NEW HAIRSTYLE - NEW WARDROBE
by Sissysoft

When Rebecca, my Wife, and I embraced a Female-Lead Marriage three years ago I never imagined anything like this happening to me. Yes, I am a sissy and I know my place, but the truth is, I'm terrified by what's about to happen to me...

There I was, washing up after dinner last night, when Rebecca informed me that I would be getting my hair done tomorrow morning. Nothing unusual about that - Rebecca runs everything in my life nowadays, including what I wear and how I look. "Fine', I thought, "a trim or whatever."

"But there'll be no more barbershops for you anymore."

I stopped drying the dish in my hand and looked at her as she came over to me at the sink. She ran her hand through my mid-length, swept-back, hair.

"I've decided it's time for you to visit a proper hairdresser. We're heading to a lady's hair salon since I want your hair done in an appropriate lady's style from now on." She lifted the back of my hair up off my neck. "Yes, I want it taken much, much shorter all round, purple-tinted and then permed."

"What!' I explained. I couldn't believe what she was saying.

"Tightly permed. Very tightly permed. And mauvy-purple tones. It will suit the older you. Let's not forget, you are fifty-two."

"But Mistress, I'll look...well...bizarre!"

She chuckled, her eyes twinkling away with mischief. "I know."

I looked at her, shocked by her obvious pleasure at my predicament.

"Face it Miss Millie, it's one thing to dress in pretty frillies in the privacy of home. It's quite another to go out in public dressed in layers of frilly petticoats and silk dresses and anklets and Mary-janes. Or a French Maid's outfit. Not very practical at all."

Huh? Where is this going?

"No, now that you'll be going out every day, dressed as a proper, older, woman..."

Out? Daily? Dressed as a woman? But?

'...your hair needs to look the part, too."

"Mistress, I...why?...what? I've never gone out dressed as a sissy in public before, why...'

"Now no arguing with me Miss Millie, you know that has serious consequences. I've decided, and that is that."

"But Mistress! You can't do that to...'

"Millicent!' Whenever "Millicent' arrives, matters become serious. "Stop right there! You know the rules. Rules you agreed to abide to. Always."

"But I've never gone out in public..."

Mistress held up her left hand. Her strongest signal to me to shut up and obey. I instantly stopped and stood at attention.

"After you finish washing up, you'll receive a sound caning for all that whining. Twenty strokes. Is that clear?'

"Yes Mistress,' I replied meekly. I knew just how sound those strokes would be. Painfully so.

"As for going out in public, let's face it, you are, and always have been...a... panty-waisted, sissy-wimp...a faggotty, failed male."

I knew every word she said was true, but it still didn't stop me blushing with shame and embarrassment.

"It's time for you to embrace that reality in front of the world instead of hiding behind your pseudo-masculine public persona. Time for full and total emasculation. It's for the best."

I stood there, head up, eyes lowered, absorbing her words. And wildly wondering what had changed for her to be pushing this on to me. I wanted to ask the obvious "Why?' but having been put in place with her commanding hand, knew I was not to utter a word without her permission.

She read my mind. "It's Marco's idea." Marco was her boyfriend of the last year. Her much younger boyfriend. Over dinner Mistress had announced he was moving into the house in a week.

"He feels - and I agree - that there's little point in being a sissy and then hiding behind doors. Where's the humiliation, the real emasculation, in that!?', she said with another chuckle.

"Yes, humiliation is important for sissies to experience and absorb. Real emasculation, preferably daily, so they become much more obedient, submissive and more in touch with their true selves."

Oh god...where's this come from, what's she been reading, studying, looking at? I can't believe this...

"Marco also feels - and again, I agree - that you need to do more than just prance around here in your pretties. You'll still be cleaning and cooking and ironing and keeping the home here tidy but...' She hesitated for effect.

"...he's arranged for you to look after his mother, grandmother and auntie's homes as well. And if that goes well, then we'll look to expand your domestic duties elsewhere."

My head was spinning...

