Yes, I do laundry, too.

Peeking

I went on a golf trip a couple of weeks ago, a yearly thing I do with 19 guys I know. Yes, it's odd to be "one of the guys" with a group of 20 guys when one of the "guys" is half a girl. Throughout the weekend, seeing the guys be guys, I'm constantly reminded that I am not, will never be, cannot even pretend to be, a guy, let alone an alpha male.

Oh, I try to fit in, and I do, these are all friends of mine, but deep inside, I know I'm not really one of them, "one of the guys".

So when I got home on Sunday, I showered, it was late, and slipped on feminine clothing for the first time in several days, it was quite a relief to just exhale, feel the fake masculinity wash away, and be Sara.

Emily was drinking a glass of wine, sitting in a chair across from me, and we were talking about the trip, nothing but innocence. Until she asked me questions about my roommate.

"Who'd your room with?"

"Some guy from St. Louis, Rob, you've never met him."

"Was he cute?"

I really, really, really didn't mean to blush. I'm serious. I didn't mean to. "Emily," I choked, my face burning with the blush.

Of course, she saw it right away. "Sara, you're blushing."

"I am not," I denied.

"You are! Come on, he was cute, wasn't he?"

"I don't know," I stalled, doing nothing for my face, unfortunately.

"Sara, you're practically a girl for crying out loud, it's okay to admit that you think a guy is cute."

"Em!"

She laughed. "Just answer, I'll leave it alone," she promised, a promise I should not have believed.

"Fine, he was cute, okay, is that what you want to hear?"

"Just whether he was or not, I don't know why you have to get all embarrassed about it or why you're blushing. There's nothing wrong with admitting a guy is cute."

We talked for another minute then I got up to get her another glass of wine, one for me.

"Wait a second," she said taking the glass of wine. "It just dawned on me. Oh, Sara! You were blushing because you saw him naked, didn't you?"

What was I going to do, deny her boring into the heart of the matter so quickly, so easily, so smartly. So I didn't deny it. I didn't admit it, either, but I didn't deny it.

And my lack of denial propelled her off her chair onto the couch next to me. "Sara," she touched the smooth skin of my leg, "come on, you can tell me, is that why you were blushing? You thought he was cute and you saw him naked, didn't you?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Oh, Sara," she was practically beaming with happiness. "Do tell, do tell!"

"There's nothing really to tell, Emily," I shifted uncomfortably on the couch. The way I was sitting, the panties I was wearing, acted mostly as a gaff, trapping and tucking me so at least there was nothing obvious to betray my confused feelings.

"Just a glance then, that's all?"

I bit my lip.

"Longer than a glance? Come on Sara, your roommate, who you admit is cute, is fucking naked for more than a glance and you're holding back on me! How long, please, come on. Thirty seconds?"

"I don't know, longer, I guess."

"Longer, fuck, what the hell was going on," she playfully flicked at me.

"It was before dinner, I took a nap and when I woke up, I don't know, he was standing between the beds watching something on television, golf I think."

"He thought you were asleep?"

"Yes."

"He was between the beds?"

"Yes, why?"

"You sleep on the left side of the bed, so he was like what, right there?"

"A couple of feet."

"You opened your eyes and saw him naked!"

"Yes."

"Could you see his," she started to ask and my face reddened immediately. "You could, fuck, Sara, you woke up and found a guy's cock practically in your face!"

"It wasn't quite like that, Em."

"No? Which part wasn't quite like that? You waking up, the guy, or his cock in your face?"

She leaned over and kissed me, deeply, passionately. "Tall or short, your roommate?"

"Tall."

"Like how tall?"

"I don't know. 6'3" maybe."

"And cute? Like athletic cute?"

I bit my lip yet again, good enough to say yes.

"You know I'm going to ask, don't you?"

I nodded, knowing she was going to ask.

"He was big, wasn't he?"

I nodded again, looked down, away from her observant eyes.

"Erect or soft?"

"Soft."

"Big, big?"

I nodded yet again.

"Fuck, Sara, you woke up to some hot, not cute, HOT man's cock a foot from your fucking face!"

"Yes," I whispered, "yes," I finally looked at her.

"Did you pretend you were still asleep?" She set her wine glass down, her fingers were now dancing over her thighs, her fingernails tracing lines in her bare skin.

Jesus, the woman was relentless. And at any time I could have lied, but what was the use? She knew me too well, she would have know instantly. Instead of lying, I remained silent.

"How long was he standing there," she asked sliding her hands up her legs, under her skirt, closer and closer to touching herself.

"I don't know."

"How long, Sara?"

"I don't know...five minutes, maybe six."

"Ohhhh," Emily gasped, touching herself. "Five minutes. Fuck, you stared at his cock for five minutes!"

"It was right there, what was I supposed to do," I asked as her fingers danced over her panties.

