A hard edge

I was away on holiday and enjoying some hot sunshine. The weather along with feeling generally horny over my kinks led to me sleeping naked.

Night after night, I would be awake or half asleep, on my side, one hand firmly pinching a nipple or cupping my clean shaven cock and balls.

One night, I woke up horny and found myself hardening up through various trains of thought fuelled by a vivid imagination and lots of interaction and sexting on line, including with a BBC who opened up dialogue on Fetlife plus a return to Fabswingers after my regular cock suggested that I needed to suck more cock and swallow more cum than just his.

The whole ‘meets’ thing is a whole different blog entry. Where was I? Ah, yes, holiday, naked, bed, hard.

In my semi slumberous state, I vowed to get and then remain hard but otherwise denied, by pulling my foreskin back fully and holding it there.

I had previously discovered the ability to ruin from a cock pump which generated the same state.

On this occasion though, I was firmly holding my foreskin back whilst snoozing but conscious of my erect state. I told myself that I must remain hard and tightly edged as some sort of conditioning.

The extent of the hard edge varied as I entered a deeper sleep before coming back out of it to force the edge again further.

After a while, laying on one side and with cum slut training putting me on high alert for any available semen, I realised that some pre-cum was oozing out.

With one hand still firmly and tightly holding the full and hard edge, foreskin being fully stretched back and some, the other hand was utilised to touch and tease the shaft and frenulum and was also used to quietly sweep the pre-cum up and bring to mouth. It was savoured.

Again and again, my sleep state grappled with my awake state to drag me down and in, but the submissive was forcing the edge. I turned over with the taste of my pre-cum still so very evident in my mouth.

Somehow, internal alarm bells started ringing, warning of a hard edged ruined orgasm but the sleep state was allowing me to lose control of my ability to read the signs whilst one hand continued to hold the foreskin back.

Alerts in my brain began to occupy the mind that I might cum the longer the edge was held and the hard edge had been held for what felt like a good 30-45 minutes with the aim to go longer but ultimately to be denied, kept as a horny slut bottom.

Again, the warning signs of impending orgasm in the dead of night, in a king sized holiday apartment bed (with my significant other sleeping about three rolls over) rang out and took over.

Suddenly, I was conscious that I was shooting a heavy load, powerful spurts jetting into the hand that had, with total futility, been cupped underneath my cock as it continued to spurt jet after jet of edged semem.

When the orgasm finished, I lay there on my side, in the dead of night, hand still cupped under my retreating cock, in a state of semi panic, planning the next move to clean up the cum soaked scene that could not be seen.

It must have been a good few minutes before I dragged myself to the toilet and switched the light on to see the entire palm of the previously cupped hand and my left thigh glistening with cum.

Like an obedient cum slut, I licked my hand clean before contemplating what the situation would be on the bottom sheet.

Upon returning to the bed, I was met with a massive wet patch of cum which I decided could stay there to risk the potential questions of the morning.

I lay awake for a few minutes contemplating the possibilities before drifting off to sleep.

Morning broke to reveal nothing by way of evidence but my interests in elements related to kink seemed to diminish for a day or two.

When I do cum – and that isn’t very often – my ongoing sexual conditioning means the period of disinterest is ever shortening before I am back ready.

But this time, I was readying myself for something I’ve never done before – my first ever meet – as a bull my age learnt about my interest in cock on fabswingers and courted me for opportunities to swallow his load…

I had a dream last night…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn you subconscious state.

Getting to the bottom of things

NSFW
I have enjoyed two sessions at the salon in quick succession to ensure that I am completely body waxed smooth – a point in my life at which I am the absolute most contented, and, even though that state doesn’t last very long, as hair growth pushes back through again, I have, admittedly, over the last few weeks, noted a slow down in growth on certain parts of my body, which I hope remains the case.

Last week, I was available for use as sub to my self-described male mentor, in between periods of waxing, servicing his cock over a sustained period, him having to keep himself fully aware of agreed ‘safe words’ along the way because of my ever more intense cum and cock hungry nature.

Having reached a point historically whereby he was, I’m sure, booking more time for appointments, and at key parts of the day where play and sex could be more prominent, and more time was available without being disturbed, it has now reached a point where he is stating quite clearly that he is doing that because of the nature of the service that his protege gives him. This man has, with my fullest consent, trained his product up, brought out its inner sexuality, its true desires, its abilities, its darkest secrets and helped it smash through barrier, after barrier, after barrier.

