The recovering crossdresser?

To crossdress or not crossdress – that is the question…

Labels and association — August 25, 2022

Labels and association

I’ll come straight to the point.

I can’t even write the words in full, such is my dislike, arguable hatred and clear disassociation with them so I’ll add a few elements of censorship with an order from worst to least worst.

  1. F*gg*t
  2. S*ssy

… and any abbreviations and plurals of the same.

Before I go any further, I want to say this very clearly – “Each to their own” and I’ll say no more than that. I am no judge and nor would I ever try to be. Everyone is entitled to enjoy their sexuality and be how and who they want to be.

But here lies the reason for the blog entry.

I’ll get to the crux of the matter after some (quite usual for me) elaboration.

In the beginning, somehow, some way and for some largely unknown reason, my kink started and that kink was quite simply, lingerie crossdressing centred around the ‘must have’ element – stockings and suspenders. You won’t see me dressed without them. End of.

I never saw myself as a submissive although, retrospectively, I can now see that I have generally submissive traits in my life. I’ll doubt myself first – even if I’m fairly, if not totally sure about something, and instead, I convince myself that I must be wrong. I’ll go with the flow, and yield to the assertions of others. Etc.

Ask the early crossdresser me about interest levels in kinks such as chastity and anal and I would have recoiled in absolute sheer horror – there would have been absolutely no way that anything would have come anywhere remotely near my back passage and chastity? What even was that other than something used way back for women?

As I said in a recent blog post, I would scroll by all that ‘hypno‘ stuff online, in partial fear of what it might do, even if I momentarily dabbled out of analytical curiosity, but also saw it as stuff and nonsense.

But, the more you indulge in something, the more it seems to take over and the more you want to consume of it. This is the case in so many things in life – TV shows, films, pop stars, collectibles, trinkets, books, compact discs, DVDs etc.

Whilst I can’t completely plot every step of my journey through kink, I do remember being highly stimulated and excited by being asked to do certain things back in my webcam days. If I was asked to stand in a particular way, change outfits etc., I would do it and enjoy the attention but feel quite demoralised when people dropped off the line. It didn’t do my confidence any good at all but if I’m honest and also fair to myself, at least some of, if not, the arguable majority were only in it for their own gratification until they lost interest or fancied something different. Their prerogative of course and I would be very much the same if I was in their shoes.

However, with my favourable response to what was clearly being dominated via one particular webchat, the chat window was populated with: “Perhaps we ought to try chastity.”

The identity and make up of “we” was and is largely immaterial. They were just an online contact but I can see now how the whole D/s thing was playing itself out.

However, such was the enthralling feeling, and being quite impulsive, I had soon ordered a chastity cage and awaited the opportunity home alone to dress and, for the first time, and lock for what was an entire weekend home alone to seriously break myself in to this new element of kink. It was a memorable time but the first chastity device was soon followed by others and I was hooked on them too.

How I got into anal, I don’t really know. It was probably visual stimuli but, mostly due to my sexual development at the salon.

I was gradually introduced to being fingered, I took more, more fingers, deeper, more pronounced, more willingly, and eventually bought a 6″ flesh like dildo which was put to good use too to nurture interest amid a vague (lacking-in-detail and clarity) quest to reach orgasm through anal penetration. It almost happened but not really. The quest seems to be continuing in that respect.

The need to feel penetrated led to plugs being bought, immediately skipping the smallest, and soon graduating quickly to the pro size. Lingerie, chastity, anal – chalked up on my indulgence list then.

Having acquired the taste for that, I had also watched from some sort of distance as Dommes plied their trade on Twitter and got my fingers burnt with one unmentionable fraud. Then, I did, very quickly and luckily, find a trustworthy, understanding and non-judging on line Mistress. Although I saw ownership as an impossibility given my closeted circumstances, Mistress found a way. I earned Mistress’ trust, became owned and we are now inseparable.

Eventually, in 2018, I sucked my mentor’s cock and, having been head in hands with dismay after that first time, have since continued to suck that same cock regularly.

That same cock took my anal virginity in April this year, gave me my first load of semen to swallow in June and my second very recently. Now I want more cock and cum and it may not be the same cum from the same cock. My male mentor has always had plans for me and, having heard my darkest fantasies in moments of intense sexual activity, makes suggestions albeit without target dates, and often without my response to those aspirations, but I hear him and seeds are constantly being sown, no pun intended.

It will all happen at some point it seems, but only on my terms, or it won’t happen at all.

My male mentor – not my Mistress – is not one for labels – quite the opposite in fact.

He sees all elements of consenting sex as something to be enjoyed and that people should be allowed to be how they want to be and who they want to be and I generally agree with that.

So, here is that crux I referred to earlier in this blog entry. The journey so far: Lingerie. Chastity. Anal. Cock sucking. Being fucked. Cum swallowing and a fantasy to be used as a cum dump. Finding one’s place it seems.

All of these elements seem, from what I can see, so closely linked to posts I still see – despite setting blocks on those words on Twitter settings – from those who describe themselves as ‘s*ssies’. Occasionally, I’ll see the ‘f’ word used too. Bleugh.

Of late, because I somehow see a correlation, I find myself questioning who, and perhaps what I am if my activities are seen to align so closely, but why should I start to question and almost pigeonhole myself? If I don’t relate to those words so vociferously, that’s my prerogative surely?

In any case, I don’t like labels per se. I’ve made that very clear. No one should be labelled despite society seemingly being so hell bent on continuing to do that.

Before I wrote this paragraph, I spent a few moments doing an Internet search for a definition of the word ‘s*ssy’. Quite expectedly, there were many variants but none seen as too offensive really.

The ‘f’ word meanwhile is the complete opposite and seemingly quite clear: ‘offensive and disparaging‘. For those that associate with it, I suppose it might be seen as a particular level of submissiveness? I still really don’t like the ‘f’ word anyway.

Labels. I disassociate myself from them. I am just being me and exploring my sexuality by myself or with the help of those very few people so very intimately close to the inner me who play an intimate part in the most secret part of who I have become, are becoming and will become.

Perhaps I’m am something of a hypocrite though.

Having said that, I should explain. Influenced by Twitter posts, I have recently ‘labelled’ myself in my account bio as a ‘beta’ male, clearly content with it. As a submissive – again, another arguable label, that is how I see myself.

Life is short is it not? But does everything come at a price?

I always welcome comments in response to my blog entries but hope that no one takes offence from what I write. I mean no offence.

Getting the taste, knowing one’s place — August 24, 2022

Getting the taste, knowing one’s place

I was due at the salon, but I was hell bent on getting something else I wanted.

I stripped off and stood in the usual position, out of sight of the casual glance through the opened door but visible enough when he came in.

In front of a mirror, I began patting my cock and balls, blood flowing, hardening for him enough to indicate a state of readiness.

I was more ready for him than I had ever been.

He came into the room and, as before, quickly remarked that he knew I was ready for him if I standing in that position.

He was soon using my body, massaging my cock, feeling the curvature of my bum cheeks, reaching through between my legs to play and tweaking my nipples of my slender but imperfect body.

I was just there to be used. I wanted to be fucked but it was not my decision as to whether I would be or not.

I had soon bent over the treatment table and he was soon in behind me, dry humping me with his trousers fastened. He pushed against me a few times, his ever increasing hardness felt with every push but he was soon undoing his trousers before resting his cock between my bum cheeks and teasing my hole. He reached around from behind occasionally and tweaked my nipples or caressed or grabbed my body.

He seemed to know that I was willing and wanted to be fucked again but broke away and instructed me to go around the other side of the table, adding that he wanted me to suck him first for a bit. Naturally, I complied.

