Sissy Shopping

Lately my Master demanded a brave proof for my intent to become more sissificated which led us to a city about one and a half hour away from home. It’s a big city, so it’s easy to vanish into thin air among all these folks there, and I was glad John had taken me there and not insisted I should do it in our rather small hometown. The night before he had given me a note on which he had written all the things he wanted me to buy. It said

  1. 1 white bra with lace, convenient size, modest looks
  2. 1 coloured bra with lace, tight-fitting, slutty looks
  3. 1 white panty with lace, convenient size, modest looks
  4. 1 coloured panty with lace, tight-fitting, slutty look
  5. 1 belt, black
  6. 2 pairs of nylons, black
  7. 1 vest, white, modest looks
  8. 1 underskirt, white, modest looks
  9. 1 blouse with lace, white, modest looks
  10. 1 skirt, black, modest looks
  11. 1 blouse, slutty looks
  12. 1 skirt, slutty looks
  13. 1 ball gown, must be very girlish
  14. mascara, lipgloss, eyeshade and rouge in decent colours
  15. lipstick, eyeshade and rouge in slutty colours
  16. 1 package of sanitary towels, normal
  17. 1 package of sanitary towels, incontinence
  18. 1 package of tampons
  19. 1 can of Vaseline

I guess John added item 19 to make it a bit more annoying for me at the cash desk.

The night before our trip I could hardly get to sleep. I was very nervous and kept asking myself how I would perform. We had talked this trip over and over again and we both thought it a good idea to make buying these things a bit of a challenge, besides trying clothes on is always better than just ordering them online. But anyway, I was very excited and nervous. It’s one thing pretending you’re buying a bra for your non-existent girlfriend or having to try things on!

To be honest, my experiences with bras and other women’s underwear are scarce. I have lived together with two women and sometimes I hung up their freshly washed clothes and of course I’ve seen underwear on women, but I have never really tried to open or close a bra, not to speak of any experiences concerning finding out which size I needed.

John had promised me to stay somewhere in the near, but he denied to help me, which made it a bit more embarassing. When I stood in front of all these undies, I did not know which size to choose, so I began with choosing a design. I had the list handy and went it through systematically, always picking what seemed to be the biggest size. For a man, I’m quite slender, but for a woman I guess I’m broad. They had no belt at all, only some corsages with attached suspenders, but they all seemed to be too small. I managed to flit over to the blouses and skirts unmolested, but when I was pondering about the question whether a see-through-blouse would fit Master’s idea of a slutty blouse, I was hit by the shop assistant. I had hoped I could’ve avoided that.

I had thought about how I should best respond to a shop assistant before and had come to the conclusion that telling a lie about my fictional girlfriend would not work out, as I had to try the clothes on. So I had decided to be honest. I told her it was my first time shopping from the women’s department and that I did not know my size. You could tell by the looks in her eyes that she was bewildered, but I guess in a big city people are used to not bother too much about other people’s concerns, at least I hope so. She reacted very professionally for which I was thankful. First, she took me back to the undies and wrapped a measuring tape around my chest. It turned out that I’m at 99 cm. She told me to try bras in size 95 with cups A for small breasts. She said there were even AA cups for very small breasts but obviously not at size 95. She also took others measures to find out which size I’d need for blouses and trousers or skirts. I wanted to thank her and make my way through the department, but obviously she had decided that I needed her help.

I did not know whether to be glad or embarrased, but it turned out she was really helpful. I tried not to let her look at my list, but when she finally did, it turned out she did not speak English. What a relief, as this meant she wouldn’t get to know about the make-up and other things. It was very hard for me to stay calm and serious. I was very excited and could feel the looks of others burning on my skin. I whished Love would have been there with me and it gave me a hard time knowing that he was watching me and pretending not accompanying me.

It did not take too long until I had picked hopefully fitting undies. The assistant suggested I should try them on first before moving over to the other clothes, so I did. When I was in the changing cubicle, I saw how red my face had gotten. First of all I sat down and tried to calm down a bit by focussing on my breath. When I sat there, I thought how odd I felt. I really wanted to be there and I had to admit that I was turned on by the thought of shortly putting on women’s underwear, but simultaneously I felt ashamed and insecure. What a well-known feeling that is.