"Cough. Grunt. Role over. That's what a man would have done, Sara, that's what any of the guys on your little trip would have done." Her fingers were now well under her panties, rubbing. "Did your little clitty swell, my pretty sissy? Were you getting excited staring his cock?"

She was full out masturbating now, even if I wanted to lie, there was no way I could watching what she was doing. "Em."

"Did you get excited?"

"Yes, fine, yes," I almost yelled which only made her thrust her fingers deep inside her.

"You wanted to touch him, didn't you?"

"Yes, fuck, yes."

"To suck him?"

"Yes," I answered as she stared at me, cumming. I loved when she did that, when she would cum locking eyes with me, mouth half open.

"Do you know how hot that makes me?"

"Em," I started towards her.

"No," she hissed. "I was going to let you fuck me tonight."

I had a quick intake of breath, missing the past tense, continued moving.

"No," she hissed again. "Was, I WAS going to, not now, silly. Get the dildo, I want to see you suck cock like you dreamed about all weekend."

I never fucked her. I sucked, but I never fucked her. I fucked her with it. I licked her. And after she orgasmed for like the tenth time, I licked and sucked the dildo clean

And he was very hot and he had an amazing cock, thicker soft than I've ever been hard.

And I dreamed about sucking him all night long.

Asinine Behavior

She was out of town this week, Monday through Thursday, for work. There was no real naughtiness while she was gone, besides some flirting that she told me about when she was back in her hotel room at night and we'd talk on the phone. Just hearing about flirting was enough to excite me.

Not that I could do anything about it, the chastity cage saw to that, something she asks, or pretends to ask-her requests are close to orders in my mind-me to wear from time to time. Especially when she's out of town, like in Dallas, when she knows I'm most likely to want to indulge in self-pleasure. That's when she most wants to deny me, letting the tension build and build until she comes home.

So I cooked her dinner last night while she vented about some problems she had on her trip, a personality conflict with one of her co-workers who started the week by criticizing her for having a glass of wine at dinner, then the next day chastised her for running alone in the morning. He apparently mistook himself for her father or her significant other, it would seem. Trust me, Emily needs no protector. She's a confident, secure, intelligent adult woman. She does not need to be patronized by a co-worker thinking he is her protector.

His asinine behavior came to a head on Wednesday night when he again chastised her for staying out after dinner at a club some people were going to. You're flirting with that guy, he scolded her (harmless flirting, at that.) You're in a relationship, he said.

To which she responded, love her for it, "Yes, Richard, I'm in a relationship. And when I get home I'm going to tell my lover two things. First, what an ass you are. And second, all about the guy I was flirting with. And then we'll have the best sex we had in months."

I almost spit out my mouth full of wine when she told me that. She was behind me, her hand on my hip. And she said, was I right, Sara?

Well, she was right, he is an ass.

And we did have the best sex we had in months. Thanks to a couple of things. My mouth, and the hours I spent licking and kissing and tasting her, and a dildo, and the way she was able fuck herself with it while I licked her clit and she fantasized about the guy she was flirting with.

In the end, I fucked her, too. It wasn't just the dildo. I just fucked her after she'd cum a dozen time from my tongue and the fake cock inside her.

I fucked her after she whispered in my ear, "I'm soaking wet from all his cum, Sara, now I want to feel my sissy inside me."

Luckily I fucked her AFTER she'd cum a dozen times because I was only inside her for maybe twenty seconds. That's all it took for her girl, me, to squirt.

"Such a sissy," she whispered when I exploded, "so pretty, so soft, so small, so quick."

HOT

It is so fucking hot this week, for the second day in a row I am not wearing pretty lingerie, i.e., no garter belt or stockings for me. I'm still wearing panties, of course, I mean, a girl like me does need to keep her clit tucked away. I don't know about you, but I much, much prefer a flat front (And quite coincidently, Emily prefers it, too. On me, that is. One can assume she has a different attitude about a real man.)

UPDATE: I have a line about a sissy's bulge in the story I'm working on. It goes something like this:

"Your nephew is naturally very pretty, Catherine, there isn't much I'd suggest you do beyond some light makeup and a feminine hairstyle. Of course, you should do as I did with my Christina, emphasize the bust and hide the bulge; to keep him in the proper frame of mind, you know."

I just want to say...

how much I love all you you. My readers, that is. You're all the fucking best!!!!

P.S. The image was just to catch your eye.

Lovely Chemises

I generally sleep in chemises and am thinking about getting one of these two from Nordstrom.

In Bloom by Jonquil 'Athena' Chemise | Nordstrom

In Bloom by Jonquil Bridal Chemise | Nordstrom

Engagement Rings

In a comment, anonymous asked if I'm a piker (meaning cheap or tight fisted) and commented that I should spend 20% of my yearly salary on an engagement ring and that $5,000 is not a lot of hurt.

My feelings on engagement rings:

1. Read a book on the diamond trade, say Heartless Stone or Last Empire. The fact that we give women a diamond engagement ring is bordering on unconscionable.

