Sissy Humiliation with mommy

The heavy scent of citrus cleaning spray hung in the air as I finished wiping down the kitchen counter. My house was quiet, spotless, and mine. Everything in its place. Just the way I liked it though it could get a little lonely at times. The only sound was the soft tick-tock of the wall clock in the hall, counting down to when my guest would arrive.

He’d called himself a “good girl” on his message, asking so politely if he could come over. I knew what he needed. I always did.

The doorbell chimed, a delicate sound. I took my time, smoothing my deep red silk robe before answering.

There he stood on my porch, eyes turned down to his feet. He was dressed in soft, pink shorts that looked a littler rounder and bulkier and a matching top that looked more like lingerie than loungewear, pink velcro shoes, he had short pigtails on the sides of his head. His hands were clasped nervously in front of him.

“Well?” I said, my voice cool and level. “Are you going to stand out there all night, or come in?”

He scurried inside, his shoes making small squeaking sounds on the polished hardwood. “Thank you, Mommy,” he whispered, his voice small and barely audible.

“Look at me.” I waited until his timid gaze lifted. “You know the rules sweetie. This is my house. You do as I say. You exist for mommy’s amusement. Understood?”

A faint blush spread across his cheeks to his ears. “Yes, Mommy.”

“Good.” I turned and walked toward the living room, knowing he would follow. I settled into my large, plush armchair. “Come here. Kneel.”

He did so immediately, shuffling forward on his hands and knees until he was at my feet, his head bowed. I reached out and ran my fingers along his soft pigtails. He trembled at the touch.

“Such a pretty thing,” I murmured, not with full warmth, but with clinical appraisal. “All dressed up for me. Let’s see if you’ve dressed completely for me.”

With my other hand, I grabbed and tugged at the waistband of his shorts to be met with a full waist diaper that crinkled with little pink heart designs on it. He whimpered but didn’t resist. I pulled them down, letting them both pool around his knees. My lips curved into a slight, cold smile.

“Oh, my,” I sighed, looking down at the small, limp thing between his legs. “There it is. That little, tiny peepee. All hidden away behind that diapy. Does it ever get any bigger?”

He shook his head, his face burning with shame. “N-no, Mommy.”

“Of course not,” I said, my tone dismissive. I gave it a little, contemptuous flick with my fingernail. He flinched. “It’s not for using, is it? It’s just for showing me how pathetic you are. A reminder that you’re a little sissy.”

I leaned back, watching him squirm. The humiliation was a palpable heat coming off him. It filled the room, thick and sweet.

“Stand up,” I commanded. He struggled to his feet, shorts and hearted designed diaper still around his knees. “Take those off. All of it. I want to see my silly sissy.”

With shaking hands, he removed the rest of his clothing completely, standing naked and exposed in the middle of my clean, perfect living room. I let him stand there, let him feel the weight of his own exposure.

“You may touch yourself,” I said, my eyes on him the whole time. “Let’s see you try to get that little thing excited.”

His movements were frantic, ashamed. He tried, his hand moving uselessly. Nothing happened. A frustrated, desperate sound escaped him.

“Stop.” The single word cracked through the air. He froze. “Useless. Completely useless. Come here.”

He approached, and I opened my robe. I wasn’t naked beneath it, but wearing expensive, black lace. His eyes widened. “You may use your mouth,” I said, guiding his head down. “Since that’s all you’re good for. Make me feel good. That is your only purpose tonight.”

His tongue was eager, desperate to please. I watched the top of his head bob, my fingers tangled in his hair, directing him. His small, insignificant peepee stayed soft and ignored between his legs. This was his function. This was his place.

Later, when I was satisfied and he was a tearful, trembling mess on the floor beside my chair, I nudged him with my foot.

“Clean up your mess,” I said, nodding to the evidence of his own frustrated, humiliated release on my rug. “Then you may get dressed. And remember this feeling. Remember how small you are. How you belong to me.”

He nodded, sobbing softly as he crawled to fetch a cloth. I closed my robe, the scent of citrus and power clinging to me. My house was quiet again. Everything was back in its place.