Heritage

I’m 40 now and over the past 10 or 15 years, my body has developed certain details that remind me of my father. Sometimes I can hear him laugh when I laugh. Sometimes I can see his fingers when I look at my hands. Most times it’s just those “small” things, but nevertheless I can barely stand them. Moreover, my brother reminds me of him, too. We’re both his sons, so it’s just natural to carry his genes and have some things in common with him, but that’s rough. You can never change your genes, no matter how much dye you use or which clothes you wear or how hard you try to laugh like someone else.

I know that his heritage includes my sexual desires. Having “sexual preferences disorders” is not only a mere cause of being sexually abused, it’s also in the genes. As far as I know, my father had not been abused or molested as a child, but he grew up with a very dominant and sadistic father as well who demanded very much of him. He passed that down to his sons. I got the bruises, my brother was expected to work hard and succeed. I was regarded as dumb, he was regarded as smart, leading to the fact that I was supposed to take care for his sexual needs and my brother to take care for his wish that he should be successful, a leader, a wealthy man with a flawless reputation. Well, sometimes I think: look at us monkeys, we just did like he wanted us to.

Sometimes I even feel pity with our father. Would he have been able to change, if he had wanted to? I tried to find out whether he had experienced abuse as well, but I don’t know, apart from getting hit by his father. Our branch of the family tree will die with us. My brother and me, we both don’t have children and we both don’t want any. Even if I was heterosexual, I wouldn’t want children. Of course it’s rough sometimes meetin friends with their kids and knowing I won’t ever experience what they have, but numbers speak against me. About 30% of men who were abused as children become violaters later on. That’s almost a third. Apart from that, I have difficulties with taking care for myself, how could I take care for a child?

Sometimes I’m full of sympathy for my “special needs” and value them as coping strategies. Sometimes I just despise them. Even if I know the machinery behind my behaviour, I can’t change it. And even after almost 20 years of different therapies, I’m not over it. I really wanted to believe that one fine day I would be normal, if I just worked hard enough. I thought then I’d be like anyone else. I would return to a safe state of mind and dismiss all perversions. And than I found that I need my perversions to function properly. When I try to leave my perversions aside, I’m insecure and just like that battery bunny without the batteries. I have no idea how to behave or what to do or to say. I’ve written that so often, but it’s still true: I wish I could be normal, but I will never be. All I am, all I feel, think, like and crave is the result of being abused.

I know there is no use in crying about that sh*t, but it still makes me sad. I know that even if my father was still alive, I wouldn’t confront him. My brother did, he was courageous, but of course that had no effect as our father didn’t think of abusing me as something unjust. We will never solve that. He will never stop feeling guilty and I will never stop feeling ashamed. It’s our heritage.

 

Overflowing

There are some parts of my life I don’t really refer to here, be it to keep anonymity, be it because I once decided this blog should be more about the kinks in my life. For example, I haven’t written about spirituality, Yoga or Lord Shiva lately, and sometimes I wonder if mixing these things up with my perversions is appropriate. I don’t know.

There’s another side of my life I don’t really talk about here, though it grew quite big over the years. Due to his occupation, John has a lot of obligations, extending into his (and our) spare time. Sometimes he takes part in those things alone, sometimes I accompany him. It depends on who he meets and where they meet. I don’t feel save about spending time as a gay couple in Dubai for example, just like I’ve mentioned before, and even if I’m invited as well, I don’t go. Perhaps that’s just prejudices, but I don’t neccessarily need to spend time in a country where being gay is an official contravention. I don’t accompany him to business meetings as well or to see people who have issues with him being gay. I tend to think it’s gotten quite normal in that part of Europe, but for sure it’s not that normal in any part of the world and for any people…

After John has been having health issues for the past few years and we now know the problem, he tries to step back a bit and spend more time at home, just relaxing or hiking or doing things he likes in general. I like having him around, even though I’m no longer as stressed as I was before when he’s not at home. It’s just a home when he’s here.