Sex is becoming ever more intense, closer, more erotic, more protracted, more overt, more sexual, more intimate, deeper, for longer, more lustful, more craved, with more hunger and I continue to open up when naked in his company.

The latest appointment saw me do the usual. It has long since NOT been the case where I will simply undress and stretch out on the treatment table for waxing to commence. Although this is what will ultimately happen, I will, instead, stand, ready. Sex is now the focus, waxing is a necessary distraction.

My body is naturally checked as to what needs doing, but this has moved from being a necessity for that reason alone, to instantly getting to grips with his ever more willing, naked and available sub.

Nevertheless, I had ultimately stretched out for him to begin working on, the need to wax my legs requiring me to open them, my limp, but now eternally smooth cock and my recently smoothed bum and hole spotlighted in plain view. Like a teasing slut, I determined that I would let him move my legs into a straight position in the event he needed to do so before quickly returning them to the open position as soon as possible. Again, as he worked, he whispered words of approval as to how good the imagery looked from his stand point, my hands behind my head so that he could wax underarms too as he worked , the more my body was waxed smooth, the more openly submissive I became.

His body would occasionally need to be pushed up against me as he reached over the treatment table, and, once I’d moved my arms to the side of my body, was able to feel his hardening cock as I continued to tease him with my provocative body positioning, beginning to more intently rub his crotch.

He continued to work on removing the last vestiges of hair on my body at this time, applying cream and lubricating his subject up, hands passing across my upper torso, across my nipples, my ever more smooth state increasing my state of overall arousal and submission, grazing his hands between my legs, across my hole and perineum. He said that, professionally, he should be seeking consent in such a situation but I said I was there to be used, and that he could help himself as was the unspoken understanding.

He then asked me to flip over on to my front to wax the back of my legs. He had, again, somehow, removed his trousers and this time, his underwear, not through the Summer heat, because of the sexual heat which was beginning to simmer in the room. Up on my elbows, I was scanning my outer range of vision to my side, looking for signs of his erect cock under his T-shirt and any naked flesh. Waxing was complete. Cream was to be applied. I seductively gave my smooth waxed bum the odd wiggle and eventually rose up on to all fours, but head down to kiss and suck the tip of his cock which was pointing up at me. His cock tip was teeming with wet, glistening, sweet tasting pre-cum and, as a result, I lost focus on how he was using me otherwise as his cock came ever further into focus. I was so very hungry for his cock.

Soon, I had laid down on my side and gorged on his length, up and down, slow, steady movements, deep throating on regular occasions, pulling back his foreskin to kiss and suck his frenulum, tonguing his pre-cum soaked slit, one hand reaching around to grab a smooth bum cheek, the other, cupping and gently playing with his balls, seeking to make and occasionally making eye contact with him, on the moments when his head was not rolled back in pleasure. He was occasionally reaching down to masturbate my flaccid cock, or reach around to finger fuck my hole, me scissoring my free leg open every now again, completely submissive, completely open, completely there to be used, his fingers loudly patting my hole from time to time to open me up further.

My cock service was unrelenting, my hunger to suck it, insatiable. His pleasure was evident as he relished being served so determinedly, so continuously. I remember him saying that he must get some more cocks for me and I hungrily muttered a response of approval as I worked.

Aware of the need to finish off select parts of my waxing treatment, he did something else that he’d never done before – standing me up to wax the top of my chest, me pinned up against the side of the treatment table. With the task in hand done, he applied some cream before drawing in close, my body being his to use as he saw fit, or how it was offered to him. We were intimately close, our bodies almost entwined, on the cusp of a passionate kiss, yet my head was dropped low to watch him use me, nipples firmly tweaked and body caressed. Without word, after one of my hands had been gripping and gently playing with his cock, he beckoned me to frot us both, which I duly did so for a minute or two.

Sex between us was getting more intense than it had ever done before, lust completely enveloping us both, me there to be used, to serve. I lifted his T-shirt and began playing with his nipples whilst I was still pinned, standing, to the side of the treatment table.

