Inbox me privately on telegram or zangi for a training section
Zangi 6412878588
@Misstressglamorous12

A number of years ago, I walked into a small back street Charity Shop on the edge of town. I wasn’t really looking for anything specific just browsing, killing time, letting my eyes wander over the racks the way I always did when I felt that familiar restless itch under my skin. Then I saw it. Hanging slightly askew on a padded hanger near the back wall, half-hidden behind a row of sensible navy blazers, was a floor-length satin bridal gown. Ivory, not stark white. The bodice was structured but not boned, the skirt a gentle A-line that flared softly rather than ballooning into tulle insanity. A modest neckline. Delicate lace overlay on the shoulders and upper chest. And pinned to the hanger was the tag: Size 32 Worn once £49. My heart gave a hard, guilty thud. I’m a UK 18" collar with a 50" chest in men’s shirts. But dresses… dresses measure differently. Especially wedding dresses. Especially ones made to accommodate curves most people would call “plus size.” I glanced around. The shop was quiet. An older woman with silver hair was sorting bric-a-brac at the counter; a younger volunteer early twenties, purple streaks in her hair was steaming something in the corner. I lifted the gown off the rail. The satin felt cool and liquid against my palms. Heavy in the right way. I carried it toward the changing cubicle like I was smuggling contraband. “Would you like to try it on, love?” the silver-haired woman called out. Her voice was kind, matter-of-fact. No trace of surprise or judgement. I froze for half a second. “Yes please,” I managed. My voice sounded smaller than usual. She smiled. “Curtain’s already drawn back there. Take your time. Shout if you need a hand with the zip.” The cubicle was narrow, just a full-length mirror screwed to the wall, a single hook, and a thin beige curtain that didn’t quite reach the floor. I hung the dress on the hook and stripped quickly out of my jeans, hoodie, socks, boxers, down to bare skin that already felt too warm, too alive. My **** was already half-hard just from touching the fabric, from the sheer improbability of this moment. I reached into the pocket of my discarded jeans on the floor and found the condom I always carried now just in case. Fingers trembling, I tore the packet, rolled the latex down over my throbbing length, making sure the reservoir tip was positioned correctly. The relief of containment was immediate. No stains. No evidence. Just secret, pulsing heat trapped safely inside. I stepped into the gown. The skirt whispered up my calves, over my thighs. I pulled it past my hips slowly, carefully and the satin glided over the soft roundness of my belly without catching. I tugged the bodice up over my chest. The cups were generously cut, there was room. Actual room. I reached behind and found the long invisible zip. It slid up smoothly, no resistance, no straining. When I let my arms drop, the dress settled around me like it had been waiting. I looked in the mirror. The reflection showed someone soft and full and blushing furiously beneath ivory satin. The modest neckline framed the gentle swell of my chest and the faint shadow of cleavage created by the way the bodice pushed everything together. My hips looked wide and womanly beneath the smooth fall of fabric. My belly made a soft, proud curve against the front of the skirt. I turned sideways. The line from back to front was lush, generous, unapologetic. It fit. It actually fit. A small, involuntary whimper escaped me. I heard footsteps outside the curtain. “Everything alright in there?” It was the younger volunteer this time. I swallowed. “Yes. Um… could you, could you maybe check the zip? Just to make sure it’s all the way up?” The curtain parted a few inches. She peeked in, eyes widening for only a heartbeat before her face softened into a genuine smile. She stepped inside careful, professional and fastened the tiny hook-and-eye at the top of the zip I hadn’t been able to reach. Her fingers were gentle. “There. Perfect. It’s like it was made for you.” I couldn’t speak. My **** was fully hard now, straining painfully against the satin lining. A bead of pre-cum had already escaped and I could feel the slippery warmth of it against the inside of the dress. I smoothed the front of the skirt with both hands. The satin gleamed under the fluorescent light. I looked sill looked like a bloke in a dress. A big, soft, blushing, overweight very happy bride. When I finally stepped out, both women were waiting. “I’ll take it,” I said. Whilst the younger woman unhooked and unzipped me, the silver-haired woman rang it up. “£49. Cash or card, love?” I handed over my card. I left the Charity Shop with the dress folded carefully in a large carrier bag, the memory of satin against every inch of my skin still electric. And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was hiding. I felt like I was finally beginning to find myself.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my dimly lit bedroom, my heart pounding with anticipation. At 64 years old, my body had softened over the years—my ample belly and wide hips a testament to a life of indulgence, now embraced in my secret world as a sissy crossdresser. Layers of shimmering satin enveloped me like a cocoon, not restraining but caressing every curve. A voluminous satin nightgown draped over my frame, its glossy fabric pooling around my thighs, while beneath it, satin panties hugged my skin, and a satin slip added another silky barrier. I felt shrouded, encased in luxury, every movement sending whispers of fabric against fabric.
My hands trembled slightly as I reached for the condom on the nightstand. I tore open the packet with care, the latex unfurling smoothly. Sliding it over my hardening arousal, I savored the initial cool tightness, a prelude to the symphony of sensations to come. It fit snugly, ready to capture the climax of this intimate ritual.
Now, I turned my attention to the fabrics that called to me. My fingers glided over the satin nightgown, tracing the smooth, slippery surface that clung to my obese form. The material shifted with each breath, rubbing against my skin in waves of electric silkiness. I ran my hands down my sides, feeling the layers bunch and slide, the overwhelming sensuality building as the satin whispered promises of ecstasy. My belly, soft and round, pressed against the inner layers, amplifying the friction—cool satin warming to my body heat, turning into a second skin that teased every nerve.
I moved to the dresser, where my collection of headscarves awaited. First, I selected an oversized satin one in deep crimson, draping it over my head like a veil of night. It cascaded down my back and shoulders, the edges brushing my neck. I tied it firmly under my chin, the knot secure but gentle, then looped the excess around my neck in a loose bow, adding another layer of encasement that framed my face in glossy folds. The satin pressed softly against my cheeks, its texture so smooth it felt like liquid silk pouring over me.
Not satisfied, I layered another—emerald green, even larger, overlapping the first. I repeated the process: over the head, tied under the chin with a double knot for that extra hug of fabric, then wrapped around my neck in elegant loops that nestled against my throat. The combined weight was delicious, the satins rustling together with every turn of my head, sending shivers down my spine. A third layer followed, ivory white and billowing, tied and looped in the same manner, now creating a multi-hued shroud that muffled the world outside, focusing all sensation inward.
To complete the encasement, I added the sheer voile chiffon veils. These were lighter, almost ethereal, like mist. I pulled the first one over my head as a hood, its transparent layers fluttering down to my shoulders, veiling my vision in a hazy dreamscape. The chiffon whispered against the satin scarves beneath, a delicate contrast to their heavier gloss—airy and teasing, brushing my lips and eyelids with feather-light touches. I added a second chiffon veil, then a third, each one encasing my head further, the sheer fabric layering into a translucent barrier that heightened every breath, every subtle movement.
Encased now from head to toe, I lay back on the bed, the satin sheets beneath me adding to the chorus. My hands explored freely: sliding under the nightgown to feel the panties' slick embrace, then up to my chest where the slip's fabric bunched against my skin. The sensations overwhelmed me—the cool slide of satin on satin, the warmth building where layers met my body's curves, the chiffon veils shifting like a gentle breeze across my face. My arousal throbbed within the condom, begging for attention.
I gave in, my hand wrapping around myself through the thin latex. The strokes were slow at first, savoring how the satin panties amplified each motion, the fabrics around me rustling in rhythm. The headscarves tugged slightly with my movements, their knots and loops a constant reminder of my shrouded state. Faster now, the sensations cresting—silky textures merging into a tidal wave of pleasure. With a muffled gasp beneath the veils, I released, filling the condom in blissful waves, my body quivering in the satin embrace until I lay spent, utterly satisfied in my encasement.

