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.

Normal?

In the past few days I’ve been thinking a lot about aggression/submission and our kind of relationship. Being overpowered is one of my biggest turn ons, yet one of my worst experiences. I do want it, but from a certain state of being overpowered on, I can no longer keep a healthy distance to my feelings. From there on I really need John to be in charge and decide what’s best for me, and we both know it would be very easy for him to lead me into self-destruction and irreversible damage.

But to be honest, he has already done irreversible damage to me, and I wanted it, I like it and I feel I needed it. Being brutally spanked and caned  for years leaves marks and my butt-cheeks are scarred. I wanted it that way, because I wanted John to cover the scars my father left. I’d want him to cover every single one of them if that was possible. I like everyone can see these love-marks on me, and they are a constant reminder for me that I am his slut. His whore. His.

Sometimes when W and I talk, my thoughts wander. When we were lovers, he said he couldn’t do to me what I wanted and needed and now, having stepped so often over this border, I know exactly what he was talking about back then. To be honest, I think I crossed the point of safe return years ago. It didn’t take long to cross it after I had met John. He is so seductive and can do the worst things to me with a kind smile that makes my knees weak and my clitty hard in an instance. Have I ever considered coming back at all? On Friday, when I had my therapeutic session, I said that I always thought I imght go back to normal…until I found out that I’ve never been normal. Would normal turn me on, fulfill me? Not at all.

I am not surprised to find that certain thoughts do take their toll. I have only one person to talk that over apart from John and some internet-friends, and this is W. So I took courage and told him that the longer I think about starting hormone replacement therapy, the more I want it and the more my concerns vanish. I know I’m not transgender, I feel like a man and I don’t regard my cock as the wrong genital, but I miss having real tits, even though I like those silicone boobs. They are O.K. and they help a lot, but I envy those transsexual women who develop real boobs, and I feel the strong urge to be like them. I asked W whether he thinks that makes me less of a man. He gave me such a kind answer! He said he believes that we’re living in a time when the borders between the genders vanish, slowly but for sure, and that in some years it might be easier for people like me. He regards me as a man with a strong and beautiful feminine side. Oh my, that was cute:)

I doubt that I could get hormones without being able to assure my doctors I am living in the wrong body. W encouraged me to try to talk that over with my GP, but I don’t have much hope. After all, all my doctors know I have that PTSD and am mentally disabled and concerning what trans friends tell me, that doesn’t look too good for hormones. W convinced me to try it anyway, and he will even accompany me:) But to be honest, I’m already taking other solutions into account. For sure I’m not going to eat a lot of tofu. Others have tried and they failed and even if I like tofu sometimes, I surely don’t like it enough to eat at least 1,2 kg of it per day!:) I even consider getting plastic surgery, abroad, if neccessary and if German surgeons don’t feel capable to help me getting boobs. But I don’t want to think so far. First of all, I’m going to see my GP soon, hopefully in the coming days. Wish me luck, please.

While He’s Making Money

I am back into my submissive mode. The past few weeks have been exceptional tender and cuddly, but now, with that referendum pending, John has so much work to do that when he makes it home, he is angry and tired and doesn’t give a fuck about me or my needs. When things change that abruptly, I sometimes feel strange. In one moment I was his beloved partner, in the next I’m just his fuck toy, his whore. He is working hard and he expects me to function properly. He doesn’t want to hear about my day or how it was at work, he just wants his home to be run perfectly, he wants food he likes and he wants rough sex whenever, wherever he likes it. He spanks and slaps me, pushes me around, uses me like an object, yells at me, calls me names. Maybe I’m a bad person, but at night, when he’s already asleep and I feel my skin and my asshole hurt, and while I wear my collar and know I should feel abused, all I feel is love. I know he isn’t angry with me, he’s just stressed out, and I’m glad I can help him relax. And, to be honest, it turns me on beyond belief to be treated like the whore I am. I don’t know if I deserve to be treated like that, but I am lucky to have a Dom who loves me enough to beat the shit out of me. At the moment, I don’t want to think about the conflicts that will cause, I just want to savour this intense feeling of being his property, his useless cunt, his cum dumpster and his punching bag. Love hurts.

Back Early

I’m back a bit earlier than planned, but as soon as the results from the referendum were out, John’s cellphone didn’t turn quiet and he decided we must return home. I’m a bit sad about that, I had loved to stay for longer, but of course I support him.

It’s a bit hard to put my last one and a half week down into some sentences. First of all, we both have difficulties in re-adjusting to everyday life. Our holidays were gorgeous. I’ve heard so much about Britain and have several friends who are in love with the UK that I was wondering what it is all about, and now I know. Clearly the first thing that comes into my mind is that the English are very polite! I guess I can understand much better now what it is all about that “Gentleman thing” in John. It just comes naturally to him. Then, it’s an amazing country with so many beautiful places. The sea, of course, and all those small villages and untamed woods, all the green and the beautiful sky. The English houses are something I needed to get used to. They are built with smaller rooms than German houses, but John explained that most of the British family life takes place in the livingroom, so I get that. There was a lot going on concerning the referendum and you could feel that people were excited and anxious, especially after they published the results.

