=sissy ready!=

=made simple=

=my sexy murder=

My death fetish began in childhood as a way to cope with the anxiety of life with a violent, alcoholic father who I feared one day would lost control of his temper and kill us all. I lived with this fear for nearly twenty years: imagine the effects on a brain stewing in such a chemical broth for that long! 

I would masturbate compulsively to the fantasy of my father killing me and found this was a way to transmute the ever-present possibility of sudden violent death into something manageable—and, absurd as it may sound to say it, "pleasurable." It was an accidental discovery. In retrospect, it seems an unfortunate solution as the imprint has held to this day. Yes, I am, in a number of ways, irrevocably fucked-up.

In my erotic imagination my greatest fear is paired with the most intense physical pleasure. I often orgasm imagining the moment of my death—or the moments shortly thereafter as in the above drawing. This series was executed during the period of time when I was meeting men online & inviting them to my apartment for sex. I was aware how dangerous it was and—reverting to old patterns—I allayed my fear by fantasizing a sexualized murder. A part of me, I suspect, was courting death: suicide by sex-murder. Here I am the subject of a somewhat educationally challenged serial killer who preys on transgendered girls. He has murdered me and drawn a captioned picture of me in his journal.

=un-he=

=fixes it=

=(like) no other=

=grab under!=

=what men want=

=so so done=

=have fun! (with her)=

=5 ways=

=all natural=

=made easy=

=sissygirl porn/sissygirl theory=

https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=6+stages+of+sissyhood

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00F7VRT56?keywords=girl%20the%20hard%20way&qid=1456155420&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1

=free-swingin'=

=scissor happy=

=isn't gonna=

=so small but just right=

=dear diary=

Daddy decided it was time to make me go "pop" last night. He lit a candle & an incense stick & warmed up some massage oil in his big hands. He had me slip the straps to my nightie off my shoulders, pull my hair out of the way & with me sitting up on the bed, worked the oil into my shoulders & neck. i love the feel of his strong hard hands on my throat. i can't help thinking how little it would take for him to break my skinny neck! That's a pretty perverse thing to be thinking, i guess, but i feel so deliciously vulnerable under the circumstances. i imagine him snapping my neck like a chicken, my poor naked limbs twitching & flopping around. Ever since i read William S. Burroughs's "Naked Lunch" as a teenager i've had hanging/asphyxiation fantasies, so when Daddy snaps my neck, in addition to my poor thin sissy limbs twitching around uncontrollably, my little sissyclit jerks & spurts its last droplets. i orgasm as i die—what could be better? After a time, Daddy re-oils his palms & works his hands round to my front, cupping my titties & running his thumbs teasingly around my sensitive nipples. By now, i'm total fluff in his hands. He could do anything he wants with me.

"Lay down," he says and begins working on my legs.

His hands run over & under my right thigh. The back of the thigh is one of my most sensitive erogenous zones. i would never have thought it, until Daddy discovered it—i mean, how often does a sissy get touched there? In fact, my entire leg is an erogenous zone—i'm practically swooning as he runs his oiled hands from the tops of my thighs all the way down to the tips of my toes, first one leg, then the other. i'm floating away in my imagination, fantasizing that Daddy is oiling up my body for the big family bar-b-ecue where i will star as the main course. Yes, he's preparing me to be set above a fire, slow-roasted like a piglet with an apple in my mouth. i don't know how or from where this fantasy originated but it's one i've had for a long, long time—as far back as i can remember. i suspect it originates in some desperate need to be loved & accepted—even if that is symbolized by being cooked & eaten by my family! There's obviously a great deal of sadism involved in this fantasy—their love is conditional & dependent upon me being of "use" to them even if it's just as a victim of their torture—as well as masochistic self-sacrifice—but the "ecstasy" of being consumed equates in my imagination to finally being fully accepted as good for something in the eyes of these people who otherwise disapprove of me and the whole trauma/drama is sexualized, leading to the ultimate orgasm. Daddy involuntarily contributes to this fantasy when he works my panties down my well-oiled legs & inserts first one, then two of his thick fingers into my sissypuss. In my imagination, he's filling me with stuffing for the bar-b-cue. My belly distends in a cute, little-girl way. Family & friends come by to see how I'm "coming along." "She'll be ready for the coals in no time," Daddy reports. "Great," says a brother-in-law. "I'm starved." He peers over Daddy's shoulder. "She sure looks tasty!" He gives my oiled nipple a good pinch. I wince at the pain & smile.

