The Crushmen Sisters    
When Suzanna hands her husband over for un-sexing,
Edith and Cynthia Crushmen make a juicy job of his sissification.

Art by Prissy --- Story by Prim

  Susanna Jones wore her 'This is the way it will happen' look on her face as she sat in the office of the Crushmen Sisters and faced Edith Crushmen across her imposing oak desk. Her husband sat beside her, in a lower chair decorated with pink and white chiffon as if it was borrowed from a wedding reception. He dared a glimpse at Susanna: her head erect, her blond hair brushing the shoulders of her white jacket, her lipstick set in a satisfied grin of scarlet gloss. When she looked like this it was almost always when she was overriding her meek and obedient husband, as it was today. He loved her for it - but at the same time he would have to put up with her decision.

"You want him feminized, Missus Jones," declared the senior Sister. "You wouldn't have brought him to us otherwise. May I ask you why?"

Susanna lifted an eyebrow and turned her look on Alan beside her. "Hmmph," she snorted. "Look at him. Does he look male to you? Would you be proud to have people see him as your husband? Would he suit male clothes, a wimp like him?"

Alan Jones drooped under her glare, crushed by her estimation of him, and the tears pricked at his eyes ready to run down his cheeks into the lacy circular frill of white silk organza that surrounded his hair, his cheeks and his chin. How cruel it was of Susanna to borrow her mother's blouse to put him in for his first visit to the Crushmen Sisters. He was allowed to wear a cardigan over it, in pale blue angora, but it was this neck frill that the woman on the other side of the table would see, marking him down as a spineless, milksop sissy under the thumb of his wife.

"He can't pass as a male any longer. I've had enough of all this pretending. He has to be transformed - with no room for doubt or second thoughts."

It was Edith Crushmen's turn to lift her nose in the air and look down on the object of her visitor's scorn. Her dark crimson lips curled into a sneer of contempt which added to the impression of superior maturity created in Alan's thumping heart by her drawn back hair and thin-rimmed spectacles. He felt her eyes covering him with the close scrutiny of a woman who despises men in general but him in particular. She shook her head slowly as if agreeing that for such a creep there was no arguing about his watery sex. "Yes," she said with a tut. "He is sexless. It remains for us to agree the level of his feminization."

"VERY feminine," snapped Susanna. "Com-PLETE-ly feminine, Miss Edith. As un-sexed as you can make him, please. Damn the cost, just do it!"

Her words brought a chuckle from the sex-practitioner. For Alan Jones it was the blow of a sledge-hammer. A wail started then died in his throat as he all but fainted. What was going to become of him? How could his beloved Susanna do this?

"Excellent, ma'am. I admire your decision. Your husband will be conditioned to accept feminine dressing, and the level of dressing we impose will depend on how much he needs for converting his psyche. I suspect we'll make him a pantie-waist by the time today's finished."

Susanna perked up. "Really? I'd like to see that. I thought we were talking weeks of training."

"You're forgetting my sister and I know what we're doing, Missus Jones." Edith Crushmen stood up as she spoke and walked round the desk, closing on the quivering husband. "Get up," came the order and Alan stumbled to his feet to avoid what he thought was going to be a heavy clout round the head. He started with fright as her latex gloves lifted the hem of his cardigan and found the fastening of his Mother-In-Law's pink satin trousers. "Our methods will impress upon his feeble mind how what we say we mean, and that what we do to him will be permanent. He's got a quick learning curve ahead of him."

Alan's wife watched in awe as her husband stepped his high heels out of the trousers round his ankles at the same time as having his cardigan unbuttoned, slipped off his arms and tossed onto the desktop. It was followed by her mother's royal blue satin French knickers, so that all he wore was her blouse. The hostess turned him round in both hands to face his wife, lifted the front of his blouse and seized the half erected cock beneath.

