The Sissy Files – Book One

The Sissy Files – Book One

Sexually dominant women who prefer their men more feminine – and more obedient – are the theme of this new collection of compilations featuring the subject of transgendered fiction.

Book-One of “The Sissy Files” contains two works from one of the queens of transvestite and transgendered literature: “The Countess’s Compliant” and “My Wife’s Venture into Dominance”.

Contains: forced feminization, male chastity, enslavement, etc.


“The Countess’s Compliant”

She ran the water and we got in, Ella joining us, allowing us to watch her undress, a revealing of her body, gorgeous that it was. We now had full sight of her pierced pink nipples, the rings hanging down and her areola the size of two pound coins.

She was completely depilated, her lips hanging down and these perforated with four button studs on either side, her clitoris with a ring. More shockingly, she carried a branding mark on her mons, not a tattoo but a neat, deep-set shield showing three clear gryphon heads with an embossment of a three-rose chevron dividing them, two gryphons above and one below. Underneath there was an inscription set in two lines and clearly legible, ‘Prop. de la Comtesse Brigitte.’

This was mind-blowing – purely shattering, actually.

Otherwise, she was stunning, a lovely honey colour, not an ounce of fat on her, her bottom fuller than ours and her bottom-valley showing a tinge of pale brown to her skin.

It was Dominique who asked Ella the question about her branding. Ella responded by standing close to Dominique and me, fingering her mons, so that we could see it in detail.

“It was done here by the Count with the Countess looking on, using a silver branding rod, which was heated in charcoal and then finished with a Camping Gaz torch to get it to the right temperature – iron as a metal is too hot for such neat marking. The effect is not only by the burn but in that he also sprinkled burnt umber and henna over my area and it’s that which gives the colour not the scarring.”

“It must have hurt like hell as that depth means a third-degree burn.”

“Nothing that water, morphine and then Bacitracin, an antibiotic, couldn’t handle and then some Middle Eastern healing balm, one of Tallula’s specialties and you’ll meet her soon – along with a tetanus shot. It’s only done to girls who are going to stay here. And before you ask, I have no idea whether you two will experience this being family members. My guess is that if you shape up, yes.”

“But why, Ella?”

“It becomes a symbol of our acceptance and submission, I guess – and it serves to keep us here. What Domme would want to take a girl on who is sporting a branding like this – unless plastic surgery is conducted to cover it up and I guess that would also be painful and no guarantee of success and further scarring.”


“My Wife’s Venture into Dominance”

It was in front of the shop window of Rigby & Peller in Hans Street where it all began, the dramatic change in my life, in fact, a complete upending of it when I look back at what has happened and now what looms ahead.

I had been shopping with my wife in the Harrods area of Knightsbridge on a Saturday afternoon, all fairly mundane as a visit in my view, clothing, a gift for the mother-in-law, the tedium offset by a visit to the Food Hall – and the time that we spent in ‘Lingerie.’

We had gone past two other stores in the area as well, both of them serving to distract me, La Perla and their beautiful lingerie, and then Agent Provocateur – with all their hint at more extreme and kinky sex, even though their prices were astronomical.

I guess my wife, Chrissie or often known as ‘Chris,’ just lost patience with my lingering in front of their windows.

“Christ, Nick, come on – we need to be getting back. Have you got a fixation on women’s lingerie or something?” Chrissie knew that she was teasing me.

I turned around to walk away with her, Chrissie commenting, “I know that you have a fixation and, sometimes, I think that I ought to dress you in it and let you feel how it is to be all strapped, stockinged and buckled in, all in the name of sex. It would certainly save me a lot of bother.”

Chrissie had never really been into the ‘feminine’ scene when it came to dressing in lingerie or, for that matter, even in her clothing other than for her work. Business suits for that, her work as a managing director of a Public Relations group in London; her down-time spent messing around jeans and pants, lots of tops and loose sweaters and all this for the countryside where we lived, just outside Henley-on-Thames.

This simplicity of dressing was also reflected in her lingerie – this being mainly stretch bras and panties, a fondness for grey jersey and white waistbands, brands like M&S, Jockey Women’s, Toru and Naoko and, when more up-market, Calvin Klein and Hanro.

Her lingerie was far away from being sexy and attractive to me; ‘functional’ I think they call it, the only benefit being that it trapped her pussy odour and that little fetish of mine she was unaware of.

As we continued walking down Hans Road and back towards where the car was parked, she threw an aside in, “If I did that, I could call you ‘Nicola,’ couldn’t I? I rather like that. Maybe I should rename you.”

To my peril, I let the remark drop, not rising to the bait of Chrissie taunting me further with ‘Nicola’ as we drove out of London towards home, out near Henley-on-Thames.

The crunch developed two months later – my American company decided to close its UK operations and move to place all business except warehousing out of Brussels, this leaving me suddenly unemployed. We had recently been taken over by an investor group and this was the inevitable consequence of having folk in hell-bent on cost cutting and stuff the market and customer preferences – it was just that they targeted the UK rather than Spain or Italy – which I thought were far more inefficient and ripe for pruning.

Whatever, I found myself at home looking for jobs through executive head hunters and all the pain and grief that brought about as to preparation and then rejection, so incredibly frustrating a time and I sympathised for my less fortunate colleagues.

At least, we had Chrissie’s income to sustain us and, quite frankly, my income had covered our tax bill and investments – meaning that we were very comfortably off and could ride through even worse storms than this.

Meanwhile, I found myself also taking on all the household duties from cleaning to cooking, gardening and painting – and as Chrissie insisted, I should hand-wash her lingerie even though it wasn’t exactly feminine or made of luxury materials. I also got to handle all her clothing as to dry-cleaning and pressing. Handling her panties though did give me a chance to take her essence in and masturbate to relieve the tension inside me.

Chrissie continued to call me ‘Nicola’ from time to time – more throw away comments than deliberate, sometimes face-to-face or over the phone, examples being, “My, Nicola, your ironing is coming on leaps and bounds,” or “What’s for dinner tonight, Nicola?” or “Nicola, could you wash my jammies?”

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