Sissy Dani CHAPTER 4

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Sissy Dani CHAPTER 4
“This should be the most exciting night of your life,` Mistress
Jennifer told me. “We’ll be celebrating Sissy Dani’s first
‘birthday.'” It was true. A full year had gone by since Jennifer
had first used her secret hypnotic designs to implant within my
mind the personality of Sissy Dani, a simpering, submissive male
lesbian who craved being both beautiful and bound. In that year,
she had also aided many of her dominant female friends to
successfully transform the men in their lives into submissive
feminized slaves as well. Many of them would be at the party
tonight. “Let’s get you into your birthday dress,” Jennifer
said, holding out the special creation. “Can’t that wait?” I
asked petulantly. I had noted over the last several months that
even as Daniel I was becoming increasingly girlish–my voice was
higher, softer
my gestures and walk more feminine. This “persona
seepage,” as I had come to think of it, had seemingly begun the
evening Jennifer imposed a second set of posthypnotic commands
upon me. I was now compelled to wear feminine undergarments and a
light coating of makeup at all times, whether dressed and acting
as Daniel or Dani. I was now reluctant to wear female clothing
when the Daniel persona was in charge– for fear the “seepage”
would increase. Jennifer, of course, had the solution to my
reluctance. “Don’t you want to be PRETTY, SISSY DANI?” Those were
the code words, the special message that would activate in full
the feminine psyche hidden within my own. As usual, the switch
was instantaneous. Unable to resist (though within, I knew how
humiliating the entire scenario was), I dropped my gaze and held
out my arms, wrists touching. “Transform me, Mistress,” I
pleaded. “Bind me into your service as sissy Dani.” Jennifer
ordered me to remove my male outer clothes and the black lace
undies I was also wearing. She strapped me into a plain white
strapless padded bra and then added white panties. No garter belt
this time–the sheer white stockings she gave me to put on my
hairless legs were designed to stay up by themselves. When she
handed me the dress Sissy Dani was to wear to the party I
understood why my lingerie was so simple. The dress was elegant,
sexy, and tight as tight could be. Its shirred white fabric clung
to everyone of Sissy Dani’s curves. It was low-cut and strapless,
the bodice fitting like a bustier. The hem was among the shortest
Sissy Dani had ever worn–nearly eight inches above the knee. A
built-in starched petticoat made the skirt stand out, seemingly
revealing even more of the legs than usual. Now came the
shoes–the barest of bare white sandals with seven-inch heels.
Fortunately, in preparation for the party, Jennifer had made me
(as both Daniel and Dani) practice walking in even higher
eight-inch heels for the past month. In comparison, these were
like flats. I looked down at my feet, and the Sissy Dani persona
was enchanted by the sight of my red- painted toenails winking
through the thin straps of the sandals. It was an extremely sexy
sight. Fully dressed for the party (or so I thought at the
time), I was seated at my vanity for a make-up job. In keeping
with the sexy yet virginal white of my outfit, Mistress Jennifer
emphasized the little-girl look of my face without neglecting the
need to make me the sexual center of attention she wanted me to
be that evening. The final effect–with ultra-long lashes,
carefully shaded pale colors in the eyeshadow, a deep coral
lipstick, and my usual embarrassed blush–left the impression of
a Monroe-like sexpot trying to masquerade as a p*****nager.
Jennifer was certain I would be a hit. My usual bondage jewelry
was also added–locked collar, bracelets, ankle bracelets. She
faced me toward the mirror and snapped her fingers. Instantly, my
male persona reasserted itself. I gazed at my reflection–and the
hypnotic effect of Jennifer’s commands combined with the “persona
seepage” left me with a raging hard-on. Jennifer recognized the
look of longing on my face. “Concentrate on other things,
Danielle,” she cooed. “For example, I have a big birthday
surprise waiting for you at the party this evening.” She grinned
evilly–and I shuddered, half in fear, half in anticipation.
