Nearly a month has passed since my induction. I've steeped myself through the most perverted on-line porn I could scrape up; abused my junk until it was bruised and battered. It all pales by comparison to my memory of that glorious event. As much as I've worked at my masturbation, nothing arouses me as readily as my mental playback of that evening's experience. All the on-line porn seems tawdry and fake which, for the most part of course, it is. I hadn't felt so alive since my first orgasm.
My predilection for crossdressing, submission, and extreme stimulation predates adolescence.
When I was about seven I was in a situation with other kids my age that left me with a stiffy, such as it was. It was simply children exploring but it was a "private" exploration, therefore a secret naughty thing that no one was supposed to be doing. At least, that was what the adults would have said. All we knew was they yelled at us when we saw nakedness and underclothes. All I knew was that my pee-pee felt like something was missing. That experience began a search for answers, but I didn't really know the question.
On examination it seemed to be centered around women's under clothing and covered body parts. That's what the adults were so careful to hide. I got yelled at if I walked in on Mom while dressing or going potty (terms of my age at the time). But the stiffy...something was missing. I had no understanding what this was about but I wanted to capture it, to finish it, but I needed an agreeable female partner. Actually, at that time, I thought any partner would do, but it seemed as though the woman had the key, but to what...I had no clue. But, I was not without a vivid imagination and a rationalization capacity only a pre-adolescent could contrive.
So, for some extended time, I read Wonder Woman comics (or any other comic with prominent female characters), paying attention to butts, crotches and breasts since they were what everybody was so set against my observing. I would make up fantasies about her capturing me sitting on my face and making me kiss her anus, yet another "no-no" place. After all, I didn't want to do anything wrong, but I wanted the excitement and whatever else I was missing. So in my mind I had her forcing me to do things to her "taboo" features so it wouldn't be my fault. I was at a loss for my own stimulation since one was not supposed to "play" with one's self so it was her roll to punish my taboo parts.
I actually played at abusing myself as only a pre-adolescent can. I fantasized that I was captured, tied (I was a naughty boy after all) and my taboo parts lowered onto a pot of boiling water. The first thing I actually did, I must have been about eleven or so, was fill a 16 oz tin cup with water as hot as I could tolerate with my finger, placed it over a towel on the bathroom floor and lowered my scrotum therein. At first touch I winced at the intense sting and forced myself down until I had a raging pencil erection sticking up and hot water splashing up and out against my anus making me gasp and twitch. But that wasn't enough.
I refilled and replaced the cup, repositioning myself, face down, ass up, to lower my pencil-stub erection into the steaming water, fantasizing all the while of wonder woman hoisting my shoulders and feet; hands tied in back.
I actually managed to lift my legs off the floor, supporting my slight, youthful, torso by my fingertips and the hot cup. The intense sting of the near-scalding water and the sharp bite of the tin cup supporting my slim weight on my pubis and scrotum, coupled with the eyes-closed fantasy of being tortured by a beautiful woman in a kind of corset and panty thing, pushed me over the top. I ejaculated under the intense stimulation toppling to the floor, twitching in the warm water, a thin stream of cloudy, not white, no sperm yet, ejaculate now stranded amidst the pooled water rapidly soaking into the towel.
That was my first orgasm...it was brilliant. After that I was ravenously hungry for more but still clueless.
My adolescent fantasies revolved around similar situations with some type of rough stimulation to assist my satisfaction. The cup and hot water were frequent flyers. At about age thirteen I got the sex talk along with the Catholic/Baptist admonitions against erotic activities. My masturbatory methods became vanilla, but my fantasies yet drifted to original content, so to speak.
When I married, I went along with the expected vanilla path as my wife was raised a good catholic and I had no wish for her to label me a pervert and cut me off. But there it lay in the core of my sexuality. But now there is no longer a reason to hide it, other than the remaining public/social opinions. I still have family with whom I would like to remain on good terms but that would disappear were I to go "full-out perve", as they would call it. Thus my new friends are my lifesavers; each of us bonded by a simple common need...the need to express, without fear, our core sexuality.
Full, safe, unfettered expression of my hitherto imprisoned sexual self is within sight. I am horribly in need. All I can think of was cum in my mouth, cock in my ass, a room full of satin-clad queens and, with any luck, the twisted acts against my body that have been self-denied since my youth. My brain reeled dizzily with imagined erotic abuses heaped upon my sex as I repeatedly fist-fucked my clitty and dildo-fucked my boi-pussy...several times each day.
In breathless anticipation, I've pampered my sissy clothing in drawers with sashays of White Shoulders perfume and maintained my hairless sissy skin with moisturizing lotions keeping me smooth and soft as a babies ass. I reveled in the tactile femininity, frequently caressing my soft hairless skin, twitching my boi-pussy in hot anticipation of coming evenings. Panties all day, every day.
Finally the greatly anticipated email announcing it was time for another gathering. Within just a few days, calendars are coordinated and a date is agreed upon four weeks hence and I am absolutely buoyant. I've religiously maintained my hair-free body and sissy clothing so I'm solid until time for clean-out.
I realized, with no little amount of guilt, that I'd been masturbating heavily, leaving some housework and clerical tasks to slide. It's one thing to indulge in eroticism but quite another to allow it to interfere with what needs to be done. This needs to be amended.
Fortunately, Celia gave me a pink card flamboyantly printed with "Celia" and phone number identified as "cell". I was very concerned so I called.
I told her of my concerns (fondling my clitty the entire time) and got the support I needed. She noted that the fact that I recognized the issue thus indicated that the crisis had peaked and was in repair.
While I had a group elder's ear, I wanted to talk about how I could go about bringing out some of my other fetishes...extreme sensations (especially spanking), edging and denial, pee-play, and being open to almost anything for which a partner is needed. She said "Well...what kind of kinks are we talking about?" and I began. We talked for nearly two hours with her asking probing questions which I answered openly as I was unabashedly aroused and mauling my poor clitty.
After the exposition she laughed and said, "You need a bit of abstinence. I'm going to think about this for a while and let you know what I figure out at the gathering. In the meantime, go on-line and fast-order a chastity cage and call me when it arrives." "I will, my Dear" I replied and we disconnected.
I spent the rest of the day researching chastity devices and taking measurements of my soft clitty. Making my device choice (deliberately a bit small) I ordered the cage with express delivery and abused my junk in breathless anticipation. It arrived two days later and I dutifully called Celia.
"Excellent!" she giggled and said, "Now choose the rings that secure but do not pinch your skin and practice putting them together so you can do it quickly. Take about a half hour in practice and call me again." and hug up.
