Taken completely by surprise

It was just another day in the office. That day, I had dressed in a black spider basque, see through thong and lace topped stockings.

As usual, my ever more increasingly useless, tiny and lifeless cock was confined within its default chastity device – The Hive – very short length, very restricting and needing the foreskin to be rolled back to ensure that, when it was time for a call of nature, an owned sub could easily sit as a sub should sit, to do its business.

The chastity device was the most comfortable it had been in a long time, the pro-size plug feeling apparent yet totally natural, long term placement at the desk meaning I was so very deeply embedded on it.

The day was mundane – as usual – all run of the mill stuff. I was using breaks to exchange DMs on kink social media and adhering to regular fluid intake throughout the day allowed breaks to stretch the legs and nip to the loo for that aforementioned sub sit down.

I was forced into an early lunch due to a long conference call scheduled for most of the afternoon.

With around 75% of the call done, the chair called a 10 minute comfort break. I quickly strode off to make the best of the opportunity to break off and pay a visit.

I had stripped off to my lingerie and dropped my panties and was preparing to sit in my now familiar position to wee. I didn’t get a chance.

I quickly realised that I was about to involuntarily cum and, as a cum slut, long since conditioned to not waste any semen, quickly moved a finger down to the chastity slit near my cock tip and reveled in the sweet taste of unexpected milked sub semen.

I equally quickly realised that this wasn’t the end of my involuntary light orgasm, and cupped a hand underneath to catch several drips that I knew were quickly going to fall whilst the rest dribbled out of my cage and gradually began running down my balls, collected as they were in the chastity ring and pronounced forward.

Satisfied that there was no more cum that would drip, I lifted the cupped hand to mouth and hungrily snaffled the cum up. I reached for my phone to capture some images of the key moment, acutely aware there was a quantity of semen still nestling and slowly leaking into and out of the slit of my chastity cage and with some cum still resting on my smooth and protruding balls.

Anticipating a sub’s sit down wee, my see through panties, were underneath the suspender straps of my spider basque, down at my stocking tops but were spattered with drops of cum. I bent over and brought my panties to mouth; hungrily sucking and licking the cum from them periodically when it was noticed.

Whilst I had leaked semen before, it had not been anywhere near this extent and in any case, in those instances, I was fully aware it was happening.

In this instance, I certainly wasn’t expecting to cum until quite literally a second before it happened and I was in a state of disbelief that it had happened yet was also celebrating it and some. I was actually somewhat jubilant and was quietly but repeatedly whispering the word “Wow!” to myself from the confines of the room, as I stood there, still stripped down to my lingerie, chastity and plug.

This was, as I saw it, some sort of progress, development, a barrier smashed through as I continue on my journey as a developing submissive, a locked, plugged lingerie crossdressed sub conditioned so much now that it could ruin from anal – a late 2023 achievement – and now, in 2024, was prone to involuntary leaking of pre-cum, albeit plugged with a very large plug and foreskin arguably rolled back in my very short restrictive and regular chastity device arguably heightening sensitivity.

Driven by the euphoria of the experience of leaking cum so much, I felt the essential need to share the moment with Mistress via DM as soon as possible.

With the taste of beta semen still in my mouth and with gradual leaking still taking place from my locked, denied, tiny and lifeless excuse for a cock, I continued to collect whatever cum I could, constantly sweeping across the slit in my chsstity cage, bringing the collected cum to mouth to further consolidate and revel in the taste of it in my mouth – ever more hooked on cum and ever more becoming a cum slut.

I craved more and felt that I was close to cumming again – arguably ruining – with enough stimulation so began periodically driving my pro-sized plug deep into my tight hole, feeling my prostate being pounded and an orgasm starting to build.

I adjusted my position momentarily as I stood when, suddenly, again, and unexepectedly, a shot of weak, watery semen powered out but hit the floor. I was not ready for this and cursed at what had been lost whilst collecting what I could from my still leaking chastity cage slit.

Again and again, I swept a finger across it, feeding repeatedly on every possible remaining drop of this precious nectar.

Back in the office, I was acutely aware that the 10 minute break had long expired but my focus was still on getting more cum and pounding my hole with the plug.

I was to be unsuccessful in my quest but acknowledged the need to remain horny, ready and hot for cock and cum of which I knew there was to be more of before the week was out – but I was so ready for it in that moment.

Moments later, I reached the point where it really was time to get back to the desk so pulled up my cum soaked but licked clean panties, covered up and returned to my desk, finding time to begin writing the impromptu blog and sharing my experience with a Fabswingers status update which was instantly met with offers of more semen for an ever hungry sexually developed cum and cock slut and repeated calls as to where I was to collect their loads, yet practically was to prevent.

Nevertheless, my training and my amazing journey as a sub, continues…

It is not about how you start, it is about the journey…

Standby for a blog entry more like those of old – just for a change – after a bit of deep thinking was carried out.

For many years, I’ve been on a quest to understand how my crossdressing kink started, constantly seeking the answers to why, when, how and even where, particularly given that I am closeted and my activities have been and continue to be carried out in secret and in stark contrast to how many people see me and my place in life.

Quite what I expected upon finding the answers to these long asked questions, I don’t know. Additionally, perhaps there is at least a partial acceptance that I may never get the answers to any of them.

I suppose I’ve always been analytical and undoubtedly over think many things in my life. I’ve been told that I do by lots of people.

I find that there is safety in numbers, hypothetically speaking. Being part of kink communities online offers appropriate encouragement and sustainance rather than the opposite.

Today, I might just have brought the constant asking of questions to an end purely by speaking to a lovely new contact on line via DM, a self declared sissy who is half my age.

I asked them how they started and the long and short of it is that they didn’t really know. For them, it was related to a physical and emotional response to material things and moments in life.

This was landmark moment for me. I just concluded that there really isn’t a starting point per se – more so, just slow, steady, gentle, covert , almost unnoticeable development over a very long time.

So, at last, my conclusion is that it isn’t about how you start, it is about the journey you’re on.

Today, that makes me feel great and somehow, calmer, more settled and at one with myself.

Anyway, I must now refocus on my journey, and what a journey it is so far and looks to be in the future.

I had a dream last night…

Sometimes, I manage to remind myself of the risks that I take when indulging in my kinks.

Sometimes, these reminders are materialistic and at other times, vague and less specific, just acknowledgement of what I do from the distant recesses of the closet versus the extent of things I stand to lose if anything ever came out.

Of course, inner most, closeted thoughts can manifest themselves in other ways such as influencing the subconscious dream state.

It wasn’t long before I woke but, I had a dream last night. There was some general chat with the significant other, and along the lines of the day to day normal life that I lead.