"Yes, Marco and I are considering starting a domestic house cleaning business together, with sissies performing all the work. It would be a perfect way to earn good money while demonstrating to women the advantages in turning disobedient or simpering males into well-trained, deferential, self-effacing sissies. Useful sissies. Consider that you're trialling a business model for us."

I couldn't help myself, raising my gaze to take in her beautiful, almond-shaped, hazel eyes. They were fixed on me without any hint of sympathy. Or twinkle.

"Lower your gaze."

I did what I was told.

"You'll receive another five strokes for that."

"Yes Mistress' I responded quietly.

"As for your dress, it's changing to something far more practical and suitable for all the traveling and housework you're going to be doing. You'll be dressing and presenting as a fifty-something, rather old-fashioned, type of lady. No more sissy frillies from now on, except occasionally at home, and only when I permit you to wear such outfits.

You'll need to be on your best behaviour though for the privilege of wearing anything remotely "little sissy girl."

You'd be wise to remember that. Is that clear?'

My mouth was dry, so dry. I swallowed before answering. "Yes, Mistress Rebecca."

"Good." She stepped in closer and ran both hands through my hair. "Do you think this hair is appropriate for a fifty-something female domestic to wear?'

I swallowed again, and simply moved my head slowly from side to side.

"I didn't hear you, Millicent?'

"Not if you think so, Mistress."

"I don't think so, I know so. You'd simply spend too much time fussing over it or having it get in the way if we kept it this length and style. Plus, it doesn't really go with the look I'm developing for you. Short, tight perms are best, with tints, rollers, hairnets and the like to go with it. A look straight out of the 1960s, one that will reassure Marco's grandmother, mother and aunt as you go about your work keeping their homes spotless and making their lives much easier."

I was mortified by the picture she was painting of my soon-to-be look. And the public exposure to go alongside it.

"So tomorrow I am taking you to McCrea's Ladies Salon on High Street. You know the one. Next to the post office."

I did indeed. Everyone in town knew it - it had been there at least fifty years, with its faded pink and black shopfront and frosted half-windows.

"I've booked you in for a ten o'clock appointment. I explained to them that you're my sissy panty-waist who needs to act her age and have an appropriate hairstyle from now on."

Surely she hadn't...

"All the girls, and dear, old Mrs Macrea, think it's hilarious that I'm bringing you in for such a transformation. Mrs Macrea, in her delightful Scottish accent, even quipped, "Well, you can't have a sissy domestic doing all that housework without a suitable hairstyle to match." Oh, she is truly wicked, believe me. I'm sure you'll find her very amusing. At your expense, of course."

My lips were quivering - I felt close to tears.

"So, your fate is sealed!' she said with a flourish.

"As for your clothes, I've been to the opportunity shops to select some items to get you new wardrobe underway."

She turned and walked off. I knew better than to move without her permission. She returned with a number of outfits and arranged them on the back of several dining room chairs. "Over here."

She held a dress in either hand. Both were nothing less than dowdy, to put it mildly. Floral patterns, full-length sleeves, high collars. Just like Grandmother used to wear...in the sixties or seventies.

"I've bought four of them. They're all nylon or polyester!' she said with a chuckle. "What do you think of them, Millicent?'

They were revolting, so old-fashioned and conservative, but what could I do?

"If you want me to wear them then they are perfect for me, Mistress."

She smiled. "Good sissy. You are well-trained

She put the dresses down and held up a couple of pleated, woolen, tartan skirts, followed by a couple of pleated skirts, one brown, the other mid-grey. All four were knee length.

"These will go well with the blouses and twinsets I found. Especially for you."

I wanted to shrivel up and disappear. The blouses were awful, all long-sleeved and high-collared too, one soft pink, the other two, creamy yellow and puffy sleeved, all in satin fabric. And the twinsets - one hand-knitted, in plain grey, the other fluffy, in ghastly, pastel yellow. So frumpy.

"These are just the start of your whole new wardrobe."

