Story of myself torture
- 3 years ago
- 14
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Reveal free porn video
Reveal
by Charlee White
Meticulously measuring each step, I glide onto the pool deck above pink,
ankle strap stilettos. The open toes tastefully frame the subdued red
nail polish that I have chosen. To the exclusion of all other thought, I
focus my attention on the task of infusing every gentle sway of my
slender hips with a sexy confidence that hides my relative inexperience
walking in heels.
As a twenty-three year old boy dressed as a girl, I carefully temper my
moves to dispel even the slightest hint of campiness. I believe that
sometimes less is more. I do not strut or worse yet sashay. I seek to
leave onlookers with nothing more than the impression of understated
sensuality.
It took enormous practice to make strolling atop three inch spikes look
effortless. Less than a year earlier, I slipped my small feet into a
pair of jet black pumps for the first time, and then only to inflame
your lust in bed. A few weeks later, I gave into your gentle urgings and
started wearing heels - with coordinating lingerie - around your home. I
adored your patient encouragement during my first clumsy attempts to
walk, but I especially relished the way that seeing me dressed stirred
your passion. My awkwardness vanished when I found myself lying on my
back with the ankle straps of the shoes resting on your shoulders while
you move inside me.
I gained proficiency by dressing in the shoes while you worked. Later,
in anticipation of this trip, I mostly lived perched on three inch
spikes. I wanted to make you proud of your girl when she stepped out
during our vacation.
I did not set out to be a tanny. Before meeting you, I had no interest
in any type of transgendered lifestyle. Although small, only five foot
two, I once looked athletically masculine. I wrestled on both my high-
school and college teams. While keeping my size down to qualify for the
lowest weight class, I developed a trim but powerful physique.
Sure, I was gay and a total bottom, but I never imagined living as a
girl.
I hooked up with you shortly after graduating from college. You waited
until I had fallen hard for you before making suggestions about the
little things that I might do to enhance our sex life. You coerced me
into shaving my pubic hair, then gingerly introduced the idea of my
wearing panties to add spice. When a camisole turned up. I knew what to
do.
I delighted in the effect my feminization had on you. On more than one
occasion, it seemed I only escaped being raped by saying yes - or to be
more accurate, moaning Oh, God, Yes!
One day, I took the initiative to meet you at the door wearing only a
garter, stockings, and heels. The intensity of your response far
exceeded any I had fantasized. You tried to be polite. You even took a
moment to hug me, but your instincts could not be suppressed. You took
my head in your hands and softly guided me downward. I obediently knelt
and pleasured you with my mouth while you stood just inside the doorway.
Climaxing did not soothe your raging libido. After taking a moment to
steady yourself, you swept me up in your powerful arms and carried me to
the bedroom.
After that, things simply took their course. I surrendered to you as
completely as one person can to another. Without reservation, I embraced
your fantasies as my own. I transformed myself into the woman you wanted
me to be.
At the pool, I wear a light coverup robe tied at the waist with a belt
of the same material. A light rose color prevails in the floral pattern.
Out of bed you most often dress your little girl in a pretty shades of
pink. For sex, you choose deeper, more exotic hues for your petite
whore.
When you purchased the robe for me, you explained that the resort would
allow us to lounge naked by the pool, but I needed something more
discrete to pass through the lobby or dine in the restaurants. Slipping
into the coverup for the first time, I could not help but comment on how
short it was. After tying off the belt, it barely covered my bottom. To
address my concerns, you moved face me with our bodies touching.
Looking into my eyes, you reached behind me and cupped your hands around
my firm cheeks.
"Baby girl," you told me lovingly. "You should be proud to show off that
beautiful ass."
Accepting your kind words, I kissed you passionately, then returned the
kindness by coyly praising your exquisitely masculine form. "If I had a
penis as long as yours, it would stick out beneath this tiny robe."
"But you don't," you teased. "That pretty little clit of yours won't
show at all."
A year earlier I would not have considered bringing attention to my tiny
penis as a compliment, but I knew you meant it just that way. The lust
in your voice enticed my clit to arouse to it fullest. It still did not
peak out even a little from behind that ever so short skirt.
As you instructed, I went to the pool wearing nothing beneath the floral
wrap.
I use very little makeup. I aim for understatement and go out of my way
to avert even the slightest suggestion of being cheap or tawdry. While
giving my mouth a pretty shine, my gloss only slightly enhances the
color of my lips. Beyond that, I apply liner and just a bit of shadow to
shape my eyes into deep set sultriness. Less is more. Though well
manicured, my nails do not extend unreasonably beyond my fingers. The
shiny, red polish brings a pretty splash of color to my hands - and
toes, of course.
I wear the dangling earrings that you bought for my birthday.
It took a quite a few sessions with a stylist before I settled on a
short cut for my blond hair that allows me to appear somewhat male when
I need to dress that way. I have to admit that this style does look
overly boyish no matter which gender I chose to be. With the frosted
tips hanging just below my face, it serves as a more than adequate
compromise, however. Before leaving for the pool, I framed my face by
softly curling the ends back toward my neck. In the front, I swept the
hair to the left with just a bit hanging over my eye.
I try to leave the impression you find so alluring, that of a clearly
male youth deftly affecting the pretense of femininity.
Dressing this way in public fills me with an enormous a range of
emotions, some conflicting but all intense. Foremost, an unbearable
passion for you consumes me. I know that seeing me this way excites you.
When we return to the privacy of our room, you will take me savagely and
then again but more tenderly. The anticipation arouses me almost beyond
my ability to endure the wait.
I enjoy looking sexy. When people stare, you take pride in possessing
such a desirable young tranny. Some men would give anything to trade
places with you and have me for a single night. Many others, would give
anything to become me and lie beside you.
