victor looked up from his OJ with his rehearsed reaction. The policeman nodded. “Sorry to disturb.” Victor shrugged, hoping to indicate no problem. The officer gave him a good look over – probably thinking that teenage girls didn’t generally wear such pretty dresses on a normal day.
Anyway, he looked around the kitchen and nodded. He looked into each room in turn. “OK well if either of you see anything suspicious, please give me a call”, he concluded, handing Rita a card. “Certainly officer”, Rita responded. Victor just nodded with a little smile.
6
Active Sissy Stories / Re: New Arrangements for Josh
« Last post by sissyboy1212 on Yesterday at 05:04:52 PM »
PART 73
She paused for dramatic effect. “Why… I must confess… it’s so difficult to choose,” she went on, “I almost want to declare everyone a winner!” She got some good-humored laughter and chuckles at her playful theatrics as she teased the crowd. “But alas,” she continued, “we’ve only got one prize.” Mrs. Standish’s eyes glimmered as she looked around the room purposefully, gleefully drawing out the suspense.
As Mrs. Standish continued to speak, Mrs. Smyth left no doubt that she had taken note of Josh’s renewed fidgeting, even as minor as it was. First, she silently leaned over and smoothed his collar with a featherlight but insistent touch. In the same motion, she brushed an invisible speck of lint from his velvet jacket, her expression softening into a gentle, almost amused smile. Her hand settled on his forearm to quiet his movements with a soft pat as if she were calming a toddler. It was a pointed cue urging him to remain still, wordlessly expressing her desire for grace and order. Chastened and meek, Josh immediately stopped squirming and tried to comply. She maintained her maternal grip on his arm until she was satisfied that he was still.
Josh’s world seemed to shrink with every doting correction, each kind but unwavering touch that reshaped him into a vision far removed from the boy he once knew. He sat enveloped by lace and velvet, the soft tickle of frills a constant reminder of his new reality.
Humiliation flared in small, sharp bursts. He fought the urge to fret and fidget beneath the layers of lace and velvet, his corset pressing firmly against his ribs. The heat of humiliation flared across his cheeks, and he could feel the prickling sensation of his skin against the starched collar that now sat perfectly, the frills fanned out to their full, ostentatious glory.
Noting his still lowered head, Mrs. Smyth whispered ever so softly, “Josh, sweetheart, chin up please.” She lifted her hand up to delicately tap his chin a few times with her fingernails. She gently but insistently nudged his face back up, returning him to a more demure pose. She was loving and firm as she continued to shape his posture and demeanor to project a dainty and refined image. Josh swallowed, his lips parted as her touch lingered beneath his chin. This simple act of angling his jaw felt impossibly intimate. It was a painful reminder that every inch of him was being curated for the approval of the women gathered around the table.
His mother noted this interaction with satisfaction and nodded approvingly. The subtle exchange between the two women reinforced their shared goals for Josh. As Mrs. Standish continued to carry on, Josh felt small and utterly powerless. He tried to keep his breathing shallow as he silently pleaded for the awards to conclude quickly.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Standish teased the crowd a bit more, and Josh’s insides twisted with anxiety. He tried to shrink and turn invisible in his chair, desperately hoping she would not call his name. His heart thumped faster. A flock of butterflies fluttered wildly in his tummy, and his little man raged futilely in its cage. He glanced nervously at his mother, at Kathy, at the crowd, searching for a miracle, but all he saw were amused faces and eager eyes waiting for the next moment of entertainment. Kathy’s eyes sparkled with pride and affection as she watched him, and his mother’s expression shone with satisfied approval. And of course, the discomfort in his bladder remained insistent.
After several more agonizing moments, Mrs. Standish’s eyes finally drifted toward him. The room was abuzz with laughter and anticipation, but for Josh, the world had shrunk to the suffocating confines of his Fauntleroy suit. His insides twisted with dread as Mrs. Standish drew out the moment, her cheerful theatrics only heightening his suspense.
Josh clung to the hope that perhaps, just perhaps, he would be spared further spectacle. “Don’t pick me, please don’t pick me,” he silently pleaded, his thoughts tumbling over one another as he tried to will himself into the background. Desperate for relief from the ache in his bladder, he squeezed his knees together and felt the crinkly diaper rustle beneath him.
Then, Mrs. Standish paused with an expectant smile on her face and locked in on the sissified lad. Trapped like a deer in the headlights, Josh held his breath and felt his cheeks flush even more. Even before she spoke, Josh knew what she was going to say.
She paused for dramatic effect. “Why… I must confess… it’s so difficult to choose,” she went on, “I almost want to declare everyone a winner!” She got some good-humored laughter and chuckles at her playful theatrics as she teased the crowd. “But alas,” she continued, “we’ve only got one prize.” Mrs. Standish’s eyes glimmered as she looked around the room purposefully, gleefully drawing out the suspense.
As Mrs. Standish continued to speak, Mrs. Smyth left no doubt that she had taken note of Josh’s renewed fidgeting, even as minor as it was. First, she silently leaned over and smoothed his collar with a featherlight but insistent touch. In the same motion, she brushed an invisible speck of lint from his velvet jacket, her expression softening into a gentle, almost amused smile. Her hand settled on his forearm to quiet his movements with a soft pat as if she were calming a toddler. It was a pointed cue urging him to remain still, wordlessly expressing her desire for grace and order. Chastened and meek, Josh immediately stopped squirming and tried to comply. She maintained her maternal grip on his arm until she was satisfied that he was still.
Josh’s world seemed to shrink with every doting correction, each kind but unwavering touch that reshaped him into a vision far removed from the boy he once knew. He sat enveloped by lace and velvet, the soft tickle of frills a constant reminder of his new reality.
Humiliation flared in small, sharp bursts. He fought the urge to fret and fidget beneath the layers of lace and velvet, his corset pressing firmly against his ribs. The heat of humiliation flared across his cheeks, and he could feel the prickling sensation of his skin against the starched collar that now sat perfectly, the frills fanned out to their full, ostentatious glory.