When I did Maid training

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Cheeky dressing weekend whilst training xx

My Mistre ss told me yesterday, to buy some plain cotton knickers. I have to attend a training session tomorrow, when I will receive a spanking, and a pegging, while I am wearing those knickers. I had to get high leg knickers so they could expose my bottom cheeks and be easily pulled to one side for ease of entry

Went for a training session last weekend x

How good would it be to have a crossdresser convention at the NEC Birmingham with loads of clothing stalls, Beauty training and everything crossdresser related i would love it but probably spend a forture

t.me/DisciplineMommy
Send me a private message begging for entry into my training attendance Only then will you begin your path to becoming the best, most devoted submissive sissy girl under my heart’s discipline and serious service to prove the reality of the slut

Good evening sweets! I'm off to work. But thought I'd leave you with a story. More: http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/
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Chrissy on the Hillcrest Bus

The bus hissed as it opened its doors on University Avenue, right in the heart of Hillcrest, San Diego’s famous gay neighborhood. I climbed aboard, heart racing a little faster than usual. On the outside I was in my “boy clothes” — plain pants, a simple shirt — but underneath I was my secret self: Chrissy Marie Tunnell. Pink floral panties hugged my smooth hips, a matching bra cupped my chest, and tiny flashes of trans-colored jewelry — a ring, a dangling earring — shimmered in the afternoon light.