In the dream, and after a break in those communications, I had cause to ask if she was OK. She didn’t reply and after a few times of being asked, quietly and calmly used a form of sign language to confirm the situation.

This came in the form of moving her hands up and down from the middle of the shoulder line, indicating bra straps and inferring that she knew that had been wearing one.

At that very point, in reality, as I slept, and being a light sleeper, I was subconsciously aware of noise in the kitchen. It was time to get up and those noises woke me at that critical part of the dream.

Perhaps it was best. For a moment, I lay there just trying to ensure that there was no link to reality and that I had only solely been dreaming and not talking in my sleep – something I don’t usually do.

It was definitely only a dream though. There is NO way that she would respond to her significant other crossdressing in real life.

I took a few minutes to compose myself, posted the daily archive pic on my Twittee feed, dressed and entered the fray of the day.

As is always the case with dreams, there are those that you can’t wake quickly enough from because they are bloody awful, and even traumatic, and there are those that you are finding so entertaining that, like a gripping TV or film drama series, you want to see what happens next, but never do as you always wake up.

Damn you subconscious state.

Getting intense

NSFW
Last week started with a determined drive to be a completely smooth bodied sub as soon as possible, with a trip to the salon, the first of two on consecutive weekends.

The working week saw further contact with Mistress, and with an office day beckoning, the focus was very much upon dressing, locking and plugging in her service. These days, getting a message from Mistress is quite invigorating, and when in DM chat with Her, I type my message and hit ‘send’ with a massive level of excitement and intrepidation as to when the reply will be and what it will say, whenever it arrives.

Mistress was to instruct once more, and options for lingerie, chastity and plug type were laid out in word form. Aware of the extent of my recent use by many randoms via their control of my regularly worn Lovense Hush plug, Mistress reasserted Her ownership by instructing a black three piece lingerie set, the standard pro-sized plug, just for Her. and maximising the clear and direct message of ownership, that I was to be locked behind bars in a metal chastity cage, having first added a heavy metal cock ring, Mistress stating “Oh, metal, I DO love metal”, and, aware that I would be using my recently acquired chastity belt strap, added “I hope it is tight and reminds you of being mine.”

Fate had other plans though, and I was unable to work in the office, on the anticipated day. The anticipation of being prepared as She had requested ramped up the extent of my spirit to serve and the level of focus on my Domme. I told her that I was always “massively supercharged” whenever I heard from Her and that I was still treasuring some old photographs of Her that I was retaining tantamount to a form of worship and adoration.

Mistress is, to me at least, like NO other Domme I have ever seen nor ever will. Our bond is unbreakable, levels of trust being of the utmost, understanding of the deepest level. I know what Mistress has been through in Her life, particularly over recent years, and what She seems to go through occasionally too but throughout that, Mistress has been a constant beacon of encouragement, support and nurturing, and a listening ear when needed, as I have been and continue to be in return.

Mistress was touched at my ‘archiving’ of images from her (old) Domme social media profile and asked to see those that I retained. These 15 images were dutifully and proudly shared via DM, one after the other on my next office day, having prepared as instructed and supplied evidencing photographs, albeit in my semi-hirsute state.

A need to break away from the office desk was largely driven not by a call of nature, but by one to make a minor adjustment to the cage fitting. Self-locked but usually disciplined, I unlocked, made the adjustment but found myself becoming erect, and leaking pre-cum. The spirit to serve and remain focused kicked in, and with all elements of semen licked up without waste, the cage was forced back on, hardened cock pushed back into submission and discipline and the lock firmly clicked back into place.

The incident was duly detailed to Mistress via DM, who, in reply, took the opportunity to reflect on the photographs of her from years back, and was modestly self-deprecating, wishing that She still looked like that now, but adding “You must be very horny locked up!”

In response, I wholeheartedly told Mistress that she was always beautiful to me and massively treasured, before confirming that, whilst I was indeed horny, my place and servitude as Her sub was of one to be denied in order to continue training and development and remain focused unless ruined through anal or used for someone else’s pleasure.

The extent of my fall into the proverbial rabbit hole was reflected by a subsequent but rare moment of intimacy with my unknowing significant other, who, whilst I was naked in bed, began casually playing with my tiny, limp and usually useless cock. I seemed to resolutely focus on the TV blaring away in front of me and after a few minutes, she stopped, turned over and went to sleep.

Throughout her play, internally, my mind was somehow focused on remaining in a limp and lifeless state because of being so acutely aware of my more regular place, telling Mistress about this experience and adding that I had been fucked more times as a bottom in the last few years than I had actually fucked, and that this was where my life was going as Her sub.

In response, Mistress expressed surprise by asking the question as to whether I made love with my wife these days, before I alluded to the main reasons why I feel we aren’t intimate, those being lack of privacy at home, plus mutual tiredness, mutual body confidence issues and resulting low sex drive in our more senior years.

I made a point of stating that I didn’t see this as anyone’s fault but mine perhaps, but the path I was on as a sub was almost one I sought even though I was continuing to run a monumental myriad of risks to stay closeted and stood to lose so very much if anything ever came out. But Mistress was told that she was needed in my life and Mistress responded that She both needed and wanted me in Her life too.

The working day continued with me starting to gently leak pre-cum in chastity into my panties, and needing to go to the office loo to strip my casual clothing off down to my undies, remove my panties and clean them off with my tongue like a hungry cum slut, and in the aftermath, detailing this to Mistress, advising that, if this leakage was to persist, then a condom would be worn.

Sure enough, later, as I sat at my office desk, underdressed in Mistress’ choice of lingerie, and locked and plugged as She had instructed, I felt the slow leakage of pre-cum again and made off to the loo once more, this time with a condom secreted out of my ‘to hand’ stash bag, removing my cage to fit the condom, putting the cage back on and returning to my desk once more.

Being locked but also prepared to collect leaking pre-cum, I was by no means prepared to have a locked sub’s obligatory sit down wee, but, later, needed to ‘go’. This, of course, entailed unlocking and removing the chastity cage once more, gently rolling the condom off as carefully as possible with the aim to put it back after focusing on the call of nature whilst being tightly plugged with a large device – answering that call seemingly being quite an ‘ask’ when plugged to that extent, and often needing a lengthy form of what is tantamount to meditation, eyes closed, and perhaps by turning on a nearby tap just to make things happen!

Call of nature eventually complete, I once again found myself in an aroused state, still wearing the heavy metal cock ring, over which the chastity cage mount was fitted, balls threaded through both and the chastity cage belt held tight to my body, and in Mistress’ choice of lingerie, and even more aroused as I tried to roll the condom back on. Suddenly, this sub lost all control and, stimulated by the erect, condom covered, semi-locked cock, brought itself off to fill the end of the condom with a heavy load.