I undressed and took the first bra of my life. The assistant had advised me how to put it on and I did as she told me. It fitted, although I thought I should find something to stuff it with. The look at myself bewildered me. It was strange and abasing, but nonetheless I felt gorgeous and in a way beautiful and glamourous. I liked it. When I had tried on all the bras and panties and vests, there was still a belt missing, because the corsage did not fit me. I changed again. The shop assistant was waiting for me and I told her that the corsage had not been of my size. She replied that there was another shop in town which might offer what I was looking for.

We went over to the clothes and again she was very helpful, although it was very hard for me to insist wanting to try clothes that looked slutty. She seemed to think of me as a lady LOL During our conversation I saw she realized the ring on my finger and asked myself what she would think of me? A married man who lives out his fantasies without his wife? 🙂 They had a lot of skirts and blouses there which fitted my list, but it was a bit hard to find a gown. Most of them looked ways to noble, more like a wedding dress than an over-girlish ball gown. I guess it would have been easier when we lived in the 80ies! At least the assistant had the idea of looking among the costumes for carnival, but as these were in another department, she sent me to try the skirts and blouses on first.

It turned out my shoulders are a bit too broad for most blouses of my actual women’s size, so that she brought them again one size bigger. Trying the clothes on was not easy. I had a stiffy and was very aroused and I thought she could see it. Women’s clothes are very smooth. Great chance I ruin them within a week 😦 When I had picked the things Master wanted me to buy, I added another skirt and another blouse, just because.

The assistant accompanied me to the carnivals section and they really had a very girlish princess-costume there. It’s pink with ribbons and lace. When I put it on…well, I guess I should not have done, but it just needed some strokes to have me there. When I had clamed down and changed, she took me to the cash desk and we said goodbye and I thanked her for the help. She said, now that I know my sizes, buying clothes the next time will be easier. Yeah, I guess. The looks of the customers around me were embarassing, but when I finally had three bags handed over to me, I thought I could be proud of me.

When I left the shop, Love was waiting in front of it. He smiled and waved a small bag. “I have added a bit on to it. Thought you might like it”. He had bought the corsage which was too small for me and, for God’s sake, a crown made of gold wire and rhinestones. Ugh! He kissed me and I could tell he was very aroused, too. We decided to look for the belt in the other store and they had one which fitted me, although their shop assistant was not as helpful and kind. We had something for lunch and then Love advised me to buy the other things from my list. But buying make-up is not such an effort and I did not need help with it. To be honest, buying tampons and Vaseline at the same time feels ways more uncomfortable than buying a princess-costume.

When we came home, Master wanted me to show what I bought and I made a little fashion show for him, although we did not come very far. I don’t know why but wearing women’s undies is really hot! Now I’m thinking about getting me a pair of shoes, but I guess I’ll have to order them because of my size.


Gurlish Attitude

I have never really written about it until now, but realigning our relationship has made it neccessary to think and talk over forced feminization. If you’ve been following my blog for a while and have been reading between the lines, you might have guessed it already. John and I are a bit into it, but it now turns out we’re a bit more than we thought we were. Uhm.

The first occasion took place only a few months after we had met. In retroperspective I’d say, there were hints even before, such as certain words John used while I served him or certain things he fantasized about. A lot of gay men actually like the thought of a feminine counterpart, because it emphasizes their masculinity, their power and strength. John started to talk of my ass as a cunt and I liked it. He began calling me his maid, especially when I had my hands in the sink cleaning the dishes while he stepped behind me and did indescribable things. Of course it’s all about that dumb sexist world view we dismiss in everyday life. But when the juices are flowing… You know how it is.