I wasn’t fully comfortable living openly as a girl yet, but I loved leaving little clues for anyone observant enough to notice.

As I walked down the aisle, I felt eyes on me. One man’s gaze dropped to where the pink waistband of my panties peeked above my pants. Another tilted his head just enough to catch the faint outline of my bra straps beneath the thin cotton of my shirt. My jewelry glinted when the bus jolted, and I knew they’d seen the colors.

Their eyes followed me hungrily as I slid into a seat halfway down. Even the bus driver, watching through the mirror, licked his lips and adjusted in his chair.

“Hey…” one man finally said, his voice a mix of awe and lust. “You’re Chrissy… the trans model, aren’t you?”

My cheeks burned, but I gave a shy smile. “Yes.”

A low whistle came from the back. “Damn. You should take those clothes off.”

I laughed nervously, shaking my head. “I can’t here…”

Then the driver’s voice, gravelly but warm, floated down the aisle: “It’s okay. I won’t say anything.” His eyes met mine in the mirror, daring me.

A shiver ran through me. My body trembled with a mix of nerves and arousal as I stood up slowly, the bus swaying beneath my feet. I grabbed the metal pole for balance, slipped off my shirt one button at a time, and slid my pants down my thighs. Gasps and murmurs spread as I revealed my pink bra and panties, smooth legs, and the bulge already straining with need.

“Goddamn…” someone whispered.

I posed for them, turning so they could see the curve of my ass, bending just enough to make my cheeks round and full under the thin fabric. I arched my back, running my hands down my torso, teasing myself for their eyes. The air hummed with catcalls and whistles, every sound feeding my arousal.

I felt powerful. Desired. Exposed.

The driver adjusted his mirror again, his eyes glued to me. My **** twitched inside my panties, leaking, the wet spot spreading. A chorus of moans and encouragement filled the bus as I spread my legs, cupped myself through the silky fabric, and let them watch my face flush and my chest rise and fall with each deep breath.

I was their show, their Chrissy, their secret ******* on wheels.

Chrissy’s Bus Show – The Climax
The bus swayed along the road, but I barely noticed. Every set of eyes was on me — hungry, wide, devouring. I stood in the aisle in nothing but my pink floral bra and panties, my smooth skin glistening under the fluorescent lights, my **** straining the damp satin.

“Do it, Chrissy,” someone whispered, voice husky with need.

“Yes… show us,” another begged.

The encouragement hit me like waves of heat. I hooked my thumbs under the band of my panties, tugged them tight against my bulge, and let out a trembling gasp. My **** pulsed, the wet spot spreading. The riders groaned, some openly rubbing themselves as they watched.

I spread my legs wider, arched my back, and cupped myself through the silky fabric. The friction was maddening. My hips bucked, the panties darkening with each spurt of precum.

“God, look at you,” the bus driver moaned from the mirror, his knuckles white on the wheel.

The passengers cheered me on, clapping, catcalling, shouting my name. “Chrissy! Chrissy!”

I slid one hand up my chest, over my flat stomach, to my bra — tugging at the cups, making my nipples stand hard under the lace. My other hand rubbed furiously over the soaked bulge, grinding, stroking, teasing myself to the edge.

The entire bus rocked with my moans. My thighs quivered, my lips parted, sweat dripping down my temples. I was lost in it, lost in them, lost in the rush of being seen.

Then it hit.

