Thursday, September 01, 1994

Fiction: First Attempt, or the Floodgates Open, or even, Going Off the Deep End

My tongue slips and slides on a hard spike of male flesh.  I nibble a bit on the purple head, suck it like a salty purple lollipop.  I gently rub it around my face, and lick it slowly, in a spiral from the hairy root to the very tip.  I intentionally leave a ring of lipstick around the circumference, and slowly, but ever so gently run my nail along its length like I had just done with my tongue.  Then I grab it hard with my right hand and suck it dry, jerking and sucking, sucking harder and harder, and jerking vigorously.  I can taste the salty cum start trickling into my mouth.  I moan with feminine pleasure, knowing what is to come.  But I stop just as that tell-tale quiver begins, and giggle salaciously at the torture to which I subject this beautiful beast.  I lick his muscular, smooth, hairless chest quickly, and have them bring in two more, tied down just like this one, and just as muscular and handsome and masculine.

I introduce myself to their pricks, one by one, by tonguing them both, getting a taste for what I want.  Then I grab the two dicks at my side, and start sucking viciously on the first again, until he screams in intense, shameful pleasure.  I gargle and swallow.

My other men I toy with some more, as the first has lost consciousness.  I rub myself on them with my knee, and suck and kiss their cocks.  I eventually lose a bit of interest.  One squirts all over my leg.  I scoop it up with my finger and lick it clean.  This one gets a solid kick in the nuts for that.  They roll him away to be eunoched.  The last one suffers my ultimate punishment.  I open up my lacy robe, slip off my silk panties, careful not to remove the garter belt, and start rubbing my own prick naked against him and his.  He cries out in agony, as I make him come before me.  Hah.  Too feminine, for you, hmmm?

The first, whom I have managed to prevent from climaxing, grunts in distaste and acute arousal.  I can tell by his pulsating penis.  He tries to turn his head away, but always looks back again with a perverse pleasure.  I know that he longs to be as feminine as I am.  I purr and cuddle up to him, caressing his balls, and fondling them, tickling them.  I give the signal to the eunochs, and they turn him around and bend him over.  For the sake of embarrassing him, I fuck him up the ass.  I no longer feel any pleasure doing this violent male action anymore.  I much prefer to spread my legs and pretend that a dick goes into my cunt while I myself get reamed up the ass.  Any dick inside me is better than a dick not inside me.  I last forever up his ass, and just for kicks, I come in there, and let him know about it.  He has been growling with pain and gratitude.  I kiss him tenderly on the mouth, licking his lips as I do so.  The eunochs lift him up again, and I grab his dick again.  Finally, he speaks: "You fucking whore bitch cunt slut. . ." he sobs.  I take offence, and bite his cock.  I viciously chew it, ripping it off, still hard in my mouth.  The stump gushes blood.  "See?  That's how it feels to menstruate, jerk."  I continue sucking his dick, and as it bleeds and loses hardness, I shove it into his mouth, which screams in agony.  I return to the one who has passed out coming all over me, and revive him.  I force him to suck me off, and he obliges most tenderly, and most readily.

I finish up and slip my panties back on, and await my next victims, reminiscing. . .

It all began when I was still in my very early twenties.  Women and men became more and more estranged.  Men became sex objects, but retained the power too.  Women thought that this was another scam, to take away the beauty industry from them, and make men the objects of admiration.  Enough was enough, so they revolted.

They had discovered back in late '95 a certain gene infusion which made all women and some very lucky men immortal.  Women no longer needed men.  So they stopped having sex with us.  What for, they figured?  We don't need their money or their power anymore.  Why should we give them what they want?  Only those very lucky men who could be tamed were kept as sex slaves.  The others were made crazy for sex.  The war began, but the women won, simply because men were generally too desperate for sex.  The men were enslaved, and immortalised by some new development of the first infusion.  So then, all the military men were destroyed, and the rest ran away to avoid slavery or death.

The women were quite rigourous.  They eliminated all of those they found.  By eliminated, I mean that they either changed them into homosexuals, for their viewing enjoyment, or turned them into women.  Those who became women were the obsequious ones, and they were grotesque copies.  Quite rarely, a man would display genuine femininity, and become a real woman.  At least, as real as he can possibly get.  Those are never quite right. . .

At any rate, all men were eventually captured, simply for lack of sex.  Homosexuals thrived, because the women loved to watch them and then fuck each other in large orgies or in private.  All women became beautiful and sexcrazed because of the gene infusion.  So the homos turned themselves in, and some even became girls.  The lucky bastards!  But they can never be fully feminine, just for lack of experience.