I began instantly making my way through a very steep come down. I could feel the mood dropping, but remained focused on the available load in the immediate aftermath. The condom was gently removed and the milky contents were upended into my cum hungry mouth, before the condom was carefully flushed away and the chastity cage refitted. This left me in a predicament of being crossdressed in lingerie, locked and plugged but lacking the same kind of motivation to be a such, post orgasm.

I was hugely disappointed with myself and felt like I had let myself down and Mistress, this despite being only self-locked and able to indulge a couple of times a week, but being quite good otherwise in between.

Back at my office desk, the despair continued. With a natural conclusion reached with workday responsibilities, I had soon decided that I would finish work for the day, passing by the same office toilet on the way out to get remove everything of kink from my body and make my way home in a flat and almost numb state.

A couple of miles into the journey home, I took a few deep breaths, almost by way of hugging and calming myself, exhaling fully, sitting up straight from the earlier slouch in the car seat, and told myself that this had all really been OK, and not THAT bad really, besides, I needed to appear in a good state on arrival home. It had nevertheless been getting somewhat intense that day, but the level of intensity was ramping back up again…

The fight is real

Perhaps it is an age thing, then again, perhaps it is not.

I’m no spring chicken but then again, I’m not past it either.

Let’s start with the main focus of my lack of body confidence – body hair growth. It is well documented on previous blog entries but in summary, I was originally quite hirsute, I tried wet shaves but took a frustratingly long time in the shower to hack through the undergrowth with a razor.

I then tried electric shaving which took a while, and even a home waxing kit out of a small microwavable pot that wouldn’t even have remotely scratched the surface of hair removal.

Then, on a mundane shopping trip with the significant other, I came across a salon in town offering ‘men’s room’ services via an A board placed outside. Without comment, I made a mental note of the details.

I vividly remember where I was when I made the call. It took a while to get through. This told me it was very reputable salon.

The rest is history. It has been nigh on ten years of appointments anywhere between 2 and 8 weeks apart, dependent on hair growth patterns, which, it turns out, differ greatly across the body – frustratingly.

Whilst I know in my heart of hearts that I am by no means as hirsute as I was when I started going for appointments, hair growth still very much irks me.

You’ll find me at my absolute happiest when I a perceive myself as being completely smooth and hair free. Only I never truly am. There will always be something somewhere that evades the wax strip, somewhere he misses, despite best attempts, somewhere that just won’t let go from the root or grab the wax paper.

I’ve never counted the number of hours that I have spent tweezering parts of my body – mostly hands, wrists, arms and chest but it is considerable.

From being totally smooth in areas such as my chest, I probably have about a week or so, two at best before the next army of follicles begin to push through, little bastard bristles, wisps of growth, many of which can be seen or felt. I bloody hate it.

Intimate waxes are my favourite, bum and bits, but just above my bits where the pubic hair determinedly sprouts, that bloody stuff seems to race through like its life depends on it.

I can’t open my legs wide enough (stop sniggering!) at the salon to allow enough room to get every last strand of hair out from every nook and cranny between but that bloody stuff is also massively determined to grow into a swarming mass before you can even begin to enjoy the results of the last waxing appointment – or plays hide and seek whilst I’m there.

I’m body dysphoric. I have been for years. It probably stems from being bullied at school for being a spindly, bespectacled geeky looking mop top.

At the salon, my dysphoria has been discussed many times and each time, there has been recognition of the progress made which I tend to reluctantly agree with. Sure – I’m nowhere near as hirsute as I was all those years ago – that, I certainly remember, but everything is, it seems, relative.

I have begun to dislike the smaller amount of hair growth I have these days in the same way I did years ago when I had more, and remain massively frustrated with certain, no, all bits of regrowth.

As I’ve said before, apparently, shaving encourages growth whereas waxing, i.e., tearing the hair out by the root rather than simply lopping it off at skin level, discourages growth, hair made to get thinner and weaker, and easier to pull out next time too. I know. I recognise the process.

From a kink perspective, I am deeply influenced. At my smoothest, I’ll dress in less lingerie, more of the type that exposes skin but when the growth pushes through again, I’ll cover up more in basques and bodies.

My salon is a reputable one alright. Whereas, years ago, I WOULD be fully body waxed in one session, for years now, it has been two, often a week or two apart subject to appointment availability. That is thanks to a reported US test case in which someone left a full body waxing appointment but, given the ordeal on their body (apparently), the extent of hair pulled out and the effect on the physiological system, he went into a form of shock at the wheel after leaving the appointment, crashed the car and died. Of course, there may have been underlying health conditions we don’t know about nor ever will, but, no, the impact of the full body wax was deemed the culprit and the effect was the end, at reputable salons at least, to full body waxes in one session. No help addressing my dysphoria but then, I guess some things are more important.

I have only ever suffered shock once whilst on the treatment table. The core body temperature plummets, and you get the uncontrollable shakes. It isn’t pleasant.

Reputable salon staff will therefore be acutely aware of the risks and be checking your body temperature regularly, not just copping a feel, but instead merely watching out for the client’s welfare. That’s good, right?

I tend to evidence for Mistress and to show on my social media – despite all the hang ups, I’m somewhat of an secret exhibitionist really, but in all honesty, I’ll share far less of my hirsuted lingerie clad body as said above.

A more sedentary lifestyle since the pandemic has seen me sitting more and because of home working, commuting and therefore exercising less, probably drinking less fluids too day to day.

As a result, these days, my skin is not so great, particularly on the back of my upper legs and, perhaps my best attribute – my bum.

I may now spend a great deal of time painstakingly but exasperatingly editing photos to ‘paint’ out blemishes and spots, and even stubborn follicles of hair that show on camera more than others. Or, more likely closest to the next salon appointment, probably won’t take any snaps at all as I fiercely detest how I look, sighing heavily at the extent of editing work I seem to do more often these days.

I’ve sought relevant advice from the salon and apply lotions and potions in a secondary fight to be more body content. It isn’t working. Either that I am just not applying the stuff often enough. Probably.

I dare say that there are other subs and crossdressers that shave on a very regular basis, but I bet that at least some don’t have to do it as often as I would, and besides, I’m conditioned to the train of thought that waxing deters growth, and shaving encourages it so to knock salon appointments on the head and return to endless sessions with a razor in the shower really would be a retrograde step.

Electrolysis? Not practical, not explainable, not affordable. Too hirsute, too much of it, too stubborn to die off en masse, doing my head in.