"This thing is going to be most respectful to your Mistresses today, Alan Jones," she said, holding it in one hand and plucking at its head with her latex fingers. "It already liked wearing your Mother-In-Law's panties, I see, and her blouse. It's going to get used to a more effective level of female apparel, better suited to your immature nature. Because you're a pathetic little sissy, Alan Jones, aren't you?"

Her fingers were unbelievably successful at bringing her captive to a state of high stiffness, so that when the woman stopped pulling at his knob and held his blouse up out of the way, Susanna was treated to a very stiff cock indeed.

"Oh my God," she cried with a thrill of confidence in the Crushmen Sisters. "I've never seen it like that. So what kind of things are you going to dress the buffoon in?"

"Clothing that will keep this useless dick in a state of adoration and respect. I believe that is what you would like, ma'am."

"Yes, and so would his Mother-In-Law when she moves in. We are both expecting abject submission and obedience when we have him in his place. What time shall I come back to pick him up?"

"I'm guessing five. If there's a problem, although I can't see this blouse-boy giving us any trouble, I'll be in touch."

It was when Susanna stood up to go that her husband was seized with panic. "Susanna! Darling, don't leave me. I don't know what she's going to do to me. Please take me home with you. Ahhh! Ohhhhh!"

He would have begged longer and in much more forceful terms but his captor had his cock again and was jerking it more vigorously than before, keeping him under her close control. "You're going nowhere, fairy. You're coming with me to meet Miss Cynthia. She'll be so pleased to find how girly you already are, just right for dressing in such pretty things for your girly nature." He all but collapsed on the arm she had round his waist as her fingertips slowed to a steady frolling around his naked knob, its stiffness bringing a splutter of scorn from his wife at the door. "We'll see you at five, Missus Jones."

A long wail of despair in the poor man's throat ended as a fit of uncontrollable sobs as he was held from behind by his elbows and propelled across the room to the inner door. His pulse was racing, his cock was aching and his tears were rolling down his cheeks.

"Cynthia dear, look who we've got. It's Alan stiff-cock Jones."

The wretched husband panicked at the appearance of the tall woman who strode towards him. Like her sister, Cynthia Crushmen wore her hair pulled into a tight bun on the back of her head. She also wore a blouse in lilac satin with a fussy frill round her throat and short pretty sleeves at her shoulders. Her skirt was in a deep aubergine purple that shone with glossy smoothness and her legs hissed and sizzled inside it until she reached him.

"Oh yes, I can see you have a very sissy cock, Mister Jones," she cried, taking over its fondling from Edith. "It's loving your pretty blouse, darling, isn't it? It's just longing to be feminized by Mistress Edith and Mistress Cynthia. Aren't you lucky that we are going to be looking after you today, to make your feminine dreams come true?"

Alan would have loved to reply. It was almost a chance for him to stand up for himself and tell her that it was all a mistake, and he definitely did NOT want to be feminized, and he didn't want to wear Carmen's blouse either. It was all a coincidence that his cock was so aroused. But just as he was trying to form the words, he found himself pulled into the front of her blouse, his face buried in its frill with her arms round him, and his cock pressed into her satin skirt.

Ohhh it felt so delicious, being clasped into her slippery clothing and her strong, cuddling body. "Alan, precious, I can see you are BORN to be girly. When I saw you in your blouse I knew it straight away: your smooth, shapely legs belong on a girl, with panties at the top and pretty lacy ankle socks at the bottom. What do you think, Edith? Shall we put Alan into girls' panties right this minute?"

The pleasure of pressing into Mistress Cynthia's blouse and skirt suddenly doubled as he felt the caress of Mistress Edith's skirt up the back of his legs and her hands sliding down his hips to his thighs as she squeezed his blouse between her and her sister. "Let me just feel how sensitive and soft these legs are, just here at the top," she cooed close to his ear. "And round here, at the front, just where Alan's legs meet his tummy, and here where his testes are just beginning."

Their captive moaned and his knees lost all sense of support, held upright in spite of his weakness between their satin skirts. Her fingers explored, softly, in delicate tickling strokes, as Alan felt softer and more clueless.