When I was captured, I was truculent.  They tortured me, and all of us, for not co-operating.  But they enjoyed us the most.  They sucked us off for kicks.  They rubbed us up and down.  Then they offered us the greatest sex, and would not give it.  They made us totally horny, and never let us come.  It was sheer agony.  A few actually went mad, and were destroyed.  I kept my cool, though.  I reveled in the  sexy femininty around me.  I worshipped them, and they knew it.  I offered them my body, and they took it.

However, they tricked us all.  They started sending in the fags to suck us, and we actually were allowed to release.  None of us could at first, but we all eventually took it for what it was.  In the meantime, the girls danced for us to make us horny.  They gradually made it more and more impossible to ignore the men.  We began to look more at them than the girls.  They enjoyed flipping around our sexual preferences.  Even fags were sometimes made hetero, and then forced back. They had men sensuously fuck us up the ass.  Some were dressed like women.  We were helpless.  At least, the others were.  They are now running around in those delicious fag shows.  I never lost interest in the girls.  I would always imagine them sucking me while the men did the dirty work.  Their plan had backfired.

They knew.  They tortured me more and more.  They sent in men and only men, but I resisted.  They grew angry, and beat me up.  They kicked me in the nuts.  They tortured me more and more.  I hated every moment, but they would never forgive me.  One day, they came back to me.  They let loose and allowed me to do what I would.  I could have run away, and they would have allowed me.  There were rumors of gangs of men living outside, free from feminine rule, but immortal like them, enjoying their own slave women.  These were very rare.  I could have made it there, too.  I had Carte Blanche.

Instead, I dropped to my knees, and kissed their feet, licked them clean.  They were quite happy, as I jerked off all over myself, not daring to stain them with my vile liquid.  They are still so incredible!
More and more frequently, they let me loose and allowed me to serve them like a eunoch, but in sexy thongs and in the nude, and I did so most gladly, just because they are the most fantastic specimens of femininity.  Ah, the feminine!  How smooth, silky, steamy. . .  They began to tire of my obsequiousness.  They tied me up now and again, to torture me as they did at first.  How I moaned and cried.  Eventually, my Mistress made me snap on some of her panties, and then rubbed me around.  I still focussed on her, but the panties made it so much better.  Soon, she did it agian, and watched as I relished it until she removed the panties.  She then cracked a wicked grin, and hatched her plot.

She dressed me up and left me there to watch her.  I almost came.  I was touching a garment which had been in contact with her cunt.  She let me loose a few times and allowed me to worship her in an ultimate homage, by wearing her clothes.  How amazing it was!  I came regularly, but not on her clothes.  That would have been sacrilege!  She eventually allowed me to keep some of her clothes.  Whenever she would release me, I would rush to ge dressed in my new clothes, and gamboll around like a girl.  I wanted so badly to be one. . .

She was most impressed.  She allowed me to masturbate on her.  She allowed me to rub onto her.  That was the most heavenly moment of my entire life (that life, anyway):  I wore her white lace panties, which just barely covered my dick.  The lacy elastic gripped tight on my hip.  My body was by then totally bare, by electrolysis.  I had grown my hair femininely.  My brassiere was tight on my flat chest, but the silk and lace made my nipples hard.  I had on my garter belt, with the white stockings.  She wore crimson panties, skimpy as mine, and a very pretty, flowery brassiere, and stockings to match.  At first, I worshipped her silently, in absolute awe.  Then, for the first time ever, she let me touch her body.  I caressed it all over with my hands, then my nose, my lips, my tongue.  She stood powerfully, like a goddess, as I affectionately worshipped.  Then I began to hump, and she touched me all over.  I could feel our smooth silky skin touching together, and the lace and silk rustling together.  She had me strip her slowly until she was naked, and I broke into a religious stupor.  I came all over her.  She cleaned it off as I passed out at her feet.

After that, I was determined to follow up.  She let me sometimes.  But if I tried to fuck her, she would kick me in the balls and watch me squirm.  Sometimes.  But I didn't like to fuck as much as I liked to dress up.  She had given me a choice, as I was loosened at all times, and exploring sex with her constantly: I could either fuck, or dress up.  I gradually began to simply dress up.  I never fucked her again.  She became angry, and had some other men come in as sex toys, and torture them before my eyes.  She would always orgasm.  I wanted her to believe that she was still my goddess.  So she tested me.  She made me join in her sexcapades.  I sucked my first dick under her direction.  It was uncomfortable at first.  I vomited when I first had come in my mouth.  But soon, I grew accustomed to it.  I still did not enjoy it though.  I wanted to worship pussy after all.

