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.

The trials and tribulations of a crossdresser — July 19, 2022

The trials and tribulations of a crossdresser

This blog entry is about a facet of my crossdressing that I’ve often thought about yet been unable to satisfactorily attend to over all the years – more a case of, ‘make do and mend’ and, at the risk of sending you recoiling in horror and disgust, I’m about to broach the subject.

Laundering lingerie.

Now, I’m not a dirty, filthy so and so, in fact, I’m quite the opposite. If I am going to pull on my lingerie, it has to be very coordinated and tidy and it always bothers me when, after I’ve taken what I think are good photos – often deleting and retaking the same shot for minutes on end – I find a twisted strap or suspender adjusters that aren’t level with each other.

But, for those that live alone and are able to indulge at will, this isn’t (I assume) an issue – there will most likely be a washing machine and other similar appliances to hand or at the very least, a sink or two and the consumables to carry out the job in hand.

As a necessarily deeply closeted crossdresser with a history concluded to date back to at least 2005, the ability to satisfactorily launder has been slim to non-existent. I mean, you can’t JUST put things through a cycle in the washing machine, wait for it to finish and then try and dry it at leisure, as, conventionally, there just isn’t the time and opportunity, however, I do recall the odd time when thongs have been washed, hung in the back of a cupboard in the man cave to dry, before being secreted back in the drawer I should never have been in.

Items from the wardrobe I should never have been in have been worn, and returned from whence they came after a very short time of use when I was home alone – those outfits never did lend themselves to use all day whilst at work whilst underdressed anyway.

After the resumption of dressing last month – over two years since I was regularly indulging five days a week at the office for up to 12 hours a day – I am now restricted as to what I can do to prepare, store secretly and have to hand for the odd office working days, hybrid working very much a thing in our household as a result of the pandemic. The only value that I could attach to going back to working in the office full time is that I could resume dressing, plugging and locking in chastity every day, just like old times.

My little convenient rolling hidey-hole stash can be changed when an opportunity arises for me to access my remotely hidden lock box of all of my treasured kink-based possessions, but I have to have the right opportunity and the time to put back, take out etc. Needless to say, I now carry my plugs and chastity devices with me irrespective of what lingerie has been prepared.

Currently, I am limited to what lingerie I can wear in the height of Summer, but it will be nice to wear a few other, long since unused outfits as the seasons change – but ‘beggars can’t be choosers’ so goes the phrase.

Having worn a lovely little white lace three piece outfit plus stockings for a ‘comfortable temperature’ working day last week, it occurred to me somewhere along the way, that it really would benefit from a freshen up. Being so long a resident in the closet, I have learned to be a constant strategist, working out how I can crossdress, when I can crossdress and when I need to return to ‘civvies’ as I call it, so a plan was hatched to find an opportunity to indulge.

In the days that followed, and finding myself home alone earlier this week, I took a break from working at home, deposited the thong, bralette, suspender belt and stockings into the bathroom sink, and, using some soap, began a thorough scrub, rub, wring and repeat on everything. Stage 1 accomplished, I was able to utilise the time to drape the garments over the top of the stairs, the hosiery drying almost by itself in the warmth of the current British heatwave, but the other items needed more attention.

I didn’t have much time, knowing that I would not be home alone for much longer, so, for Stage 2, I reached for a hair dryer and, finding a door hook to hang them on, grabbed one end and worked through everything before returning it to the storage bag ready for, either, the next use, or the opportunity to swap it out for something else from the lock box of kink treasures for the next office work day.

The trials and tribulations of a (closeted) crossdresser. But that’s not all.

This week, I finally overcame a trial that I set myself by default a few years ago after purchasing a new, pink holy trainer chastity device. I am somewhat of an complulsive impulsive, so when I get something new, I want to try it on or use it ASAP, even if it is only as a taster ahead of something more tangible.

Imagine my disappointment then, when, all those years ago, the package was opened, but upon attempting to wear the new device, I found that the ring did not fit flush with the sheath. This wasn’t something that, given my closeted situation, I could easily or wanted to send back. Ever the strategist, I set about trying to correct the issue but ultimately, incorrectly and without success on any occasion when an attempt was made.