I was soon kneeling at his feet and had taken him into my mouth to begin service. I worked every inch, sucking, deep throating, licking, kissing, and even going to lick and kiss his slightly hairy balls, something I had never done before. His reactions verified that he was being satisfied which accelerated the extent of my service.

He instructed me to stand up and to draw in close to him to frot us both in a tight and passionate embrace. He kissed and nuzzled my recently shaven neck so I did the same on his slightly bristly neck as we seemed to be becoming even more intimate lovers each time we met, despite our commitments outside of that room.

After a minute or two, I asked him not to make me cum and instead to keep my sexual stamina up for him, adding that I wasn’t done yet.

The embrace broke and he sat on the edge of the treatment table. I knelt and latterly sat before him on the floor, returning to intently and intensively suck his cock. I told him that I was starting to accept my place.

After a few minutes of service, I told him that I wanted to swallow his load and that I wanted it straight along my tongue, down my throat and into my stomach. He reveled in hearing the lustful and determined tone in his sub’s muted whispery voice and told me what I needed to do to make him cum.

He withdrew for a few seconds and masturbated in front of my mouth which I opened in case he wanted to fire into the back of my throat.

Somewhere along the way, as I worked his cock with my mouth, I recall him saying that he must get some other cock for me. I didn’t respond but the opportunity, which had also been previously alluded to, told me that it was still just a matter of ‘when’, and not ‘if’ and looked forward to it.

I loosened my grip around his shaft as I re-engaged around it, wet, soft, warm strokes up and down as his body started to convulse.

He held himself for a few seconds before firing into the back of my mouth. His load began to pool under my tongue as I held the almost deep-throated position.

I felt his load fall into place, beginning to savour the flavour and consistency of his semen as his body continued to convulse from its perch seated position whilst he continued to ejaculate into my cum dump mouth. I soon instinctively and satisfactorily swallowed, my reward, the one I had craved since and before I had arrived, now well and truly mine.

I withdrew.

But I desperately wanted more cum, and had he been able and we had time, I would have had it from him. There was more cum to have though and in my heightened state of arousal, I targeted my own load as the chaser.

All he could do was enjoy the moment that was playing out before him as he continued to leak. I perched on the edge of the treatment table and began to work my cock to completion. I had already made it very clear that I wanted my own load and with a cupped hand, came heavily into it. After the most briefest of thoughts otherwise, I raised the hand to my mouth, snaffled the warm creamy semen up and then used a finger to clean up any spill from my legs, remnants still leaking from my cock and the residue from the trough-like snaffle from my hand before wiping my mouth and consuming that too before I made a point of telling him that I didn’t waste cum these days.

I was becoming a cum slut and any previous thoughts of baulking in cum drinking from here on in had seemingly disappeared.

He was celebrating the events of the past few minutes, of how it had made him feel, telling me how good I was at cock sucking, assuming that I must have had some training. I said that I didn’t know what I was doing, had sucked no other cocks but that I was merely doing what I believed needed doing. Again, he said that he must find me some more cocks.

In that post-orgasm aftermath, I remember him asking who I was and what had I done with the person he otherwise knew. I don’t recall responding other than feeling smug and satisfied at my accomplishments and achievements.

With that, my treatment was completed, to almost justify the reason for my being there other than for training, development and sex, but that is increasingly becoming the first reason, rather than the second.

I never was fucked at the appointment despite bending over to give the signal to enter me but he will decide when and whether he fucks me or not and what he will do with me. I merely present myself.

A need for a body wax at my next appointment will, through the extent of time since the last one, be a priority if I am to be as smooth bodied as possible for both me and him.

That is unless sex is the priority in that given moment and if I continue to get the taste and know my place.

Loveable sickness — August 22, 2022

Loveable sickness

‘#Crossdressing. This lovable sickness just keeps getting intense as time passes…’

That is a 2018 pinned Tweet from Sabina Sabique. It remains pinned on their feed at the time of writing this blog entry and I’m glad.

The writer, her Twitter ID and the short but very accurate post has always resonated with me but is ringing particularly loud and clear at the moment in what is an period of acute analysis of my kinks whilst I seemingly fall deeper into them as a whole, all the time as the ‘other’ non-kink me analyses intently from the other side.

In case you aren’t aware – I’m closeted. I have been for an estimated 17 years and there is no alternative. The only person who knows both sides of me is Mistress with whom I have a deeply personal bond of trust. Only Mistress has seen the whole me in lingerie, chastity and plug – face included with a deeply contented look.

For everyone else, including those closest to me, they see the ‘hetero’ side – just the side they expect to see and know, not what they don’t know nor could comprehend.

The only time that the sides merge is when I feel the need to speak out to certain individuals about why it might be felt necessary to identify someone somewhere as something. My usual response is one which asks what that has to do with anything.

But then there are other times when discretion is deemed the better part of valour and I say nothing.

That isn’t the point of this blog entry though.

In short, I am getting deeper into submissiveness. There are things that turn me on within the kink that never used to.

There was a time when the thought of anything going anywhere near my bum was totally repulsive and unimaginable.

But over the last few years, a mixture of my own dabbling and an introduction to anal play has led me to feel contented when plugged, often for long periods of the working day, and whilst locked in chastity and dressed in a lingerie outfit of some sort.

I’ve been fucked and I might say that the event was probably not before time. My anal virginity has been taken – much though I never thought it would ever be – although admittedly, it has only been the once so far but I am receptive to being and – it seems, likely to be fucked again by him at will, and it seems, am open to opportunities which could be presented by him for me to be fucked by a group and with very dark and deeply rooted fantasies turned, very much, into a reality.

Since I first sucked his cock in late 2018, I have gone on to suck it regularly in return for services rendered and I have, within the last few months, progressed to something that had been something I couldn’t ever contemplate doing for a whole host of reasons. But for the first time, in June, I swallowed his load, then more determinedly so, very recently – so much so – it may well have become the norm. I told him that I no longer wanted cum to go to waste and that I wanted my sexual stamina to be sustained. That is a story for another blog entry though.

I am now very active on my Twitter feed and I follow a lot of feeds for chastity and anal, the latter drawing me in further and I have recently declared my kinks and more besides on a new Fetlife account.

I am now more accepting that my submissive persona has, in fact been and is being slowly trained in a way that many might say is feminisation, to be a fuck toy, a cock sleeve, a cum dump, a willing sub and whilst I maintain the focus on being sexually aware and safe, I am ploughing on with my kinks and embracing opportunities as they are presented to me or, if I can, making them happen.

I now accept and continue to remind myself, that I am very much a sub and a beta male. I recognise the dominance and authority of an alpha male, and take a liking for the masculine, muscular, smooth bodied form, larger cock size and my urge and willingness to serve and to be available to be used albeit on certain terms.

I continue to be trained and developed by a man I don’t call Master but who has been working on developing me (with my consent of course) for some time and to whom I am increasingly submissive as he has found out more and more of late.

I have a close bond with him and I now regularly service his cock but outside of that, I can and have been clearly assuaged by certain types of content on the Twitterscape which is, I suppose, a form of hypnosis which taps into your inner desires and urges and works on them to ‘convert’, even though I told myself that, whilst I would watch, it would never work on me, that I was above and outside it and was only researching. Whereas there was a time when I would avert my eyes and scroll by, I’m more likely to watch, embrace and absorb it.

I watch subs, chastised and otherwise, being fucked by cock on Twitter, and get hard and excited at the imagery and the prospect of the same for me, liking, bookmarking and rewatching the content.

I have recently declared myself as a power bottom on my Twitter bio – after he described me as such some considerable time ago. He only said it once – and the compliment has stayed with me. I know my place.

I will increasingly engage sexually with my sexual mentor from the off, and look to serve, offer myself to him and follow all orders in his service – prioritising submissiveness over the actual reason I am in his company – to be body waxed. I told him only recently that I was starting to know and accept my place.