The things we like to do with each other have expended over the years. We still play a lot of chess and go hiking on a regular base. He plays golf regularly and goes swimming as well, which is not really my kind of sport🙂 I like sauna better. He bought a camera two years ago and has been taking photographs ever since, sharing them on flickr and, the more kinky ones, with some BDSM friends. We both love reading, although we like different kinds of books. I guess travelling has become one of our major hobbies as well, after I had so much issues with leaving home. Sometimes we just leave for a weekend, which is so cool🙂

John says he feels like he has settled more the older he gets, which I regard as an compliment. I think we have established a feeling of home and belonging with each other, even though we’re still not monogamous and don’t want to be. We’ve become very close with each other. I never thought that might even be possible for someone like me, but it is. Still, I don’t just regard myself as his partner. To be honest, I don’t know if I am. Only in a certain kind of way, as we’re never on eye level. I can trust him and he trusts me, but I know I will never be and I will never want to be like him. Having tried other relationships, we’re both feeling comfortable with that. Sometimes I feel sorry for him. In my insecure moments I think he’d be much better off with a normal partner, but actually I know that’s wrong.

I don’t really know why I felt the need to write all that down. Might be connected to a short moment yesterday morning. I woke up while he was still sleeping and I felt so overflowing with love for that gorgeous man… I’m so grateful to be here.

Boobs Or No Boobs :)

Last weekend, I spent my birthday with John and Leo in Switzerland, which was a surprise. We had a lot of walks, good food and serious talks about some things. Because in the past week, I went to see the other psychiatrist my therapist recommended and he said some things I found deeply disturbing. First of all, it was really hard for me to be open and answer him honestly. I didn’t like him and that made me nervous. He asked me about myself in general and he already knew about my PTSD and my “sort of” relationship. Well, I gave my OK to my therapist to tell him, but that felt gross anyway.

After two hours of examination he said that he wanted to see me more often to come to a conclusion, but he told me that wanting to have boobs and using my dick in “that” way (he referred to chastity and shrinkage) could be hints for two things: transsexualism (which I still deny because I really do not want to become a woman at all and I don’t have issues with being male) or simple PTSD-related stress-symptoms. Like hating who I am because of what my father did and trying to escape my body. Well. He told me in the first case he needed to see me very often to accompany my transition (yep, always helpful when those people listen closely, right?) and in the second case he’d recommend more talking therapy sessions with my therapist or even a stay in a psychiatric clinic to “help” me figure things out.

When I left him, I was done. I was glad W had accompanied me and brought me home. I cried my eyes out, feeling lost and misunderstood. I mean, of course I know I’m not sane and will always have mental issues. But allowing myself to be Ginny at certain times makes me feel so much better and comfortable. How useful is seeing such a therapist if he doesn’t listen? I told John I don’t want to see him again and for sure I don’t want a stay in a clinic, thanks!!! He just gave me the feeling I’m wortless and and idiot and that my relationship is dangerous and unhealthy for me.

How “unhealthy” John is for me was proven on the weekend. He knew I was feeling bad and gave me just what I needed: a shoulder to cling to, security, love and respect. He, Leo and I talked very much about PTSD, being sub/masochstic, our relationship and Ginny. When we returned on Tuesday, I could see much clearer.

I won’t see this therapist again. He didn’t do me good. I will continue my talking therapy with my old therapist (even though after about 20 years of therapy I’m quite fed up with all that stuff, I tell you). I’ll lead the relationship I want and embrace the fact that I’m submissive and masochistic, even if no one else in this world thinks that’s safe for someone like me. And I’ll continue to be Ginny and wish for small boobs.