She then took away all of my clothes, and I was left male again.  She would only allow me to wear them again if I displayed femininity.  So I did.  I absolutely required my lingerie.  I began to act more and more girlish.  But it wasn't enough.  When she saw me sucking a dick again, she gave me some pantyhose.  I came all over myself.  As my sucking improved, she let me wear various unflattering, incomplete things, like old woman's undies, and her skirts.  Then for a long time, I wore leotards.  Soon, I was permitted to wear bathing suits.  I returned to heaven.  I always had the choice to return to something I had worn.  I still wear the swimsuits from time to time.  Anyway, I slowly got up to the point where I loved to suck dick, just because I got to become more feminine by it.

I began to fuck some of them up the ass, just to get my big, combersome masculinity into their tight, virginal little buns.  I needed to release my male need to dominate.  Eventually, that too became useless.  I had them fuck me instead.  Right up the ass.  I still do sometimes, when I feel kinky.  Then, I met some other transexualized men.  We sucked each other's dicks passionately.  How I loved 69.  We started to play with dildoes.  But I still worshipped my mistress's body.  I wanted to be like her.  I was finally given a girl's body, but kept the dick.  It's a show of loyalty and reverence:  I can never be totally female.  So now I have lesbian sex with my mistress whenever possible, and we play together at torturing men.  How I love to convince them that I am a sexy girl, and then make them realize that I am still a man, and make them enjoy me more that they would a female.  I love the taste of come in my mouth.  I love to have a dick inside of me.  But better yet is my mistress's dildo, as ahe fucks the shit out of me, literally.  I love women.  I love to be a woman.  I also love to make men think that they want to be women.  Just like me.

Diary: the Truth Will Set You Free

Yes, I do admire the female body.  Let me get into the randiest details, details that I have always been terrified to admit to anyone, including myself.  Especially myself.  Woe is to me, however, should anyone ever read this.  As embarrassing as that could be, the risk involved stiffens my cock.

Girls are so wonderfully shaped.  Their curves have such an effect on me, and just about every other man alive, that I am compelled to admire them always.  Such a sheer beuty that never fails to turn my head has no comparison.  They say that art is beautiful, but no work of art could ever grab my attention like a beutiful girl strutting by in a revealing outfit.  If anything, art aspires to be a living, moving self-confident, three-dimensional woman seething with sexual confidence and self-assurance.   Art imitates life, but it can never even begin to imitate the perfection of the female body, and the abject sexuality that it so innocently exudes.  They are so unbearably sexy that they have no idea what effect they have on me.


If art must aspire to this unattainable objective, and I must aspire to create the most accurate depiction of it in my art, or any other way, then I must aspire to womanhood.  "What a girly feminist homosexual," they would laugh upon reading this.  But that is not a feminist statement.  I believe not in the power of women to acheive anything that man can by using his meathods, but in woman being man's ultimate master.  She rules him in virtue of her sexuality.  She can take anything and everything from him without even having to work for it, just by being ultimately and perpetually beautiful and sexy.  As much as I would hate to admit it, or to realize it, I am a slave to any woman who can arouse me, because she can use my desire to control me.


I have always known it subconsciously, and I have dreamt of being dominated for ages.  The allure is that the essence of male-female relationships is bared in such an arrangement.  Women rule. 


And that is the least embarrassing of my revelations.  I would tell this to almost anyone.  The trick is that I dream feverishly that while the women rule me, they want me to become like them, to increase the farce, to show their power more.  They want me to know that they rule.  So they make me, in my fantasies, my most excruciatingly arousing fantasies, wear their clothing.


In fact, I wear women's clothing quite often.  No, no, not dresses and skirts.  I wear the sexiest garments I can get my hands on.  I am so extraordinarily aroused by bathing suits that I can rarely resist the temptation of wearing them.  I have worn just about everything imaginable, except one thing which has possessed me just as ruthlessly as swimwear in the past: a garter belt.  I have worn bikinis, pantyhose, underwear, brassieres, slips, nighties.  But I have never been able to find a garter belt.  But that no longer concerns me as much.


