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This is documentary.
I have been tasked by my dom to wear a chastity cage for 90 days. Each day I send him a photo of me in my cage with a note saying "Thank You Master."
The purpose of this project is to feminize me. To change me. To rewire my psychology. To humble myself.
Here, I will record my thoughts and reflections. Everything will be 100% truthful. Anything omitted will be what's irrelevant.
This is the end, but it's really just the beginning.
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Day 78 -- November 22, 2020
I sucked my husband's cock this morning. I know how to seduce him now--start stroking his chest gently, eventually hit the nipples. As soon as he starts to writhe a little, I have license to take him into my mouth and suck him until he cums.
That's the best sex I get these days.
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Day 79 -- November 23, 2020
Today I'm whining about being "a gender in-between."
If I knew then what I know now...
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Day 83 -- November 27, 2020
Today was Thanksgiving.
I made stuffing, oyster stuffing.
Dinner was delicious.
We took an illicit drive into the L.A. River watershed.
It was rad.
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Day 84 -- November 28, 2020
Today we took mushrooms, mushrooms that I grew.
They worked.
I took the biggest dose in the group, about 3.5 grams. I held my shit together. I always do--maybe to a fault.
My friends had their moments. I talked them through. Kept the music mellow. Talked them down.
I spent the whole afternoon in a hot tub. I was literally in the tub for four hours. What can I say? I was comfortable.
I took the cage off while I tripped. It's artificial. Mushrooms are not. Mushrooms are, very possibly, from space. That's not crazy talk--it's very likely true. There was no possibility I would have an orgasm while I was tripping my swollen balls off, so I slipped off the cage.
Mike, my master, said I could do what I want while I was on mushrooms. He said he'd never had one of his maids ask him about that. I think that's praise? It's something.
At the end of my trip, my friend San came in to my room. She yelled at me to take off all my clothes. I'm a sub, so I agreed. Then the two of us paraded naked through her backyard. It was a wonderful moment.
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Day 85 -- November 29, 2020
I went to bed without my cage. Again, there is no real danger of me having an orgasm--I'm way too far into this process. I'm way too committed to the goal to get off.
But what about the next morning? Do I put my plastic cage on again?
I do, and I take a photo of myself in it. I send that photo to my master to prove to him that I am still living in chastity for 90 days at his request and at my submission.
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Day 89 -- December 3, 2020
The night before I finish my commitment.
You'd think I'd be excited. You'd think I'd have some conclusions in mind.
I had none of that.
I was confused in a way. I was still clinging to the illusion that I was a man even as I wore leggings, nailpolish, and a plush fleece top I bought because it was femme.
My husband was away because he wanted to give me time to be my femme self without interference.
You would think I would have known where this was headed.
But I didn't.
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Day 90 -- December 4, 2020
You'd think this would be the good part.
I didn't take my cage off till about 1pm. I wanted to make sure I'd made the full 90 days.
When I took it off, I masturbated, mostly because he told me to do that. I shot a huge load into my mouth because he told me to do that. I swirled it around in my mouth, on camera, because... well, because I wanted to, but also because he asked me to.
I sent him that video. "You're one sick fuck," he replied. It felt like the nicest compliment I've ever received.
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I made this decision to submit almost impulsively. Master of maids had mentioned chastity to me. I told him I had a cage, in a box, about ten feet away. He asked me why I wasn't wearing it. He mentioned that he'd had girls wear it for 30 days, some for 90.
I told him I'd wear it for 90. I put it on.
Here I am.
In that time, I've gone camping. I've been on vacation. I've been with my husband, but I haven't been able to provide him with any sexual stimulation from my cock.
My husband knows about my master. He's asked me not to talk about the guy in Phoenix who talked me out of using my cock for three months.
But...
He couldn't talk me out of it.
I made the decision not to use my cock for 90 days, out of respect, deference, and submission.
It was my call, my pathetic call, to surrender my masculinity.
Why did I do that?
Because I wanted to surrender my masculinity.
I don't have it anymore. I literally, chemically, don't have my masculinity anymore. I'm writing this from the future, from seven months after I lost the plastic cage and entered a new cage, of my own mind.
My account is based on my stories of that very specific time period, but I have the privilege of hindsight to tell you that I am now four months into hormone replacement therapy. I am growing breasts. I do not get erections much at all anymore. The ones I get are small and soft and sweet. I have an orgasm, I don't know, every ten days? My testosterone is down to almost nil. My estradiol is up in the range of a pubescent teenage girl.
I have very much given up my masculinity. Surrendered to femininity.
Do I wish I knew then what I know now? The thing is, I could not have known. We are all on a journey, of course, but what a journey means is that we start in one place and we walk somewhere else. Sometimes we crawl. But we get there, one pace at a time. I was not ready for what was to come. I might still not be ready. But I am further down that road, thanks in a massive way to my master, and to my submission.
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Epilogue
In my library of porn, erotic pictures and stories that I've been collecting since I was a teenager, there is one particular image that stands out to me. It's a fantasy that has now very literally come true.
In it, a beautiful white transgender person, with big tits and a gorgeous body, lies on her side. From behind, one black guy fucks her up the ass. From above, another one fucks her in the mouth. Her expression says, "I can't help but need this even though I'm not sure now that I want it."
Above her is the caption, "Be careful what you wish for... you just might get it."
That is me.
Last Saturday, a casual friend came over. He and I had gone on a very sweet date earlier in the week. We'd kissed a little bit--he is an amazing kisser. At the end of the night, he drove me home. He kissed me a little bit harder. That felt like... a little bit more than I was expecting.
Tonight he fucked me. He fucked me the way he wanted to fuck me. He slid into me without any preamble--with very little lube, and protection only when I insisted on it at the last moment.
He could easily have slipped it off at any point. I wondered if he had while he fucked me hard.
He entered me so quickly and so deeply, I yelped. I cried out, begged him to stop. He did, but only after he bottomed out. And he only waited, oh, a minute before he started fucking me again.
I heard myself crying out as he fucked me. I could not stop. I had no control over my voice. It was unconscious, the noise of a beast being fucked. Of the female receiving her male. Of complete submission.
I never got off my back. He fucked me that way the entire time, in total control of my body.
I asked him to stop. "Just give me two more minutes," he said.
I nodded silently.
He fucked me, hard, for few minutes. Then he came inside me.
I felt violated... but somehow satisfied. I'm embarrassed that I liked it.
When he left, the bed smelled like him. A couple of days later, I washed the blanket--my soft and fluffy protection against the unkind outside world.
Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.
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That's a report on Days 76-90. I'm in the rest of my life, and if you can believe it, they are more hardcore than any of these ninety days.
Drop me a line at sexyamie@hotmail.com if you're turned on.