To be honest, there’s one thing good about it. I think I have figured out that I don’t want to take hormones. I guess they could destabilise me and cause depression, and those small episodes are enough for me. I really don’t want to go back on antidepressants. My cock will shrink by being kept locked in for long periods of time. Castration is better as a fantasy🙂 Just the boobs…I don’t know. I guess I’ll wait a while before I make a decision. For over a year I’m wanting boobs and if that urge is still there in one year or so, I might consider surgery. We’ll see.

 

No Satisfaction?

Another week in chastity is over and the thrid week has just begun. I’m not back in that chastity-pace yet and things are sometimes a bit rough. When Master told me to lock myself in two weeks ago, that was unforeseen. It’s been a while since I was locked in for longer than a short period of time and as chastity was the last thing I got in my mind, it caught me red-handed. So to say.

After beind denied all the way first, in the past week John allowed me to take care for him again. That made it a bit easier, but not really enjoyable. I’m glad I’ve got so many online friends who also maintain a 24/7-lifestyle including T&D and chastity, because talking to them often helps me over the lows connected with chastity. Obviously, anyone experiences them, and obviously it doesn’t keep us from consenting to chastity again LOL

Recently, I was wondering why chastity at all is so appealing to me and why it satisfies me in a certain way. Why is it even possible to gain sexual satisfaction from not being satisfied?

I guess it’s about your overall nature. If you’re not submissive, you won’t probably like the idea of chastity at all and even find that concept strange and superfluous. I mean, of course I like having orgasms. Who doesn’t? They’re one of the few things that really help me relax, at least for a short while, during that post-orgasmic chill. Being kept in chastity just means your hormones build up and make you hornier each hour, because there is no relief. When John decides to lock me in for a day or so, that’s exactly what turns me on. I get so horny, but don’t get relief right away, but I know that relief is on its way. That expends the arousal. Being kept chaste for a longer period of time can be very frustrating, because there is no relief. Well, even if Master likes to evoke hopes, there is no relief🙂 That makes me angry and frustrated. Coping with these feelings is hard, I won’t lie.

Most times, I try to distract myself by doing my chores, go running and so on, but sometimes all coping strategies are just useless. Now, does that frustration satisfy me? In a certain way, it does. It serves my masochistic needs. Knowing that I’m not worth being satisfied, is indeed very satisfying, if that doesn’t sound too stupid🙂 I run around with that horny, locked cock and would do most anything for an orgasm, and then I am humbled again. What more could a sub wish for?🙂

I guess chastity is a kind of prolonged “foreplay”, if you will. It can last for months and guide you very deep into frustration and that feeling of worthlessness. Then again, having a Master who appreciates what you endure can provide you with a deep feeling of love and contentedness. Well, John is obviously not only appreciating what I endure, he also really likes to make fun of me, which I like in that certain humiliating way as well🙂

After some time in chastity, being kept locked in becomes more of a mental issue than only a physical problem. Doctors say that there can’t be a thing like semen holdup, but at least it feels like it, and running around with balls that feel just too full without any chance to get relief changes the way your brain works. Or at least the way my brain works. As soon as I have overcome that urgent need to cum, I get milder and am a better slut. I become more willing to please and am even more submissive in a certain way. And that’s totally satisfying for me.

I have thought a lot about the question whether or not being forced to cum by my father made chastity to interesting for me. The device is somehow safe and I think I’m right where I belong: there for John, there to satisfy his sadistic needs.

And that’s an interesting question, too: why is having a partner you keep in chastity so attractive for him? He says, it’s all about power. He likes to be in charge and taking away my right to touch myself and have a fulfilling sex life is a huge turn on. He loves to see me suffer and frustrate me by T&D and having sex with others. Having control over my lust is the ultimate turn on. So I guess that’s all about his nature.

Are you being kept chaste? Why do you like that? Does it really satisfy you?

 

Poor Gurl

I think the main difference between me and John is, apart from the more obvious things, that he has a good self-confidence and that he trusts in life and people. My self-confidence is nearly not existant and I don’t really trust life or people. Often I even bring myself into risky situations and extradite myself to others. That’s stupid, but I do, and it turns me on.