Daddy is diddling my little sissyclit by now and the fantasies are coming fast & furious, an archive of erotic fragments, flipping passed as if they were printed on a rolodex left out in a hurricane—leashed & paraded down a crowded street by a black man, castrated by my ex-girlfriend's lover while she watches approvingly, raped by a biker gang….Daddy stops for a moment & i moan, arch my back & stiffen my legs, toes doubling under with sexual tension. ohhhhhhh…..i moan. Daddy moistens my sissyclit with a touch of his tongue and after an excruciating moment of suspense resumes playing with me. Whatever he's doing down there is driving me crazy. His touch is light, teasing, fleeting, and firm. i lie with my hands beside my face, wrists out, palms up. i lick my lips. i toss my head. "Suck your thumb baby," Daddy instructs. He's still got his fingers inside my oiled-up sissypuss & i spread myself out wider, opening myself so he can penetrate me deeper. "You like that don't you baby," Daddy says, "you like to be fucked, don't you, you hot little slut." "Oh yes Daddy, yes." "Say it." "i love to be fucked, Daddy. Fuck me, fuck me Daddy." "I'll fuck you baby. Open up for Daddy." i can feel my sissypuss closing around his fingers, drawing him deeper and deeper inside me. Meanwhile, his thumb as found just the right place on my sissyclit. i know i'm going to cum, it's going to happen, oh please just don't let him stop now!!!

"You want to cum, baby?" he asks, tormenting me.

"Oh yes please Daddy."

"Ask me for it then."

"Please Daddy, let me make a cummy."

"Again baby. I can't hear you. Beg me for permission to make your dummy."

"Please please please daddy, let sissy make a cummy."

"What will you do if I let you cum?"

"Anything you want Daddy."

"That's what I like to hear, baby. Keep sucking that thumb."

God, whatever he's doing to my sissyclit ought to be copyrighted. i'm going insane with the need to make a cummy. Moaning & thrashing, sucking my thumb like i'm deep-throating a cock, i'm so so so so close...

Daddy can tell. He can play me like a maestro. Not even i know my body as well as he does. "Go ahead baby. Make your sissy cummy. Don't forget to kick those pretty little sissy feet of yours. That's it, baby. That's it. Come for Daddy…"

At this point, there's nothing left to say, no words to describe it…i practically black out with the intensity of my long-delayed orgasm. When the last of the after-spasms recede, i'm wrung out, boneless, barely able to move. i feel like i'm underwater, lying at the bottom of the deepest part of the ocean, miles & miles & miles from the surface, drowned in pleasure. i have no desire whatsoever to return to the world. It's as if i can breathe underwater—or maybe i don't need to breathe at all anymore. i'm shipwrecked & sunk. If I never returned to whatever i once called my life from where i am at this moment it would be fine with me.

When i'm finally able to talk, i say, "Thank you Daddy. Thank you thank you thank you."

Daddy chuckles, always amused by the power he has over me, his little sex puppet. "You're welcome baby."

"i love you, Daddy" i sigh.

"I love you too, baby. Now I want you to do what good little sissygirls are good for. Suck my cock."

=????=

Have you ever stopped to consider that being a man just might not be the right choice for you?

=no, its not…=

=The interrogation into a pink forever only inches from a glass of lukewarm truth=

=enough!=

=sissyfeet!=

=dear diary=

Daddy sure has been sexed up lately—maybe it's the hormone shot he gave me Wednesday. He especially can't seem to take his hands off me whenever i get an injection—maybe i'm giving off extra girly sex pheromones or something. Last night, i thought he was all ready to go to sleep & instead he started feeling up my thighs & ass. i could tell that meant something was up & i had a pretty good idea what that something was even before he grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand down between his legs.

"You have a nice soft touch baby," he said, encouraging me. "Rub daddy's balls."

This i did, amazed, once again, at their heft & weight. 

"Those are a real man's balls you have in your hand," he said.

"Yes, daddy."

"Not like that useless little sissy sack you have shriveling up between your soft white thighs."

It was true what he said & it turned me on to hear it & daddy knew it. 

"You know what I want baby."

"Yes daddy."

"Then do it."

i moved down between his thighs and delicately pulled his long, thick cock from his undershorts. 

"I want to feel your breath on my balls, sissy," he said.

i did as he asked, warming his balls with my breath as i played my fingers up & down the shaft. 

"That's good baby. That's real good. Now put it in your mouth."

i licked up & dow the length of him & opened my mouth until the hinges of my jaws ached. Then i slowly fed his cock all the way to the back of my throat. 

"You're like a baby with a bottle with that cock in your mouth, aren't you?"

"mmm-mmm," i agreed. 

Yes, that's precisely how i felt. If i could take all my nourishment from a man's cock—or, at least, a cock-shaped bottle—i would. A fantasy surrounding that idea began to take shape in my imagination while i sucked away contentedly at daddy's cock.

He interrupted the little x-rated movie playing in my head by introducing another idea. "I think I'm going to get your ass tattooed." He reached down & traced his fingernail at the top of my left cheek. "Right here. A heart and inside it will say 'born to suck cock.' Would you like that baby?"

