Winter was biting into the afternoon with its icy breath. Evelin, my endearing sissy, bound to me by an invisible cord woven with years and shared experiences, had embarked on a work trip far from our nest. Her pleading eyes, clinging to my legs in a heart-wrenching plea, begged for resignation, for abandoning that opportunity. But I, with the certainty of one who guides a destiny, explained the unreasonableness of letting that new horizon slip away, urging her to spread her wings towards her new home.

In the melancholic quiet of that afternoon, my fingers danced on the Tuamo screen. A message, like a faint call in the digital distance, emerged near my city: "I have no experience, but I would love for you to teach me how to flourish in a submissive relationship."

An initial hesitation tried to silence my curiosity, but the sting of the unknown pricked stronger. "Where do you live?", I typed, launching the question into the virtual ether.

The response came like a close whisper, revealing a shared neighborhood and a latent longing: the desire to explore the metamorphosis towards trans femininity, a dream postponed by the indecision of the passing days.

We arranged a meeting, a ritual that always preceded my forays into new skins. I was wary of virtual mirages, of encounters stripped of tangible reality. Most of the time, the search was reduced to a fleeting carnal encounter, an ephemeral exchange that I preferred to reserve for female company, for the simple Eden of binary sex.

Our words wove a bridge of sincerity. Vanesa emotionally undressed, revealing a soul eager to surrender. Thus, we sealed the beginning of her transformation, the awakening of the sissy dormant within her.

The dressing room became a sanctuary of lace and silk. Tiny thongs, suggestive garters, crystal stockings, and delicate tops populated her closet, destined to hide beneath the severity of her masculine clothing, like a secret blooming beneath the surface.

Time wove the days, and chastity rose as a new threshold. Her surrender as a sissy deepened, metamorphosing into the intimacy of our private encounters in a power dynamic, where my guidelines and, sometimes, mild punishments, sculpted her will and surrender.

The truth is that Vanesa, with her freshness and surrender, blurred the shadow of Evelyn in my memory. She has been under my guidance for some time now, but her evolution still pulsates with the promise of the unfinished. Her youth whispers a future where her blossoming could reach new dimensions, perhaps, the moment to offer her as an exquisite flower to the enjoyment of other men. But that, as they say, is another story.