That just leaves me no further forward – happy and content for a week – two at tops after a waxing session – lacking body confidence and hating the way I look otherwise.

The fight is real.

Food for thought

NSFW
For some time now, I have been watching my journey, almost as an observer, and continue to watch myself fall further down the sub and kink rabbit hole.

Lingerie crossdressing was the thing for me for around 13 years from around 2005 – and I thought I was being very daring at the time in just doing that.

In 2018, I was impulsively introduced to chastity on line by someone who, it turned out, was pushing the right buttons in a form of domination via a web cam chat back in the day when I could do such a thing in time available.

When I told them that I liked what they were doing to me, they said the immortal words “Perhaps we ought to try chastity then!”. I had soon ordered my first cage and dived right in with an entire weekend home alone, dressed in lingerie 24hrs a day, locked and at play.

Body waxing sessions – appointments for which I’ve been going to for nigh on 10 years, ultimately led to being anally receptive and trained. Being naked, being intimately waxed, on all fours, I learnt to accept anal through cream being rubbed in and then, being finger fucked. I began to hunger for more.

Somewhere along the way, plugs and a 6″ dildo were acquired for home/work play and were added to the whole kink picture. At one point, the dildo was secreted into a salon appointment for him to fuck me with, as anal conditioning continued to prepare me for the future.

In 2018, at the salon, I sucked (only) (his) cock for the first time. Immediately after the event, I was quite literally ‘head in hands’, then bear hugging him before moments later, nonchalantly striding away albeit via the shop for a packet of mints! What a bizarre memory that is!

But I had developed a taste for (his) cock sucking and it would ultimately continue.

Ownership to Mistress in late 2019 upped the ante further, and I would be dressed, locked and plugged as Mistress instructed for up to 12 hours a day until the pandemic hit. Two years of going without any kink then followed during the lockdowns. What was constant was my sexual development at the salon, well, when COVID restrictions allowed again, but it felt more like a constant.

Throughout this time, I was nurtured, supported and encouraged by Mistress and, at the salon, continually sexually developed by my self described mentor.

In April 2022, he took my anal virginity and arguably not before time. By June, cock sucking had progressed to cum swallowing, his, and after years of trying and often failing, taking his made it easier to swallow my own. I am keeping count. As I write, ten appointments, ten of his loads have been consumed, always followed by my own from a cupped hand, other appointments where the nature of play or a lack of it, meant they weren’t, but 30 odd of mine have been consumed in total so far, many others still where I baulked at it alone for arguably ridiculous reasons all things considered.

Lingerie crossdressing resumed two years after it stopped. I found a way – again – albeit nowhere near the same extent that it had been pre-pandemic but it was tangibly something and it was needed for me to simply be.

Mistress is the only person to know about my chastity and crossdressing. Even my salon mentor doesn’t know – yet. I’ve got close to telling him – a second away in fact – but held back as it may open a multitude of related issues, good and bad – notably blog entries in which he is talked about. He too, has a lot to lose. He does, of course, know about my penchant for all things anal though.

He ever more fervently looks forward to my appointments these days. telling me how hard he gets in anticipation of them, that I genuinely give the best blow jobs (despite having had no training) and that there is money to be had in my cock sucking skills.

I suppose that, as a result of that, I’m getting bareback fucked by him in his preferred ‘from behind‘ position on an ever more regular basis and I am more eagerly after it than I ever was. He has not yet cum inside me, (even though he has come close) for all the right reasons, but whereby once, I wholeheartedly agreed with the reasons for him not doing so and still do, I am now somehow becoming more willing and eager for it per se, as I submit further – that being his load, or alpha men he has historically said he can prepare and bring in to the treatment room. He has previously alluded to group massage sessions he used to run some years ago, me being introduced to them, and separately, wanting to see me spit roasted, him being involved in the threesome, slotted into my willing mouth, and once heard during a moment of intense intimacy, about perhaps my darkest fantasy to be the subject of group sex, gang banged, cum filled and gently used by multiple cocks. These thoughts solicited his own train of thoughts as to if, how and when this might be possible.

The subject of ‘others’ hasn’t been broached by either of us for some time, and perhaps it might be broached again but, fearful of their indiscretion (and other risks) as a deterrent, I’m nevertheless vividly imagining and actively thinking about the prospects, ever more wanting and anticipating it, even though I might not feel the same afterwards. The warning signs of promiscuous bi/gay sex are there of course when you think enough about it. I know. I know.

Kink social media has to be of some psychological influence I suppose and maybe, just maybe that has somehow also conditioned me.

Sure, there are those memes that infer that once you do ‘it’, there is no going back. Agreed.

My rare actual office time is spent covertly getting crossdressed, locked in bound chastity there and, over the last few weeks, plugged with a Lovense Hush, links for which are shared for it to be controlled by lots of random people asking lots of random questions as to who I am, whether I like it, whether I’ll control their device at the same time and the the REAL judge, jury or executioner in three little letters ‘ASL’. I’ve lost count of the amount of times that replying to that question has led to control being quickly relinquished from their end. I don’t take offence and some people are quite nice by saying that they’re seeking something else before hanging up. In the main though, the law of averages has meant many an interesting and erotic conversation.

I happened to chance across an on line UK chastity store a few weeks back for which a casual browse led me to explore something that caught my eye a long time ago but the logistics of getting one evaded me – a chastity strap.

In my earlier days of chastity wearing, somehow, I was introduced to binding. Ever resourceful, back then, I fashioned something out of some old shoe laces.

A short time later and there was a recommendation to try ribbon. A length was soon ordered and cut to suit.

Anyway, about the strap. The on line store was, of course, out of stock, so I was left to subscribe to notifications when back in stock. That just left the small matter of being able to discreetly get it into my possession. Happily, the site admin get this and offered the option to have it delivered to a local post office.

The order was put in and its arrival, notification of the same and that first ever moment to try it on, more than eagerly awaited.

That first try of the elasticated strap with its two popper settings, albeit with the cock ring that came with it, felt amazing. It was as if my place as a sub had somehow been further assured, that I was no longer able to be perceived as ‘playing at it’ and I eagerly awaited the opportunity to wear it properly the next time I crossdressed in the office.

The strap, threaded through the chastity device ring, around my waste, with the black lace lingerie and the Lovense Hush plug being regularly controlled all day, pressed all the right buttons, and all available space within the metal cage was almost constantly filled, my restrained cock as erect as it could be and sensitivity at its highest, causing me to writhe with pleasure at my office desk as stimulated flesh repeatedly struck metal.

