My Sissy Biography - I

I’m going to try something new today and start telling the story of my sissy life.  I know that when I read other blogs and tumblr’s, the autobiographical posts are almost always some of my favorites.  There’s something about peeking into someone else’s experience that is incredibly interesting, incredibly satisfying, and incredibly erotic.  Maybe it’s the thought of exposing oneself to a potentially large audience, being put on display like so many forced femme sissy stories, or maybe it’s the opposite, being the voyeur who gets to watch the sissy humiliate herself at the command of her superiors.  Whatever the case, I find it’s something that all lovers of the sissy-community consistently enjoy.

Like a lot of sissies, for as long as I can remember I have always been obsessed with panties…the look, the feel of the fabric, the way they fit over my hips, the way my legs fit as I pull them up, and how I look while I’m doing it…I’m getting aroused just thinking about it.

Most boys wanted to see girls naked, I wanted to see their panties.

I wanted to see them.

I wanted to feel them.

I wanted to wear them.

It was an obsession that had always stuck with me, but, like most sissies, I was given boys briefs while growing up.  I also grew up with brothers, so I never really had access to anyone else's panties.

Then came a day when I was about 12.  A friend of mine had an older step-sister who came to live with them for the first time.  She was still never really around.  Truth be told, I honestly don’t know if I ever met her.  What I do know is that one day my friend had to do the laundry after school.  He was a latchkey kid of a single mother, so he always had plenty to do.  We wanted to get done quickly, so I helped out.  While he was gathering the laundry around the house, I was moving the wash to the dryer.  There, at the bottom of the washer, was a pair of his sister’s panties—white, satin brief panties with a white lacy waistband.

I picked them up, and despite being wet from the wash, they felt satiny, and had a white sheen to them.  I felt the blood drain from my head as I took a moment to savor the sensation.

“Boy, you sure wanted to touch those panties,” said my friend with a knowing smirk.  He surprised me; I apparently hadn’t noticed when he walked in.

“Shut-up,” I said, tossing the panties into the dryer with what I hoped was a nonchalant flick of my wrist.  I finished loading up the dryer, and the two of us went back to his room to play some video games.

The thought of those panties in the dryer stuck in the back of my head.

I held them in my hands and it was everything I thought it would be.  There they were, tumbling in the dryer.

I needed more.

I needed to feel them again.

I needed to know what they felt like from the inside—I needed to wear them.

I can’t imagine I was doing very well with the video games, distracted as I was.  What I do remember is making up a flimsy excuse to leave early, and sneaking to the other end of the house to get the panties out of the dryer.

They were warm…warm and satiny.

I took another brief moment to appreciate the warm, white-satin panties.  I stuffed them down the front of my shorts and made my escape back home.

After ensuring that no one else was home, I stripped naked, and pulled the panties up my legs, feeling the leg-bands hold against my skin, and the lace hold against my waist.  A darkened spot of pre-cum already dampened the fabric.  To say the panties looked like a pitched tent would apropos.  I don’t remember running to the only room with a full length mirror, I just remember seeing myself naked, save the panties pulled over my cock.

At first, I just lay down in front of the mirror, admiring the view of myself in the white-satin panties, but it didn’t take long to start rubbing.

I wasn’t stroking, just rubbing the fabric against the underside of my penis.

The term “ecstasy” is an understatement.

The silky feel, the look of the panties, the sight of myself in the mirror…I don’t know how I kept from cumming.  Soon enough, though, the rubbing wasn’t enough, and I wrapped the panties around my cock to started stroking.

My hand had taken a life of its own, pulling, rubbing, jerking, but for some reason, it still wasn’t enough—it wasn’t quite right.

I did the only thing that made sense:  I tucked my penis between my legs.

It was difficult, as I still had a raging erection, but I managed to get some approximation of tucking accomplished.  I looked in the mirror, again, seeing my panties (when did they become “my panties?”) against my newly flat crotch.  I nearly came at the sight, staring at myself for what seemed an eternity, and feeling my erection pulse with each second, threatening to erupt at any moment.

My body crying out for release, I reached back and started pumping my erection from behind with abandon, hoping—needing to reach a fever pitched climax.

But, it still wasn’t right…I still couldn’t seem to cum.

Instead of stroking and pumping, I started concentrating on rubbing again—more specifically, I concentrated on rubbing the superbly engorged head of my penis through the satin of my panties.

I almost felt like I was having a seizure, the sensation was so intense.  I kept rubbing my head through the panties, watching myself masturbate in the mirror like the degenerate slut I was and came harder than anything I ever imagined possible, filling my hand with wave after wave of cum that shot through the fabric my brand-new white-satin panties.  When my eyes weren’t rolling back into my head, I watched my face contort with a euphoria heretofore unknown to me.

I lay there in the aftershock, my hand coated in panty-filtered cum, euphoria fading, and reality coming back into focus.

I was laying on the carpet, wearing the stolen panties of my friend’s step-sister, having just watched myself masturbate like a girl, my hand covered in cum.  The shame and guilt that attacks all budding pre-sissies came crashing down.

I wanted to curl up and die.

I wanted to hide away from the world.

I wanted to do it again.

What the fuck?!  What kind of fucked-up faggot was I?!

The kind that felt a deep-seated need for panties…however I could get them.

However, before my cock could spring back to life, I heard a car door slam.  My parents were home.  I ran back to my room, cleaned up as best I could, and put my own clothes back on, hiding my cum-stained panties underneath my dresser.

Not long after I had everything put away, my parents walked into my room to check up on me.  By that time, I had picked up a comic book and was pretending to read it.  After some brief conversation, my parents left me to my devices.  While the shame was still seeping in, it was alongside a thrill of having gotten away with the whole sordid business, the theft, the panty-wearing, the masturbating.  I knew I should feel bad, but I started thinking about my brother’s girlfriend, and how she sometimes left her clothes in his room when she changed at our house to go to work.  I couldn’t help but think about what I was going to do the minute I was left alone in the house…with my white-satin panties.