Inconsistent with my sense of delight, I feel a strong sense of
embarrassment. I understand that I look foolish even at this gay resort.
With my clothing, I reveal my deepest secrets. When we walk together,
people immediately see that I have willingly accepted a life of total
submission to you. They know that I have vowed to love, honor and most
of all obey. Maybe they cannot guess the exact particulars, but they
have a certainty about the roles we assume during sex.
Often, strangers do not show me respect. They seem to think that a
transvestite, particularly a blonde, could not possibly have a mind of
her own. I have come to accept that. Even in gay clubs, they address
their conversation to you. More than once, men wanting to dance have
asked your permission instead of speaking directly to me. I do not mind.
It saves me the trouble of asking you myself.
Some people even say the most insensitive things while I stand right
there. A handsome man chatting with you at a bar once remarked, "She is
such a precious little doll. I bet you spank her when she's bad."
Not taking offense, you responded truthfully, "Yes, I do."
To further emphasize your point, you lightly smacked my bottom through
my skintight, blue mini. At one time, I would have taken this breach of
our privacy as an insult, but it now arouses me to hear you flaunt your
dominance over me. The sting of your palm on my ass sent a wave of
desire shivering through me. I reached my hands behind your neck and
pulled myself onto the very tips of my toes to kiss you.
You smiled lecherously and commented, "As you can see, I don't have to
discipline her all that often."
I must depend on you for support and protection. I feel exposed all the
time. The self-assured youth that moved into your home a year earlier no
longer exists. A delicate piece of fluff now stands in his place. I have
softened so. Smooth feminine curves have replaced my once angular frame.
Where I once strutted cock-sure down city streets at nights, I now
clutch your powerful arm seeking security.
Even at this resort, I can do little more than lounge by the pool and
read a magazine. My attire excludes me from the summer activities that
once brought me so much fun. Swimming would mess the hair and makeup
that I fussed so to get just right. Volleyball? Not in these shoes. You
have offered to take me golfing with you on one of the days, but I think
you really just want to watch me bend over in my flirty plaid skirt.
In a way that you will never understand, I receive an almost carnal
sense of gratification from living this lifestyle. At my core, I have no
option but to surrender to a powerful man. I could not find fulfillment
being an equal in a relationship. I need to yield to a man who acts like
a man - and makes love like a man. If not a transvestite, I would be
living my life as a slave, or son, or boy, or whatever.
I did not choose the nature of my submission. You decided that for me.
It embarrasses me to debase myself this way for no other reason than to
please you, but it also brings me an overwhelming sense of contentment.
I find intense sexual stimulation in this act of obedience. Living this
way keeps me in an almost constant state of erotic peak.
I adore you because you have sexualized my every moment.
I select a poolside lounge and drop my magazine onto it. Keeping my
knees tightly together and pressing the hem of the robe to my thighs, I
carefully lower my bottom to the chaise.
You stop me before I get comfortable. "Look around, baby doll. It's just
like I told you it would be. You don't need the robe."
You entice me in that seductive voice you use when cajoling me into
doing things that make me uncomfortable. I have heard you speak this way
so many times, when I shaved away my pubic hair, when I stepped into
heels for the first time, when I started going to clubs wearing a sexy
miniskirt. Honestly, you sound a little silly when you speak that way.
But I always give in.
I have not shown my bare body to anyone but you since assuming a
feminine role. I hesitate.
"Go ahead, little girl," you gently urge. "Let people see how beautiful
you are."
I stand and tenuously untie the belt of the robe. I peel back one side
of the coverup then the other. One quick wiggle and the wrap falls from
my shoulders and onto the chair. Above the heels, I wear nothing more
than makeup and earrings.
I scan the area. All eyes have fixed on me. One man even pokes his
sleeping buddy so they can enjoy the show together.
The stilettos lengthen my calves and thighs into an enticingly lean
form. More than one man has told you that my legs, though short, have
the slender contours of a runway model. My curvy bottom serves to
enhance this look.
Above my hips, the illusion of femininity falls short. You prefer me
that way, neither male or female but the creation of your imagination
entirely. I have shed weight even beneath the level I maintained in my
wrestling days. Months of aerobic classes have softened me, but not
enough to erase the years I spent trying to build my body for athletics.
I have no body hair. My smooth chest has lost every bit of its muscle,
but I have not replaced it with anything like breasts. Instead, I now
have the genderless torso of a boy. My tiny nipples with their dime-
sized areola only serve to emphasize my androgyny.
Tan lines expose the obsessive lengths I will go for your amusement.
During the weeks prior to this trip, I spent hours under a salon lamp
etching the shadow of a bikini onto my body. On my almond toned skin,
pale white patches surround the nipples of each breast and a triangle
left by a thong attracts attention to my pubic area. Even naked, I still
try to be your girl.
My clit as you call it appears almost petite without a patch of hair
above it. If a penis can ever be said to look feminine, mine does with
its uncircumcised head at the end of a minuscule shaft. Tiny acorns
cling tightly beneath me in my ballsack. Flaccid, my penis nearly
disappears.
I turn to you. Hunger burns in your eyes. If you could assert your
ownership of me by taking me on the pool deck, the ecstasy would be
sublime for both of us. I experience the moment in an almost sexual way,
as foreplay preceding the most intense climax of my life, a teasing that
builds unbearably without offering release.
Our time at the pool will be very short.
I need not look down to confirm it. I feel it happening, but in my
hyper-stimulated state, I find myself powerless to prevent it. One more
humiliation gets added to this day's many. I reveal to strangers that
even when most aroused, my clit does not grow to reach three inches in
length.
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