Noting his still lowered head, Mrs. Smyth whispered ever so softly, “Josh, sweetheart, chin up please.” She lifted her hand up to delicately tap his chin a few times with her fingernails. She gently but insistently nudged his face back up, returning him to a more demure pose. She was loving and firm as she continued to shape his posture and demeanor to project a dainty and refined image. Josh swallowed, his lips parted as her touch lingered beneath his chin. This simple act of angling his jaw felt impossibly intimate. It was a painful reminder that every inch of him was being curated for the approval of the women gathered around the table.
His mother noted this interaction with satisfaction and nodded approvingly. The subtle exchange between the two women reinforced their shared goals for Josh. As Mrs. Standish continued to carry on, Josh felt small and utterly powerless. He tried to keep his breathing shallow as he silently pleaded for the awards to conclude quickly.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Standish teased the crowd a bit more, and Josh’s insides twisted with anxiety. He tried to shrink and turn invisible in his chair, desperately hoping she would not call his name. His heart thumped faster. A flock of butterflies fluttered wildly in his tummy, and his little man raged futilely in its cage. He glanced nervously at his mother, at Kathy, at the crowd, searching for a miracle, but all he saw were amused faces and eager eyes waiting for the next moment of entertainment. Kathy’s eyes sparkled with pride and affection as she watched him, and his mother’s expression shone with satisfied approval. And of course, the discomfort in his bladder remained insistent.
After several more agonizing moments, Mrs. Standish’s eyes finally drifted toward him. The room was abuzz with laughter and anticipation, but for Josh, the world had shrunk to the suffocating confines of his Fauntleroy suit. His insides twisted with dread as Mrs. Standish drew out the moment, her cheerful theatrics only heightening his suspense.
Josh clung to the hope that perhaps, just perhaps, he would be spared further spectacle. “Don’t pick me, please don’t pick me,” he silently pleaded, his thoughts tumbling over one another as he tried to will himself into the background. Desperate for relief from the ache in his bladder, he squeezed his knees together and felt the crinkly diaper rustle beneath him.
Then, Mrs. Standish paused with an expectant smile on her face and locked in on the sissified lad. Trapped like a deer in the headlights, Josh held his breath and felt his cheeks flush even more. Even before she spoke, Josh knew what she was going to say.
7
Active Sissy Stories / Re: Fantasy Hotel
« Last post by HallowGiga on Yesterday at 01:32:41 AM »
One Week Later
The shock had faded into a dull, rhythmic despair. The sex workers had established a grueling routine. Tim spent his nights trapped in the mahogany crib in the nursery, his limbs heavy and his mind foggy.
The most terrifying change had come on the third day.
“We decided we don’t want to deal with poopy diapers,” Kate had announced that morning.
They had laid Tim on a changing table, stripping him of his diaper. Lexi appeared with a gallon-sized bag of warm water and a nozzle. Tim’s eyes had gone wide with terror as they flipped him onto his stomach.
The first enema was a violation unlike any other. The cold intrusion, the cramping fullness, and the subsequent forced evacuation into a bedside commode while the women watched and laughed had shattered what was left of his pride.
But it didn't end there.
“To make sure we don’t have any accidents between morning flushes,” Kate said, “we’re going to give you a little stopper.”
She held up a large, stainless-steel butt plug with a wide, pink crystal base. Tim’s muffled screams filled the room as she forced the luncricated thick bulb through his sphincter, stretching his anus to a painful, burning limit.
“There,” Kate said, patting his rear. “Now you can only pee in your diapers like a good girl. The plug stays in until tomorrow morning’s cleaning.”
The constant pressure of the steel plug and the permanent stretch of the coc-k-pacifier became his entire reality. He was a closed system—fed through one end, plugged at the other, leaking only into the plastic against his skin.
One Month Later
Tim—or Tammy, as his brain was beginning to subconsciously respond to—no longer fought when they dressed him. The girls treated his existence as a mundane fact of life, like a household pet or a piece of furniture.
They introduced a new "playtime" activity. In the center of the nursery stood a custom-made rocking horse.
Instead of a saddle, it had a large, upright dil-do bolted to the seat.
Every afternoon, they would remove his butt plug and strap him onto the horse, his legs splayed wide. The rocking motion forced the toy deep inside him over and over again. When the timer dinged, they would take him off, his inner thighs aching, and immediately reinsert the steel plug.
He was never empty.
Two Months Later
The "experience" evolved. To maximize the "value" of the stay, the women set up a second playpen in the lobby, right next to the reception desk.
This was the ultimate humiliation. Regular male clients—men who looked like Tim used to look—would check in for their own sessions. They would see the small man in the frilly dress and diaper, sitting among a pile of dil-dos, suc-kling on a silicone pen-is.
“What’s that?” a client would ask, pointing and laughing.
“Oh, that’s just our Baby Tammy,” Kate would say, leaning over the desk. “She’s a very naughty girl who forgot how to be a man. Feel free to give her a pat or a tease while you wait.”
Men would walk over, poking at his diaper or make lewd comments. Tim would look up at them, his eyes brimming with tears, making frantic “Mmppphh! Mmppph!”sounds, begging for help.
“Listen to her!” Lexi would chirp from the sofa. “She’s such a chatty sissy baby girl today! She’s telling you how much she loves her toys.”
The more he tried to beg, the more they dismissed it as "happy baby babble."
Three Months Later
The day of his supposed release arrived. Tim sat in the breakroom playpen, his stomach heavy with his morning feeding of "sissy food." His jaw ached from the pacifier, a sensation that had become so constant it was almost invisible to him.
Kate and Lexi stood by the coffee machine, whispering. Tim’s heart leaped. Was this it? Were they going to give him his clothes back?
Emma walked in, overhearing them. “Are we really talking about letting her go?”
“The three months are up today,” Lexi said, looking over at Tim.
“But look at her,” Emma said, gesturing to the playpen. “She’s so content. Do you really think she remembers how to be an adult? She hasn't walked on her own in weeks. She hasn't spoken a word. It would be cruel to dump her back on the street. She wouldn't last a day.”
