My Sissy Husband’s To-Do List 

My wife Sharon had exerted her power over me so strongly in my payment for losing a simple bet that I had gone to a department store and purchased a whole array of feminine garments. Now it was Friday afternoon, and it was time to complete the second of my lists. She handed it to me, her perfect burgundy lips set in a slightly smug expression.

MY SISSY HUSBAND’S TO-DO LIST

-Go to beauty salon and have your hair set on perm rods and styled in a cute feminine style

-Have makeup done appropriate for evening occasion

“Oh, come on now, you managed to get through the first part. How much worse can this be?” she told me, as I frowned, displaying my growing concern about the level to which she was punishing me for my lost bet.

“This involves actually going to a beauty salon and getting makeup done.”

“Well, going to the beauty salon is no different than getting your haircut, and you’ve worn makeup before for drama productions.”

“Yes, but this is a little different. What if someone from work sees me?”

“Who cares? If they did, you can explain it as a lost bet.”

“Who is going to believe that I would do all of this for a lost bet?”

“Listen, you’re starting to sound like a REAL sissy,” she said, pushing me against our kitchen counter. “You lost a bet and you can suffer the consequences. Lord knows what I’d be doing right now if I lost the bet.”

She had a point. I had been rather ruthless in having her do some rather awkward things when we were in college playing drinking games. At one time, I had her showing a whole group of people how to perform oral sex on a pickle.

“Well, I said resignedly, grabbing my keys, “I suppose I better just go and get it done.”

“Wait a minute,” she said, “don’t you have an appointment somewhere?”

“Er, no. Is that a problem?”

“Well, you don’t just go and get your hair set and makeup done on a walk-in. This isn’t your barbershop. Here, let me help you,” she said, grabbing the phone.

Before we could discuss it further, she was on the phone.

“Ah yes,” she said, grinning and twisting her hair, “I would like to make an appointment for a wet set and bridal makeup, for this afternoon or evening if possible.” A pause, and then, “Oh, and it’s not for me. It’s for my sissy husband.” That comment had me about ready to rip the phone from her hand.

“Yes, you heard me right. You see, he lost a little bet and now he gets to see what it’s like from the other side.” The woman on the other end was either laughing or trying to figure out a way to get rid of this crazy request. “Okay, then, he, or should I say she?, will be in to see you at 7:00. That’ll give him time to get dressed prettily,” she said, hanging up.

“Dressed!” I said, “Don’t tell me what that means.”

“Well, of course. Since you have time, you might as well wear your pretty dress.”

“No,” I said simply. Enough was enough. I had played along, wrapped up in a mix of strange feelings and attraction/revulsion to what my wife was doing. She was hard to resist, but some of this was going beyond the usual humiliation one might experience when losing a bet.

Pushing her body tight against mine and pressing me to the countertop, she said, “Look, this was just a little bet. It wouldn’t hurt you to let me win, now would it?”

She was trying to play sexy and strong willed with me, and I wasn’t going to let it work. I would hold my ground. “I don’t want to play this out any further.”

With that, her response was not verbal. It was a knee driven deep into my groin. While I was leaning over, she grabbed my hair and balled it up in one of her fists. She leaned over, her hair falling all around my face.

She bit my ear rather hard and then forcefully whispered into it, “Look, I’ve had enough. You are going to do this or I am going to tell everyone I know that you enjoy wearing my pantyhose, and that you frequent the mall buying women’s clothing. Be my little sissy for the weekend and maybe we’ll be even.”

She punctuated her words by holding on to me a little bit longer, in something like a dominant hug. I was shocked at her words, yet feeling the strongest attraction I had ever felt for her. I gulped.

“Okay,” I said, “I’ll play it out through the weekend.”

“Good sissy. Now let’s go upstairs and I’ll help you into your clothes. I’ll even drive you to the salon, since you haven’t been there before.” In a way, I was relieved that she was taking some control and helping me. I wouldn’t be alone on this trip, like the last nerve-wracking experience.

In our bedroom, she pulled out all of the shopping bags from Dillard’s and laid them on the bed. She said, “Strip down and I’ll help you get dressed.” Her tone had softened a little. Like an obedient child, I complied.