My mind seemed hell-bent on turning around, yet I seemed to hesitate for a minute or two. But. ultimately, this was something that I was going to do and I slowly, seductively, and anticipatedly turned around to bend over the treatment table. I was eager, willing and there to be fucked and he was unable to resist after I had seemingly pressed all of his buttons. His cock was like a moth to a flame and having added copious amounts of any cream he could reach on the stand to his side, he positioned himself and took me from behind.

In my recent home play session where I had ruined from anal from a 6″ dildo for the first time, I had resorted to chastisement, calling myself a number of ‘names’. With the hustle and bustle of the rest of the business outside the treatment room, I breathily and quietly implored him to “Fuck me“, and that I just needed fucking.

He fucked me, everything played out in the full length mirror in front of us, his hands on my hips, his body thrusting again and again in and out of my willing, wet hole, me backing onto his cock with every thrust, feeling his length open me up over and over again. My carnal lust was overflowing, a fuck slut in total submission, being pounded, again and again. I uttered the phrases “cock slut” and “cum slut” as I had done in my first ever private ruin session at home a few weeks previously and that I just needed to fucked but whilst he seemed to partially object to the dirty talk, and uttered something or other than I didn’t get in my fuck slut haze, he wasn’t deterred and continued to fuck me rapidly.

After a short while, he withdrew for a moment, paused, reapplied some more lubrication, and guided himself back into me again before resuming pounding his property, his hole, his bottom, his toy, yet to be probed by other cocks, but soon, it seemed, very much for it at his behest. Again and again, he drove in and out of me, all the time, me as the fuck slut bottom watching in the mirror working with every thrust, and simply insatiably taking it until he had to pull out again, this time, having come the closest ever to filling me with his load, and telling me he had been very close, something that had not happened to date.

Somewhat flippantly, and without any real clarity, as I turned around, I said that “it” had to happen at some point, but what I meant was, more generally, i.e., that someone would have to start filling me with their load at some point, but there was no time for clarity to be asserted. In my mind, I reached out briefly to my darkest fantasy to be repeatedly filled, both ends, with load after load from alpha cocks.

My mind was still hungry for semen, but also for serving his cock but this lust-infused session showed no signs of slowing. He perched on the edge of the treatment table with his legs spread. Without hesitation, I went ass to mouth on his cock, the taste of the oils and creams instantly picked up in my mouth as I went back down on him, kneeling on the floor before him, cock being sucked, eye contact being made, again, when his head was not rolling back with pleasure. Again, every possible method was applied to service his cock, and after a few minutes, he pulled out of my mouth and began masturbating.

I momentarily licked his cock tip as he worked and hungrily hung my open mouth below it, whispering, almost pleading to him not to miss and to shoot his load straight down my throat. Then, clearly about to cum, he appealed to me to suck him slowly. Naturally, I complied. Within a few seconds, his creamy load poured into my mouth as I continued to work up and down his shaft, remembering, this time, to pool his semen within, holding it, savouring the texture and flavour, but I did feel a quantity of his heavy load slip down my throat whilst I held the rest of the contents as they continued to empty from his ejaculating cock, before I finally and very satisfactorily swallowed the lot down into the pit of my stomach. Then, came the breathily uttered, and recognised safe word – he was, again, totally spent yet I had demonstrated a hunger for more where there was little more to be found.

Naturally though, I withdrew, but not before licking the last remnants of his load from his cock tip.

Still entirely full of cum hungry lust and sex craved, I told him how much of a “fucking hot and tasty load” it was, the almost gritted teethed insatiably filthy whisper, clearly demonstrating how much I had enjoyed it, before slipping down to sit on the floor, my legs folded beneath me. I was still in a cum and fuck fuelled haze and began masturbating my mostly flaccid cock until I came heavily into a cupped hand, only a small amount falling away between my folded legs beneath.

I was aware that he was tearing up the paper sheet from the treatment table and using it to clean himself up. As I came, I was aware of him standing very tight up, close behind me, lovingly helping and nurturing his sub to climax, stroking my head with a hand and pulling my head back to his legs as he towered dominantly above me, whilst acknowledging with delight how heavy my load had been.

But at the same time, I felt that he was also preparing to pass me some shredded paper towel to blot up the load that had spilled into my hand but I was having none of it, and instantly brought the cupped hand to mouth and swallowed a second load, the only drop cleaned up otherwise with the paper towel being the one that had dropped to the floor between my legs.