Years of sub training and dildo use had, on only one distant occasion, caused me to leak pre-cum. I remember being delighted and almost proud, as a thin strand of watery semen got lower and lower as it oozed out of my locked cock. But the moment has never been repeated as my years of sub induction, learning and breaking new ground continued.

The first day of chastity strap use and the ever heightening sense of arousal driven by that, but also being crossdressed, locked and with my plug being frequently controlled and my tight, no longer virginal ass pounded made me realise as I sat at my desk that I was leaking cum. I whispered as such to myself as if it needed emphasising.

Internally, I was jubilant, but alarm bells rang in my head as cum slut conditioning instantly told me that the cum must NOT be wasted as it began to nestle in my panties, having found its way around the metal work of my cage.

I quickly made my way to the toilet, stripped down to my lingerie, and, having put my panties on under my suspenders, unclasped them all briefly, removed my panties and began to eagerly lick and suck the cum residue from them. Wet from my saliva, they were eventually pulled back on over reconnected suspenders and stockings before I returned to my office desk.

I would make two further trips to the loo that day for the same reason and some more food for thought.

Feedback from Mistress is something I revel in. I can’t describe the feeling of hearing from Mistress, or getting a response to a message irrespective of the time that may pass inbetween. What Mistress says to me and about me, often pushes me submissively further down that rabbit hole, discovering further about who I really am deep within and what I really need to complete those dark closeted corners of my inner being.

Mistress is pleased with her sub. I am pleased and proud and, despite being deeply closeted, relish the prospects of the journey to come, ever more, but forever her sub.

“Your cock sucking skills are getting to be quite good now. You’re becoming a good little cum slut really now. I’m so proud of you.“

“I love this journey you are on.”

“I love seeing how you have progressed.”

A crossdresser flashed

After nine and a half hours at work in the office, underdressed in black lingerie – including stockings and suspenders – locked in bound chastity and having my Lovense Hush plug worked by random anonymous people all day, I had stripped it all off to return home into closeted land once more and was coming up the lower quieter levels of the underground car park ramps when I turned a corner to see two women having parked up, one with her skirt or dress hitched up, having a bit of a ‘just got out of the car’ adjustment perhaps, but for me to briefly see full black stockings and suspenders before she quickly pulled the outfit back down and over again as my car came closer to them.

I gentlemanly did what I could to avert my eyes and concentrate on the need to avoid scuffing the car on the car park walls whilst also transfixed and looking back in the mirror as they made their way out, and must have been autopilot up the remaining ramps whilst saying a very loud “FUCK!”.

I wonder what they said too. What little they knew about the driver!

The dash cam content must be a treat! I consoled myself by acknowledging the fact I had recently been wearing something similar but yearned to still be doing so.

I have always celebrated seeing a woman wearing stockings and suspenders as, to me, it feels like hardly any women do anymore and that any leg material is usually just a pair of tights.

Agonising

Here we go again. Another point in time where the kink haze lifts and a degree of guilt and situation processing rears its head.

After a period of fairly intense indulgence, I was out with family and friends the other night, dressed up smart in a suit etc., as we all were, in our best clothing.

With a belly full of good food and drink and more available to graze on, the conversation flowed, there was lots of catching up, and group photos were taken and shared. It was truly one of those great parties.

However, within the recesses of my mind, the angel within was bashing on a few brain cells, taking the opportunity to come out of being suppressed and remonstrate with the devil on the other shoulder who, for once, was muted.

My thoughts were those of saying just how much of a lovely time I was having, reflecting on the compliments received as to how smart I looked and yet flashing a big neon warning sign in the corner of my eyeline as I lapped up all the positive imagery and audio of the party scene around me – the sort of things that would not be available to me if the darkest secrets about me came out. It was the visual equivalent of being shown a great offer for something but with one of those little bits of small print that you often ignore then get caught out with after the event by which it is too late.

The ebb and flow of the party meant I was talking to people which took my mind off my more personal thoughts and it was only when I was standing around for a few minutes that I contemplated further.

I suppose the same state of mind washed over into the following day but generally petered away. I did however lay off social media for a few days, also due to having house guests.

Just days later though, kink inclination resumed and some. Ever the strategist, there was a sudden realisation that I was home alone for the day, with the only distraction being that of the day job.

This was like old times pre-pandemic when I was frequently home alone to dress, lock, plug and play. I targeted what is probably my absolute favourite outfit from the wardrobe I shouldn’t be in, the outfit I hadn’t worn at all for years. I locked in a metal chastity cage and inserted the freshly charged Lovense Hush plug for random people to remotely control, and sat at my home office desk to work, covering off my camera and feigning a fault with it as to why I wasn’t on during conference calls.

Closeted as I am, in all of the years of home play time pre-pandemic, there was always a need to know your limits, know when enough is enough and allow plenty of time to undress, tidy up and hide things away again in good time.

Having been dressed, locked and plugged for some 7 hours or so, I sensed a need for urgency to end the session, anticipating the point at which I would no longer be home alone. This was a little more agonising and every car that went by or was adjudged to be pulling up started to ring alarm bells.

But the hours of heightened sexual arousal and pulsing and pounding sensations to my plugged bum had me feeling very horny indeed. I recalled being able to ruin in my cage with a bit of jiggling so gave it another go and could feel a ruined orgasm building as the urge to swallow my semen took over.

I stopped anticipating the end result being of the type I don’t like and seemed powerless to stop myself from resuming the jiggling. A dry orgasm began building and this was eventually followed by a powerful shot of watery cum which I caught in the other hand.

I knew I was going to cum heavily and duly did so, my caged, dressed and plugged state pressing all the relevant buttons. This cum was mine and the full, cupped hand was soon brought to mouth, the heavy load of watery and creamy semen hungrily snaffled like an insatiably hungry cum slut, the load smothered around my face, the contents of my cum filled mouth swallowed, remnants licked from my hand, wiped from around my mouth and licked further.

This was soon followed by the undress, unlock and unplug process, cum continuing to leak from my uncaged cock and licked up until I was back in my home clothes, the clean up successfully completed, the trappings of kink, hidden away once more.

Smug satisfaction washed over me as I resumed the day job, adhering to the work/life balance requirements to take regular breaks and take on fluids.

I proudly shared photos of my dressed, locked and plugged state with Mistress and awaited her picking it up before being delighted at her pleasure over her sub’s service, and how far it had come in her almost four years of ownership.

A little later that day, I was chatting with the significant other in the kitchen, engaged in general chit chat, when she reached up to my chin to wipe away something on my face. She, of course, had no idea as to what it was, but I, of course, had failed to remove every last trace of cum residue, a dried white stain still remaining. Briefly within, I proudly revelled in the moment.