Kate nodded slowly, her chin in her hand. “You’re right. And think of the waste. We’d have to throw away all this custom gear. Plus, we have more clients than ever now; we’ve got plenty of 'food' to keep her fed.”
Tim’s eyes went wide. He began to thrash, hitting his mittened hands against the mesh. No! No, please!
The three women approached the playpen. They didn't look like monsters; they looked like doting parents. They looked down at him with genuine, twisted affection.
“Tammy, sweetheart,” Kate said, reaching down to stroke his hair. “We have some wonderful news. We’ve decided that you’re much happier here with your mommies. You don’t ever have to worry about the big, scary world again.”
“You get to stay our baby girl forever,” Lexi cooed.
Tim’s chest heaved. A long, broken wail built up in his throat, but it emerged only as a series of wet, muffled grunts against the coc-k-pacifier. Tears streamed down his face, soaking into the lace collar of his dress.
“Oh, look!” Emma cried, clapping her hands.
“She’s so excited she’s crying! Happy tears for our sweet Baby Tammy.”
Kate leaned over and kissed his forehead.
“Welcome home, baby girl. Permanent residency is going to be so much fun.”
As they walked away to prepare his next bottle, Tim collapsed onto the pile of dil-dos, the crinkle of his diaper the only sound in the room, knowing the sun would never rise on Tim Miller ever again.
The shock had faded into a dull, rhythmic despair. The sex workers had established a grueling routine. Tim spent his nights trapped in the mahogany crib in the nursery, his limbs heavy and his mind foggy.
The most terrifying change had come on the third day.
“We decided we don’t want to deal with poopy diapers,” Kate had announced that morning.
They had laid Tim on a changing table, stripping him of his diaper. Lexi appeared with a gallon-sized bag of warm water and a nozzle. Tim’s eyes had gone wide with terror as they flipped him onto his stomach.
The first enema was a violation unlike any other. The cold intrusion, the cramping fullness, and the subsequent forced evacuation into a bedside commode while the women watched and laughed had shattered what was left of his pride.
But it didn't end there.
“To make sure we don’t have any accidents between morning flushes,” Kate said, “we’re going to give you a little stopper.”
She held up a large, stainless-steel butt plug with a wide, pink crystal base. Tim’s muffled screams filled the room as she forced the luncricated thick bulb through his sphincter, stretching his anus to a painful, burning limit.
“There,” Kate said, patting his rear. “Now you can only pee in your diapers like a good girl. The plug stays in until tomorrow morning’s cleaning.”
The constant pressure of the steel plug and the permanent stretch of the coc-k-pacifier became his entire reality. He was a closed system—fed through one end, plugged at the other, leaking only into the plastic against his skin.
One Month Later
Tim—or Tammy, as his brain was beginning to subconsciously respond to—no longer fought when they dressed him. The girls treated his existence as a mundane fact of life, like a household pet or a piece of furniture.
They introduced a new "playtime" activity. In the center of the nursery stood a custom-made rocking horse.
Instead of a saddle, it had a large, upright dil-do bolted to the seat.
Every afternoon, they would remove his butt plug and strap him onto the horse, his legs splayed wide. The rocking motion forced the toy deep inside him over and over again. When the timer dinged, they would take him off, his inner thighs aching, and immediately reinsert the steel plug.
He was never empty.
Two Months Later
The "experience" evolved. To maximize the "value" of the stay, the women set up a second playpen in the lobby, right next to the reception desk.
This was the ultimate humiliation. Regular male clients—men who looked like Tim used to look—would check in for their own sessions. They would see the small man in the frilly dress and diaper, sitting among a pile of dil-dos, suc-kling on a silicone pen-is.
“What’s that?” a client would ask, pointing and laughing.
“Oh, that’s just our Baby Tammy,” Kate would say, leaning over the desk. “She’s a very naughty girl who forgot how to be a man. Feel free to give her a pat or a tease while you wait.”
Men would walk over, poking at his diaper or make lewd comments. Tim would look up at them, his eyes brimming with tears, making frantic “Mmppphh! Mmppph!”sounds, begging for help.
“Listen to her!” Lexi would chirp from the sofa. “She’s such a chatty sissy baby girl today! She’s telling you how much she loves her toys.”
The more he tried to beg, the more they dismissed it as "happy baby babble."
Three Months Later
The day of his supposed release arrived. Tim sat in the breakroom playpen, his stomach heavy with his morning feeding of "sissy food." His jaw ached from the pacifier, a sensation that had become so constant it was almost invisible to him.
Kate and Lexi stood by the coffee machine, whispering. Tim’s heart leaped. Was this it? Were they going to give him his clothes back?
Emma walked in, overhearing them. “Are we really talking about letting her go?”
“The three months are up today,” Lexi said, looking over at Tim.
“But look at her,” Emma said, gesturing to the playpen. “She’s so content. Do you really think she remembers how to be an adult? She hasn't walked on her own in weeks. She hasn't spoken a word. It would be cruel to dump her back on the street. She wouldn't last a day.”
Kate nodded slowly, her chin in her hand. “You’re right. And think of the waste. We’d have to throw away all this custom gear. Plus, we have more clients than ever now; we’ve got plenty of 'food' to keep her fed.”
Tim’s eyes went wide. He began to thrash, hitting his mittened hands against the mesh. No! No, please!
The three women approached the playpen. They didn't look like monsters; they looked like doting parents. They looked down at him with genuine, twisted affection.
“Tammy, sweetheart,” Kate said, reaching down to stroke his hair. “We have some wonderful news. We’ve decided that you’re much happier here with your mommies. You don’t ever have to worry about the big, scary world again.”
“You get to stay our baby girl forever,” Lexi cooed.
Tim’s chest heaved. A long, broken wail built up in his throat, but it emerged only as a series of wet, muffled grunts against the coc-k-pacifier. Tears streamed down his face, soaking into the lace collar of his dress.
“Oh, look!” Emma cried, clapping her hands.
“She’s so excited she’s crying! Happy tears for our sweet Baby Tammy.”