I’ve been struggling with allowing myself to feel this way. I was brought up being told to be a man, not a pussy, although it simultaneously was made clear that at least I was a pussy, no matter how hard I tried to be not (telling enough that he called it “Muschi”, pussy, and not “Frau”, woman). I could not escape my father and his assults, so I adjusted to them. I knew what he expected from me, so I did it in order to keep more or less intact. Sometimes he said it was my fault my mother was gone and that I was supposed to take her place. It was when John started calling me his gurl that this memory came back to me. It aroused me unbelievably. I liked it. It felt humiliating to the core and I would not want to discuss this feeling with my friends S and C. I have tried to, but sexuality is a sector I fail to be politically correct in. Political correct kink isn’t kinky at all. It’s rather boring to me, but I feel ashamed for that. I really strive to be a good person, but when it comes to what turns me on, I totally fail being a good guy. I like it dirty and painful.

When John came up with that lace panty I have written about, it was in that sissyficational context. I knew it, even though we did not talk it over. I knew he wanted me to wear it because it made me feel humiliated and gurlish and it made him feel like his maid’s Daddy. Like the superior man he is and obviously likes to be. In our relationship I have thankfully overtaken the female part. Of course it’s a cliché that wives are always obedient and treat their husbands like Masters, but I like to think of me as a cliché-wife. Always obedient, always obliging, and at least always volunteering my own degradation. In some BDSM blogs there was a picture which showed a leather strap and the words written “Your one and only rule in my house: I tell you what to do and you say yes Sir!”. That hits the point. That’s characteristic for our relationship and even though I tried to live more freely and not so ruled by John, it did not fit my needs. It gave me a hard time finding out that I’m as submissive as I thought I was. I’ve had the hope I could be more self-reliant and self-determinated, but NO I can’t. I can’t because whatever I do, I cant escape myself or the impression my father left on me. Maybe I’m a jerk because I’m too weak or too stupid to find a politcal correct kink for myself, but all that ever turns me on is getting fucked like a whore and loved like as husband.

It’s rather hard to put that down into words, because I’m ashamed of that finding. I thought it could be enough being my Master’s sub, but it turns out it is not. John and I had a lot of serious conversation about it and he suggested to carefully stretch the boarders. First I was thankful, but then I realized I don’t want it carefully. I want it, just like that. The only thing I humbly asked was “don’t scorn me for that”. He promised he would not.


As I have recently posted, Love and I engage into a couple of new games at present, because we both feel we need to get back on track with our BDSM-relationship and John took the opportunity to introduce me to some new and some abhorred things. Figging belongs to the second category. I really hate figging, as I hate all games connected with substances that burn on my skin like hot pepper sauce or lube / ointment with chile. But John likes it. He says, it’s a pleasure to watch me mourn and wriggle when I can’t fight the affection of getting burnt. Uhm, yes. But I want to make it clear that John never burns my skin with fire or cigarettes. Plants that cause the skin to burn usually don’t have any negative effects on one’s health unless you get a heart attack after eating them 🙂

Last week Sir came home with a bag from the grocerystore. He had bought ginger. The mere existence of this alerted me, as we do not eat it regularly and had not planned to cook with it, but Sir made me wait for three full days and savoured my anxiety. Then finally he had decided it was time to release me, or sort of. The beauty of an BDSM-relationship to me lies in the fact that my Dom always finds a good reason to punish me, if he wants to. I’m totally dependent on his good mood and if his mood’s not that well, it might hurt or get annoying. It’s a bit arbitrary for sure, but all in all it puts me into my place, I think. I savour being helpless.

So when Sir came home he found the bathroom sink was not as clean as he had wished it to be. When dinner turned out to be served when still a bit hot, he grabbed my hair, pulled my head back and asked with this calm voice I love so much: “Didn’t you consider I might burn myself?” No, Sir, I’m sorry, Sir. He smiled faintly and I got a stiffy. He reached out for his fork, put some food from his plate on it and forced it into my mouth. I burnt my tongue a bit, but not bad. “It’s too hot, right?” Uhm, yes, Sir, at least a bit. He repeated the feeding, bis this time with food taken from the middle of his plate. Now I burnt my tongue. “A bit?” No, Sir, it’s too hot, I am sorry. “Son, I’m working really hard and when I come home, I want to find everything nice and neat in its place.” It turned out a not so clean sink and a slightly too hot dinner were not his opinion of a well-kept house. He strengthened his grip and pulled me closer towards him, then brought his mouth close to my ear and whispered. “You seem to have forgotten a lot, son, haven’t you?” I nodded and felt precum dripping into my boxers. “I’ll bring everything back into your mind, don’t worry.” He instructed me to go to our bedroom, undress and lie on the bed.