We had a beautiful lodge just for us, among old birch trees, only 2 mins away from the sea. I had planned to make dinner there most times, but it turned out that most times we went out for dinner or were invited to friends of John. I didn’t complain about that:) In the mornings, we often woke up with the birds and just lay there, holding hands or cuddling and occasionally falling asleep again. It was intense and beautiful, spending so much time with a relaxed John. Clearly he misses the UK and obviously the UK misses him, too. I have met so many nice people he knows from his childhood and adolescence that I wondered how ever he could leave for Switzerland/Germany. He said he needed to get out.

He showed me around his hometown and even the house he lived in as a child and until his parents died. I guess seeing that house again made him somehow sad, and because of that we talked a lot about another person he has lost too early. I suggested he might go to his grave, but John was hesitant, I didn’t force him. He needed to be alone for a while and while he was taking a walk through the woods, I went shopping. In the evening, he told me that he has thought it over and wanted to go to the graveyard, but not alone. He asked me to accompany him, which made me very proud! On the next day, we bought a bouquet with roses and lilies and went to his grave. I don’t want to tell too much, but I could clearly see how much John still misses him. Ugh…

Meeting friends of John’s again was so much fun. They told me some stories I had never heard before, and I guess my sweet husband was quite a brat back in his childhood😀 I was surprised to find none of his old friends were irritated about John being gay, which made me feel very comfortable and relaxed. One woman said that she was sad when she found out because she wanted to be his girlfriend back then:) To be honest, meeting all those nice people who obviously like John made me a bit sad. I guess if I met someone I knew in my childhood, he’d just say I was scum, and probably he’d be right.

One day, we made a trip 70 miles away and for that occasion John asked me to dress gurlish. He knew I felt the urge to, but he had asked me not to do so when meeting his friends and being around his hometown, so I just loved to put make up and a skirt on. It was quite windy and chilly that day, so I wore leggings with my skirt and a jacket. That felt so good! We went sight-seeing and had a nice walk along the beach, then had tea in a cozy tea room, where John read the newspaper and I wrote postcards to friends. In the evening, he invited me to a seaside restaurant, and there I had my first draught of wine in some years now. It was strange, because I felt so well with that, like being a someone, finally, who is able to enjoy wine without falling for alcohol or having to binge-drink. I might drink a bit every now and then, and obviously my stomach was O.K. as well! I guess so many things have changed for me, I might even try some cheese! But I don’t want to rush it anyway.

Speaking of sex, our holidays were gorgeous, but nevertheless exhausting, too:) John had decided that I should put a plug in place as soon as I lay down on the bed and count the hours. He said he’d reward my effort in the end. That way he made sure I was eager to use that plug and I was horny most of the time. As accurate as he is, he made me count hours and minutes and add them up in the end. I was glad my cellphone could do that for me:) All in all, I accomplished almost 78 hours and when we had packed our bags, he handed me the plus again and said if I’d wear it until we were home and until 85 hours were complete, then he’d have a nice little something for me. Ugh! But I did it and now I know that having a plug up your ass doesn’t bother the security checks at the airport:) When we arrived home and I had unpacked the bags, he presented me with another bead for my bracelet, so beautiful! That’s the most amazing souvenir I could have wished for and I love it!

On the other hand, I somehow pity myself, because during the whole trip, Love didn’t sleep with me. He just made me suck him off, sometimes five times a day. Of course I enjoyed it, but giving head and masturbating is not quite the same as having sex with him…but I don’t want to sound unthankful, because I appreciate that he allowed me to climax whenever I wanted to. I don’t know why, but the more I’m Ginny, the less important my own orgasm becomes. Of course I still like cumming, but sometimes I’m all satisfied with just being stimulated and then denied.

All in all, I am so thankful that John allowed me to explore my borders concerning travelling. I would have never thought I’d be able to see so much and travel so far. John suggested we might fly to Thailand in autumn, and that I should go and apply for a passport and have my vaccinations checked. I don’t know if all that’s possible until autumn, but he said if it doesn’t work that quickly, then we’ll go there next spring! I can’t believe it and am scared like hell just thinking about that long flight, but on the other hand it would be a dream coming true. Especially because Thailand is known for its acceptance of gurls. But for now, I’m back home. Now I’ll order pictures online and make a photo album out of them.

Off For The UK

Just a quick note. John and I will be leaving tomorrow for the UK. I’m so excited! It’ll be the first time I see my Love’s homeland and even his hometown. He has promised to show me around and introduce me to some places he has loved when he still lived there. He has made some appointments for us and I’m eager to meet people who knew him as a child:)

I know I haven’t been posting regularly lately, but I didn’t want to rush off without a note. So, have a good time and see you in two weeks:)