"mmmm-mmm…"

"Maybe when we're down in Philadelphia next week, we'll get it done. I'm going to work on designing it. I have to pick out an appropriate script. Something very femmy, very sissy. Dammit, the way you work that cock, it's something else. You really were born to suck cock, weren't you baby?"

"mmmmmm-mmmmmmm…."

He might mean it, too, about the tattoo. He's already had my nipples & navel pierced. That was in Manhattan, in the East Village, one cold winter night. i was wearing a tight red dress & red high-heeled sandals. Daddy pulled up my dress so the tattooist could work on my bellybutton. It was clear that i had more in my panties than a genetic girl ought to have. i was terribly embarrassed but that was part of the point, i guess. Daddy was showing me off & teaching me that i had no choice in the matter. My discomfort was unimportant. It was what Daddy wanted that counted. And he wanted total control. The tattooist remained thoroughly professional. He didn't seem at all surprised when, earlier, piercing my nipples, he saw my boyish chest—this was before i started on hormones—and he didn't seem surprised now when he saw the tell-tale bulge in my panties. i tried to comfort myself by thinking he'd seen it all before. And i suppose he had. But even so, it was my first time being exposed like this & i was suspended between submissive bliss & survival terror. Would Daddy really take me to a tattoo parlor next week & have my ass tattooed with a heart inscribed with the words "Born to suck cock." He very well might. Do i want such a tattoo? If he wants me to have it, yes.

"I want you on the floor," he says, interrupting my thoughts once again. "I want to cum with you on the floor."

i'm a little confused at first but then i get what he means. He wants me kneeling on the side of the bed while i finish sucking him to climax. i quickly slide off the side of the bed & onto the floor. i'm already kneeling by the time he sits up, his cock erect & his balls hanging in my face. 

"Start with the balls," he says. "Give them a good licking first."

i start all over again…licking his balls, holding his cock up, jerking it up and down with my fingers. One at a time, i suck his balls into my mouth & gently tongue them. Then i begin sucking his cock in earnest, taking it all the way in, cupping his balls under my chin, & working my head up and down his shaft. He spurts a few times to relieve some pressure, but he's intent on making it last as long as possible. He tells me to take his cock out of my mouth, rub it on my cheeks, & tell him in my most sissyish, lisping voice how i want him to cum in my slutty mouth.

"oh pweeze Daddy, come in my slutty thitthy mouth, pwetty pwetty pweeze?"

"Okay baby, put it back in your mouth & I'll give you what you need. Make those mewling sissy sounds you make when you want Daddy's cum," he says and i do it, i moan & mewl & whimper for his magna cum load.

He doesn't leave me waiting long for my reward. He climaxes, his cock & balls drenched in my saliva, which, mixed with his cum, is dripping onto my thighs despite my efforts to swallow every drop. 

When he's finished, his cock slips from my lips & i continue kneeling there at his feet, my head against his thick, hairy thigh, his hand playing absently in my hair, petting me, like a good slave, like a good little sissybitch. i feel wrecked & broken & perfectly content to be wrecked & broken. i feel like i could stay there on the floor at his feet like that forever. Eventually, though, Daddy reaches down & pulls me up, kisses me, tells me i'm the best little sisswife ever & helps me onto the bed. There he pulls me close & cuddles me up until i'm drifting off to sleep with his big, tattooed arms wrapped around me & his warm heavy hand planted firmly on my pantied ass, claiming ownership of me—& me—i'm so perfectly happy to be owned.  

=sure to be a bestseller!=

Excerpt from the book: Yes, I used to be a manga hero,
a sympathetic loner always mooning around after tantalizingly
 inaccessible girls in bikinis & nighties. Then, one day, the artist who
drew me erased my testicles & gave me titties,
replaced my customary jeans & t-shirts with miniskirts
& halter tops. My hair was sketched in longer, I was wearing make-up,
& I spent a lot of my frame-time standing around smiling &
looking cute with hearts drawn in my speech bubble.
Suddenly the guys were chasing ME!!!
Now I'm never moody or alone.  I'm a cock-crazy nympho
bimbette. I love my new storyline! I hope you will, too! 

=some things are black & white=

=at stroke of midnite=

Come back, baby. Don't be silly. I guarantee you don't have anything I haven't already seen on a thousand other girls.

=we've all been there=

=school's out=

=now playing!=

=dear diary=

Daddy got a birthday present in the mail today from his ex-girlfriend. So i guess they are still in some kind of contact, which really isn't any surprise. i suspected as much, not that Daddy has ever tried to hide it. All the same, i have to admit it bothered me more than a little bit. But i decided i should think on the positive side. Daddy's such a nice & decent guy that even his ex doesn't hate his guts. How many guys can say that about their exes? Anyway, what can i do about it even if i don't like the idea of this woman still lurking about the fringes of our marriage? Should i get all angry & jealous & bitchy about it? Sure i could do that, most girls would—but what good would that do? One of the things Daddy likes best about me—why he chose me over that other woman in the first place—is that i don't give him a hard time. What he likes about me is that i'm a perfectly compliant submissive little sissy slave.