When he followed, I lay there naked and breathing hard. It was the very first time we would play one to one in a serious manner again since Leo left. I was a bit afraid and I was horny. In the past weeks and days my willingness to prove myself had grown and I was eager to demonstrate my regained submissive behaviour. On the other hand, I had a hunch of what John would put me through to make my punishment as uncomfortable as possible.

He came to the side of the bed, just saying nothing. He examined me closely, then reached out for me and touched my lips, my nipples, my ass and my genitals, at least all parts he considers to be his. I felt exposed and rated. No wonder human beings feel uncomfortable or even degraded when others appraise them. Thoughts were running wild. Does he still like what he sees? Am I dirty, do I smell? After a while that seemed to stretch in silence, he told me to lie on my stomach with my cock facing downward. I did. He touched my bell-end with his fingertips, realizing the precum I had lost. “Seems you’re hoping for something”, he said and I could hear him smile. I swallowed and admitted I was. “Hold yourself open for Daddy, honey”. Ugh, there it was. That word. And all came back to me. The long struggle to accept my feelings for him, our approaches in Father-son-roleplay. I did as he told me, spread my cheeks and exposed myself to him. He just stood still, watching. I could feel his fingers on my legs, wandering upward, touching my ass, my cunt. He spit between my legs. One thing more I had not accepted before. When he did, I knew he did to make me feel humiliated. He succeeded. I felt something cold on my cunt and Love working it up my ass. At first, I thought whatever it was, it was ok, but it needed only 30 seconds to make me realize it wasn’t. It burnt like crazy and I wanted to get rid of it. John laughed. “It’s hot, innit?” Yeah! He let me have it for a moment, then took it out to show me. It was a peeled gingerroot. Of course it was.

“Thought I should set your arse on fire to get you to do your chores”, he smiled. I knew I was lost. He tied my hands to the bed and did the same with my ankles. Then he returned to me, spat between my legs again and replaced the ginger. The burning sensation, which had not vanished meanwhile, increased again, itching simultaneously. It felt like having a burning coal inside of me. Maybe Sir let the ginger rest for one minute before removing it. My ass-cunt was burning and I was gasping for air. “Mh, nice” was his only comment. He stroke my ass very tenderly, but instead of making it better, he made it worse. The ticklish strokes were too much for my nerves and seemed to increase the pain. John sat down beside me, petting my back and my legs. I was leaking precum like crazy. After perhaps 3 or 5 minutes, the sensation faded. Again he spat between my cheeks and worked the ginger up my cunt. We repeated the game. Before he put it back for the next time, he gave me a hard spanking, using a wooden brush. Now my ass was burning inside and outside. I was out of control.

He replaced the ginger, kissed me and patted my head, shoved a comforter between my lips and left me. When it started, I thought I could take it. The gingerroot seemed to have become a bit tamer. I thought I could take it for about one minute. Then it started to burn like hell. I really thought my skin was burnt by fire as fire-injuries don’t hurt more. I spat out the comforter, groaning and grunting, looking for an escape, only that there was none.

I guess these were the most painful 40 minutes in the past two years or so. I was sweating like hell and trying not to stop breathing. The burning was even worse when I moved, so I tried to keep still. I could not. It felt perverted, but although it hurt that fiercely, I was aroused. It seemed Sir had found a way to fuck every part of me without even being there with me!

When Love returned, I was done. I had shed tears, I was thirsty and felt sore. My ass-cunt was still pulsing and burning, but the sensation was that bad that it had somehow gotten numb. Sir removed the gingerroot, inspecting my hole and making a joke about the big stains of precum on the sheets. He came to my side, undressed, and I was keen to welcome his cock inside my mouth. He presented me with a load of piss and made me drink it. I know I couldn’t have loved champagne more. He then made me suck him and finally put on a condom to protect himself from ginger sap and fucked the brain out of me. It hurt very bad and I was tempted several times to use our safeword, but I did not. I told myself I had begged for a punishment and that I would endure anything he inflicted on me. He began touching my cock, rubbing it softly while fucking me. But it would have been too easy if he would have allowed me to cum. Instead, he ruined my orgasm perfectly, making me dribble all my cum on the bed and then licking it up.

