T__ embodies the spirit of my Muse. She's got confident and sexual. I see tattoos on her forearms, little symbols. She makes no effort to conceal them. She's even proud of them. They represent her conquests, she tells me, of the men she's dominated and fucked. She relishes that this is upsetting to me. She shows me that she has more on her inner thighs. These symbols are inspired by Julia's in The Magicians.
As she shows me this, I see that she has two sets of penis and balls, on each side of her pussy. They're a bit small, and flaccid. She laughs when she sees my shocked expression. She explains that some men she has dominated so much that she kept their penises. I'm facing by the one on the left side of her pelvis, and she has me suck it. I don't resist at all. I have wanted to suck cock, and I welcome the opportunity to experiment with it. However, I'm disappointed that is so small in my mouth, like a child's. I don't tell her this.
This erotic dream has haunted me all day. I have some improvements and embellishments that heighten the effect tremendously.
First, the dicks are not small. They're grafted into her, and fully potent. The one I'm interested in is actually mine. She humiliates me by having me suck my own dick, which belongs entirely to her now. I'm wearing a maid outfit, and I realize that she really does own it: it's no longer on my body, and I no longer feel any of its sensation. She also fucks me with it.
After humiliating me like this a few times she makes me suck and fuck her other dicks too. Think of the possibilities: sucking one cock and jerking off another, both attached to her otherwise ultra feminine body. She can absorb these penises back into her body at will, and make them appear whenever she likes, too. It's my job now to serve her, and watch her enslave other men, and steal their dicks. I am doomed to never feel what it's like to own one ever again. And she never gives me the satisfaction of touching her female parts anymore, either.
Showing posts with label sucking cock. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sucking cock. Show all posts
Fiction: Forbidden Knowledge
When I was a boy, I learned to think of everything to do with women to be forbidden. I feared it, as did all of my peers. It was improper for boys to ever see girls' underwear. There were very strict social norms against boys having anything at all to do with feminine things. This makes sense: as a child, you're still trying to form a sense of identity, and gender is one of the most immediately comprehensible aspects of it. It's like a lifebuoy that we cling to, to assure us of who we are.
So imagine what it must have been like to have to wear girls' tights for a school play, so our kindergarten teacher could have us all dressed like flowers. Now, suddenly, it was ok for boys to wear girl clothes. But deep down, I knew that it was subversive. It was even comical, but not so embarrassing since all the boys had to do it.
I, for one, had tasted the forbidden fruit, and I wanted more. It planted a seed in my head which in a few years' time, when puberty started to hit, would grow like a weed.
It is forbidden for men to wear women's clothes. Those who do are cast out of polite company. It's simply unacceptable, deviant, and perverse. But why?
First, it was pantyhose. They seemed innocent enough, since I had already effectively worn some in kindergarten. But this time, it was more serious. I wanted to. And when I did, it felt so good. I learned about how it feels to have sheer nylons on my legs. This knowledge is forbidden to boys and men.
From there, my thirst for knowledge only expanded. I knew full well that it was perverse, and at that young age, at the beginning of puberty, sexual matters are secret; so I did this entirely out of sight. Nobody would ever know. I felt guilty about it, too. But I always wanted more. Then I fantasized about wearing other forbidden things. There was far more forbidden knowledge to be learned, and I needed to gain some experience in order to fully appreciate it. I developed an elaborate fantasy about how I'd have to wear pantyhose hundreds of times before I would be permitted to wear leotards, and those thousands of times before I could wear a bathing suit, and so on. This was partly a way to rationalize that I did not have access to these things, and would have to leave it to some distant, unimaginable future.
Soon enough, I did try on a leotard. But before that even happened, I borrowed my mother's swimsuit. Now I was in trouble. There was no turning back, and I knew it. I was deeply ashamed, but that didn't stop my intense cravings. I would look at pictures of sexy girls, and imagine wearing their bikinis. Now I was actually stealing things from people, and keeping it hidden in my room. Just about every day, I would masturbate in something girlie. Meanwhile, I was slowly becoming a man.
By now, my desire for lingerie was overpowering, yet it remained always out of my reach. Eventually, I did steal some panties, and wore them often. I was gaining lots of knowledge and experience. I could put on a bikini in the dark under my bedsheets. But it was seldom good enough.
I was so confused. Sometimes, I would wonder if I were actually a girl, and whether my parents and doctors had made some terrible mistake and made me a boy. But I knew this wasn't so. At the same time, I was shyly obsessed with images of girls in lingerie and swimwear. I fantasized all the time that they would force me to become like them.
By early adulthood, I had been with girls, and secretly worn their underwear. I started buying myself things, like lingerie and swimwear. I had accumulated quite a collection. I had learned more and more, to the point where I had become a sort of expert in feminine undergarments. I fantasized about ordering lingerie online. I made laundry lists for myself.
One girlfriend actually bought herself some lingerie and left it in my room, since she was afraid of what her mother would think. I wore it at least 10 times more than she did. When she and her family went away on vacation, and I was given the responsibility to water their plants, I took the opportunity to try on just about everything she owned. No man should know so much about women's clothes. Especially not what it feels like to wear them.
Relationships with women lasted long, but not forever. I would start feeling guilty about wearing their underthings while their backs were turned. I found myself focusing on my fantasies instead of finding new girlfriends. Wearing lingerie and swimwear was so satisfying that I hardly needed any fulfillment from any woman. I moved into my own place, and played with my outfits in secret, alone, just about every night.
I developed fantasies of becoming a girl. I wrote all sorts of them down. I read other people's fantasies, too. I learned a lot about men who want to become women. I bought a bustier, and a patent leather halter mini-dress. I owned about 5 swimsuits.
I moved away to a different city, and began to spend lots of my extra cash on women's clothes. I became obsessed with shoes. I had decided that I knew enough about wearing girls' clothes that I could wear only them when I was home alone. I would sleep in nightgowns. I would wear skirts and corsets and stockings and pumps while cooking dinner, watching TV, or vacuuming. My little French Maid's outfit was particularly fun for doing chores. This is when I felt ultra-feminine. I still wanted more.
I started wearing only women's underwear, all the time. I wore them to work under my boy clothes. In winter, I would wear a bra, which nobody could see because of my thick outer layers. I threw away all my boy underwear in a moment of passion.
Soon I started keeping my legs shaven. Then my chest. It made the girl clothes feel so much sexier.
Then I found out about a certain questionable drinking establishment where men were encouraged to dress like women. They provided change rooms and lockers, so you could travel there as a man, and conceal your true colours from the outside world. Now I saw how much more I had to learn. Some of my fellow patrons were gorgeous. I was terribly manly looking. I had some competition.
As I improved my womanly looks, I learned to spurn the advances of men. For God's sake, I'm not gay! Sure, I fantasized often and guiltily about furthering my forbidden knowledge, but apparently I wasn't ready yet. I longed for the taste of cock, which only women know. Everything I learned about women made me want to know more. But after years of happily pushing the limits, I had finally found a new and significant barrier.
People knew now that I was a transvestite. I stopped caring. I would wear androgynous clothes to work. Sometimes I'd have a bit of makeup on. It was difficult for a while, but I got used to it. I hardly needed my male wardrobe anymore.
Determined to learn my lesson, I practiced with some dildoes. I had misgivings about putting them in my ass at first, because most women don't do that, but I figured I'd hardly be feminine if I couldn't have a penis inside me.
Around this time, as I whimsically looked into how I could get a sex change, I discovered that some doctors make a distinction among transsexuals: those who genuinely are women trapped in men's bodies, and men who love to make themselves feminine. The distinction is remarkably clear. The former have always been outwardly feminine, and have no trouble pretending to be girls. The latter are actually very masculine, typically engineers, policemen, soldiers, or other masculine professions, and struggle to come off as women. Furthermore, the former want to be women so they can have sex with straight men. They are thoroughly homosexual. The latter are interested in women only, although they fantasize about sex with men, there is never any emotional connection. These doctors further posit that the latter should never be allowed to have sex changes, because they really are men through and through.
Recognizing myself as being firmly in the latter camp, I began to doubt my fetishes for stockings and panties and corsets and swimsuits and fellatio. But I couldn't prevent them. I envied those who were allowed to become girls.
Unable to resist, I finally sucked my first cock at my favourite bar. It was a terrible fiasco, as these first attempts always were. After almost vomiting at the end of it, semen all over my face and skirt, I vowed never to do it again, and stayed away for weeks. But in retrospect, I became aroused at the thought that I had sucked dick, like a girl. I had gained another piece of forbidden knowledge. It comforted me to think that this practically made me a girl now.
They say that practice makes perfect, and I began to meet with a certain man to improve my technique. I think I became quite skilled. It was almost too easy to have him teach me how to take a cock in the ass. By now I wanted to be as gay as possible, because it made me feel so feminine. When he pounded my ass and came inside it, I could only think of how feminine I was.
