=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.