I soon DM’d the company, who, to their credit, replied stating that it just needed putting in very hot then very cold water, holding it together in the meantime for the cold to then keep the shape. Again, attempts failed and the device was, for convenience, resigned to storage, a project for another day, only, the urge to lock up in a working device along with the daily lingerie and plug of Mistress’ choice meant it was always a project for tomorrow.

It was only whilst taking some time out to scroll back through my DMs a while back that I came across that reply, which sowed a proverbial seed, and set an equally proverbial ‘note to self’.

Within the last week, a ‘home alone’ opportunity allowed the determination and the availability of the device to have another go. A massive note of caution had been set against this device, on an ongoing basis, as, of course, the last thing I wanted was to lock myself in it, but not be able to get myself out of it without a lot of amateur DIY at the risk of embarrassing and exposing hospitalisation, or very much the same anyway.

The sheath was fitted into the ring, and both parts went under the hot water tap of the same sink utilised to recently launder my lingerie, every sinew of the fingers used being strained to clench things tight together before plunging them under a cold tap promptly and lock the shape, trying not to suffer burns or frostbite respectively!

The trials and tribulations of a (closeted) crossdresser weren’t done on this occasion though. With the device off my body, in went the lock, and out again, key removed, put back in, removed again, repeatedly for minutes like a machine might test something for durability. On occasion, the key felt like it was stuck, and another, it seemed like the key was bent. Again, fears of being locked in the device with the key snapped within rang at full pelt.

The compulsive within fought with the situation to persist and find a solution. The machine-like attempts continued for a good few minutes. The average of those many attempts was deemed more a success than failure, and so, with care and attention to ensure the rough edges of this fairly cheap device didn’t cause injury to my cock or balls, I carefully fitted this never-before-worn pink chastity device, locked it and removed the key. Inside my head, I needed assurance that it could be removed quickly, and attempted an unlocking.

After a panic, a fumble and a brief utterance of an appropriate swear word, the lock came out much to my immediate relief. I locked up again, convinced all was well, and walked around the house on a break from work or sat at my desk for a while, naked but in this tight fitting device, shorter than my trusty white one, but, as it turned out, just as short as my see-through device. I reveled in the feeling of being more restricted and denied, but eventually reasoned that it was about time to ensure things were put away again. I took a photo for posterity, sharing it on line of course, removed the chastity device, and resumed my naked-only working from home time, satisfied that I now had four working devices to choose from, or, perhaps allow Mistress to choose from for the next office day.

There was just one problem. Upon reviewing the photo, I could see that there was a gap in the fitting between ring and sheath through which the inserted lock could be seen. The perfectionist within cursed, vowing to try that hot/cold water routine next time, and ensure maximum secure fitting, to avoid those fears of being inadvertently locked in, becoming an unwanted reality.

The trials and tribulations of a (closeted) crossdresser…

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.

Come to think about it — June 17, 2022

Come to think about it

You know the signs. Those signs you get – early ones – that you’re starting with a cold. The symptoms start very gently – then – bang – it is a snot and cough fest.

I wasn’t going to just sit there and take it, so I instantly began dosing myself up, to fight the bloody thing from the outset and send it packing as soon as physically possible. You name it – I was probably taking it – well, not quite, but you know what I mean.

It was time for another retro pic post on my Twitter page, and on this occasion, it just happened to be from a session when I’d been in a new French Maid outfit – a session in which I had locked myself in a clear chastity device, and had pulled out the dildo and the camera phone, stuck the former to the bathroom tiles, laid the camera screen facing up on the bath edge, straddled it, and filmed around half an hour of taking it – all – up and down, in and out, deep and shallow.

The stimuli of the ‘cock in ass’ imagery ignited an inextinguishable spark and when an opportunity presented itself home alone, I contemplated how kink could be explored in the available time.

Dressed in a t-shirt and jogging bottoms, the 6″ dildo was strategically extracted, lubed up and inserted, firstly on the closed toilet seat to ride, then quickly, doggy, on the tiles, as before, echoing the archive pic.

Again, the camera filmed but in stark contrast to the imagery that set the spark – no lingerie, no hosiery, no chastity, driven solely by the need to feel penetration.

After around ten minutes of arguable prostate stimulation, the urge to cum was too powerful and, as the camera filmed from below, I obscured the shot by cupping a hand under my cock as I brought myself off by hand. I came long and hard, jets of thick, creamy, pent up semen powering out in bursts, flooding a cupped palm but with fingers not tightly together, allowing some to drip through to pool on to the edge of the bath as I straddled it with the dildo still firmly embedded deep within me.