I mostly serve Mistress though – my owner – and, although there was no requirement from Mistress, I have applied myself and showed spirit to serve by returning to my own terms of findom with Mistress who made the alternative suggestion of a viable and covert method of tributing for me – Mistress has owned me since late 2019 and she is someone with whom I am now inseparable. I now tell her of my intensifying servitude – my urges and my sexual activities, targets and achievements.

In fact, Mistress has made a point of saying that she loves my posts these days, adding I seen to have grown in (kink) confidence of late – and that she knows I am her property forever.

But, all of this is juxtaposed by life outside the closet.

The things I do in my life, the work I do, the community work that I do, my place in certain circles, my seniority in certain roles, how people see me day-to-day is in massive stark contrast to Fiona’s traits and her steady and ever increasing dominance over the other ‘me’.

I mentioned how that the regular me analyses Fiona from some sort of standpoint somewhere, but seems increasingly powerless to stop her from running riot.

When I dress, lock and plug, each element as equally important as the other, the regular me can be heard asking whether this is the right thing to do and whether everything should be scaled back, measured perhaps.

Whereas before, pre-pandemic, Fiona was flourishing five days a week, 12 hours a day, these days, the impact of the last two years or so means activities are now limited to just a couple of days a week – the logistics and domestic circumstances which allowed such prominence, snuffed out in an instance back in March 2020.

It is as if Fiona is intensifying within the comparative short time that she can live, breathe and dominate, my inner urges and curiosity fuelled to an inextinguisable raging inferno.

I have a lot to lose. A lot. Yet I persist. I know the risks, and I’ve fallen foul before but have lived to tell the tale so to speak and to continue on my path, covertly acting from the closet, acts carried out strategically, methodologically, dealing with bumps in the road, but occasionally facing paranoia over circumstances that might expose everything, even though unlikely to occur, but I still worry about the slim chances until the situation is perceived to be under control.

That might not be until I’m back home from a trip out, circumstances where my stash of sex toys and lingerie might be discovered, a careless browser or log in left in view despite levels of security and application of discipline and attention to detail to protect the situation, the behaviours and to manage all and any risk.

That would suggest that I know or at least think that what I am doing is somehow wrong, misplaced, mistimed, inappropriate.

Without going into detail, there is another member of the family whose sexuality is blatantly out there and it has caused waves – and not good ones. Answers are sought by the nearest and dearest when there are no answers to seek because we are where we are with it. History, whys and wherefores don’t matter.

I am seen almost as the antithesis of this – the rock, the voice of reason, control, established, grounded, well-placed, responsible. But the truth would be a blow of monstrous proportions – not that it could come out. But DNA connects. The exact characteristics and circumstances are vastly different – yet closely connected.

It started with lingerie crossdressing – a loveable sickness that just keeps getting intense as time passes with everything that it brings with it and there doesn’t seem to be a thing I can do (or perhaps want to do) about it. Instead, I simply plough on with both personas – the regular me and Fiona – in some sort of tussle that no one – not even me – could understand or substantiate in order to stop it due to the momentum and intensity that exists.

Despite it being an estimated 17 years of, I’m of an age where I wonder just how much longer it can go on in the way that it is, but it is always a case of it being something to worry about tomorrow, all the time, with me plunging deeper and deeper into and being held tighter and tighter by every aspect of my kinks.

Brain chemistry — August 1, 2022

Brain chemistry

I’m following a new blog on-line from someone who is currently unsuccessful in trying to explore a s/D relationship with their partner but they had nevertheless been able to broach the subject with them.

A key part of a blog entry was the bit where they said: “I don’t know why but I’m wired that way.” and that has very much echoed in my head at a very co-incidental time for me.

Historically, I’d have one hell of a prolonged binge in all things kink and this would usually be without orgasm, for days or weeks at a time. Prior to the impact of the pandemic, with Mistress giving instructions, I’d be dressed in her choice of lingerie, locked in the chastity device and plugged with the size and type of her choosing for up to 12 hours a day.

My submissiveness accepted the need to be without orgasm to maximise and retain high levels of subservience. The other reason not to reach orgasm was because reaching it changed my brain chemistry, significantly and conversely altering my approach to all things kink, causing disinterest, often for days and even weeks, before the internal switch would flick back at some point and for one reason or another and I’d be off on another binge.

Achieving orgasm during kink has, can and often does cause a level of disgust about my kink activities and I’ve understood why that is a little bit more this week. More on that shortly.

First through, a word on how I acknowledge my most intimate of mindsets and how it has changed and is changing. Whether that is for the better, I do not know but I am trying not to over analyse things too much.

My previous blog entries have comprehensively documented my sexual development over a number of years, once unable to imagine anything remotely close to anal, now I am indulgent and receptive.

Long since used to being finger-fucked over the years by a male confidante with whom I am increasingly intimate, he has since taken my anal virginity – although he hasn’t had me again since – and I have been sucking his cock for around four years. It has taken until this year to be receptive to swallowing his load and, to date, that has only happened once. This despite often baulking at taking my own once climax has been reached despite doing so before.

Brain chemistry. It’s a proper mindf**k.

Recently, I was at another partial body wax appointment. On all fours, my bum was waxed and copious amounts of cream were then rubbed in. He is often turned on by my bum which, without wanting to brag, is often commented upon, and he was soon hard inside his jeans, urging me to cop a feel for myself. I angled my bum towards him to offer myself for whatever use was required and was keen to oblige as the thought of his cock in my mouth once more was forefront as I remained on all fours on the treatment table. I relish sucking his cock all the more at every appointment.

Sex play progressed. In either the naked ‘all fours’ or laid down on my side position, I made my bum and hole available, giving him the clearest of green lights that I was fully submissive to him. The noises of him firmly patting my hole with tightly held together fingers to open me up were regular and echoed around the room throughout the session as he finger fucked me. I relished the eroticism of the noises, knowing I was being used as his toy.

I mused upon how far I would verbally open up to him about my kinks, and, taking anal from him, went as far as to say that I spent two days a week in the office, plugged. He explained how, in his opinion, plugs were designed to open the wearer up but I said I enjoyed the feeling of being plugged and explained how I had been frequently wearing a medium sized plug but had briefly tried the pro sized last week and took it with ease. I reasoned that this was not the right moment to open up about my lingerie crossdressing and chastity on this occasion.

A reason not to is that the photos that I would invariably end up showing him would be water marked with my Twitter name, the account then directing to my blog where everything is out in the open.

Even if or when I do open up to him as the only person other than Mistress to know about all my most intimate kinks, I don’t think it will be to any detriment. At least, I hope not.

I digress. Having spent a few moments with a hand around his cock, making him wait to be taken into my warm welcoming mouth, the availability of his lusted after member could not be resisted anymore as his pre-cum began to seep. I began by savouring the taste of it before plunging down his length, deep throating, back and forth, mouth gripping, tongue working the length much to his evidence satisfaction.

He praised his sub again and questioned how it had become so good at cock sucking, telling it that it was getting better and better, even asking whether it had sucked another.

I breathily replied that his cock was the only one that I had sucked, but that I had recently developed a largely unsubstantiated fascination for black cock. He asked whether I was interested in sucking or being fucked by it to which I replied that I was, in the moment, open to both, but focused on the former. He was unable to help me with this other dark fantasy despite his many contacts. I wasn’t too disappointed but, somehow, I was a little.

My subservient cock remained limp as my focus was not on my own satisfaction but of his. But my naked body was his to use as he saw fit and it was not really down to me as to how he used it. My nipples were tweaked, my torso caressed, my head gently pulled towards his body by way of an embrace and my hair lightly pulled, my hole repeatedly creamed, patted and fingered, but he wanted to play with my cock too and pulled away from my mouth to frot us both as I lay on my side, him standing beside the treatment table.

