The significant other wanted to do some work in the man cave the other week, whilst I was out, and this work entailed coming rather close to where my boxed, long out of use lingerie collection was held. I cursed under my breath and hatched a plan to rescue that box and store it in the back of my car where it ultimately stayed for some weeks.
Similarly, the cloth bag in which a suspender belt and hold ups had been held was also put in a similar location having hidden in my man bag since I last wore the items.
In the back of my mind, I knew that I needed to do something, but remained hesitant because I didn’t want to cast the merest eye over the contents for fear of being lured like the proverbial moth to the flame, and so the box and bag sat in the boot for a little longer.
Spin on a few more days and with a plan for a family meal out somewhere, I acknowledged the need to walk a distance from the car park to the restaurant, and rather considerately threw a few golf umbrellas in the boot of the car to challenge the naff weather. However, with the significant other within reasonable viewing distance, I realised that there was a box, the style of which she would potentially be slightly familiar with in the boot – the box having slid around a fair bit with daily driving.
I cursed at a mild volume but without question, threw the umbrellas in without the boot being fully open and slammed it shut again at speed. It was raining, so it was perhaps reasonable for those with a more innocent mind to conclude I was merely making haste.
With the meal done, we ventured home, but concluded a need to pick up a few things from a nearby supermarket. Again, I could see things unravelling at the other end of the shopping expedition, as the bags were, of course, loaded into the boot. Of course, it was still raining, so that acted as suitable cover for the significant other to make similar haste inside whilst I hung around to throw the box and bag containing my lingerie underneath the boot shelf and into the tyre well. It wasn’t a great fit but it sufficed.
At the other end of the shopping trip, the rain continued to hurtle down, so, ever the strategist when it came to things related to crossdressing, I ushered the s/o into the car to avoid getting soaked and merely put the bags into the boot myself.
Close calls. They were close enough to conclude that I needed to bite the proverbial bullet and get the bag contents into the box and get the box put away.
So, one morning, home alone once more, I ventured out to the car, collected the bits and bobs and brought them inside. I was instantly acutely concerned with the risk of the sight of contents in the box. I need not have worried. Upon opening the box, the content were covered by old redundant postal packaging, with absolutely nothing in view.
Wrestling with the need to grab the black suspender belt and hold ups from the black cloth bag, I duly did so and merely thrust them into the top of the box before quickly shutting it once more and making sure that it got to remote storage.
Before or after this, I don’t remember, and having slept naked the night before, my mind wandered to those items that did not form part of the box – the sex toys which occupy another hidey hole somewhere at home, including two chastity devices, a rubber prostate massager, my vibrating prostate massager, 6” dildo and a cock pump. The focus of the attention was, for some reason, on the holy trainer and it was soon fitted and bound in order to wear for work all day.
I wondered why I did this and could only venture to describe it as a yearned kink, the trainer covered by a white silky g-string – one of my daily items of non-femme underwear. As part of the earlier fitting, I’d collected a key and had put it on the bunch of house keys. It wasn’t until I was at work for the day that I realised that it was not just another key but was in fact marked ‘BDSM’ on the key head. This amused me so much that I did something that I hadn’t done for a few weeks and posted something on my Twitter page with a shot of the key and the odd relevant emoji – you know the sort – padlocks, keys and the like.
Talking of toys, you’ll note that these haven’t been put into remote storage like the lingerie has. Since the latest crossdressing cessation, I have enjoyed the odd hour or so time home alone in a morning to enjoy some self pleasuring.. On just one recent occasion, I decided to use the suction cup dildo against the bedroom cupboard mirror for some deep anal and have also enjoyed the vibrating prostate massager too. I must admit the sudden burst into life of fitting my holy trainer on more than one occasion, has reignited a passion for my sex toys.
What I don’t really understand is why I have felt it necessary to put myself into chastity again – a pattern that remained for the next few days. I even began planning when I might next use the dildo and prostate massager. Sexually explorative tendencies have come back to the fore it seems.
I suppose it wasn’t helped by one night’s more intense, and arguably retrospective flick back through my Twitter posts in my crossdressed and chaste state. I suppose it is one of the reasons why I’ve stayed off the account, but the scroll through certainly sowed the proverbial seed. Whilst the sight of me in lingerie kind of made me want to be in lingerie again, the reasons for not doing so were of more importance. The fact that I have had no actual visible cues from that box opening have helped a great deal.
Eventually, the urge to put myself into chastity subsided, either though necessity or something else, but it resumed again last week with the cage, and use of the vibrating massager and dildo. The intensity and lust led to blood-letting. With the suction cup dildo pinned to the corner of a bit of furniture, and with the cage well and truly fitted, it seemed like the latter was a fortress through which nothing could cause harm to the nether regions.
