Earning It Back

To earn my pendant with that horsey back, I have agreed to do the following:

  • one week fully plugged, going for 24/7
  • during this week I’ll pump my titties each day for 30 minutes (2×15)  minimum
  • no masturbation at all, just T&D
  • no blowjobs, no sex at all

The week started last Tuesday, so today is only day 2. And I had not taken into account that wearing a plug this long is not only kinky af, but it also leaves my asscunt raw due to the friction. Ouchi. I had also not thought of how annoying Yoga would be this way. John smiled at me mildly when I told him and said that only proved once again that I’m no good in thinking. Literally he said “there’s a reason why you sell vegetables, Honey” đŸ™‚

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Spunkface

Today I was on the phone when John started masturbating in front of me. I wanted to suck him, but he denied me. After a short while he came right into my face, while I was still on the phone, then rubbed hisself clean with my hair. I didn’t clean myself, because I liked it. Later, when I was preparing dinner, I still had his spunk in my face, like a total whore.

Today I got nothing more than this.

Home Alone and Unfucked

I can’t recall how often I’ve had this now: me at home, doing chores, and Master somewhere out there, having fun with others. The decent stitch it gives me knowing that he prefers someone else to me will never get boring. I love being the denied housewife, not good enough for Master. I love how satisfied he looks when he comes home late at night, while I remain pitifully unfucked and desperately in heat. I love it when he tells me how cute the other one was and how well he made him cum, and that he had to struggle to keep hard when his thoughts touched me. I mean, knowing your husband prefers to fuck others would only be half as ticklish when he didn’t tell you right in the face what a pathetic cunt you are, wouldn’t it?

While he fucks others, I clean his house. While he fucks others, I press his shirts and trousers. While he fucks other, I put up fresh towels in the bathroom, so that he can take a shower, when he comes home.

Do I hope to get back one of my treasures? Surely not. Not for such normal duties.

 

Taken Away

Talking back is connected with punishment, each and every time. So when I talked back yesterday evening, John told me to hand him out three things I love above all: my Pandora bracelet, my little horse pendant and my collar. He said I could earn them back over time, but this won’t be easy. So at the moment I’m hanging on, waiting for the punishment to begin.

In the past week I had my appointment with the therapist my therapist had recommended. John had taken the day off and was able to drive me there (a 2 hour ride from home). I wouldn’t have been able to drive by myself, because I was shaky and nervous. I hadn’t really slept much during the nights before and was a total mess. I didn’t know what to wear, because I thought if I dressed as a guy, he would not believe me, and if I dressed like a gurl, he would not take me serious. I ended up with trying to dress neutral, which only led to a deeper feeling of worthlessness and dysphoria LOL So after he had witnessed an outburst and then a cry attack, John told me what to wear: a pair of jeans, a shirt and a cardigan, very low-key. I was so thankful for his advice that I cried a bit more. Oh well.

Once in his office, I was getting even more nervous. We had to wait a while, then he greeted us and said he wanted to talk to me alone, if possible. I though I could not make it, but he was kind and said that if I needed John, he could come in in an instance. After the introduction he asked me why I was there, and I thought he was joking, because my therapist had talked to him beforehand. He insisted he wanted to hear it all from me, so I asked him how much time he had LOL He told me not to worry, so I just started talking about…everything, I guess.

I told him about the abuse and that I’m diagnosed with PTSD and other mental disorders and that I’m not capable of living alone (why did I say that?) and that I suffer from eating disorders and selfharm and all that other stuff as well. He just listened and made some notes, but did not interupt me. I thought I was doing it wrong and got nervous. This went on until I had a complete blackout, like I didn’t know who I was and why I was there and nothing. He saw it and asked me about it, but I couldn’t answer him. He asked John to join us and he just grabbed my hand and rubbed my back. Immediately I burst out into tears again. I felt so ashamed, but I couldn’t help it. The therapist got me a glass of water and it took me some more minutes to calm down a bit.

