Friday, 15 June 2018

Girlie things

While I am at it, I might as well share some older pornography I wrote with you. This one is getting on for being 10 years old now, and I am somewhat ambivalent about the whole feminisation thing, but I do love me some gender bending and I made it work for me at that time. 

Here is a sample that you won't get free from Amazon:



He gets up from the chair, slowly, a dazed look on his face, his eyes scanning the room in search of a mirror, but I have purposefully covered the only one.

"Later," I say and walk towards him, pull the tie of his dressing gown and let it drop   open; pushing it off his shoulders so he's standing there completely naked.

His body is hairless, waxed and lotioned; and the way he stands, slightly turned aside, makes his cock and balls disappear in the shadow of his sleek thigh. I can't resist running my hands along his arms, then gently turning him round and doing the same on his back, from the shoulder blades skimmed by the tumbling hair, along the spine and down to the curves of his smooth ass.

He stands there motionlessly, like a mannequin or a wax model, letting me turn him round, paw and prod, allowing my hands to roam on his skin, strangely cool, as if I was touching a statue, only a slight, occasional shiver an indication that there is a living human being inside the body.

I love that. I want him to stay like that, I want to pull the wig off his head, lie him on the floor and slap his face until rivulets of tears smear the makeup all over. I want to straddle him and have him beg me to hurt him, not with my words and taunts but with my nails and fingers, and I even think that if I did that, he'd probably let me. But I don't yet have the courage to destroy this story, to divert from the script by more than I've already done. 

I shrug again. I've made my girl, now I must dress her.

I make the few steps to the bed, picking up pieces of clothing. Bikini-cut silk panties first; he moves at last, perches on the edge of the bed and pulls them on, almost all the way up.

"Lie back, sweetie," I instruct and as he does, I lean down and gently push his balls inside the body, then tuck his cock, which starts to harden a little under my hands, but remains pliable, between his legs, pulling the panties up to finish the task. They sit tight on his ass and keep everything in place.

As he sits up, I pass him a pair of hold ups, topped with a wide band of black lace but otherwise nude, sheer, with a black seam. The silicone sticks well to his smooth skin and they stay up with no problems.

The dress took a while to select, but I'm happy with my choice, a simple straight-cut thing of heavy, flamboyantly patterned silk with a Chinese collar and a long side slit that goes almost up to the thigh, exposing the edge of the stocking top. The shoes are medium heeled, wide-strappy suede, not stilettos, but go well with the dress.

He walks around the room experimentally, teetering a just little but mostly surprisingly steady, the heels and the confines of the dress adding a sway to the movement, the silk rustling slightly with each step.

He seems somehow more alive now, more real than even a few minutes before, as if the makeup and clothes - just meaningless trinkets really, less than skin deep all - conferred some primal transformational power.

What I see in front of me goes beyond fetishism of a man in knickers and stockings. Like a shaman that paints the body and puts on an animal mask somehow becomes the animal, so donning the clich├ęd female adornments seems to have created a path for some forlorn, abandoned part of his person to emerge.

He turns around, almost a pirouette, a hand on the hip, looks at me sideways, smiles, pouts a little. The effect is undeniably feminine, sexy, sultry.

Pretty. Fucking pretty. PRETTY. I spit this word out at him. No. I don’t. I imagine doing it, I do it in my head, then smile.

"Perfect. Now this and we are good to go," I say, getting the last item out if the wardrobe, a satin lined swing coat; a silky, almost black mink.

He gasps when I shake it and hold in my hands for him, then walks slowly towards me, turns round and slides his arms into it, wraps it around his body, crosses his arms hugging himself into the luxurious softness.

I walk towards the large standing mirror, until now covered up, pull the sheet off.

''Meet Nell."

_______________

You can read the whole thing (there is sex in there, I hasten to add) for less than price of coffee here:


 

Wednesday, 13 June 2018

Leaving a mark

If this is not your first visit to this blog, there is a chance that you read some of my smut before. Now that the old posts are gone (perhaps temporarily, perhaps forever, I have not decided yet), you can still get a fix by buying my smut (and if you have a Kindle Unlimited account, you can borrow them for free) -- here are my two longer F/m tales:


 

Wednesday, 6 June 2018

Not a place

This is not a place not to be real. 
And I was never real. 
It's time to acknowledge that and own my shit. 

As to being a ''sex blogger'', never mind a ''member of a sex blogger community'' (lol? lol). Nope. To quote myself from a different place and an ever-now time, those are not my people either. 


Good luck & take care, whoever you are.