“Oh, your legs are a little bit hairy for these light pantyhose. We better shave them.” I put up a few words of resistance, but the way that she said she would help me encouraged me to give in. I was beginning to feel weak and under her complete control.

She took me by the hand gently to the bathroom and ran a bubble bath for me. She told me to lie in the tub and lift one of my legs. She took a razor from the cabinet and some shaving gel. First, she rubbed the gel into my leg, running her long fingernails up and down my leg, hesitating and caressing the tender skin near my groin for just a second. Then she began shaving. In a hypnotic motion, stroke after stroke, she removed the hair from first one leg, and then the other. I closed my eyes and leaned back. It might be humiliating, but it was also a sensual experience.

“You like this, don’t you?” she asked, quite directly, and with a little smirk of her dark red lips.

“Well, if I have to do it, you make it sort of… I don’t know… pleasurable.”

“That’s good to hear, sissy. You’ll feel pretty good with those hose on over shaved legs, and I know how much you like wearing my pantyhose.”

“What do you mean?” I innocently protested.

“I know that you put them on when they’re done drying on the shower rod. Why do you think I leave them up there for an extra day or so after they’re dry?” she asked, taking me hand and leading me out of the tub. While she was drying my legs, she said, “You don’t have to answer. I know how you think better than you do. Now, shave your face closely, and then we have to get dressed.”

Back in the bedroom, the confusing emotions were still with me. Did I really like all this? It wasn’t comfortable, but her power over me was sensual in a strong and loving way–sensual and strict.

Sharon dressed me, lovingly, carefully pulling on my white hose, gently fastening the bra, and running her hands over the slip as she slid it over my shoulders and down around my newly smooth legs. She carefully took the dress out of its bag and slid it over my foundation garments, slowly, seeming to take pleasure in it. My body responded in tingles all over.

“There. You’re ready for the hair salon. We should be able to just make it,” she said, tossing me my slingback shoes. I put them on and followed her downstairs. She opened the door to the garage for me, and also the car door for me. It was like she was a polite husband with a sensitive trophy wife who could fall apart at any moment. She had never shown this kind of consideration for me before.

Sharon had me so wrapped up in her glowing, considerate manner that I forgot the situation I was in for most of the trip. Only as we were pulling up to the beauty salon did I realize that I was a man in a dress being driven across town by a wife who was taking me to a beauty salon! My apprehension came back, my heart beating faster and blood rushing in my temples.

My wife opened the door for me, letting me enter the salon first. I hesitated as I entered and she passed beside me, walking right up to the reception desk.

“May I help you, ma’am,” asked the receptionist. I don’t think she had really taken notice of me yet.

“Yes, this is my sissy husband and he’s here for a set and bridal makeup,” Sharon said, gesturing to me. Her tone was loud enough for the people near the door to hear. A woman getting a haircut in the nearest chair giggled.

To her credit, the receptionist kept a professional tone. “Yes, we’ve been expecting him. Vanessa will be taking care of him. Right this way.” I was hoping that she would lead us to the rear of the salon for some privacy, but luck would have it that Vanessa’s station was right in front of the window.

“Could we use a more private location?” I asked. Sharon stepped down hard on my foot, indicating her disapproval with my concern.

“This is our only cosmetics station,” said Vanessa, walking up to greet us. “Hi, I’m Vanessa. That’s a very nice dress.” Her smile was tinged with an unusual combination of pity and interest. Vanessa was also very attractive, with long, dark hair in a spiral perm. “I understand you want a perm,” she said. “That’s great, because I’m the perm expert.” I thought for a moment of correcting her and verifying that I just wanted my hair set on perm rods, but Sharon was looking like she might step on my foot again. I was sure that she would follow the instructions that Sharon gave her on the phone.

“Have a seat and let’s get started,” she said, gesturing to the chair. She put a floral cape on me, its satiny mass billowing as she enveloped me in it. She then adjusted it to make sure it was protecting my “very pretty dress.”

“So, what do we have in mind?” she said looking between me and Sharon uncertainly.