The carnal lust-fuelled haze seemed to lift from me fairly swiftly after that, but not before he told me, again, that there was money to be had in my cock sucking skills and that, although he had experienced a number of blow jobs, none came close to those I perform on him.

He continued to revel in the service he had been given. I smugly apologised for having to send him home to his partner in such a drained state.

For a minute or two, as some minor clean ups continued, I modestly rebuffed his high praise stating that, I had no other cock sucking experience, only that of sucking his cock for the last five years, and that, whilst I am well read as a person and tend to soak up certain information like a sponge, what I was doing was simply just what I was doing. He continued to offer what he clearly felt was due praise, then left me to dress and join him at reception, slightly unsteady on his feet, of slightly more years than my own having had need for the safe word.

I was soon dressed whilst reveling, smugly, in what had just happened, proud that my hole was freshly fucked, and with the taste of two loads of semen nestling in my stomach and lingering in my mouth and throat, yet, somehow, I just still wanted more, without rationalising either how or when.

Joining him at the reception desk outside, he remained unsteady from being serviced. We had certainly got to the bottom of things, and, booking appointments ahead, he made sure that there would be plenty of time for those sessions to get to the bottom of things again, next time around.

All of that, and he STILL doesn’t know about my lingerie crossdressing and chastity – more revelations for another time.

Getting intense

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Revelations

Another body waxing appointment was hugely anticipated and, as usual, I was counting the days and then hours – a reflection of how much of a major part they are in my life for my well being as well as my sexual development.

As it turned out, he was also anticipant of my arrival. As usual, I arrived early, every stride increasing the anticipation of what might happen.

On arrival, he – my self described mentor – sprung out of his chair, hailing my arrival and stating that he was thinking that he could do with me turning up, and there I was!

He ushered me into the treatment room and left me to it for a few minutes. Hot late Summer weather meant I was soon naked though, shorts, a T-shirt and sandals being my only items of clothing.

In my naked state, I calmly paced around the treatment table for a few minutes, anticipating his entrance, briefly checking myself in the full length mirror and equally briefly, splaying my bum cheeks for some reason.

He was soon back with me, the veil for what lay ahead being in the form of checking my body to establish what needed waxing on this occasion, but taking full advantage of my naked, ready, willing and available state of use.

My hair growth patterns seem to have reached a point which has left me quite surprised in some respects yet continually frustrated in others. He determined that my back and bum were on the cusp of being ready but vowed to get on with the job in hand. I lay down on my front before the talc was liberally sprinkled to dry any moisture from the warm car journey and exterior heat.

Some heartfelt chit chat was exchanged as usual but this always seemed a precursor to something else – word foreplay if you like.

I was anticipating the point at which it was necessary to lift on to his favourite position – all fours – and took pleasure in adhering to his request to assume it when asked, head down, leaning on my elbows, bum up. The intimate part of the wax was completed.

In a salon first, and having not dressed for a hot day, in a move to cool off, he felt the need and comfortable enough in my company – not just another client – to remove his shoes and jeans and was working on me wearing only his undies on his lower half. Occasionally, he acknowledged the arguable naughtiness as he pressed his covered but firming cock against my body – his firmness having already been helped by me feeling his cock through his jeans before they were removed, his excitable state quick to become apparent almost seconds after I was on site.

He made a point of telling me how good my bum looked in its submissive raised position seen to him in the full length mirror at his end of the room.

This was at least an amber light to open up further to him sexually. I hesitated as a semi awkward silence fell across the room as he worked on me. He then reached for the moisturising/cooling cream, and started on my back before moving to my equally smoothly waxed bum.

I was distracted from what he was doing whilst plucking up the courage to begin opening up to him, and by the time I had begun doing so, perhaps he too had become distracted.

Not usually lost for words, I eventually found the opening few which referenced how much action that bum of mine had actually had in the preceding ten days or so. The rest seemed to fall out of my mouth with ease.

I regaled him with the time spent in the office when required to work there, fitted with a Lovense Hush plug, describing how random people can connect to and control it before moving on to detail the first of three dildo rides whilst working alone at home. Finding myself able to ruin from anal for the first time ever, and then on two subsequent occasions, firstly, heavily and openly, and clearing up the load, hand to mouth, then over other days, secondly and thirdly into a condom on my limp cock, contents then unloaded into my mouth from the upturned condom, the details were explicitly yet simply put.

