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?


Alphas Have Needs

I can take care for most needs Alphas may have. I am a quite useful whore with two well-trained holes. I don’t need any leading time to get fucked and I can handle taking it without lube (most times I get used with spit as I’m not worth the money for lube). I love deepthroating and I’m trained in fisting. Of course I do swallow piss and cum and I lick Alphas everywhere they want. Most time of the year I’m locked in a chastity device (still reducing the size to make my useless clit shrink). I can experience Sissygasms, if I’m allowed to. My urethra is fuckable (diameter at the moment 3/8”) and I am used to catheters. You can torture my clit with clamps, ropes, wax, canes/whips, shoes, ice, ointments, hot sauce and other things.

I’m resilient and can take a lot of pain. I love being spanked, whipped, paddled and caned and I don’t mind bleeding. You can hit me wherever, even in the face, in the stomach and in the balls. You can expand my pain by using salt, lemonjuice and other substances on my wounds.

My titties are sensitive and well-trained by regular pumping. You can hit them, bite into them, use wax and other substances, clamps, ropes etc.

I’m obedient and used to both corporal and psychological abuse. I eat dirt and garbage, drink toiletwater and most other substances.

How I see myself: worthless cum rag. I’m glad to obey and serve. I’m a painslut with no pride or self-esteem. It’s a pleasure to help Alphas release their stress and anger. I crossdress and would love to have real tits and a useless micro-clit. One of my fantasies includes getting castrated. I live in a 24/7-relationship and I am owned. My Master is my world.

Limits: under 18, burns (cigars, fire, chemicals), needles, cuttings with knives (I accept cuttings by caning), scat, puke.

Likings: abuse, pain, dogging, cum, piss, diapers, Sissy, cruelty, prostitute myself for no money at all, chastity, castration, crossdressing, serving.

Depressed Whore

I’m struggling at the moment. It’s hard to keep up and just go on with life when the depression gets so bad. I know my brain doesn’t do what it is supposed to and I could help it get better with taking meds. But the meds do not only make the brain better. They have negative effects on other things, for example on my sex drive. The meds make me unhorny and they increase my appetite. But I don’t want to be a fat, unkinky whore. For my doctors it may not be a problem if I put on weight and want to fuck less, but for me it is. So I don’t take anything.

In times like these John is my rock. For him I get up, for him I get dressed, for him I eat and do my stuff. I try to be the best person I can be, even if my depression feels like carrying around stones. I don’t have his willpower, but his is enough for me as well. He keeps me on course. I can talk to him about what worries me, but he also tells me to shut up if he thinks it was enough.

Yesterday he spent some quality time with me. I had a plug up my cunt most of the day and especially at work, where I move around quite a bit, that made me horny like crazy. I had to do my tasks at home and in the late afternoon John made me hump his sofa pillow, just to let me entertain him. Of course I wasn’t allowed to cum, but my horniness distracted me from bad thoughts. In the evening he played with my ridiculous titties for a long while, clamped, waxed and spanked them, before he fucked me long and hard. Being used this way and feeling my body ache helps getting by as well. Later we cuddled on the sofa, watching a random movie on the T.V.

Today I’m plugged again, but since Christmas I haven’t had any relief. John said I should not hope for an orgasm this month.

Do As You Please

I’m getting a bit sentimental these days, as I always do when a year comes to its end. I had big plans for this year, but I wasn’t really able to accomplish any of them. The only thing I managed to do was to work more, and actually I work 20 hours a week now. That’s how much John works on two very normal days LOL The most frustrating thing about 2017 is that I didn’t really get one step closer to having boobs. After Thailand I have intensified contact with some trans-people and I was able to figure out that being trans doesn’t necessarily involve having your cock cut off LOL Obviously being trans can be defined as “not being comfortable in your birth-gender or in its gender-role in society” as well, and then obviously I’m sort of trans or at least might be. My therapist recently told me that he always knew I had “trouble” with my gender-role and that was the most awkward session we ever had LOL He says we will never be able to figure out whether I’m a real kind of trans-person or more like a fake-kind-of-trans-person, due to the abuse. Obviously being severly abused from a very young age on can lead to your personality breaking into several personalities, and even though I don’t suffer from multiple personality disorder, my wish to be impotent and the more female part can be the result of having to be the female for my father. Yup, that makes sense. I don’t even feel bad about that and I guess it’s really insane and distorted, but I get aroused by the fact that my father fucked me into never even trying to be a real male LOL My therapist says that my case is very complicated, because if I’m only that sort of fake-trans-by-childabuse-person, hormones wouldn’t be the best way to treat me. And this means: even more years of worthless, shitty therapeutic sessions to find out that yes, my father destroyed what might have become a personality and instead made me a useful, greedy bitch that hates its body, gender, life and all, but without even getting the chance to have boobs and be impotent LOL