My total focus and target was to swallow his cum and I made no secret of it, openly telling him I wanted his cum across my tongue and down my throat and then how I wanted my own and asked him not to waste my cum as a result. I was in the height of subservience, sexuality and motivation at its peak, happy to be used for as long as possible, keen to suck his cock.

Although I was not totally content, he said that if I came on his cock, I could then taste my own cum and then his. It was clear though that he had somehow sensed a change in sexual chemistry after he had brought me off over his still hardened cock but returned to let me take it in, my cum having hit the base of his cock in stringy lengths that a plunge of deep throat would have reached.

Somehow, his cock was withdrawn from my mouth soon after and he began pumping in front of it. I was in a state of withdrawal although a small part of my mind was fighting to convince what was now the dominant part to open my mouth up and take his load, but my brain chemistry had changed in an instant post orgasm and I was, it seemed, unwilling. He sensed that he could not unload into my mouth again as he had done for the first time only recently. However, when I had taken his load before on a previous occasion, I had not released my own so my brain chemistry was unaltered and I was totally receptive.

On this occasion though, he had made me cum but had realised the consequences. I lay there watching him bring himself off in close proximity. His cum soon powered out across the top of my chest but below my neck line and he soon reached for some paper towel to considerately clean his sub up, passing further towels for me to clean up elsewhere on my cum soaked body.

Speaking out loud, I emphasised the extent of disappointment in myself at not having taken his load due to what had been altered brain chemistry, almost but refraining from saying that I had warned him.

In reply, he said that a particular chemical is released by the body upon orgasm – a sort of satisfactory chemical and that is what alters (or can alter) the mind set.

There is, however, more room for development as he explained the need for tantric sex to allow all inhibitions to be removed, and that it was possible to orgasm without ejaculating with the right teachings or even after it and remain sexually motivated.

I expressed my willingness to learn, to be taught by him, and with the appointment at an end, internally acknowledged that I am still being and will probably always be being developed as a sub, for and by him, for Mistress, and for me. Damn you brain chemistry! It is time to learn to be a sexual chemist.

Unimportant importance — July 18, 2022

Unimportant importance

I’m having body confidence issues at the moment, exacerbated by hair growth. I’ve had a ‘thing’ in that way from before I started going for body waxes years ago, less so over subsequent years, but the ‘thing’ has never gone away.

I would just love to be hair-free all the time, but my metabolism is taking a number of years to be trained to give up. Hair growth, as I understand it, can be trained to die off through waxing whereas shaving encourages it, and whilst I’d agree that I am far less hirsute than I was, the growth still irks me, particularly on my chest and legs, but otherwise, everywhere.

I used to love it when I could have a full body wax in one session, but after an example case in the States that I was told about in which someone who had just had one then suffered a body shock at the wheel, crashed their car and died, industry regulations were changed, meaning that body waxes had to be done in two separate sittings.

As I have said before on many a blog post, tearing the hairs out en-masse from the roots, particularly when well established, can cause the body temperature to plummet, and put you into an uncontrollable bout of the shakes that you can do nothing about.

I have experienced this on just one occasion, albeit several years ago and I would not recommend it. A reputable salon will know what to do, i.e., they aren’t just copping a feel by rubbing the palm of a hand across your body, they are checking your body temperature. Of course, the more your hair is removed, the weaker and thinner it gets, the easier it is to come out and the less pain you feel, so therefore leaving your body less to deal with via your receptors etc.

So, to sum up, my appointments always see something needing doing, a part of my body needing waxing, another, not for a few weeks. For those in the UK, you will know about the analogy of the ‘Forth Road Bridge’, i.e. that painting it takes that long that once workers get from one end to the other, it is time to start again at the beginning. That is how I see my body waxing, i.e., never fully done – and it irks me quite a bit.

Whereas my appointments were always an hour, and sometimes longer, these days, whilst I repeatedly book in an hour in my diary, and my psyche looks forward to and anticipates this, they have a different agenda. The salon I go to doesn’t just do body waxing but a variety of other things for both sexes, particularly hair cutting and styling. All aspects of COVID have, recently, led to a backlog which they are trying to catch up with.

Knowing my body (intimately) as he does, once the appointment starts, me naked, sitting on or standing near to the treatment table, upon coming into the room, he soon has his own idea of what needs doing and how long it will take but the specifics are never defined until, as I see it, the most inopportune moment.

My recent appointment – first thing – was, as it turned out, around 30 minutes in his mind. but he made a point of saying that he would make more time next time. Now, I could see that as a positive, i.e., my hair growth is thinner and weaker so takes less time to come out and for me to be ‘done’ so to speak.

However, I had, perhaps naively and presumptuously, anticipated going through some more submissive sexual development – (planning to swallow his load for a second time from a kneeling position to take it down across my tongue and down my throat, to ask about the option of exploring big black cocks at a future appointment, and with some kind of plot hatched to show him some recent videos of me taking a dildo (which he knows about) and even, opening up about my chastity and lingerie crossdressing, which even HE doesn’t know about!) – I was to be disappointed. As he waxed my long and slender legs, he was evidently watching the clock and awaiting his next appointment coming through the main door to the building, indicated by the bell that rings,

Happily, I never heard it ring though but this didn’t really change the agenda – well, not fully anyway.

Having been on my back and then on my front to ensure my legs were fully waxed (much to my satisfaction and ready for the next draping of stockings), I had to motivate myself to get up from my flat out position and push up.

He noticed my hesitation and asked me if I was alright, as I eventually made it to a naked, raised kneeling position on the treatment table with him stood closely alongside. Suddenly, focus on his next appointment out in the main salon had become blurred, motivated by the lack of an audible bell at the door and his naked sub to hand. One hand began working my cock, the other began fingering my hole. He wanted my cum. I wanted my cum and, after a few moments, focused on my own cum swallowing target by cupping a hand underneath as my ever hardening cock was being rapidly pumped until its pent up load was shot.

Responding to the placement of the hand, he praised his project sub, murmuring the word ‘Good!’ with a very encouraging tone, which seemed to make my creamy and considerable load power out all the more so, flooding the cupped palm of my hand.

There seemed to be a very brief timescale in which I was allowed to bring the load to mouth and it quickly expired. He had soon merely concluded that nothing else was going to happen, tearing some of the paper treatment table cover and thrusting it efficiently into my hand to soak up the pool of cum.

If I am to be honest, even though I love cum, and have taken my load before, I am not consistent and frequently back out and rinse it away as sexual peak hits the floor like a dead weight. I continue to disappoint myself in that respect, and, retrospectively, I should have acted far swifter and more determinedly. I am still a developing sub and I am an obedient sub, so quickly accepted the situation before me and relished having still been used for his satisfaction, even though, on this occasion, I could not reciprocate and I told him that I had recognised as such. He calmly said that I could make up for it next time, and again, I submissively accepted without commentt.

He left, I continued the clean up, dressed and went out to book another appointment in a few weeks time, but this time, at his convenience, later in the day, when I will likely be the last appointment, and we will be alone and locked in. I could tell that it was all part of his unspoken plan for me – his unimportant importance.

Until next time.

Taking a load off — July 10, 2022

Taking a load off

I had been ill with coronavirus. I’d subsequently tested negative but long COVID appeared to be setting in and the symptoms akin to a common cold plus fatigue were evident and sustained, yet I was still dosing myself up with anything and everything and trying to rest and ease off where I could.