Now I became serious. I had sexy piercings on my belly button, my nipple, and my tongue. I was ready to learn the final forbidden lesson: what it feels like to have a penis in my own vagina. The thought excited me to no end. I was nervous when I made the first appointment. Lucky for me, the doctor didn't believe in this hogwash about autogynophiles. I would begin to live as a girl full-time, without exceptions, and take hormones after a year. A year after that, I would have the surgery and have a small piece of my small intestine cut out and my sensitive parts attached to it, to make it look and feel like a pussy.
It was hard to come out to my family, but eventually, they accepted it. Work was sensitive, but at least they were prepared for it. It felt good to be dressed like a girl all the time. I had a few sexual adventures, too. I was overjoyed to start taking the hormones, until taking so many pills became a drag. I had waited so long to fill in my brassieres, and finally, it was happening.
My mind began to change. I was much more emotional. I thought about stopping, but I persevered. After all these years of gaining feminine knowledge forbidden to men, I was finally really beginning to feel like a girl.
I still knew, though, that I was an autogynophile. Deep down I knew that I am fundamentally attracted to women, not men. Yet the thought of my own vagina was far too tempting. I needed this last bit of forbidden knowledge.
At last, the surgery was done, and I became a woman. It was months of visits and bandages and stitches and ointments before I could use my new body. In spite of decades of preparation and longing, nothing could adequately prepare me for the reality of it. I was aroused by the knowledge that I now had a pussy, but at first I couldn't even touch it. My arousal felt so strangely displaced. It hurt at first, terribly, because of the surgery around such sensitive parts. But eventually, it healed, and I learned to find my clitoris. It felt like somone had exposed the head of my penis to a nuclear blast. Later, I discovered that deep inside my new vagina are the nerves that were once on the shaft of my penis. It took days of desperate experimentation, but I eventually discovered a truly feminine orgasm.
This drastic reconfiguration of my cock, which had foolishly led itself to its own demise, was incredibly disturbing. I cursed myself for mutilating my most precious body part. I wanted to fuck girls with my dick again. I realized that I could never do it again. I cried a lot those days.
Armed with my new girlhood, and desperate to truly experience it, I trolled my old haunts for some action. But none of my old boyfriends were interested anymore. They were gay men, and fucking girls -- even formerly male ones -- did not at all appeal to them. It took many depressing months of trying before I finally got one. He was ugly and disgusting, but I needed to feel a penis inside me. I hardly even took notice of him as he fucked me. All I could think of was how incredibly sexy and feminine I felt and looked. Now it was simply a matter of trying different positions. Somehow, it was still never enough. It dawned on me that I must be a lesbian.
At last I knew the price of my forbidden knowledge. In the end, I am a man, no matter what my crotch looks like. I am insatiably attracted to women. I betrayed my gender, my identity, for a sympathetic fantasy about the object of my desire. I was punished the moment I learned my first lesson when I was a young boy. I was cursed with an insatiable desire to know everything that was forbidden to me from the beginning. I should have been humiliated enough to stop long ago, at many different stages. But instead I took it to this irreversible end.
And just the very thought of it makes me unfathomably horny.
So imagine what it must have been like to have to wear girls' tights for a school play, so our kindergarten teacher could have us all dressed like flowers. Now, suddenly, it was ok for boys to wear girl clothes. But deep down, I knew that it was subversive. It was even comical, but not so embarrassing since all the boys had to do it.
I, for one, had tasted the forbidden fruit, and I wanted more. It planted a seed in my head which in a few years' time, when puberty started to hit, would grow like a weed.
It is forbidden for men to wear women's clothes. Those who do are cast out of polite company. It's simply unacceptable, deviant, and perverse. But why?
First, it was pantyhose. They seemed innocent enough, since I had already effectively worn some in kindergarten. But this time, it was more serious. I wanted to. And when I did, it felt so good. I learned about how it feels to have sheer nylons on my legs. This knowledge is forbidden to boys and men.
From there, my thirst for knowledge only expanded. I knew full well that it was perverse, and at that young age, at the beginning of puberty, sexual matters are secret; so I did this entirely out of sight. Nobody would ever know. I felt guilty about it, too. But I always wanted more. Then I fantasized about wearing other forbidden things. There was far more forbidden knowledge to be learned, and I needed to gain some experience in order to fully appreciate it. I developed an elaborate fantasy about how I'd have to wear pantyhose hundreds of times before I would be permitted to wear leotards, and those thousands of times before I could wear a bathing suit, and so on. This was partly a way to rationalize that I did not have access to these things, and would have to leave it to some distant, unimaginable future.
Soon enough, I did try on a leotard. But before that even happened, I borrowed my mother's swimsuit. Now I was in trouble. There was no turning back, and I knew it. I was deeply ashamed, but that didn't stop my intense cravings. I would look at pictures of sexy girls, and imagine wearing their bikinis. Now I was actually stealing things from people, and keeping it hidden in my room. Just about every day, I would masturbate in something girlie. Meanwhile, I was slowly becoming a man.
By now, my desire for lingerie was overpowering, yet it remained always out of my reach. Eventually, I did steal some panties, and wore them often. I was gaining lots of knowledge and experience. I could put on a bikini in the dark under my bedsheets. But it was seldom good enough.
I was so confused. Sometimes, I would wonder if I were actually a girl, and whether my parents and doctors had made some terrible mistake and made me a boy. But I knew this wasn't so. At the same time, I was shyly obsessed with images of girls in lingerie and swimwear. I fantasized all the time that they would force me to become like them.
By early adulthood, I had been with girls, and secretly worn their underwear. I started buying myself things, like lingerie and swimwear. I had accumulated quite a collection. I had learned more and more, to the point where I had become a sort of expert in feminine undergarments. I fantasized about ordering lingerie online. I made laundry lists for myself.
One girlfriend actually bought herself some lingerie and left it in my room, since she was afraid of what her mother would think. I wore it at least 10 times more than she did. When she and her family went away on vacation, and I was given the responsibility to water their plants, I took the opportunity to try on just about everything she owned. No man should know so much about women's clothes. Especially not what it feels like to wear them.
Relationships with women lasted long, but not forever. I would start feeling guilty about wearing their underthings while their backs were turned. I found myself focusing on my fantasies instead of finding new girlfriends. Wearing lingerie and swimwear was so satisfying that I hardly needed any fulfillment from any woman. I moved into my own place, and played with my outfits in secret, alone, just about every night.
I developed fantasies of becoming a girl. I wrote all sorts of them down. I read other people's fantasies, too. I learned a lot about men who want to become women. I bought a bustier, and a patent leather halter mini-dress. I owned about 5 swimsuits.
I moved away to a different city, and began to spend lots of my extra cash on women's clothes. I became obsessed with shoes. I had decided that I knew enough about wearing girls' clothes that I could wear only them when I was home alone. I would sleep in nightgowns. I would wear skirts and corsets and stockings and pumps while cooking dinner, watching TV, or vacuuming. My little French Maid's outfit was particularly fun for doing chores. This is when I felt ultra-feminine. I still wanted more.
I started wearing only women's underwear, all the time. I wore them to work under my boy clothes. In winter, I would wear a bra, which nobody could see because of my thick outer layers. I threw away all my boy underwear in a moment of passion.
Soon I started keeping my legs shaven. Then my chest. It made the girl clothes feel so much sexier.
Then I found out about a certain questionable drinking establishment where men were encouraged to dress like women. They provided change rooms and lockers, so you could travel there as a man, and conceal your true colours from the outside world. Now I saw how much more I had to learn. Some of my fellow patrons were gorgeous. I was terribly manly looking. I had some competition.
As I improved my womanly looks, I learned to spurn the advances of men. For God's sake, I'm not gay! Sure, I fantasized often and guiltily about furthering my forbidden knowledge, but apparently I wasn't ready yet. I longed for the taste of cock, which only women know. Everything I learned about women made me want to know more. But after years of happily pushing the limits, I had finally found a new and significant barrier.
People knew now that I was a transvestite. I stopped caring. I would wear androgynous clothes to work. Sometimes I'd have a bit of makeup on. It was difficult for a while, but I got used to it. I hardly needed my male wardrobe anymore.
Determined to learn my lesson, I practiced with some dildoes. I had misgivings about putting them in my ass at first, because most women don't do that, but I figured I'd hardly be feminine if I couldn't have a penis inside me.
Around this time, as I whimsically looked into how I could get a sex change, I discovered that some doctors make a distinction among transsexuals: those who genuinely are women trapped in men's bodies, and men who love to make themselves feminine. The distinction is remarkably clear. The former have always been outwardly feminine, and have no trouble pretending to be girls. The latter are actually very masculine, typically engineers, policemen, soldiers, or other masculine professions, and struggle to come off as women. Furthermore, the former want to be women so they can have sex with straight men. They are thoroughly homosexual. The latter are interested in women only, although they fantasize about sex with men, there is never any emotional connection. These doctors further posit that the latter should never be allowed to have sex changes, because they really are men through and through.