2. That said, Em thinks she wants a diamond engagement ring. I defer to her in this decision, though I'm close to the line of objecting on moral principals. But if she wants one, she gets one.

3. The "two months salary" thing is bull shit, total and complete marketing by De Beers. I do not make decisions on what to buy based on the marketing at this level. Telling me what I MUST do is the surest way to make me say, fuck that.

4. Emily is frugal.

5. I'm a spender. But even for me, anything beyond $5,000 is insanely crazy to spend on a ring. Again, fuck that. If she wanted a ring that cost 2 months of my income, well, that would be a deal breaker.

6. I'd rather spend money like that on an experience, e.g., touring Europe, learning to fly, etc.

7. Em and I discussed engagement rings. If she wants a diamond, she's in agreement, $5,000 is the budget. That's a $5,000 ring above. She likes it, I like it.

UPDATE: Just to clarify, we ARE NOT yet engaged. We're in the talking about it stage. It may be awhile, who knows. But that's the path we are on.

The Exam

I cleaned up and published my short story, The Unexpected Exam, as an Amazon Kindle book, now titled simply, The Exam.

The book is available here and is just $0.99

This is NOT an exclusive Kindle only (I've yet to do one of those), because the story is available on Fictionmania. I don't sell enough copies to quit my day job and write erotic transgendered fiction full time, perhaps because none are exclusive yet, but I sell a fair number of copies of my stories.

You may find this odd, endearing, ironic, poetic, or romantic, but I'm saving the proceeds and intend to use them to buy a very special woman a very, very special gift (something measured in carats given upon the asking of a certain question that I plan on spending about $5,000 on. I'm about 35% of my way towards my goal (you do the math.)

This is NOT a request that you buy the stories that are available for free elsewhere, just a report on what I'm doing. Obviously some people like the Kindle books, based on my sales, so I'm telling you this just to let you know.

And yes, it's weird for me to let people know of things I have available for sale. I'm not much of a salesgirl, so it isn't very natural for me. Then again, what the hell, it's a free market and if people are willing to pay, I'm okay with that (and okay if they are not willing to pay, too.)

I was originally hoping to monetize the blog with google ads, but google decided my blog was "mature" thus not worthy of ads. Yea, fuck off, google.

Anyway, love you all.

Room and Board is Done!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, first things first, the conclusion to Room and Board is done!!!! I have submitted it to Fictionmania and will give you the link as soon as it goes live there.

The entire Room and Board story, including the conclusion, is available as a Kindle book for $3.99.

You can find that here.

I submitted the conclusion to Fictionmania and the entire book to Amazon at the same time. It is only available on the Kindle first because Amazon published it first (they are a money making operation, they move fast. Fictionmania is a labor of love, and moves slower. Much like your author.)

So, you can wait a day or two and read it for free on Fictionmania or buy the whole think on Amazon, or do both, if you'd like to support my writing.

Again, I committed to publishing it for free on Fictionmania, and as soon as it hits the Fictionmania servers, it will be there for free. But, I'd love it if you bought a copy to support my writing. I don't claim to be the best author writing transgendered fiction, but I think I'm pretty good and a story that long is worth the few bucks. Same goes with A Change in Our Marriage.

That said, even if you don't buy it, I'd love, love, love for you to leave a review on Amazon. Here I'm not begging for a positive review, just a review. I'd love it if reviews were all positive, of course, and I think they would be, but that's your call.

So my pets, go enjoy!!!

Sara

To Some

I know this is a thing for some people, not a thing for other. It is half a thing for me (yes, total wimpy position, I know.)

But I learned today, for the first time, that Todd, the guy Emily met in Dallas, is black.

And yes, I pictured this. And got a little excited in my panties.

Update

Ritemate asked in the comments if my creativity for blogging went down because of my "release" by Emily. 

Yes, it does go down, but that's not the only reason.

I've been pouring some of my creativity into the conclusion to Room and Board, which is up to 10,000 words. Don't know if it good or if anyone will like it, but it's in progress, and that's where some of my creative juices go.

That said, it is a fair question. Yes, having Emily back give me a release.

Ritemate also asks, "don’t you miss the intensity of your feelings, your desperate craving for Emily?"


Oddly, or maybe not oddly at all, yes, yes, yes, I miss that, yes. But our relationship is not all play like it was when she was gone for three weeks in Dallas. Sometimes it is just life.

Dallas-The End

I found her waiting for me in a bar at the airport. Her flight had arrived a bit early (stunner) and I had trouble finding parking, so she'd been there for about fifteen minutes and was enjoying a glass of wine.

"Sara," she said when I walked in, calling me by my feminine name though I was not entirely feminine at the time, not in a skirt and heels, as she was. I was feminine enough, though, enough that she knew it immediately. My outfit looked androgynous, but it was feminine indeed, women's clothes on a boy, a soft, feminine boy, a mix, her love. I had worn a lilac blouse and women's black trousers. 