It's true, that's what i am, and it's not like i have to pretend. i'm perversely proud of it. i am a perfectly compliant, submissive little sissy slave. i like the idea that i'm the property of a big strong man who does whatever he wants. i'm fairly positive that he isn't cheating on me with his ex-girlfriend or anyone else for that matter, but even if he were, what would i do about it? Nothing, that's what. And i know it. i owe my Daddy my very life & i've pledged it to him. The fact is, i have certain limitations as a t-girl that i'm painfully well aware of. What if Daddy decided that he wanted a taste of real girl-cunt again for a change? What if he found that he missed it? How could i possibly object, especially since i can't fulfill that desire? No, i wouldn't be happy about it, but i'd accept it as a good submissive slave should accept her Master's wishes, no matter what they were. What i'd do to cope with the pain, to make it more bearable, is to eroticize it, to make it a symbol of my complete submission to my hubby. i'd savor the delicious humiliation of his fucking another woman right under my nose. Even now, i'm picturing myself serving them breakfast after they fuck in our bedroom. i'm imagining kneeling on the floor at this woman's feet, while she sits on our couch, giving her a pedicure. 

And the thing is, i know if push came to shove, it's not just a fantasy. i really would abase myself in this way—and worse! 

That's why—in all good conscience—i couldn't raise any  objection or summon any real outrage to my husband's willingness to accept this woman's gifts or her continued friendship (or whatever it is). Knowing what i know about myself, how far into submission I'd be willing to go—all the way to the very bottom if that's what was required of me!—it would be nothing more than theatrics for me to raise any objection. 

What i learned a long time ago is that what makes me so desirable as a transgirl—why some men even do the seemingly unthinkable and pick a transgirl over a genetic girl—is the lengths i'm prepared to go to please my man. In many ways, i'm more girl than any genetic girl. What a woman would probably say hearing me say such a thing is, "Oh what nonsense! You're not a girl at all. You're a man's fantasy of a girl." And i'd answer "Okay. i'm perfectly willing to accept that. Let's assume it's true. i'm perfectly content to be a man's fantasy girl." 

Men never give up their fantasies. 

=sissy stuff i wrote today=

i've been using a free website called 750 words to help keep me on pace to write a new porn novel. It's a great site based on the premise that it's always better to write something than nothing—that being a writer entails first and foremost sitting down to WRITE something (as opposed to doing a thousand-and-one-other things waiting for inspiration to strike.) 

You can find the site here 750words.com

Here's what I wrote today. It's an unedited & quickly-written draft of a scene between my two main characters-----

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Go on. She was sucking her lover, lubricating him so he could fuck you.

She was really getting into it, too. I could hear her back there, slurping and slobbering all over his genitals, moaning and mewling. She was so turned on. He even had to tell her to stop at one point or she was going to make him cum in her mouth. She was only supposed to be warming up that particular load for me. "Plenty more where this one's coming from," he consoled her. "This shot is for that sissygirl hubby of yours. Don't be selfish." She mewled and reluctantly let his genitals fall from her mouth. She wanted to see me get fucked even more than she wanted to take the load for herself. At least this time, she did. He had her guide that huge black prick of his right into my virgin rosebud. "Do it. Put it in your sissy hubby's asshole. Look how much he wants it, isn't that right sissy?" What could I do but agree? I didn't know what I wanted at that point, except for this whole nightmare to end. "Your beautiful slut of a wife who you could never satisfy with that puny limp little clittie of yours is guiding my hard black monster cock right into your asshole. Once I'm done with fucking you, it's going to become your sissypuss. Understand, faggot?" I moaned and shook my head and when he said he couldn't hear me I said it, "that yes I understood. That I wanted him to fuck my asshole and turn it into a sissypuss." Even as well lubricated as it was, fresh from my wife's mouth, it still took some doing to stuff that big black cock inside me. But in it went, inch by excruciating inch. I was practically out of my mind with the pain and the humiliation of it all, but I hadn't an ounce of resistance left. My wife guided him inside me all the way to his purple-black balls, whose prickly hairs I felt scratching at the smooth white globes of my no-longer virgin ass. She was fucking me, fucking me with her lover's black cock. She patted my raw asscheek. "There," she cooed, in a voice that was almost sympathetic, "he's all the way in. You took it all. I'm so proud of you, sweetie. You're fucked now."

Wow, you sure were fucked. They both fucked you.

Not quite yet. But they were awful close. There was still the grand finale.

Well, don't hold out on me, now, sweetie. Bring me to the climax.

He was really slamming it into me. I could hardly believe I had taken it all in and now he was pulling it almost all the way out and shoving it back inside me like it was practically nothing.