"We must dress you as a girl, pet," said Edith behind him. "And that means we must deprive you of your lovely blouse. Is it your wife's blouse, darling? It's so soft and so-o-o-o feminine."

The stiffness of Alan's cock, pushed deep into Cynthia's belly through her skirt, was making him feel really affectionate towards Carmen's blouse. "I-It's m-my Mother-In-Law's blouse, ma'am," he confessed. "It's - It's lovely."

A strange feeling of self-defeat passed through his head as the words escaped him, but his feelings for her blouse became all the stronger as Edith stood behind him, fluttering it in her fingers to judge its supple softness.

"I'll have to unfasten all the buttons down your back, honey, starting here at the bottom - and working upwards. Mmm they're such pretty blouse buttons, in shiny white plastic. No wonder you are excited about wearing Mummy-In-Law's blouse."

The neck frill parted and fell away from his face, then Cynthia helped to undo his cuffs, his cock still pressed against the satin of her skirt, so that the blouse could slide down his arms for Edith to set it to one side. "I can tell you for sure, Mistress Cynthia," said Edith, "that Master Alan's bottom cheeks are very smooth, very rounded and extremely girly. I'm going to dress them in these pink silk panties, because I'm sure his clitoris will love that, don't you agree?"

"Ha-ha yes," replied her sister. "Look how Alan is blushing and holding his cheeks in soft girly hands. He KNOWS his bottom cheeks and his clittie would LOVE to be in pink panties, don't you, darling?"

Alan gasped for breath and thought he was supposed to answer. "Ohhh, yes - yes I suppose." His legs pressed together with one knee sliding across the other in a spasm of girlish feelings. The panties were so pretty, with almost vertical leg slots on either side of the central gusset in doubled pink silk, and his heart missed a couple of beats at how sweetly the leg openings were edged with silk frills three or four inches deep. They were so GIRLY!

He had to dip a foot into each leg, and watch with breathless panting as Edith slid the panty up his legs to his knees. Cynthia took his weight, leaning his bare ass back into her skirt, so that he could part his knees to allow the panties to slide between them, then onto his thighs, until the panty silk reached the aching balls of his testes.

"There's no need to be anxious, darling," soothed Cynthia into his ear as she felt his arms tense and his fingernails clutch into her hands where she had them wrapped across his bare waist. "Look how stiff your little clittie is. It can't wait to be pantied in pink silk. There - isn't that sweet? - and the panty gusset goes right up there, over your clittie knob, to make Alan's personal places com-PLETE-ly feminine."

"How lovely," cried Edith, her fingers adjusting and playing with his panty waist elastic for several seconds, before her fingers went on to fondle the contour of his cock in the stretched silk of his vertical gusset.

Alan's breath failed to drain out of him, he was so tensed up because of his panties. "Are - Are they girls' panties?" he wanted to know as his knees slid repeatedly across each other. It was as well that Cynthia was holding him up, while at the same time she managed to slide one hand down the side of his panty to cup the underside of his scrotum in one of her latex gloves.

"Yes dear," said Edith. "All our panties are loaned to us by local girls for us to dress our sissies in real girls' panties. This pair belongs to Amanda, and she will get them back after you have used them."

"Her panties will help you to realise that you really are a girl, darling," said Cynthia. "Now hold your hands sweetly out to the sides while pressing your elbows into the waist elastic of Amanda's panties. Have we got some nice girls' socks for Alan, Mistress Edith?"

"We've got these lovely frilly anklets that have been loaned to us by Britney. Aren't they pretty, dear. Do you like them?"

"Ohhhhh! Oh yes!" Alan's ass gave an involuntary jerk, pushing his knob further up his silk gusset.

Edith grinned. "Would you like to wear them, honey?"

His voice was no more than a whisper: "Oh yesss, pleeeeease!"