My hair is not this long, but with nail gel and very faint makeup, I was certainly not going to be mistaken for a masculine guy. You'll ask, so, yes, women's shoes, too, though again, not overtly so:

Under? I decided to forgo a bra; I tried and it was too obvious. But panties were a must, control type, to hide and keep the blasted cage in place, as were sheer black trouser socks, knee highs really, (saving a more appropriate outfit for when we got home.)

So that was me. Emily? She traveled in a skirt suit, similar to the one the model is wearing above.

Enough about fashion? 

Emily, fuck, Emily. She looked so hot, so pretty, so amazing, so wonderful (and a little tired) after not seeing her for three weeks.

We embraced, the embrace of friends and lovers, of lost souls.

"I missed you so much, Emily."

"I missed you, too, Sara," she whispered back in my ear.

"I...you didn't answer last night," I could not help myself, could not help.

"It was late, love, and I texted." True, she did.

"What...what happened," I blurted out, already swelling in the stupid cage.

"Sara, Sara," she put her hand up, silencing me. "This isn't the time or place, love."

I bit my lip; she was right, of course she was right.

"You look very nice," she said, motioning me to sit while she finished her drink, implicitly approving the clothing I'd worn. 

"Thank you, I...I wanted to wear something, um, cute." I leaned forward so as to whisper, "I wanted to be feminine and I didn't want to wear any boy clothes."

She reached across the table, touched my hand. "You felt more feminine while I was gone, I appreciate the effort thought, sweetie, I dressed up for you, too.

"You look amazing, Emily, I mean, wow."

"I feel like I gained ten pounds."

"Well, you must have checked that piece of luggage because you look amazing."

"I don't know, but I'm going on a crash diet."

"Tomorrow, I hope, I'm planning dinner."

"Are you?"

"Yes, I thought I'd make, I've been planning, a five course meal, small dishes, so you could unpack and unwind as I cooked."

"I think that's a great idea."

And so, to speed ahead a bit, I cooked, she unpacked, we ate in between. I stayed locked, and her lips stayed sealed about Dallas.

I have to mention, of course, that Sara cooked. Not androgynous Sara, but real Sara. Skirt replaced trousers, stockings replaced socks, heels replaced low shoes.

As we sat down to the last course, Emily sat across from me and I asked once again.

"So, last night?"

"After dinner, Sara, after dinner."

*****

After dinner.

After dinner, Emily said she wanted to freshen up from traveling, from unpacking. "Why don't you put on something pretty, lover, light some candles, pour some wine, while I take a shower and do the same."

It was becoming difficult to go on, the swelling, the anticipation, the need to know, but I did.

And so I dressed in pretty lingerie for my lover, feminine, soft, the opposite of him, of Todd, of the once she was flirting and touching and who was...

Had to stop thinking, had to stop swelling.

And then Emily walked out of the bathroom and all the thoughts and anticipation came crashing down on me the second I saw what she was wearing. 

It wasn't the robe, the silver satin with lace lining. It was pretty, but that wasn't it, that wasn't what drove me to the edge of sanity.

It was what was underneath, the sheer bra and panty set, the sheer bra and panty set she said she was wearing the other day when she was with Todd, the sheer bra and panty set he saw her in, touched her in, the sheer lingerie that were the only thing between her body and his cock, that she got wet in, that she touched him with, that she teased him with, that she made him cum on, that sheer bra and panty set.

That's what I saw as she tied her robe closed and walked slowly to the bed.

"Hon, before we talk about Dallas, we need to talk about the cage."

"What about the cage?"

"I want you to wear it for one more day."

"EMILY! I have not seen you for THREE WEEKS, I want to..."

"Now hear me out, Sara," she said. "I know, I know, I want to make love, too, believe me, I do. You've been so feminine these three weeks and I've missed that and, well, I want to make love to you, to that part of you, to Sara."

"But Em, I...I want to," I looked down, ashamed, "I want to cum."

"As Sara."

"Please, Emily." Oddly, for the first time, I was not swollen, I mean, I should be, but I wasn't."

She reached out, touched my leg though the stockings I had on. "Don't let the boy part of you out tonight, Sara, tonight I need a woman."

I wanted out, I wanted out, I wanted out!!!!

She scooted up on the bed and her robe came partially open, exposing her panties and my eyes were drawn to them, to the sheerness, and naughty things quickly ran through my mind.

"You've always liked these panties, haven't you?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"He liked them, too."

I sucked in a breath, rapid, unconscious, sucked it in as the swelling began again, immediate, powerful, trapped.

"Yes, Sara, these are the ones I wore on my date last week."

"Last night, did you...did you..."

"He came over last night, Sara, he came over and we had a nice quite dinner and some wine."

My eyes remained on her panties, staring not at her womanhood beneath, but the panties themselves. "What did you do," I managed to ask.

"Sara?"

"Huh," I asked, eyes fixated on the sheer cloth covering her.