As I explained what had been happening, I was aware of his encouraging reactions, intakes of breath, words and other noises of amazement and surprise before alluding to the power of a stimulated prostate and indicating how it had aroused him, adding how much he liked the loss of inhibitions.

His imagination had clearly pictured the scene of me bouncing up and down on my dildo, leading him to suggest that I could perhaps “sneak” it out of the house next time and into the salon for me to ride in the same way at the same time as I sucked his cock. This was not the first time he had expressed an interest in me being filled with cock in both ends.

Earlier in the appointment, led by my loaded questioning about something he had mentioned before, he briefly mentioned the opportunity to bring more cocks into the treatment room, and had explained other promiscuous play he had enjoyed with someone who is also a select play chum at the salon. I made all the right murmurs and said “Interesting” a few times, practically salivating at the prospect of beginning to suck more than just his cock. He said he would keep me informed of opportunity and the official circumstances under which things could happen.

Back to where we were, and his imagination of me dildo bouncing to “ruin” – a descriptor that seemed lost on him despite there being no response to its use – led him to instruct me to sit on the very chair he’d envisaged me on in the room as above and to start sucking him.

I was hungry for it, insatiable in fact.

His cock was instantly devoured in the same way as I had done before but the erotica of my recent explanations was clearly still in the forefront of his mind – either that, or I really was servicing his cock well – as I was acutely aware of a regular dose of sweet tasting pre-cum which I well and truly relished, especially the frequency at which I was being fed it.

His flow was clearly not lost on him and, leading as a person I saw as a sort of unofficial Dom, he instructed me to stand up and drew me in close, body to body. He was keen to know what his cum would taste like out of my mouth. As we embraced, our lips and tongues met. This was not something I was accustomed to or expected but it was seen as another barrier to break through.

Initially, I felt like I was a cat caught in headlamps momentarily, and as if my eyes were out on stalks at indulging in this particular bisexual act but I soon shed any related inhibitions, embraced the moment and engaged – albeit briefly – with both of the French kisses. He momentarily and breathily acknowledged how good his cum tasted in my mouth.

There was some more embracing intimacy – of that, I do recall but otherwise, I was a little lost in the moment, I will admit so the detail is now blurry.

Afterwards, I took the lead to frot his hard and my largely limp and submissive cock as he reached to tweak the nipples on my naked and exposed body and otherwise have hands-on play on my upper torso.

After all of the years of keeping it a secret, I had planned to open up about my lingerie crossdressing but, given the effect of my earlier revelations, decided that I would save any further ones until next time, and told him exactly that.

I pushed the ‘power bottom’ button by firstly planning to, then quickly lifting his t-shirt to play with his nipples, stopping short of bending down to suck them.

But returning to his cock was burning incandescently in my mind and I had soon dropped to the floor to submissively kneel and take it into my cock hungry, pre-cum drizzled mouth.

Again, I devoured his cock in every way that my mind could think of, deep throating, kissing, licking, teasing the frenulum, all the while whilst reaching around with one hand to grab a smooth bum cheek, the other hand cupping and playing with his balls, the success of my techniques reflected by his audible responses of pleasure in both sound and words.

In my mind, I really wanted to be fucked like the slut I was seemingly becoming but a sub doesn’t get to call such shots. I was, however, focused on getting a shot of my own – his load, shot down my throat. I used the odd moment in between working his shaft to briefly reference the previously agreed safe words but he said he didn’t need them at that point.

Again, instructions were uttered quietly and he beckoned me towards the treatment table. At first, it seemed he was going to sit on the edge whilst I went back down on him, but he seemed to change his mind and lay down on it instead.

I didn’t care. I just wanted his cock back in my mouth focusing on getting his load and immediately gorged back on his stiff shaft which was pointing straight up. It isn’t my favourite position and it was less so as I sluttily turned putting my recently waxed smooth bum towards him, so that I was standing diagonally alongside him, me looking straight down at his balls and hole and the back of his legs which were spread for his submissive to work.

He was seemingly increasingly carnal, sudden outbursts of words describing how much he liked my backside, and as if he could not devour my bum cheeks and hole enough.