Recognizing myself as being firmly in the latter camp, I began to doubt my fetishes for stockings and panties and corsets and swimsuits and fellatio. But I couldn't prevent them. I envied those who were allowed to become girls.
Unable to resist, I finally sucked my first cock at my favourite bar. It was a terrible fiasco, as these first attempts always were. After almost vomiting at the end of it, semen all over my face and skirt, I vowed never to do it again, and stayed away for weeks. But in retrospect, I became aroused at the thought that I had sucked dick, like a girl. I had gained another piece of forbidden knowledge. It comforted me to think that this practically made me a girl now.
They say that practice makes perfect, and I began to meet with a certain man to improve my technique. I think I became quite skilled. It was almost too easy to have him teach me how to take a cock in the ass. By now I wanted to be as gay as possible, because it made me feel so feminine. When he pounded my ass and came inside it, I could only think of how feminine I was.
Now I became serious. I had sexy piercings on my belly button, my nipple, and my tongue. I was ready to learn the final forbidden lesson: what it feels like to have a penis in my own vagina. The thought excited me to no end. I was nervous when I made the first appointment. Lucky for me, the doctor didn't believe in this hogwash about autogynophiles. I would begin to live as a girl full-time, without exceptions, and take hormones after a year. A year after that, I would have the surgery and have a small piece of my small intestine cut out and my sensitive parts attached to it, to make it look and feel like a pussy.
It was hard to come out to my family, but eventually, they accepted it. Work was sensitive, but at least they were prepared for it. It felt good to be dressed like a girl all the time. I had a few sexual adventures, too. I was overjoyed to start taking the hormones, until taking so many pills became a drag. I had waited so long to fill in my brassieres, and finally, it was happening.
My mind began to change. I was much more emotional. I thought about stopping, but I persevered. After all these years of gaining feminine knowledge forbidden to men, I was finally really beginning to feel like a girl.
I still knew, though, that I was an autogynophile. Deep down I knew that I am fundamentally attracted to women, not men. Yet the thought of my own vagina was far too tempting. I needed this last bit of forbidden knowledge.
At last, the surgery was done, and I became a woman. It was months of visits and bandages and stitches and ointments before I could use my new body. In spite of decades of preparation and longing, nothing could adequately prepare me for the reality of it. I was aroused by the knowledge that I now had a pussy, but at first I couldn't even touch it. My arousal felt so strangely displaced. It hurt at first, terribly, because of the surgery around such sensitive parts. But eventually, it healed, and I learned to find my clitoris. It felt like somone had exposed the head of my penis to a nuclear blast. Later, I discovered that deep inside my new vagina are the nerves that were once on the shaft of my penis. It took days of desperate experimentation, but I eventually discovered a truly feminine orgasm.
This drastic reconfiguration of my cock, which had foolishly led itself to its own demise, was incredibly disturbing. I cursed myself for mutilating my most precious body part. I wanted to fuck girls with my dick again. I realized that I could never do it again. I cried a lot those days.
Armed with my new girlhood, and desperate to truly experience it, I trolled my old haunts for some action. But none of my old boyfriends were interested anymore. They were gay men, and fucking girls -- even formerly male ones -- did not at all appeal to them. It took many depressing months of trying before I finally got one. He was ugly and disgusting, but I needed to feel a penis inside me. I hardly even took notice of him as he fucked me. All I could think of was how incredibly sexy and feminine I felt and looked. Now it was simply a matter of trying different positions. Somehow, it was still never enough. It dawned on me that I must be a lesbian.
At last I knew the price of my forbidden knowledge. In the end, I am a man, no matter what my crotch looks like. I am insatiably attracted to women. I betrayed my gender, my identity, for a sympathetic fantasy about the object of my desire. I was punished the moment I learned my first lesson when I was a young boy. I was cursed with an insatiable desire to know everything that was forbidden to me from the beginning. I should have been humiliated enough to stop long ago, at many different stages. But instead I took it to this irreversible end.
And just the very thought of it makes me unfathomably horny.
Fiction: Fast and Furious
I was walking down the street, minding my own business, when suddenly, at a street corner, a white van screeches to the curb in front of me, opens its doors, and I get pushed in. No sooner do I land on the floor of the van does the door slam behind me and we speed away, screeching tires again, as a velvet bag goes over my head.
I hear women's voices all around me. "You never should have cheated on Marcia, you scumball. We're going to destroy you!" says one, threateningly.
Now, I have no idea who Marcia is. I've never met anyone by that name, much less cheated on her. In fact, I haven't had a girlfriend in months, and I'm the one who got cheated on and dumped. I try to explain that it's all a terrible mistake, but they were having none of it.
"John, don't be such a snivelling coward. Do you really think we'd let you off that easily?"
"But I'm not John! I swear! You've got to believe me! Look at my ID, it's in my back pocket!"
"Do you take us for fools? We know it's you, John, and you've been very, very naughty, and you will be punished. Are you going to take it like a man, or bitch and moan like a girl?"
After much pleading for my life, and them kicking me in the nuts, slapping, and punching my head, the van stops and they hustle me out of it and into some building. I have no clue where I am.
They tear the hood off my head and drag me kicking and screaming into a sort of bathroom, where they cut away all my clothes, lather me with some noxious-smelling substance, and spray me down. To my horror, all of my body hair washes away in the spray.
They restrain me again and wrap my limp penis in some sort of sleeve, which they then tuck between my butt cheeks, and tie. I feel something soft and silky being slid up my now smooth legs, which turns out to be some sort of underwear. Then I somehow have a bra put on me, matching the underwear, and I know I'm in trouble.
Unable to move, I feel a sharp pain around my navel, as two women lean over me. I feel something dangling from the spot where they put a hole in me.
They violently flip me over, and I can hear a soft buzzing sound approaching. For the next few hours, I feel them cutting into the skin of my lower back, and giggling about a "tramp stamp."
Next they wrap a corset around me, and while a group of them work on squeezing the air out of me as they tighten the waist, others take advantage of my almost fainting by slipping stockings onto each of my bald legs, and hooking them onto the garters of the corset, which, it turns out, has a sort of frilly skirt to it. Then they attach shoes with tight straps around my ankles.
They strap me down to a sort of chair, and start working on my face. There's a knife being pressed to my throat, so I don't dare to move. I hear buzzing again, and feel sharp pain as they colour my lips, cheeks and eyes. At the same time, they pinch my earlobes a few times with some kind of tool. Finally, they buzz off every hair on my head, and glue a blonde wig to my scalp.
At this point, they jab my arm with a needle, and as I gasp, they grasp my jaw, keeping it open, and press the knife even harder against my throat. They grab my tongue, and pinch it hard with another tool. It's agony. I can't withdraw it reflexively, because the tool has too firm a hold on it. As they remove the tool, they threaten me some more, as they attach something metallic to my tongue. Finally, they let go, and I can feel a pea-sized metallic lump on the top of my tongue.
Finally, they let me go. I stumble out of the chair to their laughter, nearly breaking my ankle as I lose my balance on my high stilletoes. They point me to a mirrored wall, but it takes me a few moments to recognize myself. I am now utterly feminized. If not for the broad shoulders and over-large hands, I'd look just like a sexy woman. My crotch is especially shockingly convincing, because my cock is tucked out of the way.
"Why have you done this to me?" I ask plaintively.
"John, Marcia was very, very upset when she found out about you and that tramp Vanessa."
"I'm NOT JOHN!" I scream, terrified and furious.
"No, you certainly are not, John," says the ringleader, snickering, "Not anymore."
All the other girls laugh heartily as I cower in the corner.
"From now on," the ringleader continues menacingly, "you yourself will be known as Vanessa, now that you look so much like her."
I am speechless.
"And just so you know, there's no turning back now. We've tattooed makeup onto your face, pierced your ears a few times, and your belly button, and your tongue, and given you a butterfly tattoo just above your ass. Your body hair won't be growing back for weeks, and nobody knows where you are. We've already injected you with your dose of hormones for the day. From now on, you serve Marcia hand and foot. Understand?"
Horrified, I nod my head. I stare at myself in the mirror. I'm astounded that all it took was a few hours to turn me into a girl.
"Now, Vanessa, let's go to your mistress, so you can pledge your eternal servitude."
I meekly follow her out of the salon, girls tittering behind my back. I can't walk very quickly with these stillettoes on, and they hurt my feet. I'm terrified to fall behind her, because I'm afraid of what she'll do to me. I am terribly conscious of my new appearance, as the pain on my face, my ears, my navel, my waist, my lower back, and my feet contrasts sharply against the softness and delicacy of my stockings, panties, corset, and bra. My penis swells painfully, restrained in its sleeve, as I take in my new femininity.