Though enjoyable to one extent, post euphoria of orgasm, I then couldn’t seem to get off the dildo quickly enough but with the need to take care, made a steady withdrawal before cleaning up, returning the dildo to safe storage and carrying on with the chores of the day as if nothing had happened.

There was a sense of relief at eventually completing the clear up but also an acknowledgement of the reasons why full time subs are kept locked up. They can’t reach that same exact point of orgasm and can only, if permitted, be ruined which does not have the same effect that hand relief does.

For me, and this has long been the case, I can be without orgasm for a long time, for whatever reason and be quite OK with that. It keeps my submissive levels and interest and eagerness for all things kink at its highest and usually ever heightening for longer.

Orgasm can lead to the complete opposite – disinterest for any given period of time. Interestingly though, this time around, the period of disinterest was much shorter and this is a pattern I’ve noticed of late.

Of equal interest is that when in my own period of solo play, I can feel that abject level of disinterest instantly but when I’ve been, say, at the salon, where orgasm is usually the end product after a long period of submissive sex of some sort, I remain submissive and fully immersed and interested in my kinks. Satisfactorily used it seems.

There is one other thing to add. After my early week self indulgence, and having been feeling under the weather, I took a lateral flow test which gave a positive result.

I’m sure that you agree with me that, when you’re ill, you go into 100% self preservation mode, concentrating on getting better and having been taking plenty of meds, there has been a rapid improvement of conditions day by day and, again, the mindset has turned back to kinks, Twitter and blog updates.

There is, however, just one fact remaining – a way to stop – or at the very least, delay all of my indulgences from taking hold – come to think about it.

Needs must. — June 7, 2022

Needs must.

The way I’ve seen it, the way I’ve thought about it and the way I’ve written about it, the last two years and three months have, by and large, been seen as the bringing about of a full stop to the ability to cross dress. Domestic circumstances have quite simply, not permitted it to any degree whatsoever.

“That was it”, I mused. It was good while it lasted. I’d had a good run going back an estimated sixteen years. I shouldn’t be disappointed and I’m not.

However, being resigned to the fact led to provisional thoughts of something I said that I would never do again – purge – but this time, for good, irrespective of the consequences because there was no perceived way back.

The method and timing of that purge had not been formulated in my head. I didn’t really give it much thought at all though.

Ever the analyst, ever the strategist, I had long been working out ways to indulge in cross dressing and my other kinks but the sheer impact of the pandemic on just about everything in life meant that there was absolutely no opportunity whatsoever to find a way back, or perhaps that should be ‘forward’. You get what I’m saying.

Even hybrid working, having the very occasional days in the work place didn’t seem to offer any opportunity as a basis to any strategy.

The majority of my kinks were silenced – but there have been three constants throughout since that fateful day when we were all told so clearly that we “must stay at home” – Twitter, my blog and the salon.

Twitter has seen in excess of 200 flashback posts of old, previously posted pics but I had then run out of them and felt that I had no excuse to post old pics under another header without looking a bit naff and a bit desperate perhaps.

I naively asked my followers to answer a poll – something I don’t normally do. The silence was deafening. The votes were low in number and indecisive so with the poll deleted having not really given enough time for responses anyway, the new series of old pics started – my own personal favourites from the hundreds of pics stored secretly.

Twitter has been the mainstay – the only real direct link to kinks since the pandemic struck in March 2020. Without it, all of those decisions on a final clear out might have been made far sooner and far more decisively.

My blog hasn’t been that active until late. I had to resort to catch up blog entries at one point because even talking about my kinks was difficult as nothing was really happening but it has, and continues to be a crutch on which to lean with absolutely no one else to confide in.

I haven’t even confided fully on all aspects of my kinks whilst at the salon where the ability to even go there for body waxing was stopped for a time anyway because of how the pandemic affected those doing business.

But, time there did resume and frequency of visits increased again, and then more so because of need. But aspects and development of my kinks have been nurtured there, inner sexuality brought to the fore, boundaries broken, new ones found and broken again, learning new things about who I am, what I would be prepared to do, submissiveness allowing myself to be taken forward and to be led.

I suppose it is this aspect of kink that has kept a very dimly lit flame alive within and then allowed it to be fuelled. Bear me with. This is a deep analogy.

