Figurative ass-kissing

I call written worship, things like letters of adoration, "figurative ass kissing". You know, as opposed to literal ass kissing, which would be when someone's face is pressed against my ass, lavishing it with kisses and licks and...you get the picture.

I like both kinds and Tia has standing orders to send me a written thank-you at certain times. Like every time I use him sexually, whether he's allowed to cum or not. It's like the dom equivalent of maintenance spankings for me. Waking up to this in my inbox helps keep me in my happy place:

Just wanted to write and thank you for using my slutty body last night Mistress... Oh...ohhhh it felt so good to be fucked by you, to give you an orgasm with your cock buried deep inside my slutty ass. It was so hard to not cum myself... I cannot remember the last time I was allowed to cum even remotely close to being a 'real man'. For the past few months I think I haven't been, and my body is being retrained to only have sex as your girl....and that thought makes me squirm and ache and shiver. It felt so powerful last night...you grabbing my hips, my hair, taking me roughly, leaving me no doubt that I was your bitch and you are in charge. And all I can do is sit here and ache for more today... --your sissy

Purging Thoughts

Beautiful fantasy image, isnt it?

Fantasy fetish perfectly enshrined in cartoon form, a perfection that the great majority of submissive fetish crossdressers like myself will never attain.

I've been thinking lately about the act of 'purging', wherein a crossdresser goes through a stage of wanting to purge himself of all of it. Usually associated with shame at who they are, and who they want to be.

I dont have this kind of shame...embarrassment, yes. I'm deeply embarrassed by my sub cd side but I've never lost sleep over it.

I'm not ashamed of who I am.

But I regret it. I think life would have been a whole lot easier if I had stayed on the straight and narrow vanilla path. It cost me a marriage, coming up soon on 20 years since the most painful time in my life, where my own bdsm desires led me to look for relief outside of the marriage and led me to hurt someone who I loved deeply.

The desires that led me to years of searching, as all single male submissive's search. Looking for love, acceptance, a lover and a partner who wanted me as a slave, a lover, a friend. The best of both worlds.

I couldn't bring myself to go the professional dominatrix route. Such a relationship to me...based on a commercial transaction at its core, is artificial. Play acting. I'm topping from the bottom because I'm paying someone to spend time with me because normally such a person would probably never give me the time of day.

And you know what? I've come closer to that than many submissives I know. I am a lucky slave, to have a wonderful Mistress who loves me. And I love her with all of my heart, for whatever that broken part of me is worth.

But its not fantasy. Its not like hot erotica, where everything is like a nonstop porn movie and everyone looks like beautiful fashion models. We are not gifted with being counted among the 'pretty people' whose images are all over tumblr (including my own) or being so beautiful and fashionably hip at a fetish club.

And our reality these days is kicking our ass. Its a lot of tears and bitterness and financial hardship and we seem locked in a escalating downward spiral, dragging all that is good and beautiful and worth living down with it. And I dont honestly know if we will make it through this.

So I'm developing this strange love-hate relationship with everything bdsm and kink related. I'm drawn helplessly towards it, but more and more faced with the fact that my life is not and will never be like anything I want it to be.

I'm under no illusions. I know burning all of my fem things, deleting all my femdom porn is useless. This is part of who I am, god damn me.

And no amount of purging is going to change that.

Turning a Corner

We quarreled again. And again, and again. And then he gave me a present. It was a porn movie. It occurs to me now that perhaps most women would not go all melty upon being given a porn movie, especially as a making-up-after-fighting gift. But for me, it was PERFECT.

We'd shot some video one night that had been screwed up because I forgot to turn the microphone on. He took that footage and turned it into a hilarious silent movie, complete with old-timey film effects and music. When he showed it to me I laughed my ass off the whole way through. Which I think was all he really cared about, making me laugh, but the gift was so much more too. And the more I thought about it the more perfect it was.

There are so many layers to it. On the most obvious level it reminded me of everything good about our relationship. All the laughter and silliness we've shared, the oh-so-delicious sexy play times, the way we've worked as a team. It told me like nothing else could that he wants to be my slave, that he wants just as badly as I do to get back to our "normal" life of perversion and pornmaking.