Kate leaned over and kissed his forehead.
“Welcome home, baby girl. Permanent residency is going to be so much fun.”
As they walked away to prepare his next bottle, Tim collapsed onto the pile of dil-dos, the crinkle of his diaper the only sound in the room, knowing the sun would never rise on Tim Miller ever again.
8
Active Sissy Stories / Fantasy Hotel
« Last post by HallowGiga on Yesterday at 01:22:23 AM »
This is a short two part story that I’ve been working on for some time now. Full transparency, I did use AI to help with formatting but all of the content is based on my ideas.
The neon sign above the entrance flickered with a rhythmic hum, casting a sickly pink glow over the rain-slicked pavement. Tim, twenty-one and barely five-foot-five, adjusted the strap of his duffel bag. He was exhausted. A wrong turn on a cross-country move had landed him in this nameless district, and all he wanted was a shower and a bed. The building looked upscale enough—heavy mahogany doors, gold trim, and a subtle scent of expensive perfume wafting from the vents.
He pushed inside, the heavy doors muffling the sound of the storm. The lobby was dim, lit by recessed crimson lights. Behind a marble-topped desk sat a woman who looked like she’d stepped off a high-fashion runway, if that runway were in the heart of the Red Light District. Kate, a striking woman in her mid-thirties with dark, sharp eyes and a smile that didn't quite reach them, wore a translucent lace robe that left very little to the imagination.
“Hi, I’m looking for a room for the night—” Tim began, his voice cracking slightly from fatigue.
Kate’s eyes locked onto him, scanning his small frame and youthful face. Before he could finish his sentence, she let out a delighted trill of laughter. “Oh, sweetie, there’s no need for the formal introduction. We’ve been expecting you for hours!”
Tim blinked, his brow furrowing. “Expecting me? I think there’s been a mistake. I just saw the sign outside and—”
Kate leaned over the desk, her laughter bubbling again. She ignored his confusion entirely, her gaze shifting to a doorway behind her. “Emma! Lexi! He’s finally here! Our special client has arrived!”
Two more women emerged from the shadows of the hallway. Emma was tall and athletic, wearing a black leather corset, while Lexi was petite with neon-pink hair and a mischievous glint in her eyes. They both looked Tim up and down with predatory hunger.
“Oh, he’s even smaller than I thought,” Lexi giggled, clapping her hands. “He’s going to be perfect.”
“Wait, wait,” Tim said, stepping back as the women approached. “I’m not a special client. I’m just Tim. I think you have me confused with someone else.”
“Don’t be shy, darling,” Emma said, her voice a low purr. She caught his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “The nerves are all part of the experience. We know exactly what you need.”
Tim’s confusion began to turn into a low-grade panic, but as the women flanked him, his brain struggled to process the situation. He realized, with a jolt of heat to his face, that these women were sex workers, but the way they were handling him felt less like a service and more like a kidnapping. He tried to pull away, but they were practiced and efficient, guiding him—almost dragging him—down a long, plushly carpeted hallway.
“Seriously, I’m not who you think I am!” Tim protested, his voice rising.
“Such a noisy little thing,” Kate called out from the desk, waving them off. “Take him to the Pink Suite. Get him settled into his new life.”
They turned a corner and pushed open a pair of double doors. Tim’s jaw dropped. The room didn’t look like a hotel suite. It was a massive, sprawling nursery, but everything was scaled for an adult. The walls were a soft, nauseating shade of peony pink. There was a giant white crib in the corner, a mountain of plush teddy bears, and a towering highchair bolted to the floor near a small table.
“What is this?” Tim gasped, his heart hammering against his ribs. “Let me go!”
He tried to bolt for the door, but Lexi tripped him with an expertly placed foot. As he stumbled onto the thick, soft carpet, Emma was on him in an instant.
“Time to get out of these dirty big-boy clothes,” Emma whispered, her fingers flying over the buttons of his shirt.
Tim scrambled, kicking his legs, but Lexi sat on his shins, pinning him down. “Look at him struggle! It’s like a little puppy,” she laughed, her voice bright and cruel.
They stripped him with terrifying speed. His jeans, his shirt, even his underwear were tossed into a corner. Tim shivered, feeling small and exposed under the bright nursery lights. Before he could even cover himself, they were forcing his arms into thick, padded mittens. They were spherical and soft, with no finger slots, effectively turning his hands into useless clubs.
“There,” Lexi said, cinching the Velcro straps tight around his wrists. “No more scratching or grabbing.”
Next came the diaper. It was thick, crinkly, and enormous, printed with little yellow duckies. Tim cried out in protest, his face burning with a mix of rage and humiliation as they hoisted his hips and taped the plastic wings tight. Over that, they threw a frilly pink dress with white lace around the collar and puff sleeves.
“You look adorable!” Emma cooed.
“Let me go!” he shouted, but his voice was drowned out as they hoisted him up. Despite his thrashing, they carried him to the highchair. With a heavy clack, the tray was swung down and locked into place, trapping him in the seat.
The door opened, and Kate walked in. She was no longer behind the desk; she was holding a small tray. On it sat a pacifier, but it was unlike any Tim had ever seen. The shield was wide and pink, but the nipple was replaced with a hyper-realistic, three-inch-long erect pen-is made of soft, veined silicone.
Tim’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.
“Let me go you bitches, get that thing away from—MMPPHH!”
His sentence vanished as Kate leaned forward and expertly shoved the coc-k-shaped pacifier into his mouth. It was thick, filling his oral cavity completely, forcing his jaw to stay open in a permanent stretch. Before he could spit it out, Kate pulled a black elastic strap from the sides of the shield and fastened it tightly around the back of his head.
“No more talking for the baby girl,” Kate said, leaning down until her nose almost touched his. She flicked the silicone tip of the pacifier.
“It’s made of a special material. It feels just like the real thing, doesn’t it? Soft, yet firm.”
Tim let out a muffled scream, his eyes darting frantically. He pulled at his restraints, his mittened hands thudding uselessly against the highchair tray.