He was opening you up.

He was tearing me up. Ruining me, back there. That's what it felt like. I thought I'd have to wear a diaper for the rest of my life. Like I'd never be able to hold my poor sissypuss closed again.

Poor baby.

At some point he said he wanted his balls massaged. He wanted to warm up the babies he was going to plant inside me. He said he was breeding me and after I had his babies inside him—by which I guess he meant his sperm—I'd be a sissyfaggot forever. "Warm them up bitch," he was shouting in between thrusting grunts, "warm up my babies." I don't know how I managed to get my hand back there but I did. I was so scared of him at this point I'd have done anything he asked. But when I managed to reach back there was already a hand there. It was my wife's. He had been talking to her. He'd been telling her to massage his balls, not me. He wanted my wife to warm up the babies he was going to breed me with. My wife was already had it covered. She slapped my hand away, annoyed, and then she laughed. They both laughed. "He really wants my babies bad, don't you bitch?" This time he was talking to me. "Yes," I whimpered. "Tell me." "I want your babies bad." "How bad?" "So so bad. More than anything. Please breed me. Please fill me with your babies." It was terrible, the things I heard myself saying. And what was even worse was the fact that I actually meant it. At that point, I really did want him to complete what he started. I wanted him to fill me with his superior black sperm.

=girl pills!=

Yep, i keep them in a "Hello Kitty!" tin.

I got my prescriptions refilled  at the drugstore today. Here they are: Estradiol, 2mg and Medroxyprogesterone 2.5mg, 1 tablet of each once a day. i take them in the morning, before breakfast.

And here, too, is my girl-juice—Estradiol Valerate 20ml: 1 injection, once every two weeks. I used to have to get the injection at the doctor's office, but she taught my husband how to do it, so now he administers it at home, a shot in my tush, which is a lot more convenient, and a lot sexier, too.

i've been on these meds for close to three years now. i've developed a pair of titties—a nice little handful each (as Daddy likes to describe them)—and my genitals have undergone significant diminishment. i can no longer achieve anything like a full erection—penetration of anything denser than a cup of whipped cream would be utterly impossible for me & i'm not even confident of my ability to penetrate the whipped cream—though my sissyclittie (as i like to think of it now) does get chubby when i'm sufficiently aroused. i can cum pretty easily—but then i've always been pretty orgasmic—though the "trigger" is pretty specific to a certain area—which fortunately Daddy can unerringly find, as can my pink butterfly vibrator. It's a matter of diddling & tickling that gets me off—never pumping. Even when I was fully functional, i came this way.

i'm not driven to sex spontaneously as i used to be & when i'm aroused it can just as easily pass—sex doesn't remain an obsession until i climax—the way it used to be. Because this is the case, i don't usually get "frustrated" if my partner wants to fuck me without reciprocation. My sex drive is still there, but its greatly dialed down, almost muted, humming softly in the background.

When I do cum, it's different—not so much an explosion as a kind of cresting of a hill and then a long thrilling ride coming down the other side. Kinda like a descending elevator. The sensation engulfs me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. It lasts a long time; it's pretty wonderful. Sometimes moreso than others—a lot depends on "timing" it just right in order to get the maximum effect—but the minimum effect sure isn't bad either!

When i cum nothing "comes" out. A little bit of clear fluid—kind of like precum and not much more voluminous than that. It feels the same to me though. If i didn't look down, i don't think i could tell that i hadn't ejaculated. Of course, there's the fact that i don't soak my panties & nighties like i used to do. If nothing else, this is another very welcome side-effect of being chemically castrated (as well as smoother skin & a thicker, quicker growing mane of hair).

Because that's what I am—chemically castrated. The doctor had warned me that there was only so much time to decide this wasn't for me. That, eventually, I would stop producing viable sperm, that i'd become impotent to all intents & purposes, & that certain other physiological changes would be all but irreversible. By now, i've long since passed the point of no return he warned me about.

And I've never once looked back.

=watching the landscape guy=

=dear diary=

i woke up very turned on from the last several days of writing porn, my sissie clittie swelling in my panties, then deflating when i refuse to touch it. Over & over again this happens. It's like having a countless number of mini-orgasms, except I just keep getting hotter & hotter without boiling over. My imagination gets so over-heated. 

