from Sallyann

Dear Helga,

Thank you so much for publishing my letter detailing the sissification of my husband, James and thank you also for forwarding pansy Michele's helpful suggestion regarding low heeled shoes, which I shall certainly be checking out. Thanks Michele.

Since I last wrote things have moved on apace and I have obtained several pairs of high heels which are suitable for uniform wear around the house but hardly for a street outing. I have also bought from a seamstress in the States a marvelously girlish "Alice in Wonderland" dress and matching pinafore both in pink and white satin with masses of frills, bows, and furbelows. This together with a curly blonde wig and a set of enormous Betty Boop style false eyelashes has become his off duty uniform to be worn when "relaxing" in the evenings when he has finished his many tasks. As he sashays round the house wearing these and a pair of ultra frilly knee length pink bloomers, white ankle socks decorated with little pink bows and pink high heels with a book balanced on his head practising his deportment he looks quite wonderfully silly, every inch the perfectly sweet little sissy. When I tire of watching him mince about desperately trying to look feminine we have a session of curtsey training. He must stand in front of me and continuously curtsey, whilst keeping the book in place and maintaining both eye contact and a bright smile: he seems to find this particularly difficult. I on the other hand find watching him struggle delightfully amusing, and asking his opinion on the most condign punishment for his many failures even more so, certainly far more entertaining than anything on television.

A couple of weeks ago I decided that James should have his first taste of public humiliation. Immediately after breakfast I summoned him to the bedroom, painted his nails with my brightest red nail polish then told him to change into his street clothes and informed him we were going shopping. He begged me not to embarrass him in such a way but I told him to be quiet and do as he was told. We went to our local shopping centre and as we got out of the car I said to him "I want to see your hands at all times, not in your pockets, not behind your back, but by your side open and visible or else tonight you will have an extremely sore bottom. Do you understand?" "Yes Dear." He replied meekly. "That's another thing," I snapped back "from now on you will address me as Madam unless I give you permission to do otherwise, is that crystal clear?" "Yes Madam." He answered and I inwardly glowed with quiet satisfaction.

Once inside I went straight for the largest department store and headed for the cosmetics counters. After a brief tour I pointed to the counter with the youngest sales assistant and said; "go over there, show the lady your nails and ask for lipstick in a suitably matching shade, you will maintain eye contact with her and speak in a clearly audible voice, I shall be at the next counter and I expect to be able to hear you." He looked absolutely mortified and I thought for a moment he was going to refuse, but after what seemed like an age he simply mumbled "yes Madam," and did as he was told. I was elated that my will had prevailed and I now felt confident that I could get my sissy of a husband to do anything.

I was soon to be disappointed however, as when he made his request the sales girl didn't turn a hair and in no time at all was dishing out advice as to what other cosmetic items he ought to consider buying. In a voice loud enough for him to hear I said to the woman at my own counter, "that's a pretty odd thing, a man buying cosmetics up for himself to wear." She casually replied, "not really, we get them all the time the trannies, they're ideal customers in a way because you can sell most of them anything as they don't know any better and are always grateful for the advice, always good for a bit of commission." I nodded and moved away.

When James had rejoined me with his purchases (she had managed to sell him some foundation and blusher as well as the lipstick) I decided to up the ante. We went to another, much smaller, store and this time I instructed him to buy a set of eyelashes and mascara and to tell the assistant that he wanted the longest lashes that he could wear without getting the mascara on his glasses. Once again the girl at the counter treated him in a friendly and helpful way and she too made several suggestions as to what else he might buy, I began to suspect he might actually be enjoying the attention he was getting from pretty girls half his age and cut the exercise short. On the way home I made him stop off at a small local chemist and go in to buy a bottle of nail varnish remover. The assistant didn't give his fingers a second glance but the (male) pharmacist did give him a rather odd look which caused James to blush furiously.

The rest of the day was spent in instructing James in how to apply his make up; he was unbelievably clumsy at first but, with a combination of patience and punishment, gradually began to improve until by the time he served dinner that evening I felt that his appearance was acceptable. That night I told him how pleased I was that he had behaved well in public, released him from chastity and allowed him the ultimate privilege. Afterwards as I locked him away again he told me how much he loved me and that he would do anything to make me happy. I answered that I knew that and for the moment the things that would make me happiest would be for him to keep practising his make up, to wear it as often as possible and for him to be a pretty little sissy. He told me he would try his best. Power to the petticoat!

In the very near future I shall be inviting a neighbour of mine to witness James in all his frilly finery. I can't wait to write and tell you all how it goes. There really is only one place to keep a man, in petticoats and under one's thumb.

With love and best wishes,


Thank you for your letter Sallyann. Your methods are an inspiration to all the wives and mothers out there.


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Letter 3