With the door of the treatment room quite obviously shut, the already muted hustle and bustle of noises from the rest of the business outside were muffled further as he occasionally but very loudly patted my hole with a two or three fingers held together, to open me up further, before inserting them to resume vigorously finger fucking me. I just about managed to acknowledge this whilst in deep focus on continuing to plunge up and down his stiff cock, transfixed on the anticipated moment that he shot his load into the back of my willing and cum hungry throat.

His carnal lust led him to occasionally reach down to my still largely limp and lifeless cock, hanging uselessly between my legs – but he was working what was there and I reached the point where I knew he was making me cum. I withdrew from his cock, announcing the impending load before cumming moderately into a cupped hand.

This was my load and I was about to draw it to mouth when I was instructed to put it on his cock and suck it off.

This, I broadly adhered to, but there was a degree of hesitation and he seemed to sense that making the carnal and lust infused decision to bring me off first again was as much of a mistake as it had been last time he did such a thing. I was becoming post coital yet doing my damndest to adhere to a sub’s tasks.

I still have things to learn in that respect and it was at this point that he began masturbating to orgasm – a point at which my mouth was seemingly not needed in any close proximity to him as he worked.

I used my still cum soaked hand to rub my recently pumped load residue into his balls which he relished and soon, he erupted over his lower torso. Spent, he uttered one of two recognised safe words. The utterance was acknowledged verbally in response.

The paper roll which covered the treatment table was quickly used to mop up the two loads from almost wherever they had fallen. He cleaned himself up, as did I, and I spent a few seconds alone, comprehensively and studiously wiping my load from every part of my hand into which it had been pumped.

Acknowledging my place as a sub, and otherwise, having not exactly been scraped up as a kid, I cleaned the floor of the rest of my evidently heavier than first thought and therefore partially splattered load to my satisfaction, ensured that my cock could not leak any more whilst going commando in my shorts on the street outside, dressed and left to confirm the next imminent appointment, likely, for some more revelations.

The road to ruin

If I have learnt only one thing as a closeted lingerie crossdresser, it is that I am, in no uncertain terms, a strategist.

Every single facet of my indulgences for the last [estimated] 18 years has been doused with military style planning to be able to make everything happen.

There is no room for complacency and there is always a need to be mindful of pitfalls, risk and timescale. When can things happen? How long for? When is enough, enough? How much time is needed to finish up, clear and clean up as if nothing had happened? You fail to plan, you plan to fail.

Pre-pandemic, domestic circumstances allowed me to crossdress in lingerie, lock and plug in Mistress’ service for as much as 12 hours a day, 5 days a week, firstly the quietly executed art carried out at home, and to play, until it really was time to cover up and get to the day job.

There were even occasions where I was home alone in the evenings because of the significant other’s shift patterns allowing me to remain dressed (etc) until it was deemed time to covertly return to so called ‘civvies’. I also had weekends to myself to indulge. There is little better than slipping into bed in lingerie, stockings, chastity and plug although trying to sleep like that can be difficult!

The pandemic brought about monumental change to everyone and kink was severely impacted for me – in fact, it was non-existent really – for two years until some planning under hybrid working allowed a tangible if only part time resumption with liberal doses of military style planning reintroduced to stay below the radar and safe in the closet.

My last blog entry intimated at the nature of planning that is needed to continue my anal training and conditioning as an owned and sexually developed bisexual sub.

The ability to finally ruin from anal was euphoric and has since gripped my deepest and most explicit inner thoughts. I have craved more of the same, more cock, more cum, more penetration, and had to yield to my inner desires again as soon as possible. My mind was kink haze fuelled focused on cock and cum, of being locked, dressed like a slut, of being fucked, of being fed and filled with semen, and seemingly being ever more ready and conditioned for it.

September signalled the beginning of Autumn in the UK, only word didn’t reach Mother Nature and a heatwave has descended upon us for more than a few days.

Dressed only in a white T shirt and shorts and going commando, I found myself in a rare moment being alone on a ‘working from home day’. Upon realising this, I had soon hatched a plan to utilise some entitled break time as soon as possible to recover the dildo once more and ride it in the same way I had done over a week previously.