The anklets were in fine silk cotton, with an overturned frill all round that rested on little white bows of satin ribbon underneath. His feet had never felt so girly, and then, to his alarm, Mistress Edith had a pair of shiny pink shoes, with very high heels and sharp toes with a tiny reinforced sole. She slid one onto his first sock - it was like pouring cool water onto his foot before she wrapped pink ribbons round his ankle and fussed them into a bow. When he lifted his other foot too, he was standing so high, and had to balance with a lot of effort in his ankle and the back of his legs.

Mistress Cynthia inched herself back to test his balance, but his arms flailed in a helpless flutter and he still needed her support. "Our little girl needs a petticoat, Mistress Edith," she said. "We have to get her ready for being dressed in Celia's dress. Ohhh yes, that's a lovely petticoat. So feminine with all those layers from the shoulders, and so SHORT!"

Edith held Alan's petticoat high on its hanger as she fluffed her fingers through the layers of white chiffon all round. It had pink embroidery along the breast band in pretty floral designs and there were two ribbons of white satin to rest on his shoulders, so that the petticoat would hang from beneath his armpits.

"Slot your arm in here for me, petal," she said, slipping it off the hanger and presenting his hand with one of the ribbons. "And the other," and the petticoat wrapped round a wilting Alan from front to back, with Edith arranging his ribbons in the trough of each of his shoulders. "Hold onto my blouse, darling, while Mistress Cynthia fastens the petticoat buttons at the back."

He did as he was told and astonished himself by holding onto the breasts of Mistress Edith as she supported his bare arms. She smiled into his eyes as he looked to her for support.

"Isn't it sweet to be buttoned into a girl's petticoat, Alan. Do you know whose petticoat it is? No? - well it is usually worn by Melanie, only she knows that sissy boys will love to wear it today when a sissy has been dressed in his panties." Her hands closed round the shape of his cock again while she spoke as Cynthia fussed the frilly edges of the petticoat all round him. It reached no further than the bottom of his rib-cage and flared out nearly twelve inches on all sides of his delicate body.

Alan gasped. This petticoat belonged to a girl called Melanie, and that she wanted him to wear it, over his panties, so that he could be as girlish as she was. He found himself wanting to wear a dress too. It was nice to wear a petticoat, but a petticoat is only useful for filling out the beautiful shape of the dress that covers it. Yesterday he would never have said such a thing, but now, in his petticoat, his frilled socks and ballet boots and in his panties, the words rose uncontrollably to his lips and took over his tongue.

"M-Mistress Edith, will you - will you please put me - into a dress too. A girl's dress - please!" His cock was already aching with rosiness in its silk gusset and her latex gloves, but the words that came to him - 'a girl's dress' - roused a new force of excitement in his groin. He just knew it would fill him with pleasure to have a dress put over his head and fastened around him. It would make him a real girl.

"What a good girl you are, sweetheart," cooed Mistress Cynthia near his ear as her arms enfolded him again from behind: "wanting Mistress Edith to dress you in your first dress. How sweet, darling! How girly!"

"Well you'll be happy to see that I have a very special dress for our new little girl," oozed Edith, opening the closet near the window. "It's a very special dress because it belongs to Andrea, and Andrea likes everything to be pink and girly. Look!"

"Ohhh! Ohhhhhhhhh! It's so LOVE-ly!" burst out Alan, and his knees sagged with girly weakness as Mistress Cynthia supported him from behind.

The rustle of pink satin approached him, robbing him of all his manly strength and replacing it with effeminate weakness. "Ohhh Mistress Edith, are - are you going to put me - into - into Andrea's l-l-lovely dress? - How will I be able to - to stand up? I'll be so pretty and - so precious!"

"Well that's what happens to new little girls when they are good," she replied, threading her arms up under the satin skirts until she could hold the dress open from bottom to top for their captive to put his head underneath and his hands through the puffed sleeves. "In there, sweetheart, there's a good girl - hands through here, like that - and your dress down here like this, all round your petticoat. Now Mistress Cynthia is going to fasten up your dress, from your waist right up to the top of your hair."