I guess that won’t have been the last time we played figging. Moreover, I fear there will be more to come as John pondered aloud on the question whether inserting horseradish oder peppermint candy bars inside my ass-cunt might burn as well. I guess they will.

Keep Being Yourself

During the Christmas Holidays it was powerfully brought back to my mind that I can’t help being submissve and masochistic in a rather rough way, as I have already stated. In the past year I’ve been trying to emerge from being that submissive and to lead a more normal kind of life, as if the BDSM-aspect was reduced to what we did behind closed doors or in sexual context only. Our relationship changed, een before we met Leo. John allowed me to experiment with this new role. I have not been kept in chastity for such long periods of time and most of the year I have not been chaste at all. He agreed with hiring a char to help me with our household. Although we still had a BDSMy relationship, the lines between this and what I would call a normal relationship blurred. It did not always feel right for me to be used to John’s pleasure only and we had some serious chats about that. I ask him to ask for my permission before he would fuck me and that resulted in much lesser intercourse and spankings than I was used to. In the past few weeks and even more during Leo’s stay with us, I realized that my longing for a more normal and self-determined life caused our relationship to change dramatically. John tried his best to let me have my way and made some concessions concerning his dominant and sadistic affection. He went into distance to provide me with the clearance I seemed to need and lived out his dominant and sadistic needs with other men. That again made me jealous and did not increase my willingness to serve him.

In the past weeks I’ve been thinking very intensely about the clash between my ideal of a normal, self-determined life and my actual masochistic, submissive needs. Obviously I was trying to be someone I am not. I have mistaken admiring a stable, normal person with trying to be one. I do not regret the last year in terms of finding out more about myself, but trying to be who I am not put a lot of pressure upon me and for the worse on John. Maybe I can’t do no other way because of what my father did, but actually it doesn’t really matter to me any more.

I have missed being myself. I have really missed being told what to do, being available all the time, serve my Dom. I had forgotten about the most important rule of my relationship: keeping my Dom happy equals keeping myself happy.

When Leo was with us, it all came back with power. The days we spent with him were extraordinary anway and had nothing to do with our everyday life. So I found myself serving two men, being roughly used and slapped in the face, being fucked like a whore and loved like a husband. And it was then when I realized that I really need this because that’s me! I thought I could make myself equal to John if I denied being submissive, but that was doomed to failure.

At the moment Love and I try to refocus on what we really want and need and what we want our relationship to be. I have begged for his forgiveness and although he says he’s not mad with me, I know it will take some time to bring us back on course. I have asked him whether he’d have the kindness to punish me for my egoistic ways. He smiled mildly and replied that he thinks it was good to find out where I really belong and that he’s glad to have his boy back, then he asked why the fuck I was still on my feet and not kneeling before him, kissing his shoes. Well, I refused to do that before, but it turned out that asking for forgiveness and getting back on track is connected with stretching one’s boarders.

In these days I’m on my knees a lot, licking dirty shoes clean, getting spanked, blowing my Dom off and trying my best to demonstrate my contriteness. In the things John demands from me and in what he says I can sense how deeply it must have injured him to feel like losing his sub. He makes me suffer and I’m gratuful he does. We have to get rid of my attempts to lead a normal life and get back to business as usual. With me being kept chaste and denied and being told what to do. I feel like I’m back home, finally.

Puja Has Changed

I thought I could give a quick review of how my way of making Puja has changed since I worte about for the last time.