Only, this time, my tiny, limp and ever more useless flaccid cock was to have a condom put over it – cocks being easier to wrap in an erect state – and my cock was ever more conditioned to remain unstimulated. Nevertheless, the job was done and the dildo riding began again, the small number of clothes having been discarded, the focus, in my necessarily unlocked state, on getting that dildo inside me. It was soon lubed and my regularity for taking something inside me meant it slipped in with ease.

Again, I fucked hard. The camera phone was once again capturing every moment as the bouncing continued. It didn’t take me long to ruin, breathy moans of pleasure evident as the milky semen filled the end of the condom before flooding across my cock tip as I continued to ride until I had fully cum, bouncing, the cum filled condom repeatedly bouncing off the surface of the faux leather office chair, made more apparent when later editing of footage included the application of slow-motion.

The spectacle of a cum laden condom and my ever more anally receptive body still impaled on the dildo left me sitting on it for some time, occasionally slightly writhing or squirming on it, the timer on the camera phone still ticking up.

The slut fuelled haze began to lift though as reality bit once more and the strategist was reapplied to efficiently sort things out and clear the decks. Several minutes had passed and I acknowledged the dwindling confidence to do something I had never done before – remove the condom and up end the full load down my throat.

A spark of sub motivation spurred me on and the not-to-be-wasted load was duly consumed – spurred on by the fact it would be an act that I knew would please Mistress.

Years had passed in which periodic sessions on the dildo had, retrospectively, been sounders, pleasurable but still sounders, learning the fit and feel of cock in anus, but in a short space of time, ten days in fact, I had learned a lot more about my body and sexuality and what it was ready for,.

Anal was something that had, at one time, been unimaginable, but now, after years of going along with all and any aspect of anal training and conditioning, it was in clear focus, more needed than ever before, and, from a chastity cage belt which had somehow further consolidated my place as a sub, I had now gone further still, having progressed a fair distance down the road to ruin.

There is much more ahead down that road and I look forward to every step along it.

“That is what you are destined for…”

NSFW

In my last blog entry, I mentioned that I had felt like I had taken more of a place as a sub having bought a chastity cage belt, retiring the pink ribbon I had been using for some time.

Along with other used trappings of a closeted crossdresser, [those being two lube bottles and a free but now used sachet of the stuff I received with my plugs years ago, the latter having been used necessarily when the bottle ran out], the ribbon was discarded into a street bin on the way home from work.

I had mentioned that the additional click put on to the kinkometer by the use of the cage belt, coupled with being Lovense Hush plugged and controlled by many randoms, had caused me to be quite taken aback by the sudden start of leaking semen at my office desk whilst secretly and discreetly crossdressed in lingerie.

This revelation led to not only the purchase of a new bottle of lube, but a large packet of condoms – becoming another facet of my kink life.

Of course, the revelation that I was now prone to leaking pre-cum had to be disclosed to Mistress who wanted to know every step of my ongoing development as Her owned submissive, telling me that She loves hearing about the journey that I’m on.

Having voluntarily started covering my chastity device with a condom, and declaring the same to Mistress, instructions on outfit and chastity device (Lovense Hush plug now almost obligatory as my sub, cock and cum slut training continues), Mistress, overjoyed to know Her sub was now leaking pre-cum, also ordered a condom to be worn and for any semen collected to be consumed.

Whilst I was pushed close by the tightness of the chastity cage belt and wave after wave of plug pulses powering through my backside and teasing my prostate, starts of orgasms – those I might describe as ‘dry’ did not, somewhat disappointingly result in any more leaking in the few days ahead but the fact that I was ‘prepared’ as I was to such kinky extents, as a cum slut and cum catcher, added an extra level downwards into the submissive lifestyle and further away from the life most see me residing in.

Whilst the lack of slight semen flow might also have been one step back, there was to be two massively tangible steps forward in my anal training.

One morning, I found myself home alone, dressed only in a light dressing gown which has a habit of dropping open. In an instant, a plan was to reach for and recover my 6″ dildo and quite simply sit astride it, balls deep for a few hours, as a form of training, readying and conditioning for [more] cock.

I determined that this was a task from Mistress even though She had not requested such a thing. But I let Her know that this was happening and told Her than I could evidence this.