On an even deeper level it spoke to my Mistressly pride, which has been rather bruised lately. I know how many hours he spent working on it, and knowing how much actual work he would put into this gesture tells me that I can still count on him, even when it takes real effort. Beyond that he had to learn a new skill (video editing) to do it. Which tells me he's still willing to push past his boundaries, get out of his comfort zone and learn new things for me. These things are vital for the health of our Mistress/slave dynamic. I love him...adore him...and would want to be his friend and lover whether he were my 'slave' or not. But if we are to call this slavery then it has to mean something. I have to feel that he IS going to do his best to obey me, to give me what I want, no matter what I ask for. This demonstration that he's willing to work hard & learn new skills is exactly the proof my wounded heart was longing for.

There are other facets to it as well. I'll be able to use the video as the required monthly update on my clips4sale sites, so it spares me the work and worry of coming up with something myself. In this regard it's a seriously useful gift. I'll have a happy glow all month thinking of how I don't have to do that work thanks to him. And I have loved seeing his delight in not only learning something new, but in feeling like he's good at it. These past months of near-unemployment, being utterly broke and feeling unable to even help with the DIY work, have taken a toll on my pet's self-esteem. It makes my heart sing to see him sparked with gleeful optimism for a change.

I could probably go on all day about how many ways this porn-present delights me. But I have to get back to work; the long haul of turning sandpit manor into a lovely little home(cage) for my pet is not finished and the deadline is looming. But I think we've turned a corner now and for the first time in weeks I am looking toward the end with a heart full of hope instead of despair.

Welcome to Sandpit Manor

My life's taken a radical turn lately, away from domming and mom-ing and into previously uncharted realms of home repair and d.i.y. work. A combination of factors (but mainly us being at the lower end of the 99%) have made it necessary for Tia to move. We've been renting a house together for the past three years, with him living in the main part while I use a converted garage & Florida room as my 'studio'. I'd been doing my pro dom sessions and crossdresser makeovers there, and we shoot our amateur femdom porn all over the house. The plan now is for him to move from this place into a smaller, more affordable one. It's guaranteed to be more affordable because the place he's moving into is a mobile home owned by my husband Izzy.

This seemed like a good idea at the time.


Calling this place a mobile home is really giving it pretensions of grandeur; a trailer is what it is and Izzy and I had affectionately dubbed it 'Sandpit Manor' when we lived there back in the days before children. The moniker became even more apt after we moved out and the place was occupied by my brother. My 20-something pothead slacker brother. And many of his {ahem} artistic friends.

They had some very interesting notions of decor. There were tiny shelves made of scrap lumber scattered randomly all over the place. Every available surface was covered with graffiti. And what repairs were made...well, let's just say duct tape figured heavily in my brother's toolbox. They left the place quite full of junk too: furniture, clothes, a closet full of hundreds of old laserdisks. Some of the more interesting items included 2 bongs, a sack of pipe pieces, a digital postal scale, a deck of naked lady playing cards, and a whole pack of cream cheese under a mattress.

That one really threw me a swerve. Given the lifestyle of the house's inhabitants finding food outside the kitchen was to be expected. And cream cheese in the bedroom? It is a standard breakfast condiment; perhaps someone enjoyed having breakfast in bed. It's also not so far from whipped cream or chocolate sauce; I could even imagine a substitution being made in a moment of intoxicated lust. But what on earth made it seem like a good idea to hide it under the mattress?



I've decided to leave the bowling balls whimsically perched in the trees outside. But between the damage done by its former inhabitants and the normal ravages of age the rest of sandpit manor requires some major repair work. So far we've gutted the bathroom, including tearing out the floor & rebuilding it from the joists up, ripped out several other walls and most of the ceiling, and repaired or replaced every single window crank & light fixture in the place. Well, I say 'we' but the fact is I'm doing 70% of the work myself. Izzy is unavailable to help most days and Tia? While not exactly hopeless in the d.i.y department, he started off not being entirely sure of the difference between a flat and phillips head screwdriver. There's been a real steep learning curve to deal with there.

