DISCLAIMER
All persons mentioned in the following story are 18+ years of age
...
"It's easy to find god in a sunset, its rather more difficult to find God in a pencil."
The plan was simple, and yet that everpresent feeling in the stomach remained. Monday, glorious European sunshine in the garden. 3 hours remaining until the sound of a shower drowns out my chastity cage's padlock slamming up and down...
I should really get one that has an internal lock now that I think about it. A flat one, for it does seem that mine is rather too big. I'm what they call a 'grower' you see. And the change is rather drastic and remarkable. When soft one might even call what I have between my sizeable thighs a button. But I must admit when I'm aroused I'm a solid 6 inches, and this is quite a predicament to be in for someone who wishes to be limp and leaking at all times. But I digress.
The vibrations of my 8-inch BBC dildo should also be obscured by the water but I'm never sure. It sounds louder when its inside me. The last sound I wish to mask is my moaning, and yet at the same time I really want to be able to practise moaning higher and higher. Living with others is making that a tad difficult and embarrassing. Maybe I should find a sugar mummy. Or just some kinky host. A twink maybe. Or a larger girl with goth tendencies. The pool of the mind is rippling with thoughts of depravity and darkness lit by strobe and neon and latex and leather.
I haven't done my laundry in a few days, and for some reason it's remaining undone. Well, I know the reason. It's not clothes i enjoy wearing. Joggers, compression tops for the gym, hoodies etc. In short, bland and boring boy clothes. Perhaps if I had a wardrobe I dreamed of I would have more motivation to wash my clothes. If instead of boxer shorts and grey shirts I had a wardrobe of silk then maybe I'd want to do my laundry. In the seasons of my life when I did decide to indulge and buy a minidress or a leotard of pink, it's all I wore in my room. I preferred to be caged and dressed up as opposed to naked. Naked is masculine and revealing. Covered up in a thong and a tight skirt is preferable.
I do have some items of note however, a black crotchless maid's thong, complete with white frilly front and a nice bow. Some white panties with a hole in the front where my caged nub can dangle freely, and a hole ar the back to fill. Gosh how I crave to fill it until a trembling state of ecstasy. I've been fasting all day simply because it leaves the body sensitive and the stomach empty to penetrate fully, an anal douche would simply clean out the inside so that i could bounce like a little bimbo on my fake monster cock. It's such a drag to have to clean out my boipussy and wait for the filth to run clean. By fasting I can remain clean all day so that when I get the urge, which happens all day, I can simply run to the bathroom and begin riding my toy like a little slut.
All day I've been listening to some sissification hypno and sneaking off during work to watch porn in the toilet. No touching you understand, simply standing naked, watching denial porn and clenching my clitty and pelvic muscles.
...
Now I've finished working, and I'm lying down in a mesh thong for men, with ample room at the front to pop my shaven shaft and balls.
Any minute now I will grab the numbing lube and go to the shower. I have something new I want to practice but I know I'm in for a long haul. The goal is to eventually be able to bounce happily up and down until a dry orgasm, limp the entire time. This means Sliding down onto the dripping toy without getting hard (currently impossible), and grinding away. The moment I find myself getting harder I must stop until completely limp with the cock still inside. Once limp I begin again. Then repeat until the feeling of complete softness somehow feels the same as being rock solid. When the permanent state is limp and dripping, then one is successful.
What is it about being impotent, unable to even reach an erection, makes one so hard? A paradox indeed. The thought may run back through years all the way to some past experience or fantasy. In my case, I remember vividly always having a specific fantasy in my college years. The fantasy is as follows:
I have gym class and somehow, against all logic and reality, I end up in the girls' changing room by 'accident' instead of the boys'. Again, somehow missing this and all the perfume and clothing change, I go for a naked shower. This is out of the realm of possibility because I refused to do so at any time. I felt too insecure at school and college to do such. I was the boy in the corner changing as fast as possible to avoid anyone seeing that space between underwear-less and wearing a fresh pair. I always felt I was too small.
But anyway, I'm in the girls' shower when I hear a noise. Giggling, high-pitched gossip, it's the girls. At this point shame and sheer panic ensue as I realise where I am. I'm soapy and naked and they're approaching.
"Hello?" I hear. Obviously none of the girls from the class went to shower, so this is an unknown entity washing themselves. Maybe an older girl who wanted to workout alone. But no, it's
"a boy!"
A call from the one at the front, checking out the situation whilst the rest change and refresh after a sweaty class.
I never worked out the specifics of the next moments because my mind only ever was interested in the main points. The next moment is me, wet and naked, having my hands held behind my back as one of them plays show-and-tell with the other girls. Some are shy and quickly covering themselves up or turning away. Others, more confident, are completely naked and standing before me maybe holding onto shorts or underwear either sweaty and worn or fresh and new.
"You pervert!"
"I- I didn't mean t-"
"Look at how small he is!"
"Are they all this tiny!?"