I feel like John often gets what he wants because he induces he can’t be denied. He’s kind and cute and people like to deliver what he ordered. Obeying him feels natural and well, so people love to obey him. Me, too, of course. But anyway, I haven’t stop wondering about how he is able to get a table in a completely booked out restaurant or how he gets people to do exactly what he wants even if they uttered they would NEVER do such things just one minute ago. I think dominance and superiority are all natural things, and so is submission and inferiority. Nothing to be ashamed of, as we all didn’t create ourselves. Maybe it’s in the genes or our experiences made us who we are, I don’t know.

Concerning myself, not being able to fulfill his wishes makes me feel sad and disappointed by myself. He doesn’t even have to say anything, one look is enough or, worst of all, that sad, knowing smile that tells me “I know you’ve done your best, darling, but you failed..what a pity…I would have loved to be proud of you, but I can cope with getting diappointed…..again….”. Ugh! Nothing in this world makes me feels more useless and ashamed.

It was exactly that look I got when we were out on Saturday night. After one week of pure chastity and a lot of T&D I was so ready for whatever he had in mind for me. When we had breakfast, he told me that in the evening we would be going out and that he wanted me to dress up like the cheapest whore I could think of, which immediately got me wet and made my clit itchy. He didn’t want to say more and I was so aroused ad excited.

At about 10 p.m. I was ready. I had put on awfully much make up. In the past months, I have learned what distinguishes a normal from a slutty make up. It’s all about the mass of make up and the colours you use. A little camouflage with a little powder, mascara and lip gloss make a nice young lady out of me, and a lot of all of that with a lot of eye shade and a screaming red or pink lipstick make a whore out of me. Moreover, it makes me feel like a whore, too. I had put on thongs, a bra (but no fake boobies), a girdle with stockings, an ultra short pink skirt and a sort of net shirt in screaming pink. When John saw me, he burst out in laughter and made some pictures of me, which immediately made me feel humiliated and even more horny.

When we went over into the garage, he told me to get inside the trunk, because he’d feel ashamed if someone saw him with that ugly slut I was. I haven’t been in the trunk for an eternity now and I felt absolutely uncomfortable and was afraid. Did that matter? Not at all. He hit me in the face and repeated his command, so I did as I was told. Thankfully, he had lined the trunk with a blanket. When he closed it, I felt fear rushing through my body, but  told myself to keep still. In an emergency, I’d have had my cellphone with me. I took it out and turned it on every now and then to have some light and calm down a bit. In those moments before the storm I need to tell myself that I trust him with my life and that he has never disappointed me…

After about 45 minutes we came to a halt and he opened the trunk to tell me to sit next to him. I did and we went on. I took his hand and squeezed his fingers a bit, observing his beloved face and seeing that certain mild smile on his lips. I felt the urge to tell him that I love him and he told me that he loves me, too. Not long until we reached our destination, a dark parking lot, a known dogging point. It’s been a while since we last went dogging and I was nervous.

What shall I tell of the following two hours? I was being used like I haven’t been in a long time. I tried to keep some dignity, but not fortoo long. There’s a point when something inside myself tells me to just let it happen and embrace the fact I’m a slut. I can’t prevent that little voice inside my head from questioning my sanity, but being violently fucked and used feels better. Obviously my vicious Master had arranged with them to call me names and degrade me to the max, especially because of being a sissy and being in chastity. I was sore, yet unfulfilled when they were done with me. John pulled my hair to look me in the face and there it was, this knowing, sad little smile that said “look at you, young lady, you’re nothing but a cheap cum whore”. He took some pictures of me, being covered in cum, having cried tears during deepthroating and having a ruined cunt and a wet little clit. Ugh.

He offered me a small bottle of water, then maneuvered me into the trunk again, not having touched me hisself. I was sore, tired, horny. When I thought “I am helplessly regressed”, I immediately thought “and I like it”…am I a bad person? Probably, but in those moments I just don’t care.