On the one hand I have become a veritable d.i.y. goddess. I pwned those windows and after rebuilding that rotted floor I feel like there isn't much I couldn't accomplish with the right power tools. For the most part I enjoy this sort of work. And it's a HUGE relief to take a break from all the (draining for me) socializing that goes with my job(s) in the sex industry.

On the other hand, what seemed like a good idea at the time may turn out to be a disaster for my relationship with Tia.

In my fantasies he's prancing around in some super cute booty shorts, striped thigh-high socks and a pink tool belt, happily spackling and fetching things and admiring my prowess with power tools. And I stride around competently getting shit done while taking frequent breaks to sexually harass my underling. In reality things are dirty and sweaty and difficult, with more fumbling and cursing than cheerful competence on my part. The work is physically hard, it's tiring, and thanks to my stupid fibromyalgia it fucking hurts. A lot of the time I don't feel much like a goddess.

Tia's issues don't help. He feels inept and clumsy, and the sheer ickiness of the work offends his fastidiousness mightily. He's depressed about moving at all and the prospect of moving into a run-down trailer with all kinds of repair issues doesn't ameliorate that one bit. He's scared and unhappy and wants to avoid the place...and I'm angry and resentful that he doesn't appreciate it (and me) more...and he's angry that I don't appreciate him more...and the whole thing has turned into a vicious cycle of angst that bubbles up every few days into arguments that seem like they're inevitably going to tear us apart.

It's my birthday today. Because there's still a ton of work to do, and because I'm obsessive about it, and because we have to be so careful with our money I will be spending the day working at sandpit manor. For the moment things are peaceful, loving and happy between me and my pet. But there are weeks and weeks of work to be got through still and I'm scared. It all seems so silly when I write it out like this; why should our love not be able to withstand these petty insecurities? But when the temper takes over and the poisonous arrows of hurt accusation start to fly it's hard to see how any affection could survive.

I just pray that what seemed like a good idea at the time doesn't turn out to be my worst birthday ever.

Happy Birthdayversary (tia's thoughts)

It was without a doubt, the most beautiful BDSM 'scene' I have ever been part of.

I hate to even call it a 'scene', as to me it implies a sense of play-acting and fantasy that doesn't do justice to my relationship with my wonderful Mistress. And while Mistress did role-play a bit with me, to me it was all about submission to her body and soul, and of absolute trust. No acting or role-playing on my part was necessary.

I awoke rather groggily after only probably getting 3 hours of sleep or so to find my Mistress's face in front of mine and a plastic knife to my throat warning me to do as I was told and I wouldn't be hurt. Was I still asleep? Was I dreaming? I was blindfolded, gagged and my hands bound behind my back before I fully knew what was going on, taken outside wearing nothing but a sissy tshirt and frilly ruffled panties...omg Im outside!

I was pushed into what I thought was the trunk of Mistress's car at first before figuring out that it was alot roomier than a trunk, that I must be in the back of my own minivan.

And then the van started to move, increasing the 'holy shit' factor a hundredfold. Where were we going? What time was it? What am I in for?

The car ride seemed to take a long, long time, mostly in silence and the slight pain discomfort from my hands being bound so tightly behind me. I had no idea where we were...so many turns, different road surfaces. I remember thinking we were on a gravel-lined country road at some point because of the way the road sounded and how it the vibration of the car floor felt.

Was this all a massive headfuck? Would I be marched back inside my own house?

I didn't put anything past my Mistress. Had she made arrangements to take me by force to some clinic to receive a very humiliating laser hair removal treatment?
Yes, it was the middle of the night (presumably) but I was still very groggy and disoriented, and, after all, last year for my birthday I had been bound and my ears pierced as a mark of my permanent feminization and enslavement to her. So I wouldnt put anything past this Woman!

Was I to be used and abused somewhere by both Mistress and her husband? (I had thought him in the car with Mistress, and I now shyly confess to being a little disappointed to later discover that he wasnt)

OR...well...for a while now Mistress had been teasing me about finding me a 'boyfriend' or a 'Master' and my wild subbie imaginings wondered if she had really gone and done it: found some strange man on alt com or somewhere and I was about to experience perhaps more forced-bi fantasy than I was actually ready for? The old 'Be careful what you wish for..' saying whispered in my head, sending delicious shivers up and down my spine.