Kate hummed to herself and walked over to the pile of Tim’s discarded clothes. She picked up his jeans and pulled his wallet from the back pocket. She flipped it open, her eyes scanning his driver’s license. Slowly, her smirk faded. She looked at the ID, then back at Tim, then at the ID again.
“Oh,” Kate said softly. Her eyes went wide. “Lexi, Emma... come here.”
The two women hovered over her shoulder.
“What is it?” Lexi asked.
“This isn't him,” Kate said, holding up the ID.
“This is Timothy Miller. The client we were expecting is a forty-five-year-old CEO from Chicago. This kid is... twenty-one. He’s just a traveler.”
Lexi’s face fell. “You’re kidding. We made a mistake?”
Emma sighed, looking at Tim, who was currently making frantic, hopeful grunting sounds behind his pacifier. “Dammit. I was so excited for this. The order was so specific. Total regression, the special diet... everything was prepaid.”
Kate looked at Tim. She took a step toward him, her hand reaching for the strap of the pacifier to release him. Tim’s eyes lit up with a spark of hope.
But then, Lexi caught Kate’s wrist.
“Wait,” Lexi said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Think about the work we’ve already put in. The nursery is set up. The freezer is stocked. The client—the real one—clearly isn’t coming if he’s this late. And the payment? It’s non-refundable and huge. It’s sitting in our account right now.”
Kate paused. She looked at the highchair, at the small, helpless man dressed in lace and plastic. A slow, wicked grin spread across her face.
“You’re right,” Kate said, tucking Tim’s ID into her robe pocket. “And honestly? He fits the clothes better than the CEO would have.”
She walked back to Tim, patting his cheek condescendingly. “Lucky you, Timmy. You’re getting a real kinky treat, totally free of charge! But we can’t call you Tim anymore. That’s a man’s name. From now on, you’re our little Baby Tammy.”
Tim let out a desperate, guttural sob, but it was nothing more than a muffled vibration against the silicone coc-k in his mouth.
“He sounds hungry,” Emma noted. “Let’s get him to the breakroom.”
The highchair was on wheels. Lexi unlocked the casters and began pushing Tim out of the nursery and down the hall. He felt the vibration of the floor through the seat of his diaper, the humiliation of being paraded through the hall in a dress burning through him.
They entered a large, industrial-looking kitchen that doubled as a breakroom. Several other women were there, dressed in various states of undress, sipping coffee or scrolling on their phones. In the corner stood a massive industrial freezer. It had a hand-written sign taped to the front in bold, pink letters: SISSY BABY FOOD.
“Sit tight, Tammy,” Kate said, positioning him so he was facing away from the counters.
“We’ll have your food thawed out in no time!”
Lexi clapped her hands to get the attention of the other girls in the room. “Attention, everyone! Meet Baby Tammy. She’s going to be staying with us for the next three months!”
Tim’s heart stopped. Three months? The words echoed in his head like a death sentence. He wouldn’t just be here for the night. He would be here all summer.
The women in the breakroom gathered around, their expressions ranging from amusement to mockery.
“Look at those little legs,” one woman sneered, poking Tim’s thigh. “She’s so tiny.”
“She’s built like a doll,” another added, laughing. “She’s definitely made for this.”
Behind Tim, he heard a sharp beep-beep-beep. A microwave door swung open. A moment later, Kate reappeared in his line of sight, carrying a large pink plastic bowl.
Steam rose from it, carrying a heavy, musk-like scent that made Tim’s stomach turn.
She set the bowl on his tray. Tim looked down. The bowl was filled with a thick, translucent white goop. It was viscous, stringy, and pearlescent.
His eyes went wide as the realization hit him.
He knew that smell.
He knew that texture.
The bowl was full of semen.
“Time to introduce our sissy baby girl to her special diet,” Lexi said, reaching behind Tim’s head. She unstrapped the pen-is pacifier.
As soon as his mouth was free, Tim tried to scream. “Please! No! Don’t do this! I’m begging you, don’t feed me—”
“Open wide, Tammy!” Kate interrupted, her voice a mock-song.
She dipped a large plastic spoon into the goop, bringing up a dripping, globulous mountain of it. Tim clamped his teeth shut, tears streaming down his face.
“Don’t be a difficult baby,” Kate warned, her thumb and forefinger pinching his nose shut.
Tim held his breath as long as he could, but eventually, his lungs demanded air. As he gasped for a breath, Kate shoved the spoon deep into his mouth, dumping the warm, salty load onto his tongue.
Tim gagged instantly. The taste was overwhelming—salty, bitter, and cloyingly thick. It coated the back of his throat like slime. He tried to spit it out, but Kate held his chin up with one hand, and from behind him Lexi reached forward and massaged his throat forcing him to swallow. He felt the glob slide down his esophagus, a cold shiver of revulsion racking his frame.
“There we go!” Kate praised. “Every drop, now. We’ve been collecting and freezing the spunk of every client who’s visited over the last six months just for this! The client paid for a c-um-only diet, so that’s exactly what Tammy gets.”
Spoonful after spoonful followed. Tim’s world narrowed down to the rhythmic scraping of the plastic against the bowl and the horrific, repetitive act of swallowing the warm, bitter essence of a hundred strangers.
“It’s an acquired taste,” Lexi said, giggling as she wiped a stray drip of white slime from Tim’s chin. “It’s not so bad really. You’ll probably get used to it. Or maybe not.”
Emma then spoke cheerfully. “I wonder if you’ll feel a little tickle in your tummy with all those little sperm swimming around in there!?!”
When the bowl was finally empty, Tim was trembling, his stomach churning with the heavy, protein-rich load. Kate didn’t give him a moment to recover. She immediately shoved the coc-k-pacifier back into his mouth, stretching his jaw once more, and tightened the strap.
“Good girl,” she whispered.
They wheeled him to the other side of the breakroom, where a large, heavy-duty playpen had been set up. The sides were nearly four feet high, made of reinforced mesh and plastic. Inside, the floor was covered in a confusing jumble of objects: colorful plastic blocks, rattles, and plushies mixed with a dozen realistic silicone dil-dos of varying sizes and colors.