I have recently been sexually reignited – the extent of which has even been to my surprise. Whilst I had once accepted my crossdressing time was up and that it wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing, a more settled society and life, combined with being sexually but consentually developed at the salon has, somehow reignited the flame to burn ever more fiercely, strongly and brightly without really fully understanding why and how. I’ve just been going with it – whatever ‘it’ is.

Somehow, fuelled, undoubtedly, by visual stimuli and my many sexual experiences, there has been the largely uncontrollable urge carrying me towards a partial resumption of cross dressing, anal play and chastity.

I reasoned that I would have to wait for the ‘right time’, to get to and open up my lock box in marginal time home alone. The strategist within returned to paying close attention to dynamics and domestics. Where would everyone be? When? For how long? Could I do what needed to be done and was it worth the risk?

There have already been instances where things haven’t worked out and there will be many more – the circumstances that allow opening that box up can be, much to my inner frustration, fluid and influenced and affected by a myriad of situations beyond my control.

I have not been deterred though and I have simply played the waiting game for the next opportunity to come around, fraught by the risk of failure nevertheless.

One opportunity allowed the ‘try on’ of all but one of my chastity devices for a few minutes at a time, by way of a ‘tester’ but having taken a few pics, things were quickly returned to the lock box which had clearly shown its other, burgeoning contents to me.

Another opportunity arose, home alone. I had planned a black four piece outfit I would recover, as well as the chastity device and with the aim to bring out my three sizes of plugs that I had previously dabbled with a few weeks before, to give myself options.

I was home alone for two hours and dressed, locked and plugged, taking pics and taking around 8 minutes of video before sitting at my office desk and doing something mundane, but I was like a coiled spring throughout.

Every noise from a passing car was checked in case there was a need for emergency procedures to be invoked, the plan already hatched. A check confirmed that the ‘others‘ were in fact, in a cafe in town so would not be home anytime soon. I relaxed to better enjoy the opportunity that had been presented to me, and reflected on how contented I felt – a very intimate and deeply rooted feeling not experienced since March 2020.

I had clearly set the boundaries and reluctantly acknowledged when it was time to unlock, unplug and undress, feeling better about things because that very process was part of preparation to dress, lock and plug again for the office days ahead and with a plan hatched to await the next opportunity to swap things around in the lock box, to change outfit and chastity device for future instances.

My timing was perfect. Within a fairly short space of time after I had done what had to be done with the lingerie and sex toys, and having resumed the same mundane home office tasks, the ‘others’ returned. As they arrived I verbally praised myself for having timed things to perfection.

Today, as I write, (during a break) I am dressed in that very outfit again for work, plugged and locked very tightly in a white holy trainer chastity device acutely aware of my servitude to Mistress who is aware of and evidently approves of my return from the post on Fiona’s social media account.

My spirit to submit and serve is very strong right now and the motivation is high but being owned does not come for free and, although it has not been requested by Mistress, I am now proactively looking at ways to covertly tribute my Domme on the same terms that were necessarily left behind in March 2020 and since.

To conclude, right now, I am at what is probably the highest and most motivated and submissive state that I have ever been in.

At the moment, practically nothing is stopping me from pushing on with resumed crossdressing plans. Additionally, I am anticipating my next salon appointment more for the purposes of offering my naked body for sex and how I might be used rather than having my body waxed even though the latter is important for compliance and presentation as a sub and for my own well-being.

But there is an overarching tinge to all of this. Guilt. I’ve not missed that one bit in the last two years because, to all intents and purposes, everything had stopped. In the life that everyone closest to me sees me in, I play the proverbial poker face, the average bloke, the (genuinely) loving partner, blending in with the societal norms etc.

I have long since suffered with elements of guilt over my kinks, especially from the confines of the closet but whilst I do not let them affect things, it is the psychological effect that concerns me and how I could, unintentionally, let that poker face drop somehow and that would lead to a multitude of awkward questions and bucket loads of denial that anything was “wrong” when, in fact, everything is somehow right in my mind.

I know that you might say “As long as no one is getting hurt” it is OK. It is an age old issue for me though because my crossdressing in lingerie goes back some 16 years now. Nothing has therefore changed in that respect then.

Fiona is, very suddenly, back – needs must.

Thanks for reading. I’d very much like to read your thoughts and comments below.

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.