When we were back home, Master brought me to the kitchen and made me stand straight for a while. Obviously, he was hungry, and I was lucky enough to get some bites as well. “You look disgusting”, he said, and I thanked him. “Did you like that?” I said yes. It was the truth and I knew he knew. “Did your clit like that?” It did. He began wandering around me, touching me here and there, making remarks about my looks and how I smelled. He opened the fridge and took something out, but I couldn’t see what it was. He returned with one of my lipsticks. I use to keep them in the fridge, so that they don’t melt in summer. Master painted my lips and my cheeks red and chuckled. I knew I was looking silly as fuck and that made my slit itch again. I didn’t expect that wasabi paste that he suddenly had in his hand. It was in the fridge, too, and then it was underneath my eyes and my nose. I began crying and drooling in an instance, while he sat down, watching me and laughing, telling me how ugly and pathetic I was. The pain was brutal. I wanted to wipe that wasabi away, but I knew I was not allowed to, so I endured, until it got better. I don’t know how long that needed, but that was really bad.

Again he came over to me, made pictures and showed them to me. “Look at yourself, slut. Tell me, what do you see?” I told him: nothing but a fuck toy, a cheap whore, trash. He suddenly began touching my clit through the cage. I moaned, begged for more. He teased me until I lost precum again. “I bet you’d like to cum, hu?” Yes, Sir, please… He went on and I could feel my clit growing and the cage being to small. Master grabbed my balls, squeezed them, pulled them, implied he might open the Birdlock and reward me for being such a dutiful slut. Just when I believed him and thought he’d really let me have a reward, he laughed and hit me hard in the balls. “Don’t be silly, idiot”.

And that was it. He left me standing there, with no instructions, with all my hopes unfulfilled, with my clit throbbing and my face ruined. After some minutes I could hear him taking a shower, but I didn’t dare to move. After what I thought were 30 minutes I called for him, but he didn’t answer. After another what I thought to be 10 minutes, I finally decided to go upstairs and ask him if I could shower and eat something and get to sleep. He was already asleep when I entered the bedroom, so I ate and washed, then lay down next to him. I couldn’t help but crying. But that was O.K.

Yesterday, he didn’t say anything about it, just looked at me that certain, knowing way, like he was telling me “I know what you are”. Of course he does. I tried to disctract myself from my horniness by cleaning the windows, but that didn’t really help. In the afternoon, John told me he’d be off, to the club. I asked something like “whatwhycanicomewithyoupleeeasssse?”, but he just chuckled bemused and told me that he needed a good fuck and that after what he saw me doing the evening before he sure wouldn’t fuck my dirty holes or allow my dirty mouth around his cock. Then he was gone and I felt so ashamed, yet horny, that I didn’t know what to do but cry again. Ugh. A while later, he sent me a picture to my cellphone with him fucking a young stud. I was jealous, though I knew I had much more cocks in the past weeks than he had holes…When he returned in the evening, he was relaxed and vibrantly good-humoured.

I am still denied, which is painful. It always is. My brain is like a child’s brain and always wants what it is not allowed. If Master would forbid me oats, I probably would die for that oats, right? The worst thing is being kept chaste and being denied his cock. I manage to get a certain satisfaction by pleasing him, but being kept from that kind of pleasure makes me weepy. Oh what a poor gurl I am😀

 

Heavy Gear

On the weekend, when it was really hot, John decided I needed a nice break from everything. He knew I was sad and a bit upset because of the conversation with my GP and thought I needed a reminder of my main purpose in life: pleasuring him. Putting on the heavy gear is always connected with some effort as the latex sticks to the skin easily. First of all, I always need to apply baby powder to all areas of my body. I usually do that in the shower as I can clean that quite easily afterwards.