“Time to go,” she told me, producing my “outerwear,” such as it
was. First came a pair of opera-length white satin gloves,
exceedingly tight and fetishistic. So tight, in fact, that I
could scarcely move my elbows or fingers once they were on. She
forced my arms behind my back and demonstrated the gloves’ other
secret: The two halves of a nylon zipper ran up the inner side of
each glove. Forcing my arms close together, she closed the
zipper, imprisoning my arms as if they were bound in a single
glove. Over this elegant bondage she placed a white satin cape
that fell to my waist, mostly hiding my imprisoned arms–but
leaving just enough showing to make it interesting should anyone
notice my awkward condition. “Now you just stand here like that
and get used to it,” Jennifer advised, “while I get into my own
party outfit.” Moments later, she reappeared. Involuntarily I
gasped–she was beautiful. Her dress was a classic evening
gown–halter-collared, barebacked, clinging in all the right
places, with a slit up the side to reveal her gorgeous legs–but
made entirely of red k** leather. Her stockings were also red,
and her shoes were of matching leather in a six- inch heeled
pump. Jennifer clipped a gold chain leash to my collar and
tugged lightly. “Let’s go, Dani–your public awaits.”

The party
was held at Mistress Susan’s home. Mistress Susan was the sister
of Teasing Tammy (nee Tommy), and was the instigator of his
transformation into that alluring teenager whose purpose was to
gain new “recruits” to the growing legion of feminized
submissives. Among the guests at this birthday party for my own
imposed female persona were Tammy, Little Miss Mandy and “her”
mother Carla, and Busty Barbie and “her” wife- mistress, Maria.
Each of the three had, I was told, prepared an entertainment for
the celebration. When everyone had arrived, the festivities
began. First into the spotlight was Tammy. Susan had outfitted
her little “sister” in a dressy version of her usual teen-age
sexpot attire. The buxom little redhead wore a pink sequined
mini-dress with a diagonal-cut hem: It started at knee- length on
her left side and rose to stocking-tops (revealing a hint of
garter) on the left. Along the outside of the left leg her
specially made pink stockings had an inscription, running from
the thigh to the ankle: “Cockteaser.” She also wore six-inch
pink pumps. Like me, Tammy was only a part-time submissive.
Susan brought her out for special occasions like these or for
missions to lure in prospective feminization victims. Also like
me, Tammy’s other self, Tommy, was acutely aware of everything he
was forced to undergo when in the thrall of the Teasing Tammy
persona–so I understood the humiliation he would feel after the
party when Susan released him from her control. Tammy’s act
consisted of her playing up sexually to one of the un- feminized
male submissives at the party, while singing–in a Betty Boop-ish
voice–“I Want to Be Loved By You.” Her instructions were to turn
the man on as much as possible–both for her own humiliation as
his, since he would be forbidden to relieve his frustration by
his own mistress. The act was a rousing success. The party-goers
loved it–and the poor submissive ended up with a raging erection
but tied to a chair as he was, he could only long for
release–in more ways than one. Completing her number, Tammy
curtsied and retreated to Susan’s side, where she was immediately
returned to her own bondage–silver handcuffs behind the back and
leg restraints–and then Susan played a little trick of her own:
Snapping her fingers, she returned Tammy to Tommy. As the
realization of what he had just done hit him, Tommy turned bright
red and would have run from the room had Susan not restrained
him. Next on the makeshift stage was Little Miss Mandy. Unlike
most of the other feminized slaves in our circle, Mandy had not
been transformed through hypnosis but through rigorous training
by his mother Carla instead. She had turned down the mesmerizing
route, thinking it would be more fun (and more embarrassing to
the former Martin) if the 14-year-old boy were constantly aware
of his increasing feminized appearance and personality.
Normally, Carla kept Mandy dressed in sissy-boy attire (velvet or
satin shorts, satin skirts, big bows, etc.) rather than full
female regalia, but tonight she had gone all out. Mandy gave the
appearance of an oversized eight-year-old girl in a pale blue
party dress with lace and ruffles all over it, little puffed
sleeves, opaque white stockings, and white patent- leather Mary
Janes with three-inch heels. The effect was emphasized by a
little organdy apron tied over his skirt, with a big bow showing
at the rear. Still there remained a touch of the androgynous to
his appearance, since Carla had chosen to forego a wig for the
cross-dressed boy, simply curling his short black hair tightly
and affixing a large pale blue ribbon to the left side. His face
was lightly touched with cosmetics, just enough to soften his
features. Many of the other “little-girl” submissives at the
party were clearly jealous of his femininity. For her
performance, Mandy sang the classic “I’m a Little Teapot,”
replete with the appropriate gestures. When completed, she
curtsied, then (as ordered) stuck her thumb in her mouth in
little-girl fashion. The audience ate it up. Last up was Busty
Barbie. Once known as Bob, he was the only adult in our group of
fem-slaves who lived full-time as a woman. How could he do
otherwise? His wife, Maria, perturbed by his obsession with
big-breasted women, had used a combination of hypnosis, special
d**gs and breast implants to turn him into a heart-stopping
version of what he loved most. Barbie was now a lust-inducing
buxom brunette, her boobs expanded to a 38D. The hypnotic
commands that created the Barbie personality had several
interesting twists: the more often she saw herself with big
breasts, the bigger she wanted her boobs to get (although Maria
had recently “turned off” that command–she didn’t want Barbie to
get gross)

Bob, when released from the Barbie persona, was compelled to gaze
upon the vision of Barbie he had become–and come in his panties
finally, Bob had constant awareness of all
that happened to Barbie–and Maria frequently ordered him to
report on his reactions to it. He had told me it was a greatly
humiliating experience. And that was to be his “act” this
evening. Barbie wiggled and jiggled her way into the performance
area. She wore a see-through red black blouse, through which her
large tits, carefully powdered and rouged, showed provocatively.
