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The Fetish
I knew the soft black angora cardigan I wore looked perfect on me…to Phillip.  As he stood naked in front of me, I could see his eyes darting over it whenever he got the chance.  I'm sure he wanted to reach out and stroke the fluffiness enveloping me.  

‘It’s a good thing I love wearing cardigans and sweaters too,’ I smiled.  ‘I’ll enjoy donning them if it helps keep you focused.’ 

‘Oh, it will, Ma’am, absolutely!’

I gave a little chuckle. 
‘You know you’ll be wearing wool all day, every day.  Does that sound appealing?’ 

‘Oh yes! Yes, Ma’am. Thank you!’ 
I gave him my best twinkly eyes.  ‘Mmm, I suspect that soon enough you won’t be thanking me.  See, I intend to throw your fetish for all things soft and fluffy, right back at you.  Yes, on the surface you’ll be indulged, but only in so far as it suits my purposes.  Does that still sound appealing?’ 

He hesitated, grappling with my bluntness.  My gaze firmed and I folded my arms, all the better to emphasis matters. ‘Well?’ 

‘I’ve agreed to live under your rules and guidance, Ma’am, so I accept you may use my fetish to prove a point.’

‘Oh I won’t simply be proving a point.  I intend to drive home to you just where this fetish has led you to…and where it will be taking you in future.  I know it’s the key to driving you deeper into submission.  It is true, isn’t it?’ 

He nodded.
‘No nods.  Proper answers, always.’  I kept my voice firm, steady. 

‘Yes, Ma’am.  Yes, it is a driver for my submissive side.’ 

‘Come, come, just a driver?’ 

‘Okay, the driver.  It's taken me a while to work that out. I’ve realised lately everything else, my submission, my need for a female-led relationship, springs from it.’ 

I took a step over to him, all the better to envelop him in my subtle scent…and authority. 

‘Yes, well, I’m way ahead of you - I’d already figured that out.  You do realise you, and your fetish, are, to put it mildly…ridiculous.  Completely, utterly ridiculous.   A man – and I use that term hesitantly – who gets his little jollies off wearing fluffy femmie sweaters and the like is ridiculous.  Isn’t that so?  Hmmmm?’

He blushed.  Bright red.  Excellent.  Embarrassment and humiliation.  I can use that. 


‘I…I thought from our emails and video chats that you didn’t mind my fetish, Ma’am?’ 

‘Oh I don’t mind your fetish at all.  But that’s not what I asked you?’

‘I…ahh…’ his voice cracked and failed him.  This is getting very interesting.  
‘I said isn’t a man who wanks off while wearing fluffy cardigans ridiculous?’

He looked so confused, lowering his head before answering quietly.  ‘Yes Ma’am.’ 

‘Hurrah, we have agreement!  And what other terms do you think we can apply to a “man” who gets all excited at the very sight of a turtleneck or cardigan?’ 
He shuffled his feet nervously.  He was getting uncomfortable.  Perfect. 

‘I’ll tell you, since you’re clearly struggling.  How about….sissy!’ 

‘Or maybe you’re a faggot!  Pop you in a nice big pink fluffy turtleneck and makeup and watch you go all hot for cock?  Is that what you are, hmmmm, a sissy?  A faggot?’

He cringed. 

‘Please, Ma’am, I’m just a crossdresser who loves dressing up in angora sweaters and the like.’

‘You’re more than a crossdresser, believe me.  Or you soon will be, I assure you.’  

He looked crestfallen. 

‘You are a sissy, a fluffysissy, a sissyfluffywimpyfaggot.  I want to hear you say it.’ 

He gave a deep sigh.  ‘I am a sissy, Ma’am’. 

‘Not good enough.  What are you?’

He took a deep breathe, again lowering his eyes.  ‘I’m a…fluffysissy, a sissyfluffywimpyfaggot, Ma’am.’ 

I was enjoying how uncomfortable he was.  This was wonderful. 

‘Awww, there there… I imagine it’s hard to initially embrace one’s inner sissy.  But let me assure you, you’ll soon get used to it.  Sissy.’

‘Yes Ma’am.’

‘You need a name of course, one that’s appropriate and that we can use for you whenever, however and forever.  Mmmm, I think…fluffysissyphyllis sounds good!’   

His eyes almost popped out of his head.  ‘Huh!!?’

‘What an ungrateful response!  I expect gratitude when I give you things.’
He looked pleadingly at me.  His eyes dropped for a second or two.  My cardigan was probably speaking to him now. Ha!   

He looked back up.  ‘I’m sorry Ma’am for my ingratitude’. 

‘What is your name, sissy?’ 

He looked away.  I’ll let that pass this time…

‘Fluffysissyphyllis, Ma’am,’ he responded quietly. 


‘Fluffysissyphyllis, Ma’am.’


He repeated it again, louder. 

‘Good.  From this point on that will be the only name you will use for yourself, and the only name I will be referring to you by.  Other than wimpy-woolly-wanker, sissysweaterwanker and similar terms,’ I finished with a laugh.

‘Yes Ma’am.’ 

‘Right, woolly-wanker, let’s get you dressed properly.  I’ve got a particularly thick, high and scratchy turtleneck, matching woollen tights and other woolly items for you to wear while we start on your proper training.  It’ll be very sweaty and uncomfortable, I’m sure.  But hey, what’s a little discomfort when you get to wear all that wool!?’  I couldn’t help laughing again.  ‘Follow me.’      

A lovely little cardigan to follow.  Not the usual leash, perhaps, but there you go.
Know thy self, sissy.  Don't whine, don't pine, learn to expand your mind.   
Heart  Sissy Gislaine Mohair from France  Heart 
A great opener, Sissysoft; of course there is nothing really ridiculous about a man liking soft and feminine clothing (indeed, my entire life revolves around such attire) but I’m sure it serves her purposes to soften him up by making him think so.

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