I’ve been continuing to make Puja on an everyday base, but the ritual itself has changed. When I started, I felt offering fire (candle) and smoke (incense) was appropriate. I added flowers and food or drinks whenever I could or felt Lord Shiva wanted me to do so, but from last summer on no longer as a daily routine. I had a lot of conversation with W about it and he said that when people get more familiar with their Gods, their relationship changes. I can actually sense what Lord Shiva wants as an offering. When I first felt He was talking to me, I ignored it and offered what I had in mind, but His voice came back again and again, until I gave in and bought what He wanted. I have experimented with that and found it impossible to deny Him. I guess ignoring Him would have serious effects on our relationship. Whenever I tried to deny Him, I felt sad and incontent without any other reason than His absence or Him feeling mad with me. So I stopped trying to have it my way and began listening closer to Him. I stopped questioning what He demands from me. The incident with the deer was not amusing! But it still gives me a hard time taking this inner voice for real and not doubting my sanity.

So, for the last couple of month I have been offering milk on a daily base and alcoholic drinks whenever I had the occasion. I myself don’t drink alcohol, but when John’s having a glass of wine or so, I offer some draughts. It even happened that I brew a coffee for Lord Shiva 🙂 Instead of rice, I tend to offer bread or breadcrumbs or even some Muesli when I have some handy. First I thought that would not be good enough as bread as we know it and Muesli are not so popular in India, but it turns out Lord Shiva likes it. Since He told me He wanted blood I’ve been offering some meat every now and then, most times when I prepare some for John. Sometimes it gives me a hard time trying to decide what to keep for John and what to offer Lord Shiva, but in most cases Lord Shiva likes the parts I cut away from the meat like fat or rind.

When I started connecting with Lord Shiva I felt very inhibited when I wanted to sing for Him and I can’t say I’ve gotten used to it. I still feel ashamed for myself, including my unability to hold a tone, but obviously Lord Shiva acts like a Dom. He really likes me to do the things I think I can’t handle. He likes to keep it a bit annoying for me. Not in a rude manner, but as a challenge.

It was in late autumn when I found a bracelet of prayer beads and I’ve been wearing it ever since. To me, it’s a bit more handy than my Mala necklace. It reminds me of His omnipresence and in times I feel insecure or lost, it helps to see, feel and touch it, quite like my wedding ring.

When I began dealing with Lord Shiva, I read a lot about Him, but I have stopped that. I found that the information provided in the books fit my experiences only in about 70% and that felt a bit unsettling. W and I had a lot of conversations about that and it was him who told me that a lot of lore concerning his Gods and Goddesses doesn’t fit into his experiences (and that he doesn’t give a damn). I wanted to do it right and to get Lord Shiva right, but even if I wanted to, I can’t go to my local temple and have a goat butchered. That’s why I just try to do what I can to satisfy Him and my spiritual needs as well.

All in all, daily Puja consists of cleaning the altar, bowing to Lord Shiva 18 times, offering some milk in the morning or alcohol in the evening and chanting the OM NAMAH SHIVAYA Mantra 18 times. Wearing the prayer beads has also become a part of my daily Puja. Most times I notice it, I like to think (or chant when I’m alone) the Mantra 3 times.

Yes Sir

The past two weeks were not as contemplative as I had wanted them to be. John went to see his doctor and what he told him was not too good. There will be more examinations during January and John got a temporal medication. I guess there’s not much we can do in first instance instead of what we already try to do (eat well, relax and do some sports), but I’m really concerned about him.

We had Leo attending during Christmas and New Year and it was just yesterday evening when he had to leave. I already miss him. John and I might probably travel to Switzerland at the end of this month to see him for a weekend.

We had some conversations about us, but all of us seemed to avoid thinking about the future. I guess we’re all a bit clueless, but I sense none of us wants to keep travelling forever. Leo made a joke (or I guess it was a joke) and said that neither John nor I could leave as simple as he could and that the area in which we’re living in is quite nice. And to be honest, I don’t want to leave. My family, my friends and my work are here and I think I’ve settled into all of that well.

For me, this Christmas was a lesson in devotion, trust and love as I had two men reign over me. In the past few month I have had a taste of more freedom, but the Holidays made it clear to me where I belong and which lifestlye fits my needs best. I’m still the submissive, masochistic man I used to be and I feel only content when serving Alphas. I like an equitable relationship in many matters, but I need to know my place and my Dom taking care of me. I’m thankful John allowed me to find that out.