As we approach an ornate door, I am instructed to approach Marcia with my head bowed, walk slowly and meekly to her throne, and bow before her, begging for forgiveness, and offering myself to her service forever as a small token of remorse for my cheating on her. The first parts are not at all difficult, since I am horribly ashamed of what's happened to me. The next is not so easy, since I have no idea who Marcia is, and I am apparently being punished for someone else's crimes.
Before I can even speak, she screams at me. I haven't even looked at her yet. I still don't know what her face looks like, since my head has been bowed all this time.
"John... or should I say, Vanessa, you fucking scumbag! I hope you realize just how badly you fucked up! You're worthless! WORTHLESS! And now see where your few minutes of infedelity have landed you! I thought you would have known better!"
"Yes, your majesty," I reply meekly, too afraid to try to contradict her.
"Now, to show me just how sorry you are, Vanessa, you'll prove to me just how serious you are about renouncing your womanizing ways."
A muscular man, much bigger than me, and wearing no more than a thong, comes up to me, and picks me up off the ground, leaving me on my knees before him. He takes out his cock, a massive, throbbing, muscular thing which puts mine to shame, and sticks it in my face. He slaps my cheek with it. I have no choice, so I grasp it, hands trembling, and bring it to my mouth. I close my eyes as I put my lips around it, and feel it twitch.
I try not to notice the taste too much. I notice that he seems to twitch and groan when my studded tongue touches his head a certain way. I am so feminized! I am sucking cock! My own cock swells uncomfortably again between my butt cheeks. This is so unbelievably dirty! I find my hand jacking the base as I realize that I have tattoos and piercings the likes of which only the sluttiest skanks ever get. I am wearing clothes designed to make women look sexy. I'm more feminine than many women!
I gasp when I feel a pair of hands grab my waist and pull me up to my feet. I am careful not to let go of the penis in my hand, and quickly put it back into my mouth. Only now I feel another cock rubbing against my silky ass. Strong, powerful hands have me by my now shrunken waist. One hand lets go, and tugs at my panties. A dick head probes along my butt, and finds the opening. I gasp as it tears its way into me, but the penis in my mouth takes advantage of this loss of control to pump deeper, into my throat.
I have cock all over me, and I cringe with pain with each thrust into my ass. I can hardly concentrate on the one in my mouth. Soon enough, I feel the one in my ass pumping hot lava into me, relax, and withdraw. The strong hands release my little waist, and I resume tickling the dick head in my mouth with my tongue stud.
Finally, his body twitches and jerks, and I taste some salty paste in my mouth. I gag as he pumps his cock further in my mouth than I can control, and reflexively withdraw, and semen squirts all over my face. I wipe it off on the back of my hand in disgust.
"Swallow it!" commands Marcia from her throne. "Swallow it, or I won't be convinced that you really are sorry."
Glancing down at my new outfit, I realize that it's not worth fighting, so I lick the jizz off my hand and swallow it, like the obedient slut that I am, and look at her for some sign of approval.
Instead, I see shock. I shake free of my reverie and understand why.
"You're not John. Who is this? Tyra, who is this man?"
"Why, Marcia, that's Vanessa now!"
"No, that's not what I mean. This is not the man I wanted you to punish!"
"What!?!"
"Who are you? Why didn't you resist?"
"But I did resist!" I protest. "I pleaded with them to check my ID. I told them I'm not John. But they did all this anyway!"
"Are you gay or something? Why did you suck Moe's cock then?"
"I didn't think I had a choice!"
"Oh my God! What have we done!"
With that, hysteria breaks loose in the room. Girls are crying and screaming, some are laughing. I am standing there in the middle of this chaos, still in my sexy lingerie and shoes, still tasting Moe's cum.
"We're so sorry," says Tyra into my ear, "We've made a terrible mistake. Please come with me."
Tyra seems like an entirely different person now as she leads me by the hand out of the room again. She leads me back to the salon, and hands me back my torn clothes.
"Here," she says, "put your stuff back on, and get out of here! And don't you dare tell anyone what happened!"
"You've got to be kidding me! I look like a fucking bimbo! How can I not tell anyone after what you've done to me! You yourself told me that there's no turning back!"
"Look, aside from the piercings and the permanent makeup, nobody ever has to see anything else."
"You made me do gay things! And you gave me hormones! What the fuck is that going to do to me?!?"
"You sucked that cock all on your own, boy. You've got only yourself to blame. Now get out!"
Showing a fierceness that she didn't show before, she shooed me out the door, still wearing my lingerie. I put my own clothes back on over top of it, took off the earrings, and staggered home in the darkness, only dimly aware of where I was and which direction I needed to go.
I hear women's voices all around me. "You never should have cheated on Marcia, you scumball. We're going to destroy you!" says one, threateningly.
Now, I have no idea who Marcia is. I've never met anyone by that name, much less cheated on her. In fact, I haven't had a girlfriend in months, and I'm the one who got cheated on and dumped. I try to explain that it's all a terrible mistake, but they were having none of it.
"John, don't be such a snivelling coward. Do you really think we'd let you off that easily?"
"But I'm not John! I swear! You've got to believe me! Look at my ID, it's in my back pocket!"
"Do you take us for fools? We know it's you, John, and you've been very, very naughty, and you will be punished. Are you going to take it like a man, or bitch and moan like a girl?"
After much pleading for my life, and them kicking me in the nuts, slapping, and punching my head, the van stops and they hustle me out of it and into some building. I have no clue where I am.
They tear the hood off my head and drag me kicking and screaming into a sort of bathroom, where they cut away all my clothes, lather me with some noxious-smelling substance, and spray me down. To my horror, all of my body hair washes away in the spray.
They restrain me again and wrap my limp penis in some sort of sleeve, which they then tuck between my butt cheeks, and tie. I feel something soft and silky being slid up my now smooth legs, which turns out to be some sort of underwear. Then I somehow have a bra put on me, matching the underwear, and I know I'm in trouble.
Unable to move, I feel a sharp pain around my navel, as two women lean over me. I feel something dangling from the spot where they put a hole in me.
They violently flip me over, and I can hear a soft buzzing sound approaching. For the next few hours, I feel them cutting into the skin of my lower back, and giggling about a "tramp stamp."
Next they wrap a corset around me, and while a group of them work on squeezing the air out of me as they tighten the waist, others take advantage of my almost fainting by slipping stockings onto each of my bald legs, and hooking them onto the garters of the corset, which, it turns out, has a sort of frilly skirt to it. Then they attach shoes with tight straps around my ankles.
They strap me down to a sort of chair, and start working on my face. There's a knife being pressed to my throat, so I don't dare to move. I hear buzzing again, and feel sharp pain as they colour my lips, cheeks and eyes. At the same time, they pinch my earlobes a few times with some kind of tool. Finally, they buzz off every hair on my head, and glue a blonde wig to my scalp.
At this point, they jab my arm with a needle, and as I gasp, they grasp my jaw, keeping it open, and press the knife even harder against my throat. They grab my tongue, and pinch it hard with another tool. It's agony. I can't withdraw it reflexively, because the tool has too firm a hold on it. As they remove the tool, they threaten me some more, as they attach something metallic to my tongue. Finally, they let go, and I can feel a pea-sized metallic lump on the top of my tongue.
Finally, they let me go. I stumble out of the chair to their laughter, nearly breaking my ankle as I lose my balance on my high stilletoes. They point me to a mirrored wall, but it takes me a few moments to recognize myself. I am now utterly feminized. If not for the broad shoulders and over-large hands, I'd look just like a sexy woman. My crotch is especially shockingly convincing, because my cock is tucked out of the way.
"Why have you done this to me?" I ask plaintively.
"John, Marcia was very, very upset when she found out about you and that tramp Vanessa."
"I'm NOT JOHN!" I scream, terrified and furious.
"No, you certainly are not, John," says the ringleader, snickering, "Not anymore."
All the other girls laugh heartily as I cower in the corner.
"From now on," the ringleader continues menacingly, "you yourself will be known as Vanessa, now that you look so much like her."
I am speechless.
"And just so you know, there's no turning back now. We've tattooed makeup onto your face, pierced your ears a few times, and your belly button, and your tongue, and given you a butterfly tattoo just above your ass. Your body hair won't be growing back for weeks, and nobody knows where you are. We've already injected you with your dose of hormones for the day. From now on, you serve Marcia hand and foot. Understand?"
Horrified, I nod my head. I stare at myself in the mirror. I'm astounded that all it took was a few hours to turn me into a girl.
"Now, Vanessa, let's go to your mistress, so you can pledge your eternal servitude."
I meekly follow her out of the salon, girls tittering behind my back. I can't walk very quickly with these stillettoes on, and they hurt my feet. I'm terrified to fall behind her, because I'm afraid of what she'll do to me. I am terribly conscious of my new appearance, as the pain on my face, my ears, my navel, my waist, my lower back, and my feet contrasts sharply against the softness and delicacy of my stockings, panties, corset, and bra. My penis swells painfully, restrained in its sleeve, as I take in my new femininity.