With John by my side, it went better. The therapist wanted to know for how long I’ve been in therapy now and what kind of therapy and all, and I was able to answer him. He wanted to know since when we are together and how we met. Then, finally, he asked me to tell him about my dysphoria. Suddenly I felt a block. I thought if I told him, he would just tell me I’m crazy in the head, but John encouraged me to be open about it. And so I told him what I had told to my GP and my therapist and all the plastic surgeons as well. That for years now I’m feeling the need to alter my body to have boobs and a really tiny, impotent dicklet, but that I don’t feel like a woman and don’t want any surgery down there. That I’m jealous with all the T-girls and want to be like them and that in everyday life I love to dress like a girl, but not for sexual reasons only. He asked me about my beard and my sex drive and my sexlife in general. I felt ashamed to tell him, but I knew that John loved the fact that I had to tell a foreigner what a bitch I am, and that again encouraged me to be honest.

He asked me about how I feel during sex and if I am active. I told him I’m never active and never was (anal passive, oral active, of course). I said that I don’t feel like a woman and that I don’t know anything about how a woman should feel, but that I feel taken and that I love this feeling. He asked me if I masturbate and to which fantasies, and I told him that most time I’m in chastity, but when I masturbate, I think about being taken as well, and I was very honest and told him about my torture fantasies as well. He asked me several more questions about my fantasies and our actual sex-life, then he wanted to know more about chastity. Why, when it started, why again LOL how I cope with it, how everyday life is with it and so on.

When he said he had some questions for John, I was thankful for that break, because I felt exhausted. Although he was very nice and open-minded, it just was so much.

He asked John about how he copes with my disorders and how everyday life is for him. He wanted to know who of us was responsable for taking the first step into BDSM and John told him that it was the two of us and that we both have been into that lifestyle before. He was a sort of impressed by the fact that we have had our wedding (in Germany it’s called eingetragene Lebenspartnerschaft, which is not exactly the same thing as a marriage, but as the law has changed since then it could well be that we might get married officially some day). He emphasized that stable relationships are very important, yet a bit rare among people with my background. Then he wanted to know for how long I have those issues with wanting boobs and all and how John gets along with that in our everyday life. My husband was cute đŸ™‚ He told him that he loves me no matter what and that indeed his desire increased ever since. I mean, is that cute?

At the end of what were 2.5 hours he said that from what he saw and heard that day it is quite clear to him that I suffer from “non-specific gender-disorder” (what a weird term, don’t you think?). He thinks that I need another kind of therapy, because my issues in everyday life arise not only from my PTSD and the other stuff, but also from this. Hearing him say that was a total relief. So much that I had to cry again. He told me that I am not alone with this problem and that there are others like me out there, who don’t identify with being a “real” male or what I call Alpha and who want to be impotent and some even want to amputate their dicks (which I knew before). He said he will write an expertise about it and he recommended a colleague of his for another one, because if I get two expertises to say the same thing about me, I will be able to get medical treatment as well. I asked what exactly this means, and he said that with two expertises I can go to a doctor who will make a test whether I’ve got a male genome, and if so, I can receive blockers for my hormones and, even more, female hormones to help me reach my goals.

I was speechless! I asked him if he didn’t think that this would make my disorders worse, and he replied that he thinks if I don’t do it, it will make my disorders worse… I am so happy right now, I can’t believe it! He also told us that I didn’t have to change my name or my gender, but that I’m free to do it, if I wanted to (I don’t want to…I have made peace with my name and surely I don’t want to be female). Moreover, he recommended attending a self-help group (there is one nearby) and he said that he will talk with my therapist about how they can help me to get to help I need.

Well!

For the first time in a couple of years I feel like I can see some light. It was so good to be heard and taken serious, and it was good to hear that I’m not just insane. When I asked him why I feel like I feel, he said that they don’t know why, but that sometimes it’s just in the genes and sometimes it’s caused by abuse and sometimes nothing of that is true, but that in the end it didn’t matter. And that only how I see myself matters.

To tell you the truth, when we came home, I just wanted to eat something and then sleep.

 

Too Extreme?

Today, when you read about “slaves”, this most times refers to people who need this denomination to turn them on. That’s totally fine for me, but it’s utterly awkward when those people are judging 24/7-relationships as either fake or “too extreme”. I mean, there is no such thing as sympathy or solidarity among people from different ranges in the BDSM-movement nowadays, and regarding the bullshit I have heard in the past years I don’t care about it anymore. People needing the label “slave” or “Master” to get hard won’t be able to understand what I mean when I talk about being owned.

