There’s something delicious about molding a man into exactly what I want. I’ve always known I had a gift for spotting the ones who secretly crave to surrender. That’s how I found my perfect sissy boy.
He didn’t even realize at first what he was walking into. I could see the softness in his eyes, the way he lingered a little too long when I teased him about panties. So I slipped him a pair—silky, delicate, and far prettier than anything he’d ever worn. Watching him step into them, watching that mix of shame and hunger take over his face, that was the beginning of his sissy training.
From there, I made him mine piece by piece. Dresses that hugged his body, stockings that made his legs look irresistible, ribbons in his hair to remind him that he belongs to me. I’d stand him in front of the mirror and make him twirl, make him practice his walk, make him smile sweetly as if he had always been meant to live this way. And the best part? He adored every second of it—because what he really wanted was to serve me.
Obedience came easily. He learned to kneel when I snapped my fingers, to fetch my drink, to look up at me with wide, worshipful eyes when I corrected him. Every lesson, every little command, was another step in his sissy training, and he took to it like a natural. The more I guided him, the more he bloomed under my control.
Now, my perfect sissy doesn’t just wear what I choose—he lives for it. He lives for me. Serving me is his purpose, and I revel in it every time I see him slip into lace or bow his head at my feet. That’s the reward of proper sissy training: devotion, obedience, and a boy who knows his only joy is being exactly what his Dirty Mommy wants.