The following day though, prior aims to dress, lock and plug again were cooled, the orgasm of the day before having ticked a box somewhere within but I remained smug at my exploits of the day before, no more agonising over it all and the risks were it all to come out.

More calm before what will probably be another storm, kink or otherwise, in the future.

An engaged ‘bi’stander

The period since my last blog entry has been an interesting one for a number of reasons and, ever the analyst, there is much to ponder and contemplate but without reaching a conclusion.

If I was to indicate any kind of direction that I might be heading it, it would apprehensively be one of acknowledging a fall further down the proverbial rabbit hole, an unexplainable level of acceptance as a sub and bottom, and even that I should somehow not be allowed what might be described as a conventional heterosexual orgasm, yet I could go close.

The other week, on line visual stimuli really pushed my buttons – it was, in fact, three way gay sex involving two black men and what might be described as a ‘whiteboy’.

Allowing my always vivid imagination to play something else out, driven by the video content, I was erect, yet telling myself that orgasm was not to be the end product.

In essence, psychology took over with little actual hand stimulation. The point of no return arrived much though I tried to hold it back. There was a long, drawn out, steady flow (only) of semen – akin to what some might call a ‘ruin’. A large quantity was allowed to pool and/or be collected and soon swallowed – no drop was wasted but every drop – taste and consistency was savoured – following only the slightest moment of hesitation pre-consumption.

In other separate moments of kink, whilst at work, the only place I can indulge these days, I have been strongly motivated to dress in lingerie, lock in chastity and insert a plug that can be controlled by others remotely via internet links. The plug use was like showing a red rag to a bull – the plug fully charged for me to fully charge at being used by random nameless and faceless people all day whilst I was sat at the office desk, everyone around me completely unaware of how I was and what was happening to me. No other plug in my arsenal was good enough – it had to be that one and people had to be given the opportunity to use me how they wished.

On most occasions, there were exchanges of explicit DMs to various degrees; some general friendly and inquisitive chatter or complete silence as the waves of levels of pulses pounded me, making me jump when someone took control or suddenly cranked it up to full power. On one occasion, the person at the other end took control, whacked it up to full power, leaving it there for the duration of permitted control time whilst maintaining utter silence, this sub, having made itself sluttily available for use, in no way considered worthy of their words, before being cast aside like a used tissue when the clock hit zero. I revelled in all of it and there was more of the same on the three other occasions over those two weeks, cock often straining in the chastity device of the day.

In my chaste state, I was, at times, stripped down to my lingerie in the loo having an ‘obligatory for a locked sub’ sit down wee when someone else would suddenly take control and I would have to get back to my desk whilst the power pounded me some more.

Those occasional calls of nature led to some dissatisfied snaps being taken but latterly deleted as my abject dislike for the before and after state of my body, half body waxed, half to be done. My stubborn hirsutedness clings on and fiercely fights back between appointments and, much to my frustration, because of differing growth patterns, I’m never fully smooth. The fight for me is real.

This was despite another salon appointment being imminent. The fact that my body was in the state it was, was softened by the lingerie dressed, chaste and Hush plugged remote controlled state.

Much to my relief, the appointment came around, booked first thing in the morning to suit us both no doubt. This time, I was NOT going to be thwarted by traffic so was up, showered, fed and ready to get off to the appointment in very good time. The Summer Holidays meant traffic was sparse and I was soon parked up and left feeling like I was in fact, too early even though I knew he’d be there with the door to the salon unlocked.

Having ‘ummed’ and ‘aaahd’ a bit, I made my way and in what was tantamount to chit chat, sprung through the door extolling that I was early but in an apologetic tone.

He instantly rebuffed my unnecessary apology, adding that he was there anyway and that I could arrive when I liked. The response was liberally sprinkled with sexual overtones as I was ushered in to the treatment room and left alone to strip naked once again.

The agenda seems to be set each time now. I never stretch out naked on the treatment table but instead stand in a place that will be his eyeline, facing a full length mirror, when he comes in. This time, he made quick verbal reference to the fact that, if I was in that position, I was ready for him, ready for play, ready for sex. It doesn’t need to be said, but sometimes, it is.

Like a toy, I stood there as he positioned himself around and behind my naked body, him pressing his fully clothed body up against me as his hands wrapped around me and roamed, nipples tweaked, inner thighs caressed, cock played with, the rounds of my bum cheeks followed with the palms of his hands.

I reached around to rub and further harden his straining cock through his jeans, which he needed to release after a period of dry humping me as I teasingly bent over.

With his trousers and undies down and with him now tight up behind me, I signalled the urge washing over me to be fucked again. I needed it and he was going to give it to me. After briefly reaching across for some cream to lube me up, he grabbed hold of my hips and entered me.

I told him to fuck me and I really needed fucking. This was a carte blanc to give his cock hungry sub what it wanted and what he wanted to give it, the gaps between being fucked at an appointment or not, narrowing all the time.

The rhythm and thrusts increased as my gaze fixed upon the reflection in the mirror before me, evidence if it were needed that I was indeed being soundly fucked, repeatedly and deservedly pounded by his lustful cock.

Again and again his hips thrusted, my tight hole feeling every single entry and exit, in and out. He withdrew but was soon back inside me, resuming the paced fucking before he reached the point at which it seemed he was ready to fill me but thought better of it. This was at the point where I had let go of all cares as I set my mind on taking my first ever anal load, anticipating its warmth flooding me.

He withdrew though, despite having often spoken to me before about plans (yet to come to fruition) to introduce other cocks to spit roast me, and graphically describing how I would have a cock in both ends, but seemingly also saying that in such an instance, his cock would be the one in my mouth.

He excused himself from continuing to fuck me by stating that he didn’t want to cum yet. He pulled out and moved away but I was instantly ass to mouth, sucking his cock from a kneeling position before he sat on the treatment table where I went down on him again.

After a few minutes in which I was trying but failing to comprehensively apply some intended particular techniques, he breathily said that he wanted me to cum on his cock then suck it and him off.

I briefly delayed as, deep down, I really didn’t want to do this because I knew that, having ejaculated, I would soon be on a rapid sexual comedown but accepting my place as a sub, I got up and began pumping until I came heavily all over his cock and balls. He cupped a hand underneath to pool my semen and use as much as he could as lube.

I went down on him briefly, tasting my cum, but he seemed to acknowledge the negative impact of his earlier instructions and that my willingness to swallow his load at the same time as mine on his cock was quickly diminishing.

Telling me he was going to cum, in a soft voice, I replied and told him that I wanted to see it and began rubbing my recently jettisoned load into his balls, much to his satisfaction. Soon, his cum shot out in front of my face and splattered on the floor below.