Next, she held up two full-foundation garments, skin-toned. Then a girdle, a plain bra set, hose and panties in similar muted tones. "You don't need your Fancy-Nancy knickers and undergarments anymore, do you, Millicent?'

"Not if I'm busy cleaning, Mistress."

"That's right. And I'm always right, am I not?'

"Yes Mistress, of course you are, Mistress."

She chuckled.

"I'm going to let you choose your outfit for tomorrow's salon visit from this collection."

"Thank you, Mistress, I appreciate you giving me choice in the matter." I am such a well-trained wimp....

"Just remember, nylon and polyester can be hot and uncomfortable. And when you're under a heavy cape, and having heat applied to your hair and scalp, and sitting under a blow-drier, and with all that tight lingerie on...well, you'd best choose wisely."

"Yes Mistress, I will."

"I expect you to choose one of the dresses. And I may add a cardigan to the outfit if I decide it's a bit chilly."

I took a deep breath..."Yes Mistress, thank you, Mistress."

"And after your nice new hairstyle we'll get you to the uniform shop for some proper domestic service outfits. Hmmm, I'm leaning towards pink-themed tunics, pinnies and dusting coats, perhaps with your name monogrammed on them. What do you think?'

"If pink and a monogram is what you feel is most suitable for me, then pink and a monogram it is, Mistress." She smiled again, loving it when I owned my submission and abasement.

"It will be such fun shopping together, won't it?'

Fun for some, I thought. "Of course, Mistress, especially for you."

She pulled herself up to her full height. "Do I detect a hint of sarcasm directed my way, Millicent?'

I closed my eyes and responded slowly, "I'm sorry if I upset you, Mistress, I didn't mean too."

"Sarcasm is always deliberate, you know that Millicent. Five more strokes. And I'll be deciding what you're wearing tomorrow."

"Yes Mistress, sorry for my behaviour, Mistress."

"You will be once I've finished with your behind. Pick up those garments and follow me. We have an appointment with my No. 5 cane."

"Yes Mistress." She walked out the room, her firm footsteps echoing on the polished floorboards. No. 5. The stingy, whippy one...

I sighed, gathered up the clothes and made my way towards her, full of trepidation. For the caning, yes, but mostly for the direction my life was about to head in.

My thoughts swirled around, fixing on Marco. Everything had shifted when he entered Rebecca's' life. She changed, ratcheting up the discipline and domination while her punishments grew more intense. He adapted of course, she was his Mistress and he adored her, after all. But now...this...and all because of Marco. He was responsible, asserting and confirming his masculinity by debasing mine even further, encouraging her to drive my submission even deeper. Where will this end?

No real man would stand for this, that is for sure. And Marco is a real man. I'm anything but... I'm just a wimpy sissy. Oh... but it's so hard at times, so hard. Come on, smarten up - you've got to do what you're told to do, otherwise life loses direction and security, and everything falls apart. You do not want that. So...sissy, take a deep breath and accept that your Mistress knows best. Always.

My bottom is incredibly sore from the forty strokes I received last night - it was increased by another ten after I forgot my manners and failed to thank Mistress for the first stroke - and I'm dressed in plain hose and a horrid, lace-trimmed, high-necked, floral dress over which I wear a plain grey, decidedly drab, handknitted cardigan, its top button done up firmly at the neckline. My small, tight cock cage is never comfortable but today it is even less so, trapped as it is under the extremely tight-fitting long girdle I'm wearing.

We are on our way towards Mrs McCrea's salon in Mistress' car, me in the back, directly behind her, just as she likes. I'm without any makeup - Mistress informed me that Mrs McCrea will see to that, after the perming is done, along with my nails. ("It's practical make-up and practical nails for all that practical work from now on'). I am trying desperately not to think about what I look like, and what I'm about to look like, trying to zone out, blank my mind, find that secure "in the moment' spot I need to exist in, where Mistress has taught me to be in, before everything topples over on top of me and smothers me....
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