Another salon appointment had come round, and feeling able enough and dosed up to go, I went. I stripped off, but this time, after a short period of contemplation about what I should and should not be doing, I casually sat myself on the edge of the treatment table, a bit like how you might perch on a bar stool. That was a signal that I was, on this occasion, not ready for anything else but waxing.

A few moments later, he came in and speculated as to what part of my body needed doing. Having become a little disillusioned with my appearance of late with regard to hair growth, I verbally compared myself to the process whereby workers paint and renovate the Forth Road Bridge in the UK, i.e., the structure being so big that it is a case of a ‘start at one end, get to the other end then start all over again’ type thing. A response to that moment of self deprecation was not forthcoming.

He decided that my back needed waxing and I therefore stretched out on my front, head to one side, hands grasping the top end edge of the treatment table. As the waxing took place, so did the always pleasant chit chat.

I said I’d recently suffered COVID. He sympathised, and, as it turned out, we were able to swap notes as he had also suffered it but recovered enough to keep to some rather considerable personal commitments which fell after he tested negative.

He concluded that, as I wasn’t well, he wouldn’t do any more body waxing and having applied some cooling lotion afterwards, he offered to treat me to and promptly began a back massage to help take a load off, so to speak. Amid the silence, punctuated only by the incidental ‘salon’ style, calming music, he stood tight to the same end of the treatment table as my head, leaning over me in close proximity to reach and work with his oiled hands.

Those hands gradually roamed further down my back to my bum cheeks, occasionally opening them up to rub between them during those long, sweeping massage movements.

My hands, still largely, but lightly gripping the edge of the table, began lightly but, initially, subtly touching his crotch area, touches becoming more evident, more pronounced, more obvious as the sexual undertones became sexual overtones as both participants seemed to desire.

It was not long before his trousers and undies were down and his cock sprang to attention to the side of my still rested head. I examined what was so plainly before me for a few moments, smelling his sex, before rearing up to take his cock in my mouth.

The physiology and body positions, me on a treatment table, him standing, meant that I could only just take the tip of his cock in my mouth as it pointed up towards me, and, with an unspoken acknowledgement, he shuffled around to one side. I turned on one side, (he carefully and considerately moved a pillow for me to rest my head upon) and quickly plunged down his length, more than willing – desperate perhaps – to suck his hardened cock for as long as was possible, knowing that there was to be no more waxing to be done at that session.

From time to time, I would kiss and suck around the side of his cock, around the frenulum and tip before going back down on him, deep throating and taking his cock with more shallow plunges whilst one hand reached round to grab a bum cheek, the other cupping his balls and stroking his perineum.

His pleasure was clear and present – verbally telling his sub that it gave the best blow jobs ever – as well as through the moans and exhalations of breath. His cock was leaking pre-cum and I willingly took it, with a target then being set on this occasion to suck him until he came in my mouth – another salon first. The speed increased, the mouth grip tightened as I gave him an early indication of what I wanted for the very first time, my actions conflicted by the an element of questioning of what I was doing in a distant recess of my mind.

I pulled off and hung my mouth just off his cock tip, slightly open, ready, anticipating.

He began masturbating but didn’t seem to acknowledge that I was ready to accept his load – he was in fact, probably unsuspecting and in disbelief as it had never happened before nor, I suppose, had seemed likely. My mouth opened wider, head still side ways from my position laid out on the treatment table, as if to give him a clearer signal.

He soon realised that I was willing, for the very first time, to be his cum dump and that I wanted his sperm in my mouth, throat and stomach. I was, as part of my ever-continuing sub development, becoming a cum slut and I was liking it.

He said something in a thrilled and sexually charged tone to acknowledge that I was willing and, above all, ready to take his load. He duly brought himself off, the cum shooting into the back of my mouth and throat and pooling in the lower cheek as well as glazing the edges of my mouth. As he unloaded, he used his other hand to bring me off over the edge of the treatment table.

In those moments of immense satisfaction, I felt the taste and texture of his load, the cum stringing across the top of my throat and back of my mouth. I promptly worked the pooled cum from my cheek in order to be able to swallow it, not exactly choking or gagging, but merely managing the new ground and barrier breaking moment. He asked if I was OK to which I murmured approvingly and contentendly and he then spent a few celebratory moments saying ‘WOW’ a few times at just how he had enjoyed what had just happened as well as what had just happened with his continuingly developed project.

With one load now deposited in my stomach, that left far less of a clean up of my own semen which had soaked the edge of the towel spread across the treatment table.

The situation was soon remedied, and he left the room to attend to his other appointments outside in the main salon, and to contemplate what had started the day for him. I dressed alone and then exited to book the next appointment with him. Payment for waxing through sexual favours – pimping myself out – no money changing hands – has been common place for some considerable period of time now.

I continue to surprise him at each appointment as to how far I’ll go. In a short space of time, he’s fucked me bareback, and now, I’m willingly being used as his cum dump, instead of hot creamy loads of semen being wasted on the floor. I really ought not to waste my own load either going forward.

I’m now seemingly always up for taking a load off.

Lead him not into temptation… — June 6, 2022

Lead him not into temptation…

Another salon appointment had come around. Parts of my body really needed waxing but other parts of my body needed something else – and I both knew it and wanted it. The inner submissive was burning with some intensity – probably hotter than it had burned for some time.

I was ushered into the room and stripped off, strategically leaving my skimpy g-string so that it could be seen by the side of my neatly folded pile of clothes.

As usual, I remained standing despite the treatment table being ready for me. But this time, there was to be no gentle cock and balls patting for him to be drawn upon coming into the room – already waxed, my tiny limp cock merely submissively hung as much as it could.

He entered the room as the theoretical appointment clock began to tick away.

Immediately, he openly and verbally acknowledged that, if I was standing for him, he knew that I was ready for him – and that he liked it.

He moved straight for my limp cock and began working it but was soon lightly caressing his sub’s body – around the bum curves, between the legs and teasing the thighs as the mirror in front reflected everything back to us both.

I cavorted, swinging my hips and pushing my bum out to signal that I was available to him and was responsive to being used.

He made a point of saying that we would never get any waxing done if I was going to behave like this. I demonstrated my submissive side by failing to reply, body language alone signalling that I remained his eager and willing toy.

The visual stimuli of the action being played out for us both in the mirror led me to very quickly bend over the treatment table without really having a reason why or having any real expectations as to what would happen. He moved his fully clothed body in behind me and ground his crotch in to my bum crack, symbolically thrusting and pushing as I watched via the mirror.

This didn’t last long and he said something along the lines of wanting to wield his long-since hard cock around my bum and hole he had recently broken in just a few short weeks before.

That morning, I’d showered, had a shave and had splashed on some after shave knowingly preparing and readying myself for him with full expectation, as was the pattern at the salon these days, for sex to be the priority but with some degree of acknowledgement that waxing really was needed too at some point.

He dropped his trousers and undies and drew back close in once more.

He knew where things were leading. I was somehow indicating through body language alone, that I was there to be fucked again. It seemed, somehow that my inner conscience was knocking on my submissive side which was in full control, reminding it of the need to be waxed but of the risk of being bareback fucked once more. Whilst the sub was listening, it was also dismissive of those muted appeals and remained in a haze of partial fuck-toy shut down as he did what ever he did from behind.

It seemed as if the muted appeals from within had been picked up by him though and he seized control of the situation, breaking away to use the need to wax parts of my body as a tool towards resisting from fucking me again.

I complied – of course – but as I passed him to climb on to the treatment table, I bent down briefly to suck his cock for a few seconds much to his audible pleasure.

This was met with the breathy and fulfilled comment of appreciation that I had sucked the cock that had he said had just been in my tight hole as if I had passed another test and landmark on his path of sexually developing his sub.