Emma lifted Tim out of the highchair—his diaper crinkling loudly—and dropped him into the playpen. He landed hard on the padded mat. Lexi shut the gate and clicked a heavy latch into place.
“Have fun with your toys, Tammy! We have to get back to work,” Kate said.
The group of women dispersed, leaving Tim alone in the corner of the room. He sat there, mittened hands useless, the taste of semen still lingering in the back of his throat. He looked at the "toys" around him. A blue rattle lay next to a ten-inch black dil-do. The juxtaposition was a nightmare.
A few hours passed. Tim tried to climb the mesh, but the mittens made it impossible to get a grip. He was trapped. Eventually, a new group of sex workers he hadn’t seen before entered for their break.
A tall blonde in six-inch heels spotted him and let out a high-pitched squeal. “Oh my god! Is this the new sissy baby?”
She hurried over, leaning over the rail of the playpen. “You are the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen! Look at those big, sad eyes!”
Tim made a desperate “Mmmpph!” sound, shaking his head.
“Oh, don’t be shy,” the blonde said, reaching down to tickle his ribs. “You’re not a real man, are you? No, you were made to be our little toy.”
The other women joined her, leaning over the gate.
“I heard she doesn’t even eat real food,” one said, smirking. “Just a little c-um-bucket in a dress.”
“She looks so much better like this than she ever could as a boy.”
They laughed and headed toward the kitchen. The blonde, however, stayed behind. “You must be hungry again, Tammy. It’s been hours since your dinner.”
She went to the fridge and returned with a baby bottle. Instead of milk, it was filled with more of the thick, white fluid. The nipple was shaped like a small, realistic coc-k.
Tim scrambled to the corner of the playpen, but the blonde simply unlatched the gate and stepped inside. She was much stronger than she looked. She scooped him up, sitting on the floor and pinning him across her lap. Tim thrashed, but she held him with a firm, practiced grip.
She undid the pacifier strap, and before he could breathe, she jammed the bottle’s nipple into his mouth.
“Drink up, you pathetic little sissy,” she whispered, tilting the bottle back. “This is all you are now. A place for us to put the leftovers.”
Tim was forced to suc-kle, the warm, salty spunk pumping into his mouth. He choked and sputtered, but she didn't stop until the bottle was bone-dry.
When she was finished, she replaced the pacifier, cinched it tight, and dumped him back onto the mat. She picked up a large, veined dil-do from the floor and plopped it into his lap. “Play nice, Tammy,” she mocked before latching the gate and leaving.
The neon sign above the entrance flickered with a rhythmic hum, casting a sickly pink glow over the rain-slicked pavement. Tim, twenty-one and barely five-foot-five, adjusted the strap of his duffel bag. He was exhausted. A wrong turn on a cross-country move had landed him in this nameless district, and all he wanted was a shower and a bed. The building looked upscale enough—heavy mahogany doors, gold trim, and a subtle scent of expensive perfume wafting from the vents.
He pushed inside, the heavy doors muffling the sound of the storm. The lobby was dim, lit by recessed crimson lights. Behind a marble-topped desk sat a woman who looked like she’d stepped off a high-fashion runway, if that runway were in the heart of the Red Light District. Kate, a striking woman in her mid-thirties with dark, sharp eyes and a smile that didn't quite reach them, wore a translucent lace robe that left very little to the imagination.
“Hi, I’m looking for a room for the night—” Tim began, his voice cracking slightly from fatigue.
Kate’s eyes locked onto him, scanning his small frame and youthful face. Before he could finish his sentence, she let out a delighted trill of laughter. “Oh, sweetie, there’s no need for the formal introduction. We’ve been expecting you for hours!”
Tim blinked, his brow furrowing. “Expecting me? I think there’s been a mistake. I just saw the sign outside and—”
Kate leaned over the desk, her laughter bubbling again. She ignored his confusion entirely, her gaze shifting to a doorway behind her. “Emma! Lexi! He’s finally here! Our special client has arrived!”
Two more women emerged from the shadows of the hallway. Emma was tall and athletic, wearing a black leather corset, while Lexi was petite with neon-pink hair and a mischievous glint in her eyes. They both looked Tim up and down with predatory hunger.
“Oh, he’s even smaller than I thought,” Lexi giggled, clapping her hands. “He’s going to be perfect.”
“Wait, wait,” Tim said, stepping back as the women approached. “I’m not a special client. I’m just Tim. I think you have me confused with someone else.”
“Don’t be shy, darling,” Emma said, her voice a low purr. She caught his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “The nerves are all part of the experience. We know exactly what you need.”
Tim’s confusion began to turn into a low-grade panic, but as the women flanked him, his brain struggled to process the situation. He realized, with a jolt of heat to his face, that these women were sex workers, but the way they were handling him felt less like a service and more like a kidnapping. He tried to pull away, but they were practiced and efficient, guiding him—almost dragging him—down a long, plushly carpeted hallway.
“Seriously, I’m not who you think I am!” Tim protested, his voice rising.
“Such a noisy little thing,” Kate called out from the desk, waving them off. “Take him to the Pink Suite. Get him settled into his new life.”
They turned a corner and pushed open a pair of double doors. Tim’s jaw dropped. The room didn’t look like a hotel suite. It was a massive, sprawling nursery, but everything was scaled for an adult. The walls were a soft, nauseating shade of peony pink. There was a giant white crib in the corner, a mountain of plush teddy bears, and a towering highchair bolted to the floor near a small table.
“What is this?” Tim gasped, his heart hammering against his ribs. “Let me go!”
He tried to bolt for the door, but Lexi tripped him with an expertly placed foot. As he stumbled onto the thick, soft carpet, Emma was on him in an instant.
“Time to get out of these dirty big-boy clothes,” Emma whispered, her fingers flying over the buttons of his shirt.
Tim scrambled, kicking his legs, but Lexi sat on his shins, pinning him down. “Look at him struggle! It’s like a little puppy,” she laughed, her voice bright and cruel.