"I missed your mouth, lover."

"Hgh."

"Nobody ever worships my body like you do."

"What...what did you do last night," I asked again, still looking down.

"Not much, we ate and talked about the training and sat on the couch...messed around a little..."

The sharp intake or breath. Crap, that was from me. And I still would not look up at her, I was still focused on the panties.

"Did you miss licking me, Sara."

"Ohhhh," I gasped yet again, just melting, just putty. 

"Did you miss your tongue teasing me through my panties?"

"Yes." A squeak, a mouse, hardly audible. "Messed...messed around?"

"Like a man and a woman Sara."

"Did you...did you..."

She interrupted me. "I want your tongue, Sara, fuck, even when he was touching me, I thought of your tongue."

"Did you..."

"Stop staring, Sara, lick me, lick me."

I was shaking, did she fuck him, that's what I wanted to ask, did she?

"Emily," I moaned, on my hands and knees, crawling towards her, up her legs, towards her panties. She was right, she always was, I not only liked licking her, I loved licking her, I loved licking her panties, nothing made me hotter than tasting her through silk or satin or nylon.

I was closer; I could smell her, the wetness now. Not always before I touched her or played with her, but not, obvious, the musk, the wetness, the excitement.

"Sara, look at me."

I paused, mouth only inches from her, the pain in my groin overwhelmed by my lust for her, looked up in her eyes. "What," I asked, hardly able to resist moving the last few inches.

"I did not wash them."

Our eyes locked. She stared at me, saw the understanding in my face, the silent communication. She did not wash them since last week, since her date, since she was on top of Todd, since she teased him, since he made her cum, since she returned the favor.

She did not wash them.

The musk wasn't just her, it was him, too, his scent, his body, his fluids. 

His cum.

She did not wash them and by asking me, by telling me, she wanted me to lick her though her panties, was telling me to lick him, too. 

"You...you don't have to..."

I pushed myself forward, could not help, could not resist, had to, needed to, wanted to, tongue out, mouth open, desperate.

Didn't have to? Of course I didn't have to, but the thing was I could not resist. After three weeks, night after night of thinking about her, day after day of chastity, feminized almost constantly, I wanted her.

And the dirty little secret?

I wanted him, too. 

Cum. 

Todd's cum was on her panties.

A week old to be sure, barely visible, but there. 

In texture, the slight crust. In smell, the musk.

I dove it.

And she rewarded me with an immediate shake, an immediate spasm, immediate pleasure.

I dove in an licked.

She was right, generally, day to day, I LOVED licking her through her panties. I started, often, love making with kisses and touching and massaging, but when I finally got there, when foreplay got serious, I would gently, lightly, then passionately, lick her, through her panties.

This was no different.

Except I started there.

Except her panties were soiled with him.

"We messed around," she whispered.

"Oh, Emily," I moaned, licking more vigorously. Licking her. Licking him.

Yes, I was ashamed of what I was doing.

But that only made it more erotic, more compelling.

She talked, I licked.

"We messed around, but it isn't the same as with you, Sara."

"I know," I licked, I looked up.

"He touched me and all I could think about was you."

She talked, I licked, she shuddered.

"It was just like last Friday, my soft, sweet, lover, we were on my couch drinking wine."

Painting a mental picture.

"I wanted to...to...I told him I'd be right back, went to go get us each another glass of wine. But I stopped by my bedroom first, put on that cranberry babydoll you bought for me, brought the wine back wearing just that. 

I was shaking, too, imagining her easily in the lingerie. The lingerie I'd bought for her. 

"I think his tongue fell out of his mouth, lover."

Of course it would, she was beautiful. I'd seen her in that very lingerie and she was beautiful.

"Fuck, Emily, he said. I giggled. Fuck, indeed. His eyes were burning into me and, and, having a man stare at me was so, god, felt so good, you understand, Sara? You're the love of my life, but sometimes I, sometimes a man..."

"Emily," I shook, licking her stomach, her panties, her thighs.

"You're safe and soft and sweet and perfect, but not a man."

"Emily," I shook again. "Please, did you...did you..."

"He wasn't like you at all. He was rough and awkward, different. Men are so...so different."

"Did you?"

"You use your mouth, he used his hands. He knew that. How to...how to make me," she bit her lip. "Cum."

"Ohhhhhhhh." I could not help it, I licked her again, through the panties. Again. Wet now, from her, from my mouth, wet, her, wet, him.

"Off, Sara, off, tongue."

I obliged, slipped the panties off her. If I wasn't locked up, I don't know that I could have used my mouth again, that boy part of me, that little part that was a boy, just may have taken over. 

But I was locked up. So I licked her again, bare now, my tongue directly on her, making her orgasm in seconds.

"Did you," I asked again.

"I was on top of him, he had wasted no time undressing this time. On top of him, his cock, fuck, his cock, Sara, his cock. Sliding over me, cock, thinking of you, feeling his cock. He wanted me so badly, Sara, he wanted to fuck me."