As he seemed to be in a moment of indecision as to whether he should remain naked from the waist down, I asked him how he wanted me on the treatment table and took no surprise that he wanted me on all fours from the options that I had offered. He struggled to restrain his cock as he pulled his undies up and fastened his jeans.

There was then a juxtaposition of sex and treatment as he began waxing my already previously partly waxed bum which I angled and swung at him from the all-fours, continuing to offer my submissive and available state to be used as he wished. The period of waxing wasn’t rushed but it was, I would say, slightly hurried.

I kept him hard or semi-erect by occasionally using the soles of my feet to graze, rub and push against his fly, teasing him and bringing about occasional breaths of pleasure.

Waxing complete, cooling lotion was later applied and duly rubbed in. The audible tones of three aligned fingers slapping my hole to open and loosen me echoed around the room. His fingers entered my now lubricated behind and started to work my hole, whilst occasionally using the other hand to reach under and caress my cock, balls and perineum.

After a few minutes, he praised his sub by stating that I had taken three fingers with ease, again, somehow ticking a box on a sexual development list in his mind despite knowing that I had frequently, willingly and easily taken three many times before. I held back from suggesting to him that I could take and wanted more.

He drizzled some oil down my bum cheeks and crack and finger fucked me some more for a few minutes before clicking back to business mode, telling me that he had another appointment and checked the time.

Concluding that he could do what needed to be done in the time allowing, he instructed me to sit on the side of the treatment table. I duly complied but spread my legs. The switch flicked again and his trousers and undies were brought sufficiently down to allow his re-hardened cock to spring to attention.

We both took turns to frot. Occasionally, I would pull away and gently tap my cock tip on his. This “power bottom” tactic caused pre-cum to leak from his cock. Either I fed directly yearning for more and eagerly wiping any up or he fed me instead. I uttered an approving and lustful hum.

Then, another first. Having already flicked a favourite switch by tweaking my nipples, he bent down and spent a good few seconds sucking and nibbling one nipple on my recently waxed chest before drawing away. I approvingly acknowledged the ‘first’ but teased that he should not now leave the other nipple to be neglected. He complied.

I occasionally arched my body, contemplating leaning back and envisaging my first ever missionary-style fuck to be able to look into his eyes but realising that the physiology was not conducive. He used the opportunity to reach under, cradling my balls in a hand whilst inserting some fingers into my hole.

Moments later, probably acknowledging the need to continue the waxing treatment, he resumed the frotting at pace. He wanted his sub’s cum and he knew how and where he wanted it. Sending his sub into uncontrollable orgasm, my cock powered out a hot, thick, creamy load of cum across his balls, my semen then dropping somewhere below.

He relished the feeling of warmth from my cum on his balls then asked me to rub the cum in as he used some of my load as lube and brought himself off, body convulsing as his load covered my cock and jetted up to splash on an arm.

My load had rebounded off his balls and had dropped into the well of his thigh-high removed boxers as well as having dribbled down the side of the treatment table. He was left contemplating the impact of the cum stained undies he would have to wear for the rest of the working day, cleaning up what he could but seemingly relishing seeing his next client in his wet, telling undies, remarking on the wetness in his jeans as he dressed again.

He then used some paper towels to clean his cum from his sub. I uttered a grateful but muted note of thanks before assuming the same seated position for the waxing to take place in the time that, in truth, was, retrospectively not available but he merely continued and the appointment concluded.

He left. I briefly viewed the cum stained treatment table cover as if it was my trophy, dressed and made my way out to book the next appointment.

Although I knew that I was not fully smooth bodied, I queried how long it would be until I should be back in his company.

An appointment was booked with his reply that “something always needs doing”. Nothing further was said but we knew the sexual undertones to the comment.

Whilst I was there, he made a proposition to me involving the future attendance of a reportedly well hung and apparently attractive man. It was likely that I couldn’t make one particular other and separate appointment for this as his subject of ongoing sexual development, but, as if he was seeking to tick his sub’s sexual development list somewhat further, he said that it could be rearranged.

Having not quite led him not into temptation that day, he was now leading me – again.

For me, for you, for me. — May 30, 2022

For me, for you, for me.

It has to be said that, of late, I have experienced moments of, in my eyes at least, a female led relationship in the kink side of things and these instances have been blogged about within the last few months.

As far as my significant other is concerned, it is merely intimacy and foreplay but I revel in what it could be and allow a little role play to occur. Moments have included me being naked, away in the holiday home, or for her to be happy, in theory or actuality, for me to be naked around the house. I ventured downstairs the other night, late in just my birthday suit, (‘the others’ behind a closed door and not for moving) and nonchalantly came back up stairs moments later, swanning back into the bedroom.

She took both surprise and delight at my antics without really discussing them but the more naked I am, and inclined to be, the more she eyes me up and uses my currently smooth, post waxed body to play with as and when she sees fit, nipple rubbing through a t-shirt or cock play including checking whether I have undies on – each time, merely teasing – no chance and/or intention of taking it further. I’m NOT complaining though!

When we are finally home alone for good, the ‘others’ having moved out (no idea when that will be but not anytime soon it seems), then there is more potential for more intimacy, and for me to allow what I see as FLR processes to play out.

I was working in my home office the other day when she came in from a shopping trip with a bag stating that she had a present for me. I gratefully received the bag and began the investigation of what lay within with great intrigue.

She had bought ‘me‘ a matching white bra and knickers set after I’d recently stated to her that I’d like to see her in such lingerie rather than a random mish-mash bra with dull, beige or otherwise bland, (what you might call ‘Bridget’), knickers. She said that, if the new set fitted her properly, she’d get some more like it. I reveled in the moment.

In my heart of hearts though, I knew what she had bought them for – they certainly weren’t for me – not in the literal sense, but, allowing a brief, fantasy-fuelled FLR led-sub relationship to rage through my mind, for a few seconds, I played alone with the ruse. “Oh you’ve bought me a new bra, thank you, that’s lovely!” I said, as if it was a genuine gift I was thrilled with. I had a genuine sense of gratitude for my gift in those few fleeting moments.

The fantasy world was that I was in an FLR, she was starting the process of domming and/or feminising her submissive and here was the first such instance of things to come. Reality soon bit as I woke up and smelled the proverbial coffee – 3, 2, 1, and I was ‘back in the room’ thinking of how it otherwise might have been in my darkest, wildest fantasies, fuelled by experienced recently blogged about.

Having previously been very much resigned to never being able to cross dress again, of late, an inner spark, nurtured by dabbling in the hidden items in storage and my own sexual development at the salon, means that I am now plotting a resumption of everything that was brought to an abrupt halt in March 2020, but on a far more part time basis than it was back then when the pandemic struck, when all activity was wiped out in an instance, resulting in my hidden treasures being consigned to storage to wait seemingly forever.

The logistics of resumption on any level are, however, beyond complicated and plans to extract a limited selection of items, chastity, plugs and lingerie, during rare home alone time, to prepare and hide to take to work to dress, lock and plug on the odd days, have already been rendered impossible on two occasions due to domestic circumstances just not turning out as they were seemingly going to which would have allowed the time and opportunity. But it seems that I am not to be deterred and that I will accept the long game to satisfy my recently re-ignited inner desires, needs, urges and cravings.

But whereas, once the act of cross dressing seemed like ‘never again’, it is now more a matter of ‘when’, not ‘if’. The urge to dress in lingerie is, as it used to be back in the day, fuelled by visual stimuli. These days, I’m far more likely to be interested in finding a way how to, albeit briefly, try a bra on just for a dabble and a buzz, rather than to sigh and reflect on what once was before leaving it well alone and simply moving on.

A lot has changed since my sexual development recently gathered pace, and so, as it had been bought “for me” and was still in the bedroom awaiting its first official use by the significant other, try it on, I did, briefly admiring the look in a mirror, before quickly taking it off once more – the try on, lasting mere seconds.