The car stops and we sit there in silence for a bit. Then the rear door opens and I'm helped out of the van (omg I'm outside AGAIN!) and up a few stairs and...and...I guessed where we were at from the short little stairs. Sandpit Manor, my future home.

I'm still kind of disoriented and confused however, as I still don't know what all she has in mind, and where the heck is Mistress's brother? I didn't think he had moved out yet and left the place vacant.

Mistress has written a better account of our night here and it would be foolish of me to try to recount it all over again to our readers, because I know I cannot do a better job.

But I just want to share my thoughts/feelings on it...so much of our play is internalized to me. I kind of bliss out into subspace and let go, and that's exactly what happened. I was used and fucked in so many ways, so many positions, being taken over and over by Mistress and her strap-ons, or being allowed to lick and worship her pussy, or having gizmo (the dildo face harness) strapped to my face and used in such a humiliating and frustrating fashion.

I lost all track of time...I was taken from my sleep, so I was groggy from that, then blindfolded for a long period of time and so deep in subspace that I didn't know if it was day or night or how long I had been kept prisoner and used as a fucktoy over and over and over...my world became one of pure physical sensation, and I drowned in the sensations of it, feeling like I had been reduced to just a sexual animal to be used for my Mistress's pleasure, and that I existed only for that wonderful purpose of pleasing her. My own selfish gratification didn't even enter into it.

And it was....so hot and raw and primal, but...so beautiful at the same time. What I found so beautiful was how well she knows me, and how well she can read me that words were unnecessary even if I had not been gagged. She knew, for instance, when my legs couldn't take a position anymore and I had to move or shift weight. She knew when I was thirsty and had me drink without me saying a word or begging for it. A Mistress and her devoted slave in perfect harmony with each other.

I get a little teary from the joy of it just thinking about it.

I was/am so touched by how much thought, effort and planning was put into it. Every little detail, from my allergy pills to remembering my favorite brand of beer and how I like my BBQ. How much effort she put into providing me with one of the best kinky and hedonistic experiences of my life as a birthday present.

It takes my breath away...

Someone watching us might have only seen the surface details: a hot and actually kind of rough rape/kidnapping scenario but deep down in my heart I knew the truth of it: that this was an act of pure love.

I have never felt so loved, or so owned in my entire life.

Thank you Mistress. I love you more than words can say.

Submission: its not always easy

I'm fully aware, believe me, of how fortunate I am to be the collared sissy slave to Mistress Erisiana Cherie. I live a life that sometimes resembles a porn movie, or a piece of sissy fiction. I serve (occasionally) her husband; am toyed with and teased by his submissive girl; attend rather naughty play parties and go to dungeons and clubs. I've had experiences I never, ever in my wildest dreams that I thought would ever come true.

But submission is not always like a porn movie. Sometimes its hard, difficult, frustrating (in the bad sense). Sometimes there are arguments, misunderstandings. Sometimes real life just gets in the way.

I find myself slightly suspicious when I see blog/forum entries that's basically describe a 24/7 porn movie BDSM lifestyle where everyone seems to be in everyone else's pants all the time. No one seems to have job or child responsibilities, or ever seems get tired, ill, or just not in the mood.

Kind of like how you almost never see characters on tv or movies go to the bathroom. :P

And yet, I myself have a life that others may disbelieve as well. Which I really wouldn't blame them--sometimes I don't believe it myself!

But there are times *I* am 'not in the mood', emotionally or physically. And at times like this...submission is hard. I'm not in the headspace I should be in, I'm not serving my Mistress as well as I could, as well as she deserves.

Such a time happened just the other night.

I was out of town, on business, all alone in a cheap hotel without even a working tv set. I don't want to say what I do for a living, but just know that its on the very low end of a blue collar job, it doesn't pay the greatest, the hours are long and physically demanding. It sometimes involves getting up long before dawn to drive a hundred miles away or more, working a long tiring day, driving back to catch a few hours sleep before doing it all over again.