My fantasy then devised an extra layer to this ‘sit’ – that being ‘permission’ to ride the dildo for a minute on the half hour and hour. Mistress then replied and validated the task by stating that evidence was required. I instantly sent a close up photo showing the balls of the dildo only, the rest embedded within.

As an hour marker arrived, a hand pinned the suction cup to the office chair and I began riding the length of the dildo which had become more than accommodated as I had sat, attending to mundane tasks on my home PC.

Six inches of curved rubber dildo was reaching deep within and striking my prostate with acute regularity, that length being taken like it had never been taken before.

My mind momentarily drew comparisons with footage of previous time taking anal from that same dildo, acknowledging that, back then, I lacked the stamina and ability to truly ride it, instead, fully taking it in, but not really riding its length.

Astride it on the office chair, hunger for cock and familiarity of being so deeply penetrated and for such a long period of time led me to truly bounce like a nymphomaniac cock slut, my flaccid cock remaining limp, tiny and pathetic, only able to ever so slightly bounce with the riding motion.

With the warmest levels of satisfaction, pre-cum began to leak with every bounce, and began pooling on the faux leather of the chair. With the dildo still deep within me, I held my tiny penis up and with a camera phone filming, watched as drops of pre-cum seeped out. I let go again and resumed riding for a short while longer and watched as my bouncing cock tapped into the cum pool, semen stringing up each time.

Retaining the dildo within, I got up before kneeling on the floor to lick the cum pool up from the edge of the chair. Task and riding period done, I dropped back down on to the dildo for another half hour, allowing myself a little squirming but otherwise, firmly planted and penetrated.

The progress of the beginning of my first ever ruin was also evidenced to Mistress.

Another half hour passed and the minute to ride began again. For this, I placed the camera phone on a nearby shelf to capture every thrust and whatever would happen.

Like a cock craved slut, every muscle in my legs was strained to rapidly power up and down,, one hand holding the suction cup down to maximise the bounce.

The spring of the office chair lightly twanged with every thrust. Bang, bang, bang, bang, lust powering out of every pore as the quest for a first ever anal ruin progressed from hope to achievement.

Verbally, I resorted to the fiercest of chastisements, calling myself a “dirty fucking slut”, “cock slut” and “cum slut” as the bounce height and force of penetration became harder and more pronounced.

Looking down, I could clearly see white drops of semen fall from my continually limp but slightly firmer cock which bounced on the chair surface with every thrust. I was cumming. I was finally ruining from anal. I was about to cum heavily and I knew it.

Riding stopped to anticipate the load but I was not ready for the extent of my orgasm. With the dildo still firmly embedded deep into my opened hole as I sat, I cupped a hand underneath my still limp cock to collect the load as it powered out but there was too much of it. Three massive spurts flew out, hitting surfaces in front and below me, the noises of cum quickly splattering a plastic bag being acknowledged whilst parts of each jet also fell into the hand below, the camera and audio capturing every moment and every moan of pleasure as each jet shot out.

Cum had sprayed everywhere. Hungrily, hand was quickly raised to mouth, cum snaffled, the sheer extent of the puddle coated around my mouth and dribbling around my fingers. Audio and video captured the slurp and slap of cum being hungrily consumed before that cum soaked hand reached down to sweep any spilled cum up from the chair seat before bringing that to mouth, the fingers unable to sweep up absolutely everything, thick pools running down the edge of the chair and needing to be caught, never to be allowed to drop to the floor, or dripping off a hand as it was brought to mouth.

The carpet beneath was littered with cum splatter and I acknowledged with immense disappointment and cum hunger that a significant quantity had been wasted rather than being allowed to reside in my mouth, throat and stomach.

A brisk clean up ensued and the dildo was returned to storage, a wave of smug satisfaction washing over me as another landmark in my development as a sub had been reached and smashed through.

In the days before, comms with Mistress had seen me state that, despite all the risks domestically and otherwise (I have a lot to lose this end), I felt, somehow that I must push on in my journey, that I am finding my place – sexually at least – and that I am eager to submit further for use and service, and am ready for more cocks and cum. I added that, somehow, it had always been just a matter of time for me.

Mistress replied, as succinctly as ever: “That is what you are destined for, and I want to know all the details along the way.”

The fight is real

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The fight is real.

Food for thought

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love this journey you are on.”

“I love seeing how you have progressed.”

A crossdresser flashed

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

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

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

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

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