The recovering crossdresser appears to be on the ‘other’ recovery route again these days. For me, for you, for me.

A frustrated sub — May 25, 2022

A frustrated sub

March 2020. We knew something was around. We knew it didn’t sound very nice but the possibility that it could land on our doorstep was unimaginable. But it did land on everyone’s doorstep.

March 2020 had started in much the same way that every other month and day had since late 2019 when I was taken into ownership by Mistress.

I would be home alone, up early, the house empty or soon to be empty but either way, there was enough time and space to spring out of bed as soon as the opportunity arose and would either pull on the outfit that Mistress had pre-selected or another for the time being that could perhaps not be worn for work. I would lock in the chastity device of Mistress’ choice and would prepare the plug that she had also ordered – if not the remote control plug because she didn’t have the time to use me, it was usually the largest of my three standard plugs. I might use my dildo for “training” – a hyperthetical term which seemed relevant even though I saw it as highly unlikely that I would ever feel a real cock inside me. I would end up being wrong about that!

I might be on a web cam, changing outfits on request, outwardly exhibiting, sometimes explicitly or filming or photographing my finished state to evidence later to Mistress and on social media.

Then, eventually, I tore myself away, adhered to Mistress’ requirements for the day, covered up in office attire and set off for work. I would be dressed, locked and plugged for around 12 hours every week day and would occasionally have time home alone at the weekend to extend the servitude further.

The pandemic changed all of that. All of the circumstances that allowed my kinks to flourish were cancelled in an instant.

I naively assumed that it wouldn’t be for long. I was wrong on every level.

Everything in the home dynamic changed. Though I was OK, others in the household were not and faced unemployment.

I resigned myself to, firstly, a wait and then to the end to 95% of my kinks. Nothing got any better for these indulgences to be able to resume and they haven’t. My significant other now has a new job but works from home whereas before, she would be out early to go to a place of work which signalled the green light for Fiona to come out and play.

Although I have regular time at the salon for a body wax, I’m never fully done, I’m always a work in progress such are the apparent regulations that now prevent reputable salons from doing a full body wax in one session. I find that regularly frustrating as I have a irrational obsession for wanting to be hair free and the fight for me is real. It affects my self confidence in a massive way but I am generally far less hirsute than I used to be having been going to the salon for a number of years and on a far more frequent basis.

Other than that, everything that I hold dear from cross dressing and kink was put into locked, dark storage. I vowed never to purge again having acknowledged the sheer value and amount of lovely things thrown away on numerous occasions over the last 16 years or so.

Two years on and I have been resigned to the fact that I’m knocking on in years, and that crossdressing just isn’t possible anymore and is unlikely to be again.

To put a tin lid on it, even Mistress’ life changed and she also brought about a stop to things. That seemed to be it once and for all even though I would be hers forever – Mistress knew that and I knew that. It was a nice gesture.

More recently, thoughts have turned to the final act. Disposal of everything – the final death knell for Fiona. I have not done it yet but it is hugely symbolic that I’ve even thought about it.

I’ve made it through the last few years but being able to connect with Fiona through posting archive photos on her social media account. But now, I have nothing new to post and I can only now desperately try to find and justify reasons for posting old favourite pics up as a way of sustaining account activity. I haven’t started that yet but that’s not to say that I won’t.

But I am a sub, and luckily for me, I have time at the salon for myself – time which, apart from the body waxing, has, over a number of years, developed me sexually.

Being sustained somehow as a sub, nurtured at the salon, let loose at the salon, even if not a crossdressing sub has led me, after all this time, to start to try and find ways to indulge in whatever time there is.

For years, I have been a strategist to remain deeply closeted and the strategist within has started planning. When and how feature prominently but it isn’t cut and dried and it comes with massive risk – risk which is not necessarily a deterrent.

Fiona is fighting to get out once more. I thought she was consigned to the history books but it seems that I have underestimated her inner strength despite knowing how controlling she was before.

Within the last few weeks, I’ve been plugged for a few hours home alone having recovered my remote control plug.

Within the last few weeks, my cock has been inserted into a cock pump and I can now be ruined by it.

Within the last few weeks, I’ve tried on every chastity device bar one that I’ve never worn due to a fault that I have always planned to try and rectify.

Within the last few months, I’ve been content to be naked around the house whenever possible, even when working from home as the inner submissive fights to get out.

Within the last few months, there are FLR signs developing in my home relationship with my significant other. She doesn’t see them in the way that I do but that is enough for me.

But of late, barely (no pun intended) nothing is letting me settle. The suppressed sub and cross dresser is fighting to get out and breathe once more.

I hated yesterday. Yesterday was so utterly frustrating without being able to say why. I wrote two blog posts in 24 hours and this is now a third. I wanted to indulge desperately yet I felt I couldn’t see a clear way as to how and whether it would work.

I was in the office yesterday and felt more frustrated and flatter and flatter as the day went on, hitting rock bottom on the way home in the car, unable to talk to myself to avoid the dash cam recording it. I probably sighed numerous times on the way and took my frustrations out on other motorists and road conditions.

I was, to all intents and purposes, home alone on arrival. I threw my car keys and bag down on the work top, and, leaning against it, proceeded to spin through the secret gallery of crossdressing, anal and chastity pics on my phone, airbrushing a few imperfections from the shots that had already been posted on social media long ago.

I took a picture of my recently waxed chest with the aim to replace the image in my last blog with it. But even that wasn’t perfect and a zoom in identified some hairs that were not removed at the salon.

Against my better judgement, (I really shouldn’t shave my body as it encourages growth) I stepped in the shower, reached for the shaving gel and blades and shaved my chest and above crotch area to satisfy the obsession and feel better somehow.

Only a junk food evening meal with family and a TV binge made things feel better but stepping into bed that night, naked, sexually charged but still tired after several other nights of poor sleep made for another sleepless night of thinking and playing.

I am very much a frustrated sub right now.

At long last – fucked — April 27, 2022

At long last – fucked

Once again, I was ushered back into that same warm, enclosed, brightly lit, cossetting environment, soft, incidental music playing to set a mood and was soon naked, but remained standing – ignoring the treatment table which awaited my body’s length to be stretched out on it for the scheduled reason I was there.

I, on the other hand, seemed controlled by ulterior forces. The manipulative element was in control. I knew what I should be doing – that being to stretch out on the treatment table – an indicator for the treatment to begin, but, instead, and as with the previous encounter, I assumed the position adopted the last time I was there, standing at one end, around four feet from a mirror, checking my continually imperfect but slender naked body – stripped free from any form of clothing or jewellery – because I could.

Again, gentle hand patting against my increasingly less flaccid cock caused blood to surge into it, yet the fight within my mind saw the other half of the personality, the conscience, fight back, remonstrating that this was not perhaps the best thing to do for reasons not concluded, and my cock began to lose its hardness once more.

The manipulative within acknowledged this and reasserted control. The gentle but fairly rapid hand-patting resumed to a state where I was semi-erect, not massively so, but enough so that he, very familiar with every inch of my body, would very much know I was ‘ready’ when he entered the room.

Suddenly, the door opened. Within seconds, it was evident that he needed no further invitation and was soon inspecting his submissive with his eyes and hands. As before, hands wandered, caressing the rounds of my evidently popular and, well shaped bum cheeks, reaching between my legs to teasingly stroke my cock, balls and perineum, firmly tweaking nipples and brushing the palms of his hands across my chest, as I lustfully accepted being used as he saw fit.

Clearly aroused himself, he didn’t need me to undo his belt and jeans. His boxers were also soon down to allow his hard cock to spring to attention and he guided his body close in front of me. Momentarily, I celebrated being so sufficiently erect, but briefly reflected and compared back to the many occasions over many years that the heterosexual within took issue with any such need and applied pressure to stop it from happening.