As we approach an ornate door, I am instructed to approach Marcia with my head bowed, walk slowly and meekly to her throne, and bow before her, begging for forgiveness, and offering myself to her service forever as a small token of remorse for my cheating on her. The first parts are not at all difficult, since I am horribly ashamed of what's happened to me. The next is not so easy, since I have no idea who Marcia is, and I am apparently being punished for someone else's crimes.
Before I can even speak, she screams at me. I haven't even looked at her yet. I still don't know what her face looks like, since my head has been bowed all this time.
"John... or should I say, Vanessa, you fucking scumbag! I hope you realize just how badly you fucked up! You're worthless! WORTHLESS! And now see where your few minutes of infedelity have landed you! I thought you would have known better!"
"Yes, your majesty," I reply meekly, too afraid to try to contradict her.
"Now, to show me just how sorry you are, Vanessa, you'll prove to me just how serious you are about renouncing your womanizing ways."
A muscular man, much bigger than me, and wearing no more than a thong, comes up to me, and picks me up off the ground, leaving me on my knees before him. He takes out his cock, a massive, throbbing, muscular thing which puts mine to shame, and sticks it in my face. He slaps my cheek with it. I have no choice, so I grasp it, hands trembling, and bring it to my mouth. I close my eyes as I put my lips around it, and feel it twitch.
I try not to notice the taste too much. I notice that he seems to twitch and groan when my studded tongue touches his head a certain way. I am so feminized! I am sucking cock! My own cock swells uncomfortably again between my butt cheeks. This is so unbelievably dirty! I find my hand jacking the base as I realize that I have tattoos and piercings the likes of which only the sluttiest skanks ever get. I am wearing clothes designed to make women look sexy. I'm more feminine than many women!
I gasp when I feel a pair of hands grab my waist and pull me up to my feet. I am careful not to let go of the penis in my hand, and quickly put it back into my mouth. Only now I feel another cock rubbing against my silky ass. Strong, powerful hands have me by my now shrunken waist. One hand lets go, and tugs at my panties. A dick head probes along my butt, and finds the opening. I gasp as it tears its way into me, but the penis in my mouth takes advantage of this loss of control to pump deeper, into my throat.
I have cock all over me, and I cringe with pain with each thrust into my ass. I can hardly concentrate on the one in my mouth. Soon enough, I feel the one in my ass pumping hot lava into me, relax, and withdraw. The strong hands release my little waist, and I resume tickling the dick head in my mouth with my tongue stud.
Finally, his body twitches and jerks, and I taste some salty paste in my mouth. I gag as he pumps his cock further in my mouth than I can control, and reflexively withdraw, and semen squirts all over my face. I wipe it off on the back of my hand in disgust.
"Swallow it!" commands Marcia from her throne. "Swallow it, or I won't be convinced that you really are sorry."
Glancing down at my new outfit, I realize that it's not worth fighting, so I lick the jizz off my hand and swallow it, like the obedient slut that I am, and look at her for some sign of approval.
Instead, I see shock. I shake free of my reverie and understand why.
"You're not John. Who is this? Tyra, who is this man?"
"Why, Marcia, that's Vanessa now!"
"No, that's not what I mean. This is not the man I wanted you to punish!"
"What!?!"
"Who are you? Why didn't you resist?"
"But I did resist!" I protest. "I pleaded with them to check my ID. I told them I'm not John. But they did all this anyway!"
"Are you gay or something? Why did you suck Moe's cock then?"
"I didn't think I had a choice!"
"Oh my God! What have we done!"
With that, hysteria breaks loose in the room. Girls are crying and screaming, some are laughing. I am standing there in the middle of this chaos, still in my sexy lingerie and shoes, still tasting Moe's cum.
"We're so sorry," says Tyra into my ear, "We've made a terrible mistake. Please come with me."
Tyra seems like an entirely different person now as she leads me by the hand out of the room again. She leads me back to the salon, and hands me back my torn clothes.
"Here," she says, "put your stuff back on, and get out of here! And don't you dare tell anyone what happened!"
"You've got to be kidding me! I look like a fucking bimbo! How can I not tell anyone after what you've done to me! You yourself told me that there's no turning back!"
"Look, aside from the piercings and the permanent makeup, nobody ever has to see anything else."
"You made me do gay things! And you gave me hormones! What the fuck is that going to do to me?!?"
"You sucked that cock all on your own, boy. You've got only yourself to blame. Now get out!"
Showing a fierceness that she didn't show before, she shooed me out the door, still wearing my lingerie. I put my own clothes back on over top of it, took off the earrings, and staggered home in the darkness, only dimly aware of where I was and which direction I needed to go.
Diary: Stages
The stages:
- awareness: subject becomes aware that some men wear women's clothing for a sexual kick
- - understands that it's not just for fags
- awakening: subject understands the erotic appeal
- understands the inherent femininity of women's underwear, skirts, bathing suits, etc.
- feels a slight flush of curiosity about bondage scenarios with forced feminization, and what it would do to a man
- experimentation: subject is curious enough to try for himself
- tries on some fetish (stockings, underwear, bathing suit, whatever) either by "force" (visit to a dominatrix) or out of boredom, and fulfills himself sexually with it
- tries on some fetish (stockings, underwear, bathing suit, whatever) either by "force" (visit to a dominatrix) or out of boredom, and fulfills himself sexually with it
- humiliation: subject begins to worry that his experiments are destroying his manhood
- as experimentation repeats, and becomes a habit, our subject denies himself as much as possible
- rationalizes by saying he likes the feel of tight silk against his crotch, that it has nothing to do with panties being feminine
- escalation: subject tries on skankier and skankier clothes, as his humiliation drives his desire (this may require more explanation)
- prolonged privation leads to exponentially increased desire: the longer he goes without wearing panties (or whatever), the more extreme his fantasies become.
This is absolutely key: his fantasies from the beginning are about becoming feminine, but he's hardly even aware of it. It drives his first fantasies, but doesn't fully enter his consciousness, because he's rationalizing it. As he denies himself, the fantasies, unfulfilled, have more time to develop, and creep more into his conscious mind. When he eventually gives in to his irrational desires, mere panties aren't good enough: in his fantasies, he's becoming completely female, and so he wants his reality to come closer to his overwhelming fantasy. He gets himself a bra, and is shocked at how it magnifies his climax. It also magnifies his shame, and leads him to deny himself again. This in turn leads to even more outrageous fantasies, which he eventually fulfills by wearing something even more feminine. Before he knows it, he's wearing lingerie, stockings, heels, makeup, etc. and hating himself more and more for it. - "I'm not gay"
- subject is in denial about his secret cocksucking fantasies
- subject invariably feels deep shame when he comes, and when not under the grip of his fantasies, wants to abandon them (which makes them so much more potent)
- prolonged privation leads to exponentially increased desire: the longer he goes without wearing panties (or whatever), the more extreme his fantasies become.
- capitulation: subject accepts and understands that he now wants to be a girl (still privately)
- accepts that he dresses up because he wants to be feminine
- unabashedly fantasizes about sucking cock
- exhibition: subject comes out of closet
- everything was hidden up to now.
- wears at least something feminine at all times
- strives to go out in drag, hoping to pass
- parties at gay bars, trolling for cock
- gets fucked by men
- transformation: subject strives to physically become a woman through surgery, hormones, etc.
- ultimate fulfillment: growing boobs, having vaginoplasty, feeling a cock pump giz into neovagina
Fantasy: Litérature Vérité
The fantasy had taken hold, and wouldn't let go. It was the usual scenarios, all mixed together. I was refining the back story over and over again, getting more and more excited as I circled around the denouement, coming closer and closer each time, from different angles.
I was captured by a bunch of evil girls who were forcing me to wear a bikini... or a one-piece swimsuit... or they had captured me long ago, and forced me to wear all kinds of other things, trying to feminize me, but I was resisting... Yes... but by now, I knew that I was close to my breaking point... No, I was well past my breaking point, and they had me right where they wanted: begging them to wear a one-piece bathing suit... Yes, I beg them, but they refuse... I've worn so much other stuff by now, over the course of my captivity, that I've even begun to turn girlish, but they never let me wear a bathing suit... Yes, and I absolutely must wear it, I'm obsessed with it... They know that I'm not ready for it, that it will utterly destroy what's left of my manhood, and they want to drag this on forever... Or maybe they know that it will set back my feminization, while I want desperately, but secretly, to accelerate it... yes, it's a trick: they want me to prove just how badly I want to be a girl, so they contrive to have me steal it...
My fantasy settles on the one-piece swimsuit. I shake loose of my reverie just enough to consciously reach my secret spot, between my bed and the wall, for my stash of girlie things. I rummage around, and pause after touching each item, trying to guess in the dark what I'm fondling, each time considering for a moment whether or not I'd rather wear that instead, and alter my fantasy accordingly.