It all began in kindergarten.  The annual shool show required all the children, including the boys, to wear white tights.  I and all of the other boys wore girls tights.  I found them so arousing that I did not want to take them off.  They were so tight on my little penis that I wanted more and more.  I asked Mom the night of the show, as she tucked me in, if I could sleep with them, with the secret objective in mind to masturbate in them.  Ever since I began masturbating, I imagined being "girled" by some attractive females.  I called masturbating girling, because girls had such overwhelming power over me that I would drop my pants and start rubbing my prick at the merest thought of them.  As I grew older, I avoided making a show of masturbating, and never ventured to take any items of girls' clothing, for fear of being caught and thought of as abnormal.  But one day, when I was oh, ten or so, perhaps twelve, I took some pantihose and put it on over my underwear.  This was extraordinarily pleasurable.  I began to do it more and more often.  I think that I had begun to come just a short time later.  Then I began to go into it naked.  Then, with all of the cum stains, I kept the pantihose.  I would often become ashamed and dispose of it, and this would force me to obtain a new pair.  Soon, I tried on my mom's bathing suit, with underwear on underneath.  This was the most incredible experience to date.  I dared not do it to the end with it on, so I put it back, and finished later just thinking about it.  Then I began doing it without any masculine protection.  I wore nothing but the bathing suit.  But again, I could not dare finish off in it.  Eventually, of course, I did, and felt so good . . . So I did it more and more often.  I eventually stole it.


Mom had bought another bathing suit, a more fashionable one, which cut high on the thigh, and was much thicker.  That was heavenly.  I stole that too.  Actually, I kept the bathing suit and a pair of pantihose in hidden in my mattress, and it began to stink.  That is why I had to steal another suit.  I once did it with a visiting cousin in the room, odours and all.  Of course, I did not care that he was asleep.  I knew that he would be afraid to ask what was going on.  In the morning, he said that he couldn't sleep because he could hear my bed moving.  My brother detected a terrible odour as well, and often complained about it.  The most daring came later...


I stole into my best friend's older sister's room and took the bottom half of her bikini.  I loved that thing so much, but I often wished that I had taken the top, too.  I eventually disposed of all this, except for the new bathing suit, which was hidden next to my wall, along with mom's exercise tights.  All of it was worn extensively.  One day mom found it, while I was there.  I was mortified.  But she somehow overlooked the bathing suit!  I counted myself extremely fortunate, and began again.  Of couse, I was often ashamed, and that was when I dumped the stuff from my bed, except for the bikini bottom.  That I flushed down the toilet, causing it to overflow.  I don't know if my father ever found out what clogged it.  Since Then I have without hesitation stolen into my mom's dresser and borrowed her clothes, going as far as an entire outfit a few times.  I wore her panties, or my friend's sister's tiny little ones which I stole, along with  her new bikini, and a bra, and a slip, and pantihose, and a dress.  I have worn my mother's jumpsuit.  I once used a condom.  I disposed of the bikini, and soon got a new one.  I sometimes would take my girlfriend's clothes that she had forgotten and use them.  I wore her miniskirt once.  Once, she left her bathing suit in my bag, and I used it at least three times in one weekend.  Probably more.  I once picked up a little girl's bathing suit which had been lying on the ground on the way home for weeks.  I disposed of everything I stole, always vowing never to to do it again.  I have never held to my promise.  I have since worn many things of mom's, but they are not sexy enough.  I recently considered buying some things through the mail.. A good idea.  But now, I am beginning to realize that this fantasy is a crucial part of me.  It actually identifies me.  I am trying to curb the shame.  


Tonight, a test.  I have wanted to write about this for some weeks, to describe my supreme sexual experiences.  I am wearing mom's suimsuit right now, under my clothes.  I am going to do it again.  It has been so long, or so it seems, since I have worn a decent suimsuit.  So I took this as soon as I had a chance.  I will not feel any shame either.  I will celebrate womanhood in all of its essence, by feeling the soft tissue tight on my flesh, squeezing me (in my mind at least) into an hourglass figure.  I will, for a moment as long as an orgasm, be a girl.  Then I will clean up and put it back where I found it, and repeat the incident often.  I want to be a girl.  I even imagine, lately, being female when I masturbate, dressed or not.  I think of having a hard boner thrust into my cunt, and I voraciously suck dicks, and give a handjob in each hand at the same time.  I imagine a boner up my ass, even, when I can still think of myself of as male.  I love it.  I want to shave my body sometime, especially my legs, and gets breast implants, and begin taking hormones.  Then I would look female, except for my dick, and I could enjoy being a girl while still enjoying things with my cock.  I would get picked up by guys who wouldn't care and get fucked in the ass, and feel like a girl.  I would blow them and gargle their come.  But I wouldn't even be attracted to them.  I would much rather be watched by a bunch of beautiful girls, who would laugh at the conquest.  What a girl!  I am such a girl!  I am so hot right now.  The dicks are secondary, just icing on the cake.  All I really need is to be taken captive by an eternally beautiful girl and be forced to wear her clothes in front of her, and eventually mutate into a girl.  I will begin right now.  Yet I am totally straight.  I am not at all aroused by men otherwise.  It is the thought of a girl's body, and possessing it in the most intimate way, by being one, that grabs my balls.  Girls rule, and I will never be one of them, but I can always imagine, and try my best to become one.