His euphoria filled the air as I then quickly swept up the paper sheet on the treatment table to wipe the cum from across the floor, needing more to ensure everywhere was clean. Again, there was a need to acknowledge the weakened state of his more senior years and reiterate that, again, he had not used any safe words before clarifying them again for future reference.

With that, his euphoria still ringing out and with reference to me that he felt there was money in my cock sucking services and me modestly and humbly rebuffing his praise, he redressed and so began the calm social chit chat of a regular waxing session.

In the week ahead, still needing some waxing, but only slightly, the smooth body drove another week of dressing, locking and plugging for the odd days in the office, secretly recharging the plug at home in between and keeping up with social media archive pic posts and responding to DMs.

Outside of that, by way of what might be further progress down the rabbit hole, I’ve being reading up about how to have a healthier system for a bottom – diet and kegel exercises for example – but there are heterosexual benefits to that too. Winner, winner.

The title of this blog is ‘Engaged ‘Bi’stander’ and here is the reason. Closeted as I am, submissive and bisexual tendencies prominent, I can see myself from another stand point, almost as a spectator, another person, watching everything that Fiona does and allows to happen. It is perhaps the heterosexual married family-man me that everyone else sees, knows and expects, representing them, trying to emphasise how it might all be inappropriate, wrong, immoral, not the right thing to do, yet so very mute at the same time and powerless to stop anything.

I see that other side as the element of me that is constantly cautious, careful and focused on ensuring that I remain in the closet. So, it isn’t a bad thing.

This is nothing new. I’ve said in many an old blog that there is a devil incarnation of me on shoulder and an angel on the other.

The watching on continues, every day, every week, every month.

Swinging

If you’re thinking that my range of kinks has been expanded, this post will be of disappointment as it is nothing to do with that aspect of sex life.

My last post (again) referenced health problems, which were, on that occasion, also very disconcerting.

In short, after putting it off for a bit, I went to the doctors, had some tests and they subsequently came back clear.

During a few days away, symptoms eased and cleared. I wouldn’t say that I was consciously stressed. The kind of things that really were grinding my gears were trivial every day things like my PC just being bloody infuriatingly slow – otherwise nothing that I thought was anything other than ordinary – but I guess stress manifests itself subconsciously.

Feeling well again after a few weeks of dread was, it seemed, to be cautiously celebrated with a period of abject normality.

I had largely laid off kink social media, as if it was somehow a bad omen – and in a way, I suppose it is. However, within the week, kink crept back into my mindset.

Pics began appearing on Fiona’s Twitter feed, and a focus fell on another waxing appointment. Imagine the sense of exasperation then when the appointment had to be cancelled with no definite alternative. I knew how much he valued his submissive’s services and that rearranging it would be at the forefront of his mind.

Sure enough, he was soon in touch to find me a cancelled appointment spot. I’ll come back to that.

The celebration of a return to wellness led to a focus on kink as if it was a comfort blanket to swathe myself within. Black cock seemed a major focus and a browse around the Twitterscape led me to recommended sites for ‘Whiteboy / Whiteboi’ training that big black cock is superior. The video of around 15 minutes gave instructions to masturbate to a rhythm as much as possible throughout the imagery, to stop if there was an urge to cum but contnuously otherwise to pump to the beat, pump to interracial porn and be as aroused as possible.

I watched the video a couple of times, but did so by not exactly totally engaging with all aspects of it and keeping an open mind, not allowing myself to take it too seriously, yet I also saw it as a form of genuine acceptance of conditioning. My tiny limp cock doesn’t get used very often to any real extent. This has been a trend for a number of years and I consider myself something of a useless fuck unless I am the one being fucked by my regular cock.

To this extent, I mused, black cock is superior, bigger, dominating, sustaining, powerful. I have long considered myself as a beta male anyway – and I don’t see that as a slur – I’ve never been a man’s man and can be quite naturally effeminate.

That week, there was what I label an uncontrollable urge to utilise some good old fashioned home alone time and dress in outfits not worn for quite literally years – i.e., last worn pre-pandemic, and to lock in one chastity device or the other and insert and switch on my Lovense Hush plug.

This was before the much needed body wax appointment. I’m never as happy to dress when in the slightest bit hirsute and it really is the ultimate influence on whether I will be content to indulge but I pushed though any tangible reasons otherwise.

Enough time was available for a three piece crotchless red outfit through which the chastity device can be sluttily dropped. It was always a bit snug but it was OK.

Outfit 2 was a white fluffy cami-suspender basque. This was nowhere near as easy to get into – I’ve clearly chunked out a bit during the pandemic and beyond!

An attempt to step and wriggle into it was abandoned in favour of undoing all the clasps then fitting it back on by wrapping it around me but when that didn’t work, there was then a reversion to Plan A and, eventually, with said wriggling, it was on.

The third outfit was a French Maid outfit which slipped on easily. The chastity device was changed to my metal cage.

With photos taken in a variety of poses, and with my kink box to hand, the urge to fuck washed over me. My 6″ suction cup dildo was attached to the bathroom tiles, the thong was discarded and I impaled myself, riding and filming, acknowledging that plunging up and down its full length was pushing all the buttons I had always yearned to push to reach the point of ruin. I moaned with pleasure before calling a rapid halt to things, coming only to my senses to conclude that I could not indulge any further and needed to strip, clean and clear up and return to civvies for when I was no longer home alone as if I had been the picture of heterosexuality throughout.

This was not before the dildo had come off the tiles through the extent of thrusting. I grabbed it as it fell towards the camera phone filming below and spent a few more precious seconds fucking myself by hand as the feint feelings of a massive orgasm rang in my mind.

No orgasm was forthcoming as a good cum free sub focused away from its own satisfaction took precedence – no doubt influenced by the big black cock conditioning video I had watched and arguably (what’s the word that seems to be used for this?) ‘gooned’ to in recent days.

As before, I’d gone from all out negativity towards kinks to all out indulgence in it – binging if you like – to celebrate wellness and that I was still definitely for this earth.

With the lock box of lingerie and toys to hand, I took the opportunity to swap outfits around, perceiving the need for cooler Summer lingerie to replace the many, more enveloping outfits that had filled the tote bag I hadn’t actually ventured into for some time.

With that done, and everything having been put safely and secretly away, the focus on the specific elements of interest including black cock were sustained for a few days before that faded towards the general gist of all other things kink in the main, photographs of my recent dressing up session eventually finding their way on line.