They stripped him with terrifying speed. His jeans, his shirt, even his underwear were tossed into a corner. Tim shivered, feeling small and exposed under the bright nursery lights. Before he could even cover himself, they were forcing his arms into thick, padded mittens. They were spherical and soft, with no finger slots, effectively turning his hands into useless clubs.
“There,” Lexi said, cinching the Velcro straps tight around his wrists. “No more scratching or grabbing.”
Next came the diaper. It was thick, crinkly, and enormous, printed with little yellow duckies. Tim cried out in protest, his face burning with a mix of rage and humiliation as they hoisted his hips and taped the plastic wings tight. Over that, they threw a frilly pink dress with white lace around the collar and puff sleeves.
“You look adorable!” Emma cooed.
“Let me go!” he shouted, but his voice was drowned out as they hoisted him up. Despite his thrashing, they carried him to the highchair. With a heavy clack, the tray was swung down and locked into place, trapping him in the seat.
The door opened, and Kate walked in. She was no longer behind the desk; she was holding a small tray. On it sat a pacifier, but it was unlike any Tim had ever seen. The shield was wide and pink, but the nipple was replaced with a hyper-realistic, three-inch-long erect pen-is made of soft, veined silicone.
Tim’s eyes widened to the size of saucers.
“Let me go you bitches, get that thing away from—MMPPHH!”
His sentence vanished as Kate leaned forward and expertly shoved the coc-k-shaped pacifier into his mouth. It was thick, filling his oral cavity completely, forcing his jaw to stay open in a permanent stretch. Before he could spit it out, Kate pulled a black elastic strap from the sides of the shield and fastened it tightly around the back of his head.
“No more talking for the baby girl,” Kate said, leaning down until her nose almost touched his. She flicked the silicone tip of the pacifier.
“It’s made of a special material. It feels just like the real thing, doesn’t it? Soft, yet firm.”
Tim let out a muffled scream, his eyes darting frantically. He pulled at his restraints, his mittened hands thudding uselessly against the highchair tray.
Kate hummed to herself and walked over to the pile of Tim’s discarded clothes. She picked up his jeans and pulled his wallet from the back pocket. She flipped it open, her eyes scanning his driver’s license. Slowly, her smirk faded. She looked at the ID, then back at Tim, then at the ID again.
“Oh,” Kate said softly. Her eyes went wide. “Lexi, Emma... come here.”
The two women hovered over her shoulder.
“What is it?” Lexi asked.
“This isn't him,” Kate said, holding up the ID.
“This is Timothy Miller. The client we were expecting is a forty-five-year-old CEO from Chicago. This kid is... twenty-one. He’s just a traveler.”
Lexi’s face fell. “You’re kidding. We made a mistake?”
Emma sighed, looking at Tim, who was currently making frantic, hopeful grunting sounds behind his pacifier. “Dammit. I was so excited for this. The order was so specific. Total regression, the special diet... everything was prepaid.”
Kate looked at Tim. She took a step toward him, her hand reaching for the strap of the pacifier to release him. Tim’s eyes lit up with a spark of hope.
But then, Lexi caught Kate’s wrist.
“Wait,” Lexi said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Think about the work we’ve already put in. The nursery is set up. The freezer is stocked. The client—the real one—clearly isn’t coming if he’s this late. And the payment? It’s non-refundable and huge. It’s sitting in our account right now.”
Kate paused. She looked at the highchair, at the small, helpless man dressed in lace and plastic. A slow, wicked grin spread across her face.
“You’re right,” Kate said, tucking Tim’s ID into her robe pocket. “And honestly? He fits the clothes better than the CEO would have.”
She walked back to Tim, patting his cheek condescendingly. “Lucky you, Timmy. You’re getting a real kinky treat, totally free of charge! But we can’t call you Tim anymore. That’s a man’s name. From now on, you’re our little Baby Tammy.”
Tim let out a desperate, guttural sob, but it was nothing more than a muffled vibration against the silicone coc-k in his mouth.
“He sounds hungry,” Emma noted. “Let’s get him to the breakroom.”
The highchair was on wheels. Lexi unlocked the casters and began pushing Tim out of the nursery and down the hall. He felt the vibration of the floor through the seat of his diaper, the humiliation of being paraded through the hall in a dress burning through him.
They entered a large, industrial-looking kitchen that doubled as a breakroom. Several other women were there, dressed in various states of undress, sipping coffee or scrolling on their phones. In the corner stood a massive industrial freezer. It had a hand-written sign taped to the front in bold, pink letters: SISSY BABY FOOD.
“Sit tight, Tammy,” Kate said, positioning him so he was facing away from the counters.
“We’ll have your food thawed out in no time!”
Lexi clapped her hands to get the attention of the other girls in the room. “Attention, everyone! Meet Baby Tammy. She’s going to be staying with us for the next three months!”
Tim’s heart stopped. Three months? The words echoed in his head like a death sentence. He wouldn’t just be here for the night. He would be here all summer.
The women in the breakroom gathered around, their expressions ranging from amusement to mockery.
“Look at those little legs,” one woman sneered, poking Tim’s thigh. “She’s so tiny.”
“She’s built like a doll,” another added, laughing. “She’s definitely made for this.”
Behind Tim, he heard a sharp beep-beep-beep. A microwave door swung open. A moment later, Kate reappeared in his line of sight, carrying a large pink plastic bowl.
Steam rose from it, carrying a heavy, musk-like scent that made Tim’s stomach turn.
She set the bowl on his tray. Tim looked down. The bowl was filled with a thick, translucent white goop. It was viscous, stringy, and pearlescent.
His eyes went wide as the realization hit him.
He knew that smell.
He knew that texture.
The bowl was full of semen.
“Time to introduce our sissy baby girl to her special diet,” Lexi said, reaching behind Tim’s head. She unstrapped the pen-is pacifier.
As soon as his mouth was free, Tim tried to scream. “Please! No! Don’t do this! I’m begging you, don’t feed me—”
“Open wide, Tammy!” Kate interrupted, her voice a mock-song.