For instance, Im lying in bed this morning & a very weird fantasy takes shape in my mind—the country takes an expected right turn to theocratic lunacy & i'm sentenced to death for being transgendered. i'm to die by lethal injection. so i'm brought into the execution room & the press is there & some of my family & friends to witness my death. Aside from them killing me, there's nothing cruel about it—weird as that sounds—i mean to say, the State thinks it's doing the right thing & so they mean to carry out my sentence as humanely as possible. The guard who brings me into the execution chamber is very sweet & considerate. He's known me for as long as i've been on death-row—several months, perhaps—and though he disapproves of me thoroughly, he's taken a liking to me. He's guiding me by the elbow and he can feel me trembling with fear and cold. i'm wearing nothing but a thin prison-issue gown, sort of like a hospital gown, that ties in the back, something that can easily be removed & stripped from my body when the execution is over. The guard helps me up onto the table—since I'm cuffed wrists & ankles—and he slips off my little paper booties for me. i asked him if he would do this for me. it doesn't seem so important now but i wanted to die barefoot, to show off my freshly pedicured and polished toes—it seemed that it would be sexy that way & i imagined that at least some of the men—maybe even a few of the women—would get turned on watching me die. Like I said, it seemed important—and a kind of comfort—while i was waiting on death-row for my execution to sexualize it like this—but now it doesn't seem sexy at all. Still, my guard has remembered & i'm grateful to him. Everyone can see how nervous i am so they're very polite & gentle with me. Still protocol demands that they bind me securely to the table, which is tilted slightly upward so the spectators have a better view of the proceedings. My mom and dad are there; dad looking stoic, mom with mixed emotions, having been very disappointed with how i turned out. The general consensus seems to be that this is all for the best, and, the world being what it has become, i suppose they're right. The needles are inserted & i'm totally panicking but they have a woman—she's not exactly a chaplain but something of the sort—who is talking to me softly & calmly. What she's doing is telling me a story, a kind of fairytale actually, as the lethal drugs enter my bloodstream. She's telling me how i'm going to sleep, just like Sleeping Beauty, for a long long time. Maybe centuries. But that one day my Prince is going to come & kiss me & wake me up. There's a suggestion that my Prince is supposed to be Jesus, i think, but she's trying to put it into a way that i'd accept & find comforting. The way they see it, they are playing into my disturbed fantasies of being a girl—they are being Christian about my execution, you could say, & if you consider it that way, it is a form of mercy that they're showing me. And that's the way i die…with this woman softly telling me what a pretty girl i am, how sweet i look, how pretty my toes are, how my Prince Charming is going to fall in love with me at first sight, how i won't even sense the centuries going by, how before i know it, i'll be awake again, loved & in heaven…i slip out of consciousness at these words, the last i ever hear, & everyone will say how peacefully & painlessly i died, a trace of a smile on my lips….

Well, i said it was a weird fantasy. Lord knows—pun half-intended—where it came from! When it was over, i slipped out of bed & went into the bathroom to brush my teeth & comb out my hair. Then i came back to bed. My husband was just waking up. He reached out for me with one big arm. With the other, he pulled the sheets down. Then he slipped his fingers into my slave collar & tugged, indicating i should go down on him. "It's going to be a minty one," i said, referring to the fact that i'd just brushed my teeth. He pulled his cock from his underwear and i began licking my way down his shaft to his balls & then back up again. He likes the alternation of cool and hot sensations that bathe his cock—the combined, contradictory effect of the mentholated toothpaste & my slutty tongue. 

He winds his fingers into my ponytail & pulls my head back. Then he pushes it forward. i let him dictate the rhythm. He knows how he wants it, how ready he is to cum. He doesn't take long. i start swallowing before he even begins to shoot. When he comes, i'm on top of it, swallowing the long ropy spurts of salty fluid, not missing a drop. After the last thrust, i leave his cock in my mouth for a while, cleaning it off with my tongue. When i let it slip out from between my lips, he breathes in sharply. Then he laughs. "Woo, that's cold." i put my hand over his wet cock to warm it—its the air on my mentholated saliva bathing his cock that makes it cold. "Thank you daddy," i say in my girly pillow-voice. "Thank you baby," he says. He pulls my head onto his chest, big & muscular, & i listen to his strong heart beating slow & steady. 

Idly, i wonder if this is the day that he feels like playing with me. as usual, i don't know what i want. Part of me doesn't want him to make me cum yet. i want to continue to percolate just below the boiling point; it makes me feel so sexy & naughty. i'm convinced that withholding sexual pleasure from me makes me a more compliant & submissive sissy. But the other part of me knows that i won't be able to resist if he pulls down my panties & begins touching me the way only he know how to touch me. For sure, i can tell that i will go off in a minute flat, even on all the hormones i'm taking! Whatever happens—or doesn't happen—it will be for him to decide.

Well, he decides it's not my day today. When i lift my head from his chest to shift position, making it easier for him to touch me if he chooses, he sits up & swings his legs from the side of the bed. "Time to get up," he sighs. And he begins talking about the attic and the piece of plexiglas he will need to buy at the hardware store to fix the attic window that blew out in the windstorm and how he'll need to do that before tomorrow when a heavy rain is expected. He continues and i ask questions now & then not because i understand half of what he's saying but because i can tell he wants to talk about it, because it's helping him to organize what he must do in his  head. That's how i help as a sissy. That & giving him blowjobs & making him breakfast, which i set off to do now, cinching my silk kimono around me & slipping my bare feet into a pair of open-toed mules. 