Her skirt was a tight black leather mini, considerably hampering
her ability to walk freely, especially in the six-inch heeled
pumps she also wore. Her dark hair hung below her shoulders in a
Farah-like wave, framing a skillfully made-up face with bee-stung
red lips. “I have been–requested,” she began, “to describe my
activities and my feelings as I prepared for this evening’s
gathering. “As usual when appearing in public, I began with a
long bubble-bath. As I stripped naked, I found my hands again
straying to my breasts, tweaking the nipples, heaving the heavy
globes together. My mind struggled to prevent my body from
teasing myself so, but without effect. My Mistress’ hypnotic
commands are too strong. After successfully causing my cock to
harden, I stepped into the bath. “An hour later,” she continued,
“powdered and dried from the bath, I began dressing for the
party. I started with my black satin panties, garter belt and
black sheer stockings. The I stepped–struggled, really–into the
exquisite tightness of my leather skirt. My body thrilled at the
feel of it across my hips and thighs
my mind tried to push those
feelings away, again without success. Finally I slipped on my
six-inch pumps. “Then I sat at my vanity to begin my makeup. I
accented my eyes with long false eyelashes, and deep green
shadow, and carefully touched up my plucked and arched eyebrows.
next came a rose blush, followed by a coat of glistening red
lipstick. I freshened my nail polish with the same red color.
“Now, came the part my body loved and my mind most detested. I
could feel my arms and hands shake as my conscious struggled with
my u*********s. But, as always, the u*********s won–my hands
picked up the powder and lipstick again, accenting the white of
giant boobs and the red of the nipples. Looking at my luscious
tits in the mirror, I felt my cock begin to stir again. “Now
came the finishing touch–the blouse that would both hide and
reveal my breasts to the world. Once it was in place, Mistress
Maria entered my room and snapped her fingers. Barbie was
gone–Bob in her place within my mind. I stared at the reflection
in the mirror and–as it had every day for the past several
months–my cock shot its load into my panties at the sight of my
transformed self.” The entertainment complete, Mistress Jennifer
announced it was time for my surprise. Suddenly, from behind, I
felt a pair of hands thrust a ball- gag into my mouth, tying it
tightly. Next I felt the zipper on my dress being pulled down.
Shortly, the dress fell in a bundle to my feet. Now, Mistress
Jennifer reached behind me and undid the hooks on my bra. It,
too, fell to the floor. I stood there, half-naked in my sheer
white hose and high white sandals, unable to move because of the
way my arms were bound by the satin gloves, unable to protest
because of the way my mouth was gagged. Jennifer smiled– the
smile I knew meant additional humiliation for me. “You look
so Pretty, Sissy Dani.” Instantly. I no longer cared
how I looked. I actually longed for the humiliation I was
receiving. Such was the effect of the Sissy Dani persona upon me.
Now, Jennifer produced a syringe from her bag. “This, Sissy Dani,
is the same d**g which produced such wonderful results in Busty
Barbie.” She stuck the needle under each of my breasts, as my
eyes gaped. “Oh no, Dani,” she responded to my unasked question,
“we’re not going to make you as buxom as Barbie. Just enough to
give yocute little boobs for the rest of your life. “After
all,” Jennifer continued, “you’re going to need them. From this
point forward, the sound of snapping fingers will no longer
return Daniel to control of your mind.’ She demonstrated. Indeed,
the switch in personas I expected did not occur. But did that
mean– “Yes, Dani, this is the end of your double life,” she went
on, as I felt and watched my tits begin to grow. “From now on,
you’re Pretty Sissy Dani forever!”


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