"Emily," I was dizzy, the room spinning.  

"The cabinet in the garage, under the plastic bin on the top on the left."

"What," I asked. "What?"

"The key, Sara."

"What?"

"He made me cum again. I just rubbed on his cock and he made me cum again."

I was panting, hardly able to breath, panting, licking, confined. "Emily, did he..."

"The key, under the bin."

"Key?"

"To the cage, Sara. That's where I hid it."

The key. That key.

"Get it, Sara, get it. Get it now."

I was torn. I wanted to shout, did you fuck him, but the key, she was offering me the key, now. She said I had to wait, but here it was, I could grasp it, here it was, release, orgasm, everything.

"I..." The garage. I was only in lingerie. Stockings. The garage. The cold garage.

"Are...are you sure."

"Get the key. Now. Please, now."

I needed no more. I quickly got up, to put on slippers to go the garage. While getting slippers, I saw her reach for the top drawer of her night stand, open it, pull out a vibrator. I paused in the doorway, watched her move it between her legs, heard it start. Fuck, oh fuck, fuck.

Watched her touch herself.

"Key, Sara," she hissed.

Fuck.

Her garage, as always, was fucking freezing. I went to the cabinet, opened it, rummaged around. Key, where was the key? Which bin?  Yes, top. Top shelf, left.

There, there it was, fuck, there it was. Oh fuck, three weeks, there it was.

I took it, looked down. Irony, for the first time since I saw here, I was not swollen. The cold garage, the focus on finding the key, I was small, now, shrunken. I suppose I should have brought the key back to her, but I was afraid I'd swell again the second I saw her. In fact, I thought of her, the vibrator, and felt it already.

I hesitated no more and unlocked the lock and took off the horrid cage.

The response was immediate, the flow of blood, the freedom. 

The swelling was immediate.

And urges irresistible.  

I touched myself.

STOP!

My brain screamed.

STOP!

Yes, yes, stop.

I just put it all in the cabinet. The key, the lock, the cage, the other parts to it. All of it.

I put it back and practically ran back into the house, ran back to her.

She was fucking herself with the vibrator. She heard me, continued.

"I wanted to him to fuck me," she said when she sensed me in the doorway.

"Did he, Emily, did he?"

She did not answer, could not, she was too close, fucking herself, too close to orgasm. The spasms, the shaking, the moaning. 

Too close.

I was on the bed, watching, vibrator as substitute for cock. In and out. Seeing the vibrator thinking of his cock.

I licked. 

I licked her as she fucked herself.

And when she took it out of herself and touched her clit with it, I licked again. The vibrator this time.

I licked it and opened my mouth and took it in like a woman would a cock.

The vibrator covered with her, tasting of her.

Sucked it.

Like a cock.

She saw, she watched, she shook.

She watched her lover, her sissy, eagerly suck the vibrator like a woman would a cock.

"Do you really want to know, Sara?"

I looked up, vibrator/cock in my mouth.

"Do you really want to know if he fucked me?"

I tasted her. Imagined him. Tasted her, imagined his cock in my mouth, wet with her, imagined licking her cum off his cock as I was now licking her cum off the vibrator.

"What if he didn't? What if he did?"

Did I want to know? She fucked Evan, I'm sure, right? But did she really? Did she fuck Todd, too? Did I want to know, for sure? Would I rather imagine it every day? Wouldn't the fantasy be more powerful?

What if she didn't? Would that make it better or worse? Would I beg her to do it? Did she want to?

This all ran through my mind in an instant. Fantasy or reality? What was the reality?

I was torn. Did I want to know?

A second instant passed.

Cock still in my mouth, tasting her, looking at her.

"I want you inside me."

I think by hesitating I answered her question. I don't think I did want to know. Fuck, I think I liked the tease more than anything else. And she knew. She knew all along.

I don't know if she fucked him or not. I know she messed around with him.

Messed around quite a bit.

But did she fuck him?

Did she feel his cock inside her?

I wanted her to, or at least, I thought I wanted her to.

Yes, I wanted to say yes, to have her say yes, that yes, she fucked him.

Didn't I?

But I hesitated and now she said she wanted to feel me inside her.

Three weeks in chastity.

Three weeks of torment.

Three weeks without control of my own orgasm.

And now she wanted me inside her.

Suddenly I was. 

In a fluid movement, I was on top of her, kissing her, inside her, the wet, warmth, familiar feeling of the love of my life.

It took mere seconds. I knew it would, wished it were different.

But I made her cum over and over not by being inside her like a man, but by making love to her like a woman.

I did not want to be her man, I could not be her man.

Maybe he did fuck her, I assume he did, but I did not know.

Seconds, mere seconds.

And explosion.

No hope of holding back.

"I love you so much, Sara," she whispered in my ear as the waves crashed around me, her whisper making them more powerful and more erotic and full of love and emotion.

I don't know, the question was not answered.