I elected to straddle the dildo both ways, but turning around to face the wall and straddle the corner of the unit meant that as the action commenced, the riding motions led to the end of a filled cage coming into contact with the surface. Eventually, I paid enough attention to realise that I had trapped myself and blood had begun to pool from the end of my caged penis.
Things came to an abrupt end as concern for what damage I had caused to myself began to mount and released myself from the cage. My anatomy was, it seems, able to stop the bleeding very quickly, thank goodness, and with things patched up, either continued where I had left off, or decided enough was enough and applied myself to the day. I don’t remember now.
The coming of last weekend led to an enforced break, but plans have been hatched again to resume with anal play, but rather than the holy trainer, the cage has been the chastity device of choice for some reason, applied during the working day.
The urge today though continued to exploration of anal play – to purchase a butt plug that can be worn out and about. Reviews were reviewed, the item of choice was selected and ordered for imminent pick up at a collection point on route to and from the day job.
That is for another day which I look forward to immensely.
Which brings me on to the last part of this update – well, almost. I should have expected it really. A few weeks ago, I made a completely irrational, logic-free jaunt onto Fiona’s Twitter account having not done since – well, probably January time. Followers had dwindled some, to below 300, and the odd time waster had clicked on ‘follow’ – the type that merely seeks to promote their own sites and interests which never get a follow back – you know the type, and there have been more since.
Curiosity caused me to select the DMs. Safia – the person I’d flirted and chatted so much with, the person who put me into chastity, the person I’d put into chastity having bought items for and sent items to and even sent them a chastity key, even going as far as having previously apologised for any upset and if I if I had misled them, unintentionally indicating that there might be a chance of anything between us – had made some attempt to correspond with me about the extent of their chaste state.
As I’d not been on the account though, the wall of silence, normally unusual for me, had, it seems, been taken with evident offence. The DM conversation had been blocked from continuing and I’d even been blocked. In a strange kind of way, it hurt. But then, being an otherwise rational sort of person, I quickly concluded hat their actions were fully justified.
I had warned them at the beginning of the year that I was having an almighty wobble and was, once more, questioning what the bloody hell I was doing with my life, but to be fair, I had then just simply disappeared.
I’d not really given any indication that things had stopped once more, nor warned that I had just got to stop everything, including my regular Twitter exchanges, anything in fact that would lure me in to things that, frankly, I would rather stop myself from doing.
Perhaps they deserved more than that, but in all honesty, everyone became the victims – collateral damage – but you could say that Safia bore the brunt of it. Perhaps offence had been taken to my perhaps irrational deletion of a number of more recent images from the DM thread? The comments were there – the images no longer were. Maybe that was something that caused objection too. Fair enough I suppose, but I was only acting as my messed up brain instructed me to at the time.
Nevertheless, blocked as I am, I can only use this blog to offer my apologies for any hurt caused anyway with the off chance that they may read this. Considering the three figure amount of money I’d spent on sending them all manner of things out of the goodness of my heart, perhaps I owed them nothing, especially as gratitude wasn’t very forthcoming and finally arrived under total duress when their cage arrived.
Having scrolled back though the DMs we exchanged the other day, I considered that I should not have gone as far as I did – but my sexuality was going at a new pace, a pace that Safia had somehow, likely unintentionally, had a hand in driving. It still rankles with me that I am blocked, as I am a sentimental old sod, yet I am prepared to suffer the consequences of my actions in looking after number 1.
But I remain truly sorry.
I feel that I had gone too far at times, somehow raised their expectations, even when anything else was impossible. I’d become too involved, then whipped the proverbial rug away after feet had become well and truly placed upon it.
Lingerie returned to storage, sex toys somehow still available and seemingly back into use, inclined to wear my holy trainer or cage for several working days running, and inclined for more toy time and being chaste in the days to come, that is merely for my own sexual kick. I don’t really understand why I want to be so – there is no logic to it.
With the inclinations to toy anally, there are no ambitions for the real thing, no inclination to venture anywhere further outside of one’s comparatively recently declared bi-curiousness. I’ve often said that in the right situation, fantasies I have very much but as it turns out retrospectively, unfortunately involved myself with on DMs with Safia, could well be played out.
The likelihood of them actually happening in any case are/were very slim and as I’ve also said before on my now stripped back and unused cam site of choice, if the opportunity did present itself, I’d probably run a mile. Additionally, I’d probably be wracked with guilt that would be etched all over my face in the aftermath. That’s a reason not to want it anyway.
So in summary, what we have here is cessation, storage, guilt and reflection and kink. There is also peace of mind at not actually using up time with crossdressing the equal measures of joy and anguish if seemed to give. I don’t want any of that right now, but I suppose, somewhere deep down, there is still a longing to do so in another world – not this World though.
I suppose that is more than enough this time around. Until the next time – thanks for reading. Comments welcome below.