My self-declared bi-curious status had, over the years, been developed though, not always of my own making, and I was concluding that I was instead, at least with this man, (other opportunities having yet to present themselves to judge the reaction) accepting myself as ever more bisexual.

In the heat of the moment, something within briefly sparked that this behaviour was somehow not ideal, not right, not what typified the first 40 odd years of my life, my sexuality and my relationship. It was more than a little ‘closing the stable door long after the horse had bolted’ in my timeline of sexual development though anyway.

The situation before me – a naked and vulnerable sub – meant that any such thoughts were quickly dismissed as not part of the moment, as this man continued doing what he had actually been doing for a number of years – gleaning the nature of action and conversation and determining steps to take as time passed – gradually developing me, slowly, surely, consentingly, to be his willing toy, his project.

Allow me to digress.

Those conversations over the years had caused me to open up, awaken sexually, declaring the extents of my interests or curiosities. Years of activity, (including my unbeknown to him crossdressing and chastity), plus declaration and willingness for taking anal when in his company, had made him aware and helping him to plot his course with his sub.

An increasing willingness, eagerness and desire to suck [his] cock had developed over time, the potential for him to involve me with others of my own choosing, to let him use my increasing liking for anal, to be regularly finger fucked and, on one occasion, fucked with my own dildo which had, at one appointment, been sneaked in to a bag on the off-chance, but a chance that presented it self after declaring during the session that a) I liked it, b) I did it and c) that the toy was in the room. I remember how much he relished the moment, the euphoria of learning something else about his project, and for the opportunity to arise.

Some time ago, years ago I’d say, and probably after some intense playtime, he said that he would fuck me given the opportunity. (At one point in history there was a reference to a condom in a discussion of some sort and a question as to whether I had one – but I didn’t. Had I have had one, who knows what would have happened)

It seemed almost throwaway, a theory, an ideology but at the time, an impossibility. I remember theorising that I’d want to use protection which he quite obviously agreed with. There had been intense moments of intimacy as my relationship with him grew ever closer that I made some borderline insulting, vague, wishy washy wish to be “safe” without really explaining myself very well back then. It matters little. I am now where I am in the greater scheme of things.

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, close proximity, body to body, cock to cock. As before, I led with the frotting, cocks gripped as one. There were brushing embraces throughout, as close to a kiss as possible without there being one, warm loving embraces as the cocks were worked.

The vivid imagination within relished at the actuality being played out, me taking a ‘power bottom’ role, holding two hard cocks together. Suddenly, I drew away from the embrace as pre-cum started to ooze.

In the silence, punctuated only by the soft music, we both began feeding off the cum as it seeped out, taking it in turns to draw it to mouth, appreciating the consistency and flavour and wanting more. I would not disappoint as the pent up semen slowly flowed from my highly stimulated cock. He spoke briefly, whisper-like, to tell me how good my cum tasted. I agreed breathlessly and seductively as we continued to take turns to sweep the cum away with a finger and draw it to mouth for some minutes. At one point, I thought he was going to feed me, but instead, he continued to taste, or lubricated his cock with my semen instead.

There was to be no opportunity for me to suck his cock on this occasion. This wasn’t part of the plan.

He ushered me to the other side of the treatment table – closer to the cream and oils and directly in front of the mirror – and broke off briefly to get some cream before returning to our close embrace for more frotting from me, allowing him to reach round, cream me up and begin soundly finger fucking me, both of us intently and lustfully watching in the mirror.

At the last appointment, I remembered bending over allowing him and inviting him more access to more soundly and deeply finger fuck me. This time, I was in front of the mirror in close proximity, and found myself turning away from it and bending over the treatment table. The signal I gave him by bending over was not interpreted in the same way as it had been before.

Though there was not much room, he moved sideways in between my available, hot, ready and lubricated behind and the mirror. I felt his cock sitting between and being rubbed around my bum cheeks. Something was telling me what was coming and I seemed powerless and unwilling to stop it. His cock tip probed the outer rim of my hole and briefly pressed – almost by way of a test or dare. He momentarily withdrew as if something was holding him back, but the withdrawal was only short.

His hands took a grip on my hips for leverage and he pushed inside me. Bareback. No condom, no protection.

For the first time, other than my own use of a dildo, with which I had total control, my anal virginity was broken in an instant. The moment I never thought would and could ever happen – was happening.

I was – finally – after all the years of experimenting, alluding to being trained but with the actual act having previously been thought never to happen and instead it being more like roleplay – being fucked by a real cock. In a moment of apparent disbelief, I asked him, even though I knew intently, whether he was fucking me. He confirmed with a brief, breathy, lustful, carnal “Yes”.

Now, he could have taken great offence at the inference that his cock was not big enough for me to feel it, but there was no offence taken. The opportunity presented to him to do something he’d yearned for over a number of years was right there before him. His conquest. The confirmation of the act from him was a carte blanc for the rhythm, pace and thrusts to increase. I was happy to be taken. There was nothing in the world beyond the door from the room – nothing. This was the world in those intensely erotic moments.

I gave myself further by uttering the words “Finally” or “At last” (I don’t remember which now!) as if telling him it was about time he fucked me and perhaps questioning why it had taken him so long. I was in fact, telling myself that this really was happening and began pushing back to relish being properly fucked and willingly taking his cock – AND bareback! As if it needed confirming, I also confidently extolled that he was breaking me in and taking my virginity, confirming that I was his trophy and perhaps, now, his fuck toy, not just his toy.

I was in ecstasy but in another way, some form of both partial denial and partial acceptance.

Given the chance, I would have just allowed him to carry on fucking me for as long as he wanted and how he wanted. The real reason I was there paled into insignificance. I just wanted him to fuck my tight but eager, open hole and dismiss my virginity thoroughly beyond doubt. I merely became a fuck toy and lost track of the environment around me, dismissing my life outside completely.

He had already told me as he fucked me how tight I was. Had I have still been covertly cross-dressing and doing anal at home, as had been the case until March 2020, I might have been more receptive and an easier, looser fuck.

I could have clenched tightly around him, but it was not about me. It was about him fucking me.

After some minutes, he told me that I was so tight, I was making him want to cum inside me. I suggested that neither of us wanted that and he agreed, yet in the darkest recesses of my mind, I did want to be filled and to hell with any consequences. But, anyway, I had been a tight fuck that pushed all of his buttons. I relished the moment. He pulled out and erupted all over the floor, hot cum splattering in all directions.

The euphoria of having given myself to him and of being virginally fucked and broken in meant that I too brought myself off, the same small area of flooring littered with two warm, creamy, impassioned loads of semen.

With that, after a sufficient clean up, I assumed the position, face down n the treatment table, cum continuing to leak from my cock, my ass, freshly fucked. Within minutes, it was as if nothing had just happened, chit chat and pleasantries etc. prevailing. and afterwards, I nonchalantly left to contemplate over the coming hours and days what had just happened and that my next appointment was to be soon.

And I’m still contemplating. Can I now not be a fuck toy? Was that I one off? It seems impossible to think that way. How can that possibly be? Where does it go from here? What impact will it have on my life? What precautions should I now need to take to remain comfortable and, to my satisfaction psychologically, safe? What inferences am I making that he is not safe? It seems rude and judgemental, yet equally rational to even think about it, less talk about it.

I aim to go with the flow though and there has been plenty of that. I am satisfactorily and somewhat smugly, no longer an ass virgin (Mistress IS happy but wants me filled with cum now) and after contemplating the error of my ways and worrying probably unnecessarily over possible consequences for a few days , am now anticipating being fucked again. Soon.