Übersetze folgenden Text, übersetze “Stockings” mit “Halterlose” und schreibe ihn in die Ich-Form um:”””Poor sissy - never stood a chance.  


It was born male with a male anatomy, but from there on it all started going wrong.  


Raised by its mother, it never had a male role model. 


It grew up preferring to play gills games and pre freeing the company of girls because other boys were so rough and teased it and picked on it. 


Before it’s tenth birthday it was secretly dressing in its mother’s stockings, pantyhose and high heels and underwear. 


It soon started to acquire girl clothes and stockings and high heels and lingerie of its own, dressing up in girlie stuff at every opportunity, and wearing pantyhose and panties under its jeans. 


It started to wear girl jeans and tops that weren’t too obvious, but it fooled no one. 


Other boys would deride it as “weak”, “mummy’s boy”, “pansy” “queer” and “sissy”.


It could hardly object, because deep down it knew they were right.


It’s mother caught it, at the age of 15, dressed in sheer tan pantyhose, a skimpy, baby pink, pleated mini skirt, a transparent pink and white lace top and pink stiletto pumps, wearing lipstick and makeup. 


She thought the way to discourage its crossdressing was to send to the shops to run some errands dressed like that. 


It was followed home by some boys from school who were humiliating it and calling it insulting names all the way - “faggot”, “queer”, “pantywaists”, “loser” and other devastatingly derisive terms that burned straight through it for it knew they were what it was.  


They surrounded near a deserted alley way and forced in into the alley way and said they would not beat it up or tell the whole school if it got down on its pantyhose sheathed knees and sucked each of their throbbing appendages one by one between its lipstick painted lips.


It wasn’t in any way attracted to any of them.


It hated boys - their rough and uncouth ways, their dreary clothes and untidy appearance.


But it knew it had no choice. 


Soon it found itself, in a back alleyway on its pantyhose knees gagging uncontrollably as each took his turn ramming his throbbing shaft down its throat and emptying his aid into the hapless sissy. 


Filled with the juices of five different boys, it’s makeup smeared and stained with their semen, it picked up its groceries and removed its stilettos and ran home in tears in its stocking feet. 


Dropping the groceries at the door it raced to its room and locked the door behind it. 


It’s mother heads an idea of what may have happened but the fused to come out until the next day. 


Having compelled her sissy to go out in public, through the neighbourhood, dressed in a short skirt, lacy girlie top,sheer pantyhose , high heels and makeup, she was not now going to compound the problem by forcing it to explain what happened when she already knew. 


It was never raised again and she never forced her sissy son out in public in girlie clothes, nor even raised the issue of its transvestism, even though she knew it was still dressing up behind its locked bedroom door and its daily appearance was becoming progressively more effeminate - increasingly more obviously feminine jeans and tops, nail polish, feminine jewellery, bras, eye makeup, more girlie hairstyles, tan pantyhose under shorts….


What she didn’t know was that once a week it would sneak out, dressed in that same shirt pink skirt and lacy pink top to that same laneway to submit itself abjectly, on stockinged knees, before the same five ruffians, to be orally used.


At first, this was part of the price it had agreed to keep the ruffians quiet about its effeminate transvestite secret.


But by nine months later, there really wasn’t much of a secret anymore.


It was going to school in girlie clothes and it was obvious to everyone. 


Nothing the ruffians could say would surprise anyone, but as much as it hated them, it continued to submit and surrender to them. 


It would even go to their homes and allow itself to be bound and handcuffed and used in all kinds of humiliating ways. 


When it was alone in its room it would relive these episodes as it masturbated into its panties or pantyhose.


It wasn’t the sex with these ruffians that aroused it. It was the humiliation and it’s own submission and weakness.


By the time it graduated and went to university it was dressing openly in girls clothing, skirts, dresses, heels, makeup, stilettos and had become totally effeminate it its demeanour.


It lapped up the compliments and “cool” status it enjoyed among some of the more open-minded students and academic staff, built secretly also derived an intense rush from any derision, shame and humiliation directed at it.  


In fact, it craved to so much it sought it out.


In its second year, a lecturer took an unusual interest in its “academic development”, offering it private tutoring at his home.


The occasion pat on its stockinged knee, caress of of its pantyhose sheathed thighs and lingering stares at its legs and into its eyes left the sissy under no false illusion where this was headed.


It wasn’t attracted to him serially ornithology any other way, but it continued to allow him to do as he pleased. 


By the end of the second term, it had over in with him. 


He was buying its girlie clothes, including humiliating maids uniforms and some others ”toys”.


On night it allowed him to lock its little male appendage into a chastity cage - “just for a game”.


That game didn’t end.


The cage became its constant companion.


As did the leather collar locked around its neck and its leather  wrist cuffs.


The fact that it’s vanilla fellow students were now aware that it was also the lecturer’s submissive bitch added to the intensity of the rush it would derive from its daily shame. 


But it was now prevented, by its locked chastity cage, from consummating the arousal it der I’d from its own shame.


Instead, every night, as its lecturer cuffed it and pounded it, painfully stretching its sphincter filling its loins with his semen, as it wallowed in its girlie clothes, and its defeat, it  had to psychologically draw some kind of vicarious climax from his ejaculations inside it. 


It had, through its boyhood, at times toyed with notions that its urges to dress up in stockings, and womens underwear, and high heels were a phase that it would grow out of. 


Instead of growing out of them, it had grown further into them. 


It was now deep into a sissy abyss. There was no way out. 