Hmmm, my black bustier... lingerie is always fun, but I really can't get that image of Heidi Klum in her swimsuit out of my mind. I want to feel like that... How about my pink string bikini? That's pretty fun. But not as fun, oddly enough, as my silver bikini... oh, how I love the bra on that one... but no, the fantasy is about a one-piece. Yeah, that's right... I don't like these little cotton panties... ah, here it is!
I pull it out as quietly as possible, and put it down under the sheets beside me. I strip out of my shorts, thinking for a moment of keeping my shirt on. There's always something sexy about having girlie stuff on under my boy clothes, like it's an admission that I might look like a man on the outside, but on the inside, I'm utterly feminine. But even stronger is the idea of abandoning all connection to male attire, and succumbing completely to women's. I pull off my shirt, and remain naked for no longer than it takes to figure out where the front of my bathing suit is. I'm such a sissy that I can expertly get dressed in women's underthings in the dark. The suit slides into place, and I slip my arms into the straps. I adjust the suit so that it sits right on my body. I tweak my nipple briefly, fantasizing about the cups of my swimsuit being properly filled. I let the mist of my imagination thicken back around me, and delve headlong back into my fantasy.
I'm still reworking the back story, although now I'm at the climax. I'm wearing a one-piece suit, and it's outrageously feminine, and I'm resisting letting it overtake me too fast. I'm on my stomach now, gently humping my balled-up shorts, savouring every long stroke. As I fondle my hips and my waist, I imagine myself standing up, in my fantasy scenario, wearing a swimsuit, looking every bit as feminine as Heidi Klum, fondling myself exactly as I am in my bed. The soft, tight, feminine fabric rubs and stretches on my enormous cock. In my mind, my cock shrinks away to nothingness, as I fully and wilfully succumb to irresistible womanhood. My captors catch me red-handed, and I show them how proud I am of defying them. No, wait... the fantasy shifts again... I am not caught, but I am secretly far more effeminated than they know. I am in a store full of women's swimwear and lingerie, and I strut around in my new body, scouting out what I'm going to wear next. What could I possibly wear that could top this in feminine sexiness? My mind drifts to lingerie, and I imagine myself selecting a nice pair of lacy bikini panties and a matching bra, trying them on...
My cock rubs vigorously against my balled-up shorts. It's ecstasy. I'm wearing a women's one-piece swimsuit, very high-cut and tight, and I become conscious that I'm already looking forward to wearing something even sexier. I'm such a fucking sissy! I love it! This realization amplifies my pleasure tenfold. I'm longing for sexy lingerie that I don't even possess! My massive erect penis, awash in extraordinary pleasure, is somehow blotted out in my mind, replaced by a soft, fleshy cunt. Flashes of fucking cross my mind, and I am the girl! I rub harder and harder, treading dangerously close to the point of no return. I don't want to come! I want this to go on forever! I imagine myself a slutty little bitch, fucking and sucking cock, and loving every second of it! Every time I come close to coming, I slow down, break the rhythm just enough, and continue.
I was captured by a bunch of evil girls who were forcing me to wear a bikini... or a one-piece swimsuit... or they had captured me long ago, and forced me to wear all kinds of other things, trying to feminize me, but I was resisting... Yes... but by now, I knew that I was close to my breaking point... No, I was well past my breaking point, and they had me right where they wanted: begging them to wear a one-piece bathing suit... Yes, I beg them, but they refuse... I've worn so much other stuff by now, over the course of my captivity, that I've even begun to turn girlish, but they never let me wear a bathing suit... Yes, and I absolutely must wear it, I'm obsessed with it... They know that I'm not ready for it, that it will utterly destroy what's left of my manhood, and they want to drag this on forever... Or maybe they know that it will set back my feminization, while I want desperately, but secretly, to accelerate it... yes, it's a trick: they want me to prove just how badly I want to be a girl, so they contrive to have me steal it...
My fantasy settles on the one-piece swimsuit. I shake loose of my reverie just enough to consciously reach my secret spot, between my bed and the wall, for my stash of girlie things. I rummage around, and pause after touching each item, trying to guess in the dark what I'm fondling, each time considering for a moment whether or not I'd rather wear that instead, and alter my fantasy accordingly.
Hmmm, my black bustier... lingerie is always fun, but I really can't get that image of Heidi Klum in her swimsuit out of my mind. I want to feel like that... How about my pink string bikini? That's pretty fun. But not as fun, oddly enough, as my silver bikini... oh, how I love the bra on that one... but no, the fantasy is about a one-piece. Yeah, that's right... I don't like these little cotton panties... ah, here it is!
I pull it out as quietly as possible, and put it down under the sheets beside me. I strip out of my shorts, thinking for a moment of keeping my shirt on. There's always something sexy about having girlie stuff on under my boy clothes, like it's an admission that I might look like a man on the outside, but on the inside, I'm utterly feminine. But even stronger is the idea of abandoning all connection to male attire, and succumbing completely to women's. I pull off my shirt, and remain naked for no longer than it takes to figure out where the front of my bathing suit is. I'm such a sissy that I can expertly get dressed in women's underthings in the dark. The suit slides into place, and I slip my arms into the straps. I adjust the suit so that it sits right on my body. I tweak my nipple briefly, fantasizing about the cups of my swimsuit being properly filled. I let the mist of my imagination thicken back around me, and delve headlong back into my fantasy.
I'm still reworking the back story, although now I'm at the climax. I'm wearing a one-piece suit, and it's outrageously feminine, and I'm resisting letting it overtake me too fast. I'm on my stomach now, gently humping my balled-up shorts, savouring every long stroke. As I fondle my hips and my waist, I imagine myself standing up, in my fantasy scenario, wearing a swimsuit, looking every bit as feminine as Heidi Klum, fondling myself exactly as I am in my bed. The soft, tight, feminine fabric rubs and stretches on my enormous cock. In my mind, my cock shrinks away to nothingness, as I fully and wilfully succumb to irresistible womanhood. My captors catch me red-handed, and I show them how proud I am of defying them. No, wait... the fantasy shifts again... I am not caught, but I am secretly far more effeminated than they know. I am in a store full of women's swimwear and lingerie, and I strut around in my new body, scouting out what I'm going to wear next. What could I possibly wear that could top this in feminine sexiness? My mind drifts to lingerie, and I imagine myself selecting a nice pair of lacy bikini panties and a matching bra, trying them on...
My cock rubs vigorously against my balled-up shorts. It's ecstasy. I'm wearing a women's one-piece swimsuit, very high-cut and tight, and I become conscious that I'm already looking forward to wearing something even sexier. I'm such a fucking sissy! I love it! This realization amplifies my pleasure tenfold. I'm longing for sexy lingerie that I don't even possess! My massive erect penis, awash in extraordinary pleasure, is somehow blotted out in my mind, replaced by a soft, fleshy cunt. Flashes of fucking cross my mind, and I am the girl! I rub harder and harder, treading dangerously close to the point of no return. I don't want to come! I want this to go on forever! I imagine myself a slutty little bitch, fucking and sucking cock, and loving every second of it! Every time I come close to coming, I slow down, break the rhythm just enough, and continue.
At last, I can no longer resist the lure of such massive pleasure, and I pass the point of no return. I do this consciously, and my fantasy dissolves a bit as I prepare for the imminent mess. The pleasure is phenomenal. It takes my breath away. My hand darts into the suit through one of the leg holes, and I cup it next to my dick's head, and pump a huge quantity of semen into it, to the point of overflowing. My legs shake with the intensity of it. The remaining mist of fantasy quickly disperses, and I find myself short of breath on my stomach, wearing a smelly blue girlie swimsuit, with a huge mess of giz in my hand, afraid to move for fear of spilling it all over my bedsheets. I have to be careful as I roll onto my back, and keep the swimsuit from touching the goo on my belly.
I reach for the nearby box of kleenex with my left hand. This is very tricky. Over time, it's inevitable: a growing yellowish stain grows on the belly of my swimsuit. I used to come right into it, heedless of the mess I made. But now I realize that I need to be more discreet, and more respectful of these wonderful items of clothing. They are like magical relics, which I must be careful to avoid defiling with my disgusting manhood. They are pristine vessels of femininity. Meanwhile, I carefully slide out of my swimsuit, after wiping as much away as I could from my right hand and belly. At some point I have no choice but to allow the swimsuit to touch a bit of semen. I clean the rest of the mess, put my shorts back on, and tuck the object of my sin back into its hiding place, a little bit ashamed and disgusted with myself, yet luxuriating in afterglow, the fantasy fulfilled as best as I can.
If I really spent some time developing my fantasy, I sometimes find myself fantasizing about how girlish and sissy I've been, and find myself doing it all over again, usually with some other article of clothing, only with not nearly as much pleasure. Then I fall asleep exhausted.