Inside my panties, my sissyclit wilts happy to be so unhappy, leaking a little more clear fluid & i bathe in the afterglow of another frustrated orgasm.

=Daddy says=

I used to have one of these but Daddy said I didn't need
it anymore. He says I can play with his whenever I want.

=sissy to the last droplet!=

And you'd better not waste a drop, sissy! That's all you're getting to eat today.

=dreaming in the gold chair=

=bondage slut=

Daddy brought home a real girl to fuck so he tied & gagged me& left me on the floor in the spare room so i wouldn't disturb them. He didn't want me to miss out on all the fun, though, so he shoved a large pink vibrator up my pantied ass. Later he would untie me so i could serve them dinner. The gag would remain on, though. No one wanted to hear anything i might have to say.

a sissy is (always) ready for her daddy!

=sissy sissy quite non-contrary=

As a sissy, I am so not competitive. How would I compete—and against whom? Obviously I can't compete with a man. But I can't compete with a woman either, not being entirely a woman. Who's left? Other sissies? As I said, sissies are by nature non-competitive. What would we compete against each other for—to see who's sissiest? That would mean, among other things, seeing who's the most submissive, the most non-competitive. I think you can see where this is going—around in circles! A sissy just isn't made to compete; she's made to submit. It just feels sexy to lose.

=dear diary=

—first thing i did this morning was give Daddy a big wet sloppy Valentines Day blow job—and he gave me a rich nutritious protein shake in return—important nutrition for a sissygirl, specially one who's a vegetarian!

Gosh, he was soooo big! My little sissyclit is nothing compared to his gigantic straining cock—if anything my thingie just seems to get tinier & tinier, limper & limper all the time (the effect of the hormones that have all but castrated me by now)—i licked his heavy balls for a while just like he likes me to do and then teased the tip of my tongue up and down his muscled shaft. i didn't tease too-too long, though, because i could tell Daddy was in real need to unload. 

i scooted up a bit onto my knees, pulled my hair out of the way, & slowly fed that big monster cock between my soft sissyslut lips. Daddy was really gaggig me with that cock this morning; he was even bigger, thicker, and longer than usual! He looped his fingers in my slave collar to dictate the rhythm he preferred and i followed his lead (as always). i was moaning & squirming & wetting my panties as he yanked at my collar—i felt totally owned & so turned on having daddy's cock in my mouth & his hand on my collar—i am so completely & utterly a sissygirl at those moments that i can never ever forget it. 


It wasn't too long before Daddy began to cum. i knew i'd have to swallow quickly but still there was so much cum it actually started coming up out of my nose—like foam on a soda!—it felt like i was choking on cum--but there was no way for me to pull my head away even if i wanted to—which i didn't!—cause daddy now had a tight grip on my collar & was forcing my slutty face into his crotch, his convulsing cock fucking my pouty mouth, driving his seed down my throat. "I don't care if I break your neck you slutty bitch," i imagined Daddy thinking as he came, "you're going to take this load to the last fucking drop."




When I sat back on my heels, my hair was in disarray, my mouth was smeared with cum, & i was sniffling. "Thank you,   Daddy," i said, as i've been trained to say, each time Daddy honors me by fucking my face. "You're welcome baby," he said. "Happy Valentine's Day.""Happy Valentine's Day, Daddy!"




My little sissyclit was swollen and wet and needing to make a cummy but Daddy mustn't have thought it was my time yet (or he was hungry for breakfast or maybe both)—which is a delicious torture for me—often not cumming is as pleasurable as cumming—Daddy doesn't understand that—real men never do—for them sexual frustration just makes them, well, frustrated & cranky & sometimes angry & even violent. But for sissies like me, it just makes us..well, more sissyish. 




So instead of me getting to make a sissycummy i hopped off the bed, put on my fluffy pink slippers, & went downstairs to fix Daddy a Valentine's Day breakfast. As i stood there at the stove frying his scrapple in my satin pjs with a wet spot on the front of my lacy panties, i thought to myself that i must be the luckiest Valentine's Day sissy in the whole world!

=postcard=

=Betty Oops!=

Boop boop dee Ooops!!!

=some sissy stuff I wrote today=

So who was the one to take your virginity?

Daddy. You?

Daddy, too. How did it happen with you?

It was not long after the orchiectomy. I was still healing, not even thinking of sex. I couldn't believe it at first, as if they hadn't done enough to destroy my sense of manhood already. But Daddy said it was necessary to establish dominance for good. To set it in stone, if you will. Naturally, my wife went along.

It's kinda amazing how they do.

What do you mean?

Well, you'd think they might find it kinda faggy, you know? A man fucking another man up the ass.