“He needs a very pretty curly hairstyle,” said Sharon. “Maybe a bob style with a wedged back.” I had no idea what she was talking about and just murmured some words of agreement. Sharon sat down on the windowsill to watch. As she sat, I noticed that there were a fair number of people passing on the sidewalk.

“Okay,” Vanessa said, “I’ll have to do a little bit of trimming to shape it first, and then we’ll roll it up.” She snipped for a while on my longish hair. Then she walked across the salon and brought back a cart with bins of perm rods and other implements. She laid me back in the chair and washed my hair. When she was done, she began rolling the perm rods into my hair in a very tightly controlled pattern. She wound each one in tightly, slightly pulling my hair with each one.

“You are going to look very charming,” Sharon said. “Vanessa is doing a great job.” I just sat there, somewhat humiliated and exhilarated at the same time.

When my hair was completely rolled, Vanessa took a length of round cotton padding from the cart and wound it around my head. Then, she took a tube and began pouring it over my rollered curls. I figured she was applying setting lotion. Then she said, “There. That will have to process for 15 minutes.”

“Process!” I said, rather loudly. “You’re not giving me a perm, are you? I thought this was a set!”

“Of course not,” she said, “It’s a perm. Can’t you smell it.” I could certainly smell the solution now, and I was beginning to smell a rat.

“Well, I’ll leave you here and be back in 15 minutes to unwind you,” Vanessa said, walking away with a smirk.

Sharon came and sat on my lap in the chair. She was wearing dark pantyhose and her legs made a swishing sound on the cape I was wearing. The weight of her body pressed the silky slip I was wearing that much closer to my skin.

“Honey, I think this is for the best. You know, lots of guys get perms.”

“Best! I’m going to have to shave my head when this is all over!”

“No, I don’t think you should do that. You’ll be okay,” she purred. Once again she was laying on the strong sexual charm coupled with forcefulness. “Just think, after this weekend, you will have repaid your debt to me, assuming you finish out the deal. I have to be a woman 24/7 and here you are complaining about one weekend.”

Vanessa stopped back to her station to check on me and grinned knowingly at Sharon. I was beginning to think that a little communication had happened between those two that I hadn’t known about. “How are we doing? That isn’t leaking out, is it?”

“No,” I replied.

“Good, you know, while you’re here, we might as well do your ears. I’ll get my stuff,” she said, slipping away.

“Ears?” I asked Sharon. “What does she mean?”

“Well, you did buy posts at Dillard’s. I thought you would buy clip-on earrings.”

“Posts? What difference does it make? I thought there was a clip or something I could use to wear them.”

“No, silly sissy, you bought posts so that means you need pierced ears.” Sharon was still sitting on my lap, so I couldn’t really get up and protest. She took my face in her hands and held it tight, squeezing my jaw a little bit with her hands. “Come on now, are you going to whine about that, too? The holes will heal. No one will ever know.”

“Okay,” I said for about the thirtieth time in the process. Pretty much any other response was now out of my vocabulary. I was in total submission to my wife. Her almost feline mannerisms and forcefulness had me in a state of suggestibility second only to hypnosis.

When Vanessa came back, she said, “Well, your perm is almost done processing. Let’s get these ears done quickly.” She pulled out a little gun and asked Sharon if she had any special earrings she wanted me to use.

Sharon gave her the box with the faux pearl posts. Vanessa took one out, put it in her little plastic gun, and said, “Now, this might hurt for just a second.” She put it up to my ear, pulled on the trigger, and for a split second there was pain and the earring was in my ear. It was a unique feeling for me, almost summing up some of the feelings I had experienced the past few days. A little bit of pain, but also a pleasure I couldn’t describe, a pleasure that came from being in the hands of strong and powerful women.

Vanessa pierced the other ear and put the backs on both studs. The timer went off just then and she leaned me back over the sink. “Now, let’s rinse your hair and then we’ll neutralize the perm.” She rinsed my hair and began taking out the rollers. The process took a while, as there were a lot of rollers in my hair. When she was done, she raised up the chair and turned me to face the mirror. I was looking at a head full of small curls, tapering out from the top of the head to a bouncy mass around my ears. The faux pearl studs peeked out from the edge of the curls, glistening. I was speechless.

