Trinity 1-844-332-2639 ext 285

When I say The Interview: Breaking In My New Sissy was unforgettable, I mean it started the moment he knocked on my door—nervous, dressed like the desperate little toy he is, and already dripping through his cage. He wanted this. Begged for it. Said he needed to be broken in properly, to be humiliated, used, trained. I just smiled and set the stage.

“Let’s pretend you’re applying for a position,” I told him. “Personal assistant. Required skills: obedience, silence, and taking it like a good little sissy.” He showed up wearing a tight button-down barely covering his lacy pink bra, a black mini skirt, and kitten heels he could barely stand in. His lips were glossy, cheeks flushed, thighs trembling from the plug I’d told him to keep in all morning.

I let him stand there like a fool while I looked him up and down. “This is what you wear to an interview? Pathetic.” He tried to answer, but I cut him off. “Strip. Now.” He did, shaking the whole time, until he was standing in front of the mirror in nothing but his cage and his shame. I circled him like prey, tugging the leash I’d clipped to

The Interview: Breaking In My New Sissy

his collar.

“Tell me what you are.” He hesitated. So I slapped him. “I’m your worthless little sissy, Miss,” he said, voice cracking. I bent him over the desk, removed his plug, and slid my toy inside him inch by inch—slow enough to make him feel it, hard enough to remind him who he belonged to. His moans were pathetic. Perfect.

I didn’t stop until he was shaking, leaking, and crying into the wood. Then I took a photo. Bent over. Used. Mascara ruined. “For your resume,” I whispered. He whimpered. “Thank you, Miss.” “You got the job.”

Because The Interview: Breaking In My New Sissy wasn’t just a scene—it was the first day of his new role: owned, broken, and completely mine.

 

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