Not the alpha jock...

Your sister's words send shivers of shameful arousal through you, your cock pulsing in her grip. "N-no, you're wrong! I'm not a sissy, I'm not gay!" you protest weakly, even as your body betrays you, aching for more of her humiliating touch. She laughs, low and cruel. "Liar. I can see the truth in your eyes."

With her free hand, she reaches into the dresser and pulls out a pair of pink satin panties trimmed with lace. "These should fit you perfectly," she purrs, dangling the delicate underwear in front of your face. "Go on, put them on. Be a good sissy."

Your cheeks burn and your stomach twists with mingled dread and lust. You want to refuse, to assert your masculinity and tell her to go to hell. But the words won't come. Because deep down, you know she's right. You are a sissy. A sissy slut who gets off on being dominated by his sexy older sister.

Trembling, you take the panties, the silky fabric sliding over your palm. "T-thank you," you mumble, hating the breathless, eager note in your voice. She smirks, knowing she has you exactly where she wants you. "You're welcome, sis. I think pink is going to be your color."

As you step into the panties, you shudder at the feel of the satin against your skin, your cock throbbing against the soft barrier. She watches hungrily, admiring your trembling thighs and the pretty panties hugging your curves. "Perfect," she sighs. "My baby brother, the sissy. So cute and obedient."

She circles you like a shark, drinking in your discomfort, your arousal. You feel dizzy, intoxicated by the scent of your own humiliation. She's right, you realize. This is what you are now. Her sissy. Her panty-clad plaything to tease and torment. Your life has been leading to this moment.

And as she reaches out to stroke your cheek, her touch searing your sensitive skin, you know you'll do anything, be anything, just to please her. Because deep down, you were made for this. Made to serve.

You're still reeling from the shock of your sister's cruel words and humiliating actions. She's right, as much as it pains you to admit. You've always had these shameful desires lurking deep inside, the **** need to submit to a strong woman, to be dominated and transformed into something else. Something feminine.

The panties feel sinful against your skin, the lace tickling your inner thighs. You can feel her eyes on you, drinking in the sight of your trembling form in the skimpy undergarments. Your cheeks burn with a mixture of shame and excitement.

"You look good," she purrs, circling you like a shark. "I can't wait to dress you up in cute dresses and heels. To see you totter around the house, a blushing sissy maid at my beck and call."

You shudder at the mental images, your cock twitching traitorously. She laughs, delighted by your response. "I knew it," she gloats. "I knew you'd love being my sissy. You'll be so good at it, won't you? So obedient and eager to please."

You can only nod, mute, lost in a haze of lust and humiliation. She reaches out to stroke your cheek, her fingers lingering on your lips. "Open," she commands and you obey instantly, parting your lips to grant her access. She slips a finger into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue.

"Suck," she orders and again, you do as you're told, swirling your tongue around the digit like it's a cock. She hums in approval, fucking your face with slow, shallow thrusts. "That's it, sissy. Get used to having things shoved down your throat."

You slurp and gag around her finger, tears springing to your eyes. But your dick is hard, so hard, straining against the confines of the panties. This is your life now. Her sissy toy, her cock sleeve, her plaything to use and humiliate as she sees fit.

And as she pulls her spit-slick finger from your mouth with a lewd pop, you sink to your knees, ready to beg for more. Anything to please her. Anything to be her good sissy.