Mistress knows this, and understands this. She is so loving and generous in heart and patience. But sometimes she makes a point of establishing her control of me when she knows it isn't easy for me. Indeed, that's more than likely why she does it. But knowing that doesn't exactly make it easy at the time.

So I was out of town, kind of worn out from the day. I had thought about having a relaxing swim in the hotel pool, then doing a bit of reading before calling it a night. I was missing Mistress...I always miss her during my workweeks, and being so far out of town only made it worse. I wrote her a email on my phone, then stripped naked and took a photo of myself, kneeling and kissing my necklace-collar to send to her as a surprise, because I knew she was missing me as well.

She enjoyed the photo and appreciated the gesture. A little too much, because it was then an evil little lightbulb went off in her head and she decided on the spot to do some long distance training via text messages.

Its here that I might lose some of you reading this, particularly unattached submissives who might think me crazy or ungrateful for not fully appreciating Mistress taking the time to toy with me. All I can say is that this is real life, its a real relationship, and I think its unrealistic if not impossible to expect two people in that relationship to be always raring to go, 24/7.

Mistress ordered me to look through the phone book for any adult stores or adult theaters in the area. "Oh God," I thought. "Please Mistress, no..I am so tired and I don't like where this is going..please don't send me out to some strange porn store to do God-knows-what when I'm out here on company business. Suppose I'm caught? Suppose I'm fired?"

All the raced through my mind but I obeyed, on my knees in the hotel room going through the phone book, wearing only my pink panties and a towel that she had me wrap around my chest--like a woman might to cover her breasts after a shower.

She had me edge twice while looking for listings, to 'put your mind in the proper place'.

I was more than a bit relieved to tell her, truthfully, that there were no adult listings. Apparently that part of central Florida is in the ultra-religious anti-adult-anything part of the state, where consenting adults making perfectly legal adult movies of themselves can be arrested by police with apparently nothing better else to do.

NOT the best place in the world to be going out and doing naughty stuff to begin with, let alone when one is there on business! :P

Mistress seemed to accept this, although via the internet, she did find some adult strip club 50 miles away from me. No please no. She then asked if there was a Walgreens or something near me. Yes Mistress, I admitted, (not liking where this was going either), there is a Walgreens near me.

"Then, my little chickenshit sissy, BEG ME to be allowed to go buy some sissy supplies--some lipgloss, pantyhose, condoms & lube--INSTEAD of being forced to go to a porn store to expose yourself like the sissy you really are!"

I cringed. I didn't like this idea either. In fact, while safer for me it would also be more embarrassing--being outted as a perv out and about among vanilla people.

I knew I would have no choice but to obey. The hour was growing later and later...it was already too late for a swim; I knew I would have to get to bed early to get up the next day, the longer I resisted the inevitable or tried to beg my way out of it the longer it would take. I felt her will break me down, felt that evil smile on her face.

Yes Mistress.

I dressed quickly, my mind all abuzz with conflicting thoughts and feelings--arousal at her dominance and humiliation of me, annoyance, aggravation, and even a flash of anger at her horrible (in my opinion at the time) sense of timing--fucking with me a hundred miles away when I knew that she knew I was so tired and not wanting to play.

I got to the store, it was just a minute or two away. texted her that I was about to be outted as a pervert for her amusement, then went in.

I was so nervous and jittery...I *really* do not like public exposure at all, and I knew, damnit, that this would only attract MORE attention to myself. I furtively darted aisle to aisle in the cosmetics section. A woman employee WOULD be organizing the lipstick section at that moment, of course. :P Just my luck.

I agonized over what to do for several minutes...I couldn't tell what was lipgloss and what was lipstick from the next aisle over, and its not like I have a whole lot of experience shopping in the makeup section to start with.

I lucked out, as behind me in a whole section on its on was some Burt's Bees lipgloss. (Although I'm not sure if it counted, as it seems to be more of a lip BALM) Ignorance is bliss and a reasonable defense, I decided, and grabbed the tube of lip-something and continued my quest to embarrass myself.