I don't know.

I think, but I don't know.

I think he fucked her, but I don't know.

He may not have, but I don't know.

"I love you, Emily. I love you."

Licking

I love to lick her panties when they are wet. Sometimes, during foreplay, I'll spend extra time teasing her and kissing her and licking her everywhere, everything, but I'll only use my fingers on her pussy, not my mouth, and I'll only use them on the outside of her panties.

She gets so wet.

And her panties get so wet.

And then, when I finally do lick her, it's only through her panties which are just soaked with her juices.

I love it when she talks dirty, always have, from the first time she said, "you like licking me through my panties, don't you?"

Yes, Emily, yes I do.

Answering a question from the comments

A comment/question from ritemate:

It seems to me you spend all your private time as Sara now. Has it always been that way, or do you think chastity makes you feel even more girlie, even more like Sara is your true self?

I don't know. With Emily gone, I've spent more time as Sara, but there are other circumstances that I don't blog about that play into that, too.

Does chastity make me feel more girlie? Yes.

In chastity, an orgasm as a boy is off the table. Boys think about sex. Boys take whatever sex girls offer them. Boys want to cum. What else is there for boys? And part of me is a boy. That part cannot ever go away, any more than Sara can go away. The boy part of me wants to cum.

But I cannot in chastity.

So, the boy part, whatever percentage of me is a boy, is diminished. I cannot cum. So I cannot think like that; I want to, but I can't. 

That part of the boy part has been shut away, for three weeks. So, it is like this. Say I'm evenly split, half boy, half girl. And say twenty percent of a boy is about sex, is about an orgasm, is about cumming. I think that makes up twenty percent of me, twenty percent of any boy.

Well, that means is that part of me, that part of the boy in me is GONE for now.

So, what am I then? Seventy percent girl?

I think so.

I think having that part of the boy part of me locked away has made the girl part of me the dominant part of me for the time being.

50/50 has gone to 70/30.

So I'm Sara almost all the time, mentally.

Even when I HAVE to appear to be a boy for things like work, whatever my outside appearance, I'm 70 percent girl right now and have been all week, ever since the lock went on the cage.

I'm always part Sara, always. That NEVER can change. Even without Emily, even in other relationships where Sara had to be hidden, I was still Sara. I know that, now, and I know it will never change, that Sara is there, a part of me, and I'm all good with that.

But right now, Sara is exerting herself. When circumstances let that happen, she always exerts herself. 

Always.

And now, when twenty percent of the boy part of me is locked away, CANNOT assert itself, Sara runs free. 

Subconsciously, Sara knows she's in control right now. 

So that's why I got up on Sunday morning and showered and dressed in a bra and panty set (black), in hosiery (off black), a short black skirt (not too short, but a couple of inches above my knees), and a pretty pink blouse (and heels) and did my makeup and nails and hair and am spending the day as Sara.

Cleaning up as Sara. Laundry as Sara. Cooking as Sara.

And later, watching the Superbowl as Sara. Even the boy thing, that boy part of me, watching sports, is not really so boy today. It is girl, it is Sara. (I created a Sara tag for this post, don't know how often I'll use it.)

So, a long answer to the question, but the observation is a correct one. I've been Sara much, much more lately. And I think chastity has something to do with it.

So does missing Emily, too.

What I want

Art, but it's about to be porn. And I wish that was me. See, that's the thing about being a sissy. I mean, I LOVE women, LOVE beautiful women and LOVE, LOVE kissing and licking and touching a woman. But when I see a woman like this, I can quickly go from wanting to lick her to wanting to be her and hell, how long a trip down a dirty lane, to wanting to be her getting fucked!

From: Art or Porn - You decide

Dallas-Still in a Mood

I'm in a mood.

Sitting home, in a mood.

Confused, still, unhappy, happy, not sure, maybe, what should I think?

It's late, not too late, but later than we usually talk at night.

Going on 11:00. Not terribly late, but late, still.

Especially since she's having dinner, heck, practicallly on a date with Todd.

No, not a date, but close, maybe too close. Maybe a date; I don't know.

I still don't know how to feel. Different than ever before; different than Evan; different.

maybe because she won't be home for two more weeks.

Maybe because I'm in in chastity.

Maybe because I'm frustrated, sexually.

Maybe because I don't like the idea of her flirting with a guy.

Maybe because I LOVE the idea of her flirting with Todd.

maybe because I love her more than any other woman I've ever known, ever, ever.

The duality of it.

Loving her flirting, loving her on a quasi-date.

Yet hating it just the same.

Loving it and hating it.

Love/hate.

I'm in a mood and so confused and I don't know what to feel.

I could have told her no, but I did not, I did not.

Maybe I feel guilty, then, because I said said yes by not saying no.

And so I'm in a mood.

Waiting for her to call.

Thinking of her with a guy.

Wishing she'd call now.

Thinking of her with Todd.