I consider telling him lies and telling everyone lies who has the power to decide whether or not I can get hormones. People don’t get shocked when you tell them you were born in the wrong body, but they get shocked when you tell them the truth: that you just want to be inferior, because that’s how you really feel, maybe because of the abuse, but you really feel like worthless scum and want to have a body that’s made to be humiliated and used. I want to be impotent, I just want to be a set of holes with two nice boobs, because that’s how I feel ever since. I want to be the worthless slut I always was, for everyone to see. If that’s trans to you, then I’m trans. If that’s broken and insane to you, well, then I’m broken and insane. I don’t care too much about that, I just want things to start to change.

In my eyes it’s just pure irony that most therapists think that you’re on a good way to recovery when you mourn being a victim and struggle against it, but that they think you are really insane and helplessly ill when you embrace being a victim and love it. Sometimes it just makes me mad that someone who didn’t go through hell wants to tell me how to get out of it, even though I found my own way of coping with it and accepting what it did to me. At the moment I don’t know whether I shall continue to go to see my therapist, because everything he says doesn’t really help me. I don’t understand why he can’t accept that being broken is fine for me. At least he admitted that he’s not a specialist in these things and in January he will make an appointment for me with someone who is. At the moment I don’t see any use for that, because I think he will also just tell me that we need much more sessions and BLAH BLAH BLAH But anyway.

Above all, the Holiday season always makes me a bit sad and I can never accomplish what my brother wants from me. This year I wore trousers and a shirt with a tie and I felt so ridiculous that I played with a fork underneath the table cloth until I bled, but nobody noticed, apart from John at home. I guess appearing normal is vital and it keeps everyone happy apart from me, so I smear a big old grin into my face to keep everyone happy apart from myself.

Home Alone

Master left me home alone, locked in and with a too small plug up my ass. I wish someone would come around and rape the craps out of me.

Needless to say that he’s having his fun right now with someone else, who is younger and in better shape than I am.


Icy Clothes

On Wednesday I had a really strange note in my Advent calender: soak a shirt and some sweater trousers and freeze them for an hour, then put them on and clean the bathroom.

I thought that would be fun and very easy, but I was wrong. I soaked my clothes as I was told. Because I had to fold them to make them fit into the freezer, I had to unwrinkle and unfold them before I could even think of putting them on. They were hard and hurt my skin. First I put on the trousers. The worst part about that was that my cock shrinked like really into my body. It was so cold. The shirt didn’t make it any better. At least I needed about 20 minutes to get into all the clothes, and that was stupid, beause if I had been faster, it would have been over sooner.

When I had it all on my body, I was shaking because it was so cold. John watched me and laughed at me. I was really thankful or the warm water while cleaning the bathroom, but especially my private parts were very, very uncomfortable.

When I was finished, I was allowed to take the clothes off and take a warm shower. The best thing ever 🙂

John said it was fun watching me suffer, and later, when we sat in the livingroom (of course I was on the floor) he made me besmear myself with his mint toothpaste under the nose. Another gorgous moment of agony.

I hate being cold, even though I’m usually not too squeamish, and the burning sensation in my nose and eyes was just evil. Got me wet immediately.

I totally love this Advent calender. I wish it would last longer…


Not Allowed On The Sofa

Two days ago I picked a note from John’s advent calender which stated: “From now on until Xmas the dog is not allowed on the sofa”. When I was embarrassed by it, John had to laugh real hard and said I look disappointed. He thought I should look happy because I only picked it on December 11th and not earlier. I know he was right and I was ungrateful.

So since Monday I’m sitting on the floor when I’m in the livingroom. I’m not even allowed to have a blanket, because my blanket is in my car now. Why? Because the dog surely isn’t allowed on the car seats as well! But as the dog needs to go to work and do its chores, it has to be able to drive its car. That’s why.

Sometimes he throws me a Spekulatius cookie and I have to take it with my mouth off the floor. It gets me wet and horny to be treated like that and like any good dog I’m obedient and sweet.