You would if you're still thinking of us as men, silly. That's where you're going wrong. We aren't men at all. So it's okay for a real man to fuck us. In fact, only a real man can fuck us. Not to mention the power-thing.

Yes, of course, the power-thing. That I can understand.

What could be a more powerful expression of dominance that mounting and fucking someone in the ass.

Once my wife saw that happen to me, I knew instinctively it was over. She'd never see me as a man again.

Right. There I was, wearing a baby doll nightie and a pair of frilly pink socks, still recuperating from surgery, half-zonked out on meds, and Daddy is in my room with his jeans down around his ankles and his huge black schlong hanging out of his underwear.

You must have thought you were hallucinating.

I wish I had been. But it was all too real.

Was your wife there, too?

Yes It was important that she see this. That's what they both said.

Did you fight it?

I cried. I wasn't in any shape to fight anything. Daddy could have put his hands around my throat and strangled me in the sheets and I don't think I'd have done anything but put up token resistance. No, I didn't fight it at all. I cried. I whimpered. I pleaded with him not to do this to me. I beseeched my wife who stood by the door with her arms folded under her chest. She wasn't moved to pity, to say the least. She just laughed and waved off my objections as so much childish prattle. She told me she was sick and tired of listening to my complaining. I remember her words exactly. "It's going to happen Hannah whether you like it or not. You're going to be fucked just like the sissygirl that you are. You're going to be fucked by a real man. My man. So you might was well just shut the fuck up, lay back, and try to enjoy it."

She was right, I guess. What else could we do?

I've replayed the scene in my mind a million times and god knows I can't think of a thing I could have done. Daddy flipped me over like I weighed nothing at all, climbed on the bed behind me, and smeared my sissypuss with lube that he'd been warming in his big black hand. I sobbed into my crushed pillow. There was nothing for it now. I was going to get fucked. He slapped my ass a few times and told me to shut up. I guess I was wailing too loud or something. I wasn't even aware of it. I was out of my mind with terror and humiliation. I felt the massive head of his cock pressing against my little pink rosebud and thought, no way, he's never going to fit that thing inside me. The laws of physics wouldn't allow it, but he grabbed me tight around the hips and forced it passed my fear and resistance. Relaxing was impossible, at least that first time. I tried to relax, if only because he ordered me to, but I was just too afraid. So it went hard for me. Every inch of thrust felt like it was tearing me apart. I could feel something warm and sticky trickling down the insides of my thighs and I was frightened that it was blood. I thought that maybe Daddy had ruptured something inside me and that now I was hemorrhaging to death. I guess I was lucky to have been on the meds. I was already zoned out but the trauma made me dissociate even more. It was almost like an out-of-body experience. I had abandoned my physical self to be fucked. I was sort of watching the whole thing happen from a distant corner of my mind. I faded in and out of consciousness, it seemed. I can't even tell you how long he fucked me. It probably wasn't that long at all. Eventually, he pulled out and I moaned with the sudden feeling of emptiness. He laughed, maybe intuiting what it was I felt. What I felt was disappointment! It surprised me more than anyone! I felt empty without Daddy inside me. I had dreaded it happening and I had wanted it over as quickly as possible and now that Daddy had pulled out of me I wished he was back inside me. Just like that, I was hooked, like they say you can be hooked on crack—one hit and you're an addict. I needed Daddy's cock, but if not Daddy's cock, any black man's cock. And if not a black man's cock, then any man's cock would do. It was as much of a mind-fuck as it was an ass-fuck. From that day on I considered my asshole my sissypuss. They didn't even have to tell me the official terminology yet. I thought of it that way. When they told me to think of it, to refer to it as my sissypuss, I was glad to have the name. It matched the way I felt about it exactly. It made perfect sense. And that's not even the most humiliatingly mind-blowing part of the story. Do you want to know what is?

Are you nuts? Of course I do!

The worst part, the most humiliating part was that I came. I had a cummy. Right there in my wadded-up bandages where my manhood used to be, I shivered and shook to a prissy little sissygasm. And Daddy knew it. He could tell by the feel of my sissypuss squeezing at his cock as he rammed it up deep inside me, planting his superior black man's semen, the seeds of my ultimate destruction. Of course, he told my wife, though she already knew, judging by my reaction. They had a good laugh about it afterwards and never let me forget it. By the end, I was crying not just with pain and shame and shock, not just with the knowledge that my days as a man were over, but that I truly was a pansy. It's one thing to have been physically overpowered, conspired against, betrayed and tricked into castration. It's one thing to have been raped against your will…but to have enjoyed it? To have orgasmed with pleasure as a result? That was the point of no return. You might as well have had a funeral for the old me. Of course, now I know there was nothing to be ashamed about. It's just how us sissies are made. It's what makes us…well, us. We come when men fuck us.