Do I want her to call or do I want to lay here, feminized, swollen in chastity, thinking about her, thinking about the Todd I've never met, thinking about how much I love her and she loves me.

Is sex with a guy good or bad?

Is it good or bad?

I want it and don't; I love it and hate it.

So I'm in a mood.

And I love her and miss her.

Dallas-Confusion

Yes, then there are times I wonder, what the fuck is wrong with me? Seriously, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME????

Why did I leave the office a little early to come home and do my makeup and nails and hair and get dressed in a skirt and blouse? I mean, okay, I'm a sissy, I get that, okay, I came to grips with that long ago.

But what about the other things?

I came home to do this, to sit at home, IN CHASTITY I REMIND YOU, all the while the love of my life, the person I CANNOT IMAGINE LIFE WITHOUT is in another city having dinner with some guy, flirting, doing who know what, FUCKING HIM?

I am a sissy and I sit home tonight, alone, while Emily flirts with Todd, flirts, laughs, teases, toys. What will he think? That she wants to fuck him, that's what he will think...and he may be right!!!

And I'm okay with this? Worse, I somehow accept it?

Worse, dammit, it excites me? I swell in this fucking chastity cage because I get excited about just thinking what she is doing?

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

You think it is easy?

Seriously, this is what you want?

I don't want it.

Fuck, but a part of me does.

Why, fuck, why?

Deep breathing exercises, deep breathing.

It isn't like she doesn't love you, it isn't like she's going to fuck him.

Well, why did she bring condoms? Lingerie? Why is she going to a guy's apartment for dinner by herself.

And why does she have to know it excites me?

Why, why, WHY?

Tell her, you stupid sissy, tell her.

 No, no, no.

Yes, tell her.

Tell her you are jealous.

No, that is being childish, she is an adult woman, a woman I trust.

Trust her that much, do you?

Little voice--she is going to fuck him!

Bigger voice--she is going to fuck him, you silly sissy.

Little voice--please, please fuck him.

Bigger voice--PLEASE FUCK HIM.

Both voices....nooooooooooooooo.

Dammit, being left behing SUCKS.

Chastity sucks, SUCKS.

And I LOVE her so much and I'll say nothing. Fuck. Nothing. Fuck.

And I'll imagine it and hope for it and fantasize about it and, yes, need it.

I NEED IT.

Fuck.

She asked me today, "are you okay?"

"Yea, why?"

"Your voice sounds like, I don't know, like you're upset."

"No," I answered, my voice shaking, even cracking.

"You are, Sara."

"Maybe a little, I don't know, I miss you."

"I miss you, too," she answered, almost patronizing.

"Not like I miss you, I can tell."

"It isn't like that, Sara, you know that, we're just so busy and..."

"Todd," I managed to say.

"You want me to stay home, Sara?"

"No," I almost whimpered, so quite I don't know how she heard me. "I just wish, I don't know, it is hard not being able to call you at all during the day."

"I know, love, I know."

"And then you're..."

"I'll stay home, I'll make up some excuse, if you want."

"No," I almost cried, I don't know why, on the verge of tears, no, no, yes, no...this is hard...and I can stop it...she opens the door...and I don't, I won't...I can't...

"I'll call you later, Sara, I love you."

"I love you, too," I moaned, almost begging her, yet, not needing to, not wanting to, nerves shot just the same. Not wanting to.

This is hard, dammit, so hard.

Sheerness

Sorry, a little out of focus, but I'm time crunched this morning.

The picture is a follow up to my post on wearing just stockings, uncovered by either women's trouser socks (which I usually wear) or worse, men's socks (shudder.)

Anyway, today, it is a black Rago six strap girdle over black Vanity Fair panties, Secrets in Lace Stockings, and a pair of black tap pants over the top for a smoothing effect.

And no socks.

Kind of sheer, yes, but I love the look and feel.

In A Mood

I don't usually post personal pics. Just not my thing. I'm in a mood, though.

Here's one of the heels I'm wearing. And one of the lace of my lace top stockings.

And as in wearing, like, wearing right now this very second, yea, after getting that voice mail.

Don't expect this to be an ongoing thing, the pictures, that is.

Commenting on a Comment

Sarah St. Claim left a comment that said, in part, "so many guys flutter around her like moths to a flame."

I love that comment, that thought, that image.

To some extent, that's the very essence of my three weeks. I have no idea is any of those little moths will actually touch the flame, but just imagining it, just thinking of all the attention she can get just by flirting, drives me INSANE with jealousy and desire.

It is natural, men flirting with women when they are out of town like that (I know from watching men, not from doing it myself, sissy that I am.)

A man will flirt with a pretty woman like Emily without even thinking of it, especially if the woman flirts back.

It matters not if she actually fucks a man, it matter to me now, today, this second, that just by walking into a room, 5, 10, 15 guys look at her and think how badly they want to fuck her and think, because she flirts, that they have a chance.

Even if she does nothing, that chance drives me wild!