The first layer consisted of a latex shirt, latex pants and a thin latex mask. The second layer was a latex catsuit, the third a thick latex bodice and a thick latex gas mask. I haven’t worn any heavy gear in the past few months and I had forgotten how tight it is! John made me lay down on the floor, on which he had placed a thick latex bondage sack and closed that thing around me with its strips and added some belts so my chest and legs. Eventually he screwed a sleeve on to my mask and reduced its opening to make sure I don’t get too much oxygen. And that was it.

While he was enjoying some icecream on the porch, I lay there in distress. It was hot and sweaty and due to that little oxygen I could get, I soon got very aroused, but could not do anything about it. Every now and then, Master returned to look after me and all I had to increase my horniness was his voice. It’s hard to describe how much he can turn me on my just talking to me. Apart from the fact that I like his voice, he is able to tell me the most degrading, bad things in such an enticing way… After a while I lost my sense of time. He removed the sleeve and made me suck his cock, but due to the mask I couldn’t swallow him and just suck on the tip. He fed me his semen and asked me whether I wanted something more to drink… I said yes and was lucky to have him piss into my mouth.

It’s strange, but being there again where I have been so often before, made me feel good in an instance. In the past months I’ve been where I haven’t really been before and being in that familiar situation helped me relax, big time! When he opened the gear to release my cock and began hammering it with a paddle, it felt so good! But he didn’t allow me to cum, he just laughed about my pathetic cock, then left me there. No relief, just frustration and heat and sweat.

I felt I must have been there more than an hour when he finally saw my erection had vanished and released me. I still was horny like hell, but he just told me to clean up (which means: having a shower and taking the thin latex clothes I wore on my skin with me to shower them, too), while he snuggled up on the porch again, reading. I was tempted to fap, but I did not. I know he doesn’t want me to unless he gives me permission. When I was done, I returned to him, naked, and he inspected my body. “On your knees, cunt. Brush that clit past the table, and if I like what I see, you might get to cum”. Oh dear… I know I like being humiliated, but humping furniture to cum is so bad and therefore so good…just like a stupid dog. He kept reading while I did the corner of the table, carefully avoiding to put my hands any near my cock. Occasionally, he look up and grinned, shook his head, then returned to his book. Humping furniture isn’t very helpful in terms of cumming, so I ask him permission to rub my tits. He nodded. That was better. I made it in no time, but when I asked for permission to cum, he just laughed, so I stopped. Started again. Got no permission. Started again. He kept me edging for a while and until the table was all besmeared with precum.

“Put that joke on the floor”, he then demanded. It’s not that simple, putting your cock on the floor, is it? When I had managed, he got up and stepped on it with his shoes on. He trampled and kicked it, moved his heel on my clit. Oh damn, that was so intense. And this time he allowed me to cum…but then, just when the orgasm started, he took away his foot and ruined it. I was so frustrated. “Complete useless”, he chuckled. “Clean up your mess, get into the device and get me something to eat, whore”. I did.

Welcome back to chastity…

For this week, he gave me a nice task: go and buy some ugly, degrading underwear from the granny’s section, wash and wear it. “You think you are cute? You are not. You are nothing but a pathetic dog-whore. You are trash.” Thank you, Sir, for reminding me of my place and duties.

GP Done

I knew it would be embarrassing, but I didn’t expect it to be that awful, when W and I went to see my GP. I could tell he wouldn’t support me right away. He didn’t listen to me and told me right to my face that he thinks I’m a sick person and would need much more therapeutic help than I already have had and have. Moreover, he told me that he thinks my wish to get hormone treatment is just another perversion connected to my unhealthy relationship. I was done, when we left, and I was glad W was with me. I needed to cry and he held me just a little bit until I felt a bit better. GP, done.

Yesterday, when I went to see my therapist, I took the courage to talk it over with him. He admitted that he doesn’t feel competent and asked me to wait until next week. He will search for a therapist who might be able to help me and to explain the possibilities to me. That was a bit more helpful, but for sure not what I wanted to hear. Sigh.