Fantasy: Contrived Innocence
(A contrived situation where I somehow find myself innocently in women's underwear)
So here I am, wearing this one-piece women's swimsuit. It's not even remotely masculine. It can't in any way be mistaken for anything but a woman's swimsuit. The shape, first of all, is meant to accentuate hips, butt, and tits. The leg is so high-cut it's almost to my waist. My cock and balls are squashed snugly by the crotch, which is meant to contain nothing at all. The lycra is soft. It's got wires where my boobs should be, for support. And the colour doesn't help me much, either: it's primarily pink, with little flowers.
The first time was innocuous enough. I didn't know the speedos I had on were actually a female bikini bottom. I should have known from the lack of drawstring, and the way it hung off my hips, and seemed so high-cut. Otherwise, it was just simple navy blue. I hammed it up when I was told. I pretended that I wasn't mortally humiliated about being out in public wearing nothing but a woman's bikini bottom. I pretended that my manhood wasn't permanently and irrevocably destroyed. I don't think that I knew, however, how much I loved the idea.
I guess the fact that I didn't immediately change out of it didn't help. I tried to keep my composure. Not that it would have mattered, though. The seed was planted. I wondered immediately how it would feel to wear the matching top. The thought put a weird itch in my cock. I felt like I was the centre of attention, and I liked it. Above all, I loved the way the bikini panties felt on my body. Maybe keeping it on had less to do with keeping composure than with girlish pleasure.
When we got home from the beach, me still in my bikini panties, I thought about how it would feel to slip into some silk panties after my shower. With lace trim. And a bustier. Stockings. 3-inch heels. I wanted more.
So now as I prance around in this floral swimsuit, at the beach once more, gushing with pride as I explain how wonderfully erotic it is to be feminine, envying all the pretty girls for their sexy outfits, I can't help but think: damn it, this swimsuit, in spite of its feminine cut, girlish colours, and luxurious softness, isn't anywhere near feminine enough!
At first I denied it, but it only made me want it even more. It started that first day, when they asked me if I was going to make a habit of wearing bikini bottoms. I vigourously denied it, but the thought aroused me. By the time I heard the 20th joke about my mistake, I angrily defended myself, while at the same time inwardly swearing to never wear anything masculine again. I practically pictured it fitting me the way it was meant to, if you get my drift.
Naturally, I tried to return the faulty panties to the store, but they informed me that they don't accept returns of bathing suits that have been worn. I begged them to let me exchange it, but they refused. I ended up buying the matching top, and a one-piece that I tried to exchange it for. I couldn't wait to get out of my boy briefs!
It didn't take more than a couple of days to get used to walking in heels. Finding my size was a hassle, but it was worth it. I couldn't be feminine enough.
Now I tell people, in between mouthfuls of cock, that I fantasize about having my own pussy.
Fiction: How I Turned Into A Girl
Innocent beginnings
It all started very innocently. I was 5 years old. We had a kindergarten class pantomime, in which all the children were to dress up as flowers. Everyone had to get white tights as part of the costume. All the boys got to wear girls' tights. I don't know how anybody else felt about it, but I liked it. In my primitive sexual mind, at that young age, I liked the way it felt on my penis. That's when I learned that it's bad for boys to wear girls' clothes. But the seed was planted.
Tentative experiments
Years later, I got up the nerve to borrow some pantyhose. I had never forgotten my experience with the white tights. I liked the idea of being dominated by a woman. Before the pantyhose, I would fantasize that a woman was making me kiss her boots. Somehow, I was heavily attracted to women. But it was all very bad. I knew somehow that it would be wonderfully naughty to be turned into a girl. So I played with pantyhose. At first I wore it over my underwear, for fear of it really making me a girl. Pretty soon I was all naked inside it, unprotected from its sheer femininity.
Shocking fantasies of being utterly feminized
The fantasies became elaborate scenarios of metamorphosis. And it had a lot to do with my own free will. I would imagine resisting for as long as possible, but in the end succumbing to the extreme pleasure. I imagined what it must be like to wear bathing suits, or even lingerie. Just the thought of it made me incredibly horny. I made excuses, believing that if I dared to go that far, there would be no turning back.
Experiments become more daring
I couldn't resist. I moved on to whatever I had available. I dared to put on a one-piece bathing suit. It was heaven! I knew I was in trouble, but while I wore it, I didn't care. I wanted to go all the way, by wearing even panties and brassieres. But I could only do it gradually, given that I had virtually nothing to work with at my immediate disposal.
The collection
I started to steal things from friends' sisters, from Mom. I needed it. Pretty soon I had a little collection that I thoroughly adored. And I wanted more. I fantasized about stealing underwear from clotheslines. I had even acquired a bikini!
Busted
I had gotten too bold. Mom found out. She was shocked and didn't know what to make of it. She quickly gathered her things that I had stolen, and I begged her not to let anyone know. I swore to never do it again.
Purge
I was so ashamed of myself, that I even got rid of the things she didn't find. I cursed myself for what I had done.
The inevitable relapse binge
I denied myself for so long that the urge to wear something female became uncontrollable. I stole a bathing suit again, and fell off the wagon. I binged more than ever with girls' clothes, and loved every second of it.
Denial and abandon
Then I would become ashamed and throw everything away again, vowing to never do it again. But each time, I could only go so long. Realizing that I was giving in only made me hornier, because it made me understand that every time I wear an article of girls' clothing, I become more and more addicted to it; which leads to the inevitable conclusion that at some point, I will become a girl from doing it so much. This only fed the pleasure I got from it more, because the whole point was to make myself feel like a girl. Then, as soon as I was done, my shame would lead me to renounce my habit yet again, and the cycle would start over.
Caught again
The next time I was caught, I was in the middle of masturbating with a bikini. I was mortified. Before, I had only had my stash of girlie clothes discovered. By now I was in my mid teens, and I was seen by my parents wearing a bikini. I was so embarrassed that I couldn't speak. I covered myself up in my shame, and my parents tried to console me, rationalizing it to themselves more than anything. I swore, once again, to quit forever, but I knew that I had a problem.
Acceptance
My problem wasn't that I was wearing girls' bathing suits and underwear; it was that I wouldn't admit to myself that I loved doing so. This I discovered when having a little chat with my father. I didn't tell him so, but he could certainly tell that I was not going to quit. I would, however, keep it secret.
The gift
On my seventeenth birthday, I was shocked to discover lingerie under my pillow. I had never been able to steal anything so sexy. I knew that it didn't belong to my Mom. Somebody knew of my habit, and was now actively condoning it. I wore it under my boy clothes all day the next day to celebrate. Only later did I find the note that was meant to be attached to it. It read, “I just want to know, for sure, whether you have quit your dirty habit or not. I know it must be very hard for you. If you leave this under your pillow tomorrow, I'll know that you want to quit. If not, then please take these. I'd rather have you own your own than borrowing all the time.”
The realization of the enormity
Things started appearing in my dresser at random intervals. There were many pleasant surprises for me. Within a year, I had a small collection of just about everything a girl could want. I was wearing it almost every night. Only when a girl became interested in me did I realize the enormity of what I was doing. I couldn't possibly let her know about my collection, which sat openly in the top drawer of my dresser. I could never tell her that I not only have worn fishnet stockings, a garter belt, a brassiere, many bikinis, and all sorts of satin and lace panties and nightgowns; but I also own some! I thought of how my initial fears of becoming feminized were becoming totally true. And I masturbated at the thought.
Busted – for good
By the time I went away to college, I had been with a few girlfriends, and always kept my secret to myself. But I also secretly borrowed their things whenever the urge struck me. I was incorrigible. Annie outsmarted me, though. She suspected that something was awry. We were living together, and she noticed that some of her undergarments would shift. She set up a hidden camera, and caught me red-handed putting on her bathing suit. She confronted me with the video, and I was contrite, ashamed, and extremely fearful. She threatened to tell everyone. I begged her not to. She relented, but things would change dramatically between us from that point on.
Manipulation
She majored in psychology. She manipulated me like a handful of putty. She immediately became dominant, with the threat of exposing my habit to the world hanging over my head. She was curious more than anything else. She wanted to understand what got into me. She wanted to explore the phenomenon. She had me dress up for her. At first, it was extremely awkward. She was only the third person to ever see me wearing women's underwear. She asked me to go about my routine, and tell her what I was thinking. I couldn't do it for days, but eventually, I succeeded. I was wearing a bikini, and she decided to play along, rather than spectate. We frolicked together, both of us wearing sexy women's swimwear. I purred to her how I wanted to be just like her, how I wanted to be as sexy as her when I wore her bikini. I told her that I longed to be worthy of the clothes I play with.
She tried different tricks, but it became part of the routine. I would cavort around in lingerie for her every night, under threat of being exposed to the world. She soon discovered how uncomfortable I became about the whole situation when I wasn't horny. She had me tell her that I wanted to shave my legs while I was hot with desire, and she talked me into doing it, in spite of the fact that it would be terribly easy for anyone to notice. I was so horny that I enjoyed doing it, in spite of the consequences. After I came, she asked me if I would wear makeup, and she couldn't get me to agree to it without threats.