Alan Jones was in another place, which was certainly paradise, because his cock and his whole abdomen were melting with arousal. He loved the feel of his dress closing round his petticoat, up to his neck, and then pulling together the sides of his pink satin face frill, and beneath it his neck frill of white organza. He was in Andrea's dress and he was in heaven. He held onto Mistress Cynthia's hand with one hand and onto Mistress Edith's with the other, and took delicate little steps across the room to where the closet mirror awaited him.

"Oh M-M-Mistress Edith, I - I'm a GIRL! I'm a GIRL in Andrea's DRESS!" he gasped, scarcely able to get out the words.

The women chuckled. "And in Amanda's panties," she reminded him.

He gazed at the reflection of his face in its girly frill, his dress flaring around him, his panties pointing so furiously upwards and outwards, his legs wriggling helplessly together and his heels and their frilly ankle socks. He felt so sweet and so lovely, and so grateful to his Mistresses. They had shown him he could really be a girl.

He was about to learn a lot more about his new adorable condition, because Mistress Edith took him through a range of exercises with his hands, his fingers, his arms, his legs and his neck, encouraged in every little flex and reflex along the way by the soft, warm praise of Mistress Cynthia. Each time they returned to the mirror, he saw how what he originally thought was the truly girlish picture of himself was only a pose to start with: it gradually fleshed out into how a girl is, in the way she moves, she stands, she turns, she steps. He learnt so many things girls do, and he loved doing each one of them in front of the mirror.

At some point in the afternoon, Mistress Edith rang his wife, and it was then that he was undressed so that his petticoat and dress could be changed, into a petti belonging to Naomi and a lovely, soft, pink dress belonging to Saskia. Then he was put into a frilly pink bonnet that was being lent to him by Sara so that he could feel very like her - and he did. He was still standing at the mirror, feeling very feminine indeed while Mistress Cynthia held him by the hand and played with the shape of his blissfully happy cock through his silky panties, when Mistress Edith led his wife Susanna into the room - and with her came her mother, Carmen!

Never had he felt so embarrassed, so ashamed, as Mistress Cynthia turned him round to face them in his dress and bonnet. His face was as red as a beetroot, but he wanted them to see him, to chide him for his surrender and blame him for his weakness.

"Well you could knock me down with a feather," cried his wife, her mouth hanging open. "You look the whole business."

"Phooh!" snorted her mother, with bitter disgust written all over her face. "Alan Jones, you've lost every ounce of your sex, you idiotic wimp!"

Their looks were crippling to his manhood, but somehow he welcomed their belief - that he was no longer a male. "I know, darling. I agree, Mummy - I'm -I'm a girl now. Look, do you like my dress? And my cute bonnet?"

Suzanna rolled her eyes and Carmen gasped and shook her head. Mistress Edith grinned and took Alan's hand to stand him right in front of his visitors. "I think he has a request to make," she said.

The women were all ears as their former male squirmed on his ballet boots, pressing his knees together, and held his dress sweetly out to the sides. He looked up at his wife and Mother-In-Law from beneath nervous eye-lashes and said: "Please can I be Mandy?"

"Ohhh!" cried Carmen, shocked at the idea, but at the same time seeing its huge possibilities. Her daughter looked at her, knowing well how delighted her mother would be. "Mandy it is then, you little panty-waist. I expect this will mean a fortune being spent in new dresses!"

"Ohhh! Ohhh Mummy!" he cried, squirming with emotion. "M-Mummy, look at my panteees!" and so saying he caught the front edge of his dress, with petticoats too, and lifted them to show the pink silk knob pushing high towards the ceiling. With perfectly girly grace, he stepped the toe of one shoe behind the other and executed a sweet curtsey to his Mother-In-Law, while they watched the undeniable climax of girlish emotions in him as white cum forced its way into a shiny white globe on the top of his erection, then pushed itself in jerking little squirts that ran down his panties, hung in a long dangle from his crotch, then trickled in a steady run down his leg so that Britney's pretty anklets gradually became wet and sticky with his new girlishness.