“Oh, that looks great,” said Sharon. “He has prettier hair than mine. Oh, it’s perfect!” She was way too enthusiastic about it. She leaned over me and kissed my forehead. “You are a pretty little sissy. I can hardly wait to see you in makeup!”

Sharon dried my hair and styled it, softening the edges of the curls as they dried. “Now, you wanted bridal or evening makeup?” she said. “By the way, if I may ask, just what is the occasion?”

“Oh, my little sissy here lost a bet. He has to be my girlfriend for the weekend,” Sharon said, enjoying telling the story. “At first, he was a bit resistant, but I think he’s beginning to like it. You see, I knew he was a sissy when he started borrowing my pantyhose.”

I couldn’t believe what Sharon had just said. She had told of my fetish to someone we didn’t even know! I didn’t know what to say. I hoped that Vanessa would keep that bit of information to herself. My face was burning red.

“Well, let’s give those red cheeks a little makeup,” laughed Vanessa. “I wish I could get my husband in a dress. Maybe he wouldn’t be so grumpy and show a little more consideration.”

On that note, she began to “paint me,” as she put it. She started with a foundation layer, applying it with sponges. I must admit that although I was being humiliated, I liked the feel of what she was doing. Next, she dusted my face softly with powder. Then came the eye shadow, in two different colors. She said that one was for the base and one for the highlight. After the eye shadow was applied came the eye liner and mascara.

She was very careful but quick. Once my eyes were done, she applied some blush to my cheekbones. “Now for the final touch, the lips,” she said. “I want to make them as dramatic as the eyes.” She took a lip pencil in a dark red and circled the outline of my lips, making them a bit fuller.

Filling that outline in, she applied a lipstick in virtually the same shade that Sharon was wearing. “There, ” she said, “You not only look like girlfriends, but sisters. You have very similar features and skin tone.” On looking in the mirror, I realized that she was right, except for the fact that my blonde perm was a contrast with Sharon’s dark hair.

“Thank you so much. Sissy is very pretty,” Sharon told Vanessa on the way out.

“You girls have fun,” said Vanessa, walking with us to the door. She was smiling broadly.

Sharon led me out the door, opened the car door for me, and got in. Starting the car, she said, “Now, you’re ready for your sissy weekend. You’re going to be a good girl.” The last statement was delivered with stern undertones that told me I wouldn’t get away with much resistance. Then she leaned over and kissed me full on the mouth, hard. My emotions once again kicked into the confusing state of submission and the feeling that I was bound to this beautiful creature who could control me at her very whim.

On the way home, Sharon said in an offhand manner, “Reach in the glove compartment. I have something for your weekend.”

I opened the glove compartment and found a small beaded evening bag. “Open it,” said Sharon.

In the bag was a variety of cosmetics, and a piece of paper. “Read the list to me, Sissy. Loud and clear. I want to make sure you understand your role this weekend.”

As Sharon drove, I read the list aloud, barely believing it as the words sunk in.

MY SISSY HUSBAND’S WEEKEND SCHEDULE

-Saturday, 8 am: drive to store in negligee and pick up groceries

-Vacuum house, wearing negligee (windows open!)

-Pick weeds from front flower garden (maid uniform)

-Serve dinner to Mistress

-Shop rummage sales for panties, slips, and bras

-Sunday, 9 am: Breakfast with Mistress at Perkins

-Go to hardware store in Sunday dress and shop for kitchen faucet

-Serve Mistress and her friends in maid uniform

There was absolutely no way that I would do these things! I thought, “She’s really done it, now. She pushed me this far, but there is a limit to what I will do.”

Sharon could see the shocked look on my face. “Don’t worry, Sissy, you’ll do it all. You always do. Maybe when we’re done, I’ll give you some of my pantyhose. But only if you wear them with a nice skirt, or maybe a velvet dress…”

The glow within me began again. When Mistress’s voice began to speak in its strictly undertoned commands, there was little I could do but resist. I had become a sissy and there wasn’t much of my manhood left to turn back to. My blonde curls, pearl earrings, and smooth body revealed someone who had learned there was too much to like about being “strictly pampered” by a gorgeous dark-haired mistress who holds the keys to my heart.

Also Read: Diaper Sissy Stories