It’s Not Torture When You Cum

Last weekend John and I had so much fun. It started on Friday night when he told me I was not allowed to sit down to eat. Standing straight is one of his favourite treatments for me, and in the past two years especially when I wear heels. I’m not really able to properly walk in those, but I have learned to stand straight while wearing them. They make my feet hurt and then turn numb after a while. So I was eating my dinner standing, which really sucks when you’re not allowed to put the plate down and your hand gets burned as well. I like that đŸ™‚

Later he inserted a whole can of fruit salad into my cunt (without the can itself). The sugar caused cramps of course and I felt full to the brim when he fucked me. Later he made me eat up the fruit and his spunk while taking photographs of me.

Saturday we had to do the groceries and I was plugged meanwhile. He told me that he wanted to use hot glue on me. Because my father liked to burn me with cigars, I don’t really tolerante burns, but I wanted to please John and agreed. He burned my legs and my clit as well and the intense pain made me cum. So I guess using hot glue is quite alright for me. As a punishment for having this spontaneous orgasm he beat me until I bled with his leather strip, which almost made me cum again LOL

On Sunday he slapped me in the face all day, whenever he thought of it. It’s so humiliating to be slapped and then be told to smile, but I did, because I enjoyed every second. Later he put my head inside a plastic back and choked me until I passed out, while he relentlessly fucked me.

When I returned to work on Monday I felt bruised, used, hurt, degraded and wounded and this feeling lingers. I wish he would torture me more often like this, like really hurt and destroy me. Since Sunday evening I’m wearing a device with a catheter, so when I want to pee I have to open the catheter and I can’t control the flow. I think that’s nice, because it makes me feel helpless and under control. On the next weekend we will clean it up and insert it again. I think cleaning it once a week should be fine, as catheters usually stay in for four weeks or more.


Self-help-group. Or Not.

Until now I have been three times in that gender-self-help-group (I had to skip it twice because of work). I don’t know what to think about that. Most times I feel more of a freak eversince. I try to find answers to my questions in others, which obviously doesn’t really make sense. I totally accept transpersons and I often wish I could say “I’m this and that” with their vigor, but I can’t. For example, for most transgirls it’s vital to pass as a girl. For me obviously not. I know that I have features that are too male to pass as a girl, and that’s alright for me. I don’t want to be a girl. Nor do I want to be an Alpha. Neither I’m capable to be.

When the transgirls talk about how to stuff your dick and how to speak and how to use make up to look more female, I feel strange. Like I don’t belong there. To be honest, it disturbs my inner peace. I have talked about that with S and C (C has trans issues as well), and they told me I shall give it a try some more times before I quit. I will. But I feel reluctant when it’s time to go there.

My therapist and I have agreed to continue our work until I found someone else to help me through that. It needs to be someone with experience with PTSD and abuse as well as with gender issues. In case I can’t find anyone like that, he will keep working with me, but leave the gender stuff for the other therapist. That’s alright for me. The doctor who made the first expertise has recommended another therapist for the second expertise and I will see him at the end of May. It’s a long time until then. He also recommended two therapists near to my hometown you work with gender issues. We’ll see. When I think of the way that lies ahead, I already feel tired.

To be honest, I didn’t expect that egg throwing thing to be that bad. Although John doesn’t throw eggs at my face (that would be downright dangerous and I could lose a tooth, an eye or break my nose), they really hurt a lot. It’s just like throwing stones at me. He loves that I hate it and quite often only pretends to throw them at me. I’m not allowed to shy away and I don’t, but that fucks my mind. They leave round, deep red bruises and and I quite a lot of them on me now. The bad thing is that most eggs don’t just fall apart after they hit me, so he throws them several times.

In the meanwhile I have found out why he gave me the rule with the breakfast. Each day I get the smashed eggs from the day before to eat. I am allowed to pick out the shells, but that’s it. And because the eggs were smashed before and landed on the floor, it’s disgusting as well because they have dust and bits stick to them. But sure, I do eat trash, so I try to just eat them and not think about it. Eating so much eggs makes me feel somehow bad. I’m not used to do so, but he keeps telling me that so much eggs will just make me horny due to all the protein. I guess it works as I’m horny all the time (but that might as well be the result of being so beautifully abused).

I have to wear an egg without the shell up my cunt all day. Usually I oly feel it for about an hour, then it obviously vanishes so deep inside my body, that I don’t really feel it any longer. When he fucks me, I think I can feel it somehow, but that sensation is blurry. Pretending that everything is just fine while having lunch with my family, knowing what a whore I am, makes me tickle with lust.