I was angry by this point and more than a little rebellious. Despite my pleas, Mistress would not help me by telling me where to find lipgloss, what size of pantyhose to get. I was NOT going to buy lube, I decided. I grabbed lubed condoms instead. Two birds with one stone.

The pantyhose. Ah hell.

A quick peek around the corner told me that the woman employee was kind of involved in what she was doing down the aisle by the lipsticks: I *should* be safe enough to dash forward and grab a box of pantyhose without attracting too much attention. What size? What color? ARRRGH.....

Fuck it. I darted forward and grabbed the first box I saw that said 4X. I wasn't sure if it would fit (it was a bit tight later) but I'm not about to be caught browsing different pairs of pantyhose.

Now the checkout line. 'Damn you', I messaged to my gleeful Mistress.

I got through the line, cute perky checkout girl and all, and with a 'Have a good night Sir!' ringing in my ears I was out the door!

And a nervous wreck by this point. :P

Nervous and fuming with anger, I managed to drive PAST my hotel and had to do a u-turn and then another u-turn on the divided road to get back, half-convinced I would get in some sort of accident at the way my luck was going.

I make it back to my room and tell her that I have succeeded, Oh Vile One.

She has me strip and put the pantyhose and lipgloss on, then has me kneel on my bed and suck on the end of my hairbrush as if it were a real cock.

*bright blush* Ok, I admit it, the anger had faded by this point. I had fallen into her spell as she KNEW I would. I was turned on and ready to obey, wanting to please her.

Eventually she had me rip the pantyhose apart, front and back, and fuck my ass with the brush while humping the bed until I came in my panties. I used a lubed condom on the brush and thrust it in and out a little bit, not exactly enthusiastically.

And when it was done I was finally given permission to go to bed, spending the night in my soiled panties.

The point of all of this rambling--other than to hopefully entertain and amuse Mistress when she reads this--is really just to illustrate real-life submission as opposed to porno movie submission. Its not always easy, and can be aggravating at times when it conflicts with real life demands. It can, and has been, emotionally painful on occasion (which I doubt I will ever talk about here).

I'm pretty sure she KNEW I wasn't in the mood, could tell my resistance a hundred miles away. She can read me like a book, from the workings of my crazed neurotic little mind to the depths of my heart.

She knew I would obey her in spite of it all. That's why she did it, to let me feel owned by her, to feel her foot on the back of my neck from the other side of the state.

And I love her for it.

She knew that as well.

Damn her. *soft smile*

How Lucky I Am

I was reading a sissy's blog today, wherein she details her 'final assignment' from her mistress, who, due to other commitments, no longer had the time to devote to this sissy's online training. Online only--according to the sissy, they had never met in person. This made me feel sad for both of them--the sissy and the domme. The sissy for losing a mistress; the domme for being forced by necessity to move on. I'm not sure many male subs out there appreciate the value of a mistress's time, especially if its an online-only relationship.

It kind of makes me appreciate even more (not that I've ever doubted) how lucky I am to have found/been found by my Mistress. To serve her in real life, to belong to her body and soul.

I can't imagine what its like to be online only...to never meet at all? :( Way back when I was hanging out in BDSM chat rooms and meeting dommes from across the country, we would play online yes, but online was only a means to an end--to get to know someone before travelling out to see them.

I spent a few years doing this, searching for 'The One'. Chat rooms, personal ads, getting hopes up, having them dashed. Heartaches and heartbreaks. But some rewarding experiences as well, good friends, good times, hot scenes.

Eventually I gave up...it was taking too much of a toll on me and I had landed a job that meant my travelling days were pretty much over. Spent a good portion of a decade vanilla and kind of dead inside, a few frustrating kinky one-night stands that never went much of anywhere.
Decided I wasn't going anywhere in my job and I'd had enough of cold PA winters and moved to sunny FL.

And it was here that I met 'The One'. Like a gift from the universe, totally unexpected. I had just started looking at bdsm personal ads again, shaking off the dust and cobwebs of my kinky life, and She found me. How totally by chance...how many things had to happen to bring me to Her, to put me on my knees at Her feet. I'm very aware of how lucky I am, believe me.

Sometimes it just takes my breath away.