This led to a phenomenal escalation of my habits, which, as long as I was still aroused, I gladly agreed to. Before I knew it, I had beautiful long hair, easily stylable into a feminine look; I had become an expert at applying makeup; I kept most of my body hair shaven at all times; and I could walk in high heels. She only let me come just before I went to sleep. I said all sorts of incriminating things. I signed documents attesting to my desire to become a girl. I professed my dissatisfaction with my lack of womanhood to her video camera. I was giving her more and more material to incriminate me with, to the point where it became almost moot. I swore to her, on tape and on signed documents, that I gladly give up my own penis in a heartbeat, and even suck someone else's and swallow all the semen.
Exposure
The weight of her threats lay in my desire to keep my femininity secret. Unfortunately for me, not only had the changes to my appearance become noticeable during the day, but I became indifferent to my reputation as a man. I was wearing women's underwear under my clothes, to keep me horny all day long. I felt so good that I wanted people to know what I was wearing. Many people suspected it. Eventually, there was no doubt: Annie coerced me into dressing up as skankily as possible with her, and going for a walk in public. I agreed readily, but became extremely nervous when we actually went outside. Everyone recognized me. In a way, I felt extremely sexy and proud; in other ways, I felt deeply embarrassed. But I got used to it. Within weeks I was clubbing in my girl clothes. Luckily, I could still fight. I was still manly enough for men to want to kill me.
Slavery
With the threat of exposure nothing more than a quaint memory, Annie found other ways to manipulate me. She made me realize just how deep my desire to be female really went. I had always kept it to a subtext that I wouldn't even admit to myself, but she hypothesized correctly that I wanted to fuck boys. She would get me so hot and horny that I would be practically female; then she introduced me to some gay man she knew from college, and encouraged me to explore my urges. She made me feel so thankful to her that her threats had changed: now she threatened to take away my girlishness. I became her sissy slave. I would stay home and be her maid, and she would bring home boys for her own pleasure, and show me off to them as her creation. I was permitted to suck cock from time to time, and even to get a dick rammed up my ass. I was a time of great and exciting discovery for me. But she wouldn't allow me to enjoy it as much as I could have.
Privation
Soon she realized that her hold on me was entirely based on preventing me from having orgasms. She kept me tied in a penis constraining device so that I would behave better. I was extremely horny at all times, and I became an insatiable cock whore. She kept me in her power by promising more cock. But I was not allowed to come! I physically could not ejaculate. I so desperately wanted to.
Emancipation
I broke my bonds from her at last and came wildly for days. She was appalled, and threatened to deny me from getting any more cock. But I discovered that I was fully able to get some by myself. I was now passable enough to get it, or else brave enough to go to a gay bar and bag myself some easy action. I laughed when she threatened to expose me. My transformation was now complete! I hadn't worn any article of men's clothes in many months, even in public; and I bought my own lingerie and club wear. I was a little tramp! I moved out in a huff and got my own place.
A taste for cock
I ditched all my men's clothes that I was no longer wearing. I became a fixture at gay bars. My parents found out, and disapproved. I laughed in their faces, too.
My fate was sealed from the very first moment
So now I'm scheduled for my pre-operation hormones. I'm growing my own breasts, and giving up my worthless penis for a glorious pussy.
Fantasy: Bad Influence
I meet a girl, the most gorgeous, sexiest woman I've ever seen. It turns out that she's actually a shemale! We dated for months until she finally let me touch her crotch. I'm thoroughly amazed. I'm too nice a guy to be disgusted. She knew I would be shocked, because she knows how incredibly feminine she is. I've made out with her dozens of times. I've sucked her nipples. She has sucked my cock, and swallowed my semen. Now that I've got her willing, and since 95% of her is stunningly gorgeously female, I decide to pretend that she's not a man. I fuck her in the ass first. But she wants more. She makes me reach around and rub her big fat cock. I pretend it's my own. Before I know it, we're doing it missionary style, and her cock rubs against my belly. She flips me around, so that she's sitting on top of me. I caress her beautiful boobs, and her perfectly proportioned waist. I fondle the belly-button ring. She moves up and shoves her cock in my face! I'm so turned on by her body that I comply, thinking, my god, this is the first time I've ever had a cock in my mouth! She comes in my mouth, and I spit it out – not out of disgust, but out of surprise. All this time, of course, my penis has been untouched. It is desperate for some action. I am still captivated by her figure, and her breasts. And her semen all over my face. I slide her back down off my chest to my crotch, and fuck her again for a bit. My hand is on her cock. She asks me if I'm grossed out by her penis. I tell her, truthfully, that it sorta turns me on, even though I love her femininity above all else. She asks me if she can fuck me, and not understanding, I say yes. She turns me over roughly, and I clue in. I interrupt her, and she begins to pout, but I don't stop her – I reposition myself so I can see her behind me by looking in the closet mirror. I beg her to fuck me. All I can see is her titties bouncing up and down and the look of ecstasy on her face. It hurts at first, but it's such a turn-on that I get used to it, and start to enjoy it. A lot. I have her stop for a second and turn 90 degrees so I can see from a different angle. Now I can see her cock ramming me in the ass, and it feels even better. She reaches around and jerks me off half-heartedly, concentrating on her own pleasure. I come hard when I feel her pumping her semen inside me, savouring the thought that I am her bitch, even as her beautiful, slender, feminine fingers caress my dick. I feel so naughty about losing my virginity that it turns me on, but we're both so tired and spent that we can no longer continue. She cuddles up against me, her cock against my thigh, and we both fall asleep.
We talk about these confusing events in the morning. It turns out that she, as a young boy, had decided long ago that she would rather be a girl. She has tried very hard ever since her mid-teens to make herself as feminine as possible. I am amazed by the overwhelming magnitude of her success. She looks like a supermodel in a bikini, and in lingerie. She has the whole world fooled.
Still, I have misgivings about the situation. I make them clear. I don't want to be a homosexual. She promises me that she will have surgery correcting that last little problem as soon as she can afford it (she's been saving for years). But when she starts getting dressed, I become incredibly aroused. I snap the elastic on her panties as I admire her cute little girly ass. Before we know it, we're fucking again. I am very confused about my feelings about her penis. Part of me wishes very much that she had a pussy, like other girls; but part of me is very intrigued about how a boy can turn himself into a female sex goddess; and of course there's that last little part of me that's terribly excited about tasting cock and feeling it in my ass.
We stay together, and we have mind-blowing sex. What turns me on so much about her is her transfermation. I grill her about what she was like before she was a girl. She talks reluctantly about her unhappy boyhood, and the dificulties of asserting her femininity through puberty. It turns me on so much to think that this perfect piece of female ass that other guys ogle at and are envious of actually is a man. I try to imagine what it must feel like to wear the things she wears. I ask her, and she gushes about it. How liberating it is. How sexy it feels.
I ask her what would happen to me if I ever wore women's clothes. She says probably nothing. Anyway, she says, she likes me all butchy and manly, so she doesn't care for it. How manly can I be, I ask, if I'm sucking and fucking cock on a regular basis. She blushes, and says nothing.
I start to envy her her wardrobe. I think to myself, that could be me in those fishnet stockings, fuck-me boots, and little black dress. I start trying things on, just for fun. I try to include her, but she doesn't like playing dress-up with me. So it becomes my secret. I get my own panties and bikinis and lingerie. Eventually, she finds out. We slowly break up over it.
Now I realize how fucked I am. I realize that I'm still incredibly attracted to pussy, but that I really love the idea of Andrea. I love the thought that I can become just as feminine as her. Nothing turns me on more than that. I date some women, and steal their underwear every now and then. It never lasts long, because they either find out about my fetish, or I feel trapped when I can't make myself girly. So Andrea comes back into my life.
She is just as disappointed in my girlish habits as any normal woman, but she can't be disgusted, because she does it herself. I am still incredibly aroused by her, but she can't even use her decrepit dick anymore, because of all the hormones. I am not in love with her anymore, either, so we get along. I meet her sister, who guided her through her own effemination. Together, they teach me. This is how I learn that I can become ultra-feminine too, by taking on a female persona, and wearing nothing but female sexwear at all times.
It's difficult at first, but practice makes perfect. The first few weeks are all about discovery. I wear the skankiest clothes, and I do so in public. At first, I'm hideous, but with a lot of work, can look pretty feminine. I start hanging around in gay areas, because those are the only places where I can feel safe. I start meeting other men, and can't resist the taste of cock. I am now in Andrea's place.
A few years later, I am even more feminine. My tits are bursting out of my bra, and I can't get enough cock. But the best part is that my own penis is completely gone: I have a pussy! And it's all natural! I've transformed my body not with chemicals or surgery, but with sheer willpower! And I love my new body!
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