Days later, I rejigged work commitments to ensure I could attend the rescheduled partial body waxing salon appointment and eagerly awaited it to come around with the main focus as I drove in being on sucking his cock and swallowing his load like a completely insatiable slut, and not of the primary reason I was going, life as his sex toy more primarily the case these days.

This was a weekday morning, just after peaktime rush hour but still close enough that the roads into town were still snarled up and slow. I cursed as the last opportunity to divert and potentially save time, evaded me. I always try to arrive early for these appointments because it helps him with other appointments, maximises play time AND makes sure of enough time for me to be sufficiently waxed too. I need not have worried.

It soon became evident that we were both focused on sex from the outset. He guided me into the treatment room and made off to do whatever he does to prepare whilst I stripped off.

As usual, I stood alongside rather than becoming laid out on the treatment table – the clearest of indications – an agreed unspoken protocol if you like – to signal that I was ready for him. I had positioned myself in front of the full length mirror he knows I have a kink for as a more direct indication of readiness, and in clear line of sight as he came in, trying to keep the door as closed as possible but with me not really giving a damn as to who might see.

The seemingly instant obligatory precursor to sex was to establish what parts of my body needed waxing. As the urge to play overtook the need to adhere to the waxing, this entailed him, fully clothed, inspecting my nakedness, from the side and from behind, intimately grazing his hands across my body, softly rounding the curvature of my bum cheeks, reaching between my legs, playing with my cock and inner thighs, rising up and tweaking my nipples plus more besides, both of us gazing into the full length mirror at the electric imagery of a fully clothed mentor using his naked but very willing sub.

He took a moment to tell me how hard and wet he had been in anticipation of the appointment as things began to hot up and I recall saying “Good” in reply which is what he usually says to me to praise his sub for its own declarations or actions. I revelled in his admission of how excited he had been and that his sub could make him feel that way, so anticipatedly lustful for the arrival of his project he’d been training and sexually developing for years.

It is always in my mind that he once described me as a ‘power bottom’. This was particularly so as we moved from him being fully clothed but hardening within his jeans and undies, him playing with my semi erect cock, me rubbing his continuing hardness through the material with both the palm (cupping) and back of my hand.

I led in getting his cock out, after he’d undone his trousers, reaching in to grab it before taking his undies down then frotting us both, pausing occasionally to repeatedly tap my cock on his – what might be described by some as ‘sword fighting’.

He rolled his foreskin back to ensure close contact of sex with sex.

A few moments later, he could wait no longer, stating that his cock needed sucking. I instantly and submissively responded with relish, kneeling before him, teasingly easing on to his shaft, reaching around to grab a smooth bum cheek, using another hand to cup and caress his balls.

I remember being rather pleased at successfully practicing my deep throating skills, something I’m not usually good at, recalling how I was breathing through my nose as his cock hit the far recesses of my throat, every inch taken into my mouth, no gagging.

A change of position saw him instruct his sub to sit in a chair and resume sucking from where the same extent of servitude continued, his satisfaction evident by the extent of his moaning and heavy breathing.

After a few minutes of that, he laid himself out on the treatment table, his hard cock pointing up. I was soon plunging up and down his shaft again, deep throating, with more room to work, and occasionally slowly licking up and down his shaft, teasing, kissing and sucking the frenulum, and his balls, fully servicing the cock.

I moved my bum around towards his head as I stood alongside and wiggled it seductively, willingly, eagerly and sluttily leading him to stretch for some cream to lube me up and vigorously finger fuck me.

At one point, I was pulled so close that I was sure he was contemplating rimming me – something that had never happened to me before – a thought that I relished and hoped for, but, if this was part of any plan, he seemed to be baulking at it so I instantly dismissed the possibility and, instead, focused on working his cock with my eager and hungry mouth.

He reached down to pump my infrequently used and semi flaccid cock, seemingly hell bent on bringing his sub slut off all over the floor. After a few minutes, I somewhat firmly told him that I didn’t want him to make me cum all over the floor as I wanted to swallow my own load after I had taken his. He soon ceased wanking his sub and seemed to focus on giving it his load instead.

He began quickly pumping his own cock as I held my willing mouth just off and above his cock tip eager to catch every drop of his load should he fire deep into my mouth, before he then instructed me to suck slowly. His balls and shaft began to pulse as his cum began to rise. Moments later, his creamy load powered into my mouth. I continued to work to take every single drop of his sperm, intending to hold it in my mouth for a short time before the urge to swallow finally enveloped me. I relished the moment as the size, taste and texture fell down my throat. I continued to work to mop up every last drop of his sweet cum, telling him I was cleaning him up fully, his still hardened cock continuing to point up beckoning me to go down on him again like a cum hungry slut, my brain targeting a second load.

His body language signalled that he was totally spent as he asked his sub for a reminder of the safe words I had just told him that he hadn’t used hence my sustained focus.

My load was next – the inner and developing cum slut powering through. I pumped into a hand before quickly bringing it to mouth – a thick white pool of cum, remnants of which were then left across my face after I had snaffled the main load up, licking the palm and fingers still hungry for the taste of semen.

My mentor had swept up the paper sheet from the treatment table and, considerately, used some of it to wipe the last drops of cum from my face, two fresh loads now residing in my stomach.

He had used time available to him to redress whilst once more telling me that I gave the best blow job. As before, I humbly and modestly said that I had no training, sucked no other cocks, that it was just what I do and that perhaps he was just being nice. He reassured me that he meant every word.

A few moments later, the waxing began, me stretched out on my front on the fresh paper sheet, as part of the process getting up on to all fours for the intimate wax, cum still leaking from my cock on to the recently fresh paper sheet, verbally acknowledging it as I rose on request to the position he most likes me to be in, head down, ass up, ever the submissive.

Afterwards, and with another appointment booked not too far into the future, away, the focus on my mind was for more sex, but my thoughts have turned to something that just couldn’t be possible nor is rational for many very complex reasons – the urge to be more frequently intimate with him than I am, to be used more often, for more sex, for the involvement of others he has alluded to for some time, for more cock, more cum, more use, more service, more frequent fucking of my ever more willing hole, fulfilling my darkest, most unlikeliest fantasies, but all of that juxtaposed by the heterosexual and vanilla life that goes on from the surface, whilst inside, I find myself swinging from one very opposite extreme to the other as my kinks manifest themselves in total defiance or are abjectly kicked to the kerb.

Yesterday, I spent lots of time restructuring my secret photo store on my phone but also looking at new chastity devices and accessories, notably, and obsessively, an elasticated chastity cage belt to replace my ribbon binding – only it was out of stock – for now.

Tomorrow is another day, but with that tote bag restocked, the swinging towards kink will continue.