She dipped a large plastic spoon into the goop, bringing up a dripping, globulous mountain of it. Tim clamped his teeth shut, tears streaming down his face.
“Don’t be a difficult baby,” Kate warned, her thumb and forefinger pinching his nose shut.
Tim held his breath as long as he could, but eventually, his lungs demanded air. As he gasped for a breath, Kate shoved the spoon deep into his mouth, dumping the warm, salty load onto his tongue.
Tim gagged instantly. The taste was overwhelming—salty, bitter, and cloyingly thick. It coated the back of his throat like slime. He tried to spit it out, but Kate held his chin up with one hand, and from behind him Lexi reached forward and massaged his throat forcing him to swallow. He felt the glob slide down his esophagus, a cold shiver of revulsion racking his frame.
“There we go!” Kate praised. “Every drop, now. We’ve been collecting and freezing the spunk of every client who’s visited over the last six months just for this! The client paid for a c-um-only diet, so that’s exactly what Tammy gets.”
Spoonful after spoonful followed. Tim’s world narrowed down to the rhythmic scraping of the plastic against the bowl and the horrific, repetitive act of swallowing the warm, bitter essence of a hundred strangers.
“It’s an acquired taste,” Lexi said, giggling as she wiped a stray drip of white slime from Tim’s chin. “It’s not so bad really. You’ll probably get used to it. Or maybe not.”
Emma then spoke cheerfully. “I wonder if you’ll feel a little tickle in your tummy with all those little sperm swimming around in there!?!”
When the bowl was finally empty, Tim was trembling, his stomach churning with the heavy, protein-rich load. Kate didn’t give him a moment to recover. She immediately shoved the coc-k-pacifier back into his mouth, stretching his jaw once more, and tightened the strap.
“Good girl,” she whispered.
They wheeled him to the other side of the breakroom, where a large, heavy-duty playpen had been set up. The sides were nearly four feet high, made of reinforced mesh and plastic. Inside, the floor was covered in a confusing jumble of objects: colorful plastic blocks, rattles, and plushies mixed with a dozen realistic silicone dil-dos of varying sizes and colors.
Emma lifted Tim out of the highchair—his diaper crinkling loudly—and dropped him into the playpen. He landed hard on the padded mat. Lexi shut the gate and clicked a heavy latch into place.
“Have fun with your toys, Tammy! We have to get back to work,” Kate said.
The group of women dispersed, leaving Tim alone in the corner of the room. He sat there, mittened hands useless, the taste of semen still lingering in the back of his throat. He looked at the "toys" around him. A blue rattle lay next to a ten-inch black dil-do. The juxtaposition was a nightmare.
A few hours passed. Tim tried to climb the mesh, but the mittens made it impossible to get a grip. He was trapped. Eventually, a new group of sex workers he hadn’t seen before entered for their break.
A tall blonde in six-inch heels spotted him and let out a high-pitched squeal. “Oh my god! Is this the new sissy baby?”
She hurried over, leaning over the rail of the playpen. “You are the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen! Look at those big, sad eyes!”
Tim made a desperate “Mmmpph!” sound, shaking his head.
“Oh, don’t be shy,” the blonde said, reaching down to tickle his ribs. “You’re not a real man, are you? No, you were made to be our little toy.”
The other women joined her, leaning over the gate.
“I heard she doesn’t even eat real food,” one said, smirking. “Just a little c-um-bucket in a dress.”
“She looks so much better like this than she ever could as a boy.”
They laughed and headed toward the kitchen. The blonde, however, stayed behind. “You must be hungry again, Tammy. It’s been hours since your dinner.”
She went to the fridge and returned with a baby bottle. Instead of milk, it was filled with more of the thick, white fluid. The nipple was shaped like a small, realistic coc-k.
Tim scrambled to the corner of the playpen, but the blonde simply unlatched the gate and stepped inside. She was much stronger than she looked. She scooped him up, sitting on the floor and pinning him across her lap. Tim thrashed, but she held him with a firm, practiced grip.
She undid the pacifier strap, and before he could breathe, she jammed the bottle’s nipple into his mouth.
“Drink up, you pathetic little sissy,” she whispered, tilting the bottle back. “This is all you are now. A place for us to put the leftovers.”
Tim was forced to suc-kle, the warm, salty spunk pumping into his mouth. He choked and sputtered, but she didn't stop until the bottle was bone-dry.
When she was finished, she replaced the pacifier, cinched it tight, and dumped him back onto the mat. She picked up a large, veined dil-do from the floor and plopped it into his lap. “Play nice, Tammy,” she mocked before latching the gate and leaving.
9
Active Sissy Stories / Re: Failed and Faulty
« Last post by Baby Mac on June 13, 2026, 10:52:34 PM »
It looks like the conditioning is taking hold. Please write more its going fantastic!
10
Active Sissy Stories / Re: Failed and Faulty
« Last post by ace on June 13, 2026, 08:06:41 PM »
A brief comment. I shall not be selling my stories commercially, nor will I use this wonderful site to tease my readers with extracts that require payment to see the ending.
Thank you for all the wonderful feedback as it keeps me motivated!
Thanks you for all your contributions Antonia, we've had a pretty good run before people started taking advantage, unfortunately I don't believe anyone has permissions to moderate the board since Betty's passing, I know that he would have deleted any posts that attempted to make profit via this board. Similarly he would have deleted the recent posts with contact information.
Let's hope it doesn't degenerate any further, and the loyal poster's like yourself continue in his memory.
Ace
The more you give, the more I can give back.
Website, forum design, software, & security on this site is copyrighted. It was made personally by Betty Pearl, of Betty Pearl's Pubs, Sissy Stories, buffalobetties, pearlcorona. Betty's Pub is a non-profit organization & support group for the transgendered, & Fetware community. We don't sell anything, & we don't data mine your personal information & habits to sell like MOST other sites do. We respect your privacy & won't sell it out for a few bucks.
Site for: Sissy Stories, ABDL Stories, Sissy Art, Crossdressing, Transgender