“Ahhh—!” My body seized, **** jerking uncontrollably as I came hard in my panties. Hot, sticky release poured out, soaking the pink fabric, running down my thighs. Gasps and cheers filled the air, some passengers clapping, others moaning with me as if they’d climaxed, too. (continued in comments below):


-Chrissy

At a training session on Monday xx

visited a lady for training yesterday, on the instructions of my Mistre ss, as she is away until the end of November. She told me to wear my pink chastity ring with suitable adornments and accessible lingerie.

t.me/DisciplineMommy
I am the Great ******* strict in my Discipline, irresistible in my pull, when you come to my Telegram training space , you will send me a proper private message, there are no shortcuts, no games. Understand? You will begin by begging for my training attendance, In that message, you will show respect, hunger, and readiness. Only then will you step onto the path of becoming the best, most devoted submissive sissy girl shaped under my heart’s discipline, ruled by my serious service, drawn deeper into the reality of the slut you truly are

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t.me/DisciplineMommy
I am the Great *******, the one you’ve been seeking.
You will find me at my Telegram training space and you will message me properly. Understand?
Send me a private message begging for entry into my training attendance. Only then will you begin your path to becoming the best, most devoted submissive sissy girl under my heart’s discipline and serious service to prove the reality of the slut you truly are

My dear sissy to be I'll hope you are capable of being on the training platform
Hey, I'm using Telegram to chat. Join me! Download it here: https://telegram.org/dl

Add me as a friend on Discord! Invite expires in 1 week: https://discord.gg/MjD6CXt2

Greetings, my dear submissive sissy slut to be owned as a great property to ********. I am Superior Discipline, your Dominant ********
I take this lifestyle very seriously and expect honesty, devotion, and obedience. I am seeking a dedicated submissive male who is ready to be trained, owned, and perfected for my pleasure when I choose to engage
I am a confident, compassionate, and experienced Dominant who delights in guiding submissive sissyslut through transformative journeys of self-discovery and growth. I am passionate about submissive training and development and skilled in sensual domination, tease and denial. My devotion is to creating safe, fully consensual, and deeply meaningful power exchange
My interests as a ******** include protocol and etiquette training, service and domestic discipline, sensual control, sensory play, ritualized submission, and long-term psychological transformation. If you are honest, humble, and prepared to submit, prove your willingness and show me why you deserve to belong

If you submit to Me, little one, you will be guided, shaped, and cared for under My control. I will train your body and mind to serve, to obey, and to please — but also to feel safe and wanted in My ownership. My rules will give you purpose, My discipline will give you focus, and My attention will make you feel truly seen. If you are ready to surrender fully, you will not just be a submissive — you will be Mine, cherished and owned completely.
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Hello to you'll listen submited submissive male who's here interested and ready to become a truly great and useful sissy slut, sissy bitch, sissy girly, sissy property. Now this is an offer to the right interested reality one's As a great honest Dominant Discipline ******** I would like to have you in my right training place as my little sissy wife to be, if you are serious, do you have Discord or Telegram? That is where I continue with my subs and claim them properly as my new property. Interesting reality one's aks for the right training attendance and dressd up properly whenever you provide the best and great useful obedience that you are under my Discipline service to become an expensive beautiful woman made up forever at my Sup, Dom platforms.

Greetings, sissy. I am Superior Discipline — your confident, compassionate, and experienced Dominant ********. I take this lifestyle seriously and delight in guiding devoted submissives through transformative journeys of surrender, training, and growth. I specialise in sensual domination, tease and denial, and precise, disciplined instruction designed to hone obedience and devotion. Safety, consent, and meaningful connection are mandatory — submit with honesty, discipline, and a willing heart. If you crave rigorous training and to belong as my property, prove your devotion and prepare to be shaped.
DM for the training platform
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Hey, submissive. Are you truly ready to surrender yourself under my command—handing over the key of your life to me, as my property and belonging? From this moment, your body, soul, and every breath are mine to own, control, and discipline. Understand that I am the only ******* you serve, the only power you obey—the one who shapes you into what I desire. You exist to worship, obey, and live as my sissy or *****, nothing more. Do you understand, pet? . DM on this my training telegram
t.me/DisciplineMommy

Due to very hot weather I had to get up at 4AM to start a long distance training run. So this is what I look like early in the morning. (OK - I am not a morning person). I hope everyone is having a god day.

And so the cycle begins again - It would seem I’ve put the pounds on again!! Work and life in general getting in the way of training and eating correctly - Something i have to keep on top of if i want to get into some of my outfits!! Intermittent fasting and training 5 days a week - It’s hard work trying to look good! Off to a good start though - Eating cleanly and in calorific deficit for the last 3 days. Who else has similar issues?

(“Say” it.)to my Dm. “Yes *******”


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Hello all my BGFs and BBFs. Just got back from a short trip to complete in a girl's road race. Ran a half marathon. This is a magic photo from my last training run. Looks like the video did not load

gym training, giving results...