For me personally being a slave to my Master can’t be anything less than a life-long devotion, because otherwise it would just be a kind of game (which might be fine for others, but not for me). To be honest, if today it would still be legal to have slaves, I’d be pleased to give my civil rights away to be fully enslaved. It would be my dream to be completely dependend from my Master, even more than I am now. It would be an honour to hand over all my rights to him, to work for him, to be used in each and every way he wanted to, to earn money for him in whatever way he decided and, finally, sacrifice my life for him. I would do that immediately.

It is not that I didn’t have a proper opinion about things or that I’m not capable of working for me and takiing the responsibility for me, it’s just that I have always dreamed about being fully owned, even being kept like lifestock with no rights. I’m most happy when I’m owned and told what to do. I love being property, being used, being trained, denied and “abused”. Why? Of course because of what my father did.

Today I want to look at what he did as an early started training and not as abuse, though I know what he did was wrong. It’s just that I can choose to lament about that forever or own it and make the best out of it. It gets me wet to think of myself as a well-trained whore, a life-long slave. And it shatters my soul to think of myself as a victim. Nobody wants to be a victim. So being a slave for a reliable Master is a very good thing.

I’m pretty aware of the fact that what I make out of this is twisted and “insane” for normal people, but let me tell you, what he put me through was insane. I consider it to be very healthy to find a way to cope with that shit. So when normal people who call themselves “slaves” just because they like to sound slutty tell me I’m too extreme, it just makes me laugh. Yeah, you know, my whole life is extreme, so why not? Most real slaves went through hell and found peace in being a slave.

Maybe Some Light At The End Of The Tunnel

For some years now I’ve been happy with the Birdlock, but this month I got my first Holy Trainer. I had several reasons for this decision. First of all, my clit has shrunk a lot in the past two years, since I wore the device for really long periods of time. Even more since I’m able to experience Sissygasms and don’t “have to” take it off to release pressure on my prostate. Second, because the Birdlock was too big now, I was able to masturbate with the device still on, which made it quite useless. Third, I had read some reports of other users about the Holy Trainer and because all of them were contented, I thought I wanted to try it as well.

The Holy Trainer comes with an integrated lock so that additional locks are unneccessary. This means you don’t have to deal with bulks from the lock anymore. For me, the more decent device is quite alright, though I don’t mind people seeing that I’m in chastity. Moreover, I liked heartshaped locks or locks made of plastic for one use only. It gave me the feeling of being owned. The material is a natural kind of resin which responds to warmth. It feels super smooth in everyday usage, but you should not squeeze it once it has gotten really warm. The best thing about the Holy Trainer is, in my opinion, that it prevents masturbating really well.

I had several Birdlocks, for example a clear one and one with spikes. Now I have a pink Holy Trainer, which gives me a new feeling. Of course it’s more feminine, but I can’t see my clit through it. And that’s really weird, like not having one. I know that sounds stupid, but not really being able to see my clit sometimes make me fear I could have lost it. And I love that! Especially because Master treats my clit like trash and keeps telling me I’d have a better life without it.

So, talking about amputation. I know very well that I don’t want to have a vagina, but it would be awesome if my clit would shrink so much that it would end up to be not more than a pea. Just like women have, I guess. I have seen ladyboys with ultrasmall clits about 1 or 2 cm, and I would totally love that, but they were on hormones since before their puberty, so I know I will never get there, so matter how much I wear devices. I could never shrink that much and would need operations for that. It would be nice to have the shaft and the balls removed and just the head left, but ways smaller than it is now.

My therapist did some research and told me that the wish to live as a male with female tits and a smooth area down there also counts as a disorder in transgender terms. Because he is no specialist in these terms, he has talked to a colleague and was able to make an appointment for me in February (yep, because I pay privately, otherwise I would have to wait until autumn). It’s quite a long trip there (2 hours by car), but on the phone he sounded nice and open-minded. I’m totally excited to talk to him, and John will come with me. My therapist told him that I suffer from PTSD due to severe abuse during more than 20 years and that it might be that I feel this way because of that, and he just answered: that maybe the case, but I have the right to speak up for myself and he is willing to listen to me. Can’t believe it. I try not to be too happy about it, because usually doctors just tell me that I should have more therapeutic sessions to get my depression, eating disorders and PTSD sorted out and take some more pills, but anyway. At the moment I can see some light. Let’s just hope that it’s not the freight train coming my way, right?