Friday, 27 April 2012
I am truly sorry, and please do not hate me for it, but I am breaking up with you.
Too many times you have teased me and tempted me into your dungeon, seduced me into slipping on my favourite pink collar, gotten my panties wet . . . and then splashed cold water in my face. Your books have such glorious set-ups, such breathtaking scenes of breaking, submission, and feminization that make me swoon against my restraints. I fall in love with the writing every time, but just when it starts to get really hot, you go and take a hard right turn into sadomasochism, degradation, and pain, leaving me behind, all wet, bothered, and frustrated.
Don't get me wrong, I am sure that is what most of your readers are looking for, and I am sure your authors are very good at what they do, it is just not for me.
Homage To Emma: The Sex Diary of a Male Submissive will be, I am afraid, my last selection from the Pink Flamingo shelf. It's a book that starts out with the perfect set up - a cheating husband flees the wrath of his wife, finds no solace in the arms of his mistress (small 'm'), and ends up beneath the heel of a proper Mistress (capital 'M'). I absolutely loved how quickly and easily she took control of him, ordering him around the house, forcing him to make dinner, and putting him in an apron before ordering him to strip naked and begin his feminization. There was so much potential there, but once again it was (to my tastes) wasted.
There's a lot of domination and submission here, a lot of pain and humiliation, a lot of shame and degradation, but no eroticism. While I am sure it is precisely what regular readers have come to expect and appreciate, it just leaves me cold and frustrated. There's a scene about halfway through where the forcibly feminized Martin is given to a pair of men for the first time, spread wide and prepared to be penetrated at both ends. Just the thought of it had my panties absolutely drenched, my nipples hard as diamonds, and my own pretty little tush clenching in anticipation. Except, the scene is rushed through in about a page, with absolutely no detail of what Martin is thinking or feeling, and no sense that his Masters are enjoying it.
What could have been a scene to send me into dreamland with a pair of sticky panties became, instead, one that caused me to sigh, skip ahead 20 or so pages at a time, and confirm the story was never going to go where I wanted.
Don't get me wrong, it is a well-written book, and the lovely Ms. Ross clearly know how to dominate a man. For readers who crave the SM heavy BDSM experience, it is quite likely a very good read. Sadly, it is just not what I wanted.
Thursday, 26 April 2012
by Monika Ikon
The lovely Monika does it again, offering up another wonderful tale of forced feminization and loving submission.Although not as hot as White Collared Sissies, the storyline here is more complex and, ultimately, more rewarding with its unique twists. It's such a gradual transformation that Jamie undergoes, far more mental than physical, that his descent into femininity is entirely believable. This one is all about the little cosmetic touches involved in Jamie's sissification, the rather more significant adjustments to his behaviour, and the far more worrisome consequences for his lifestyle and his career. I especially loved the transformation of his relationship with Bob, which went exactly where I wanted it to go. I won't say more, because it's really the twists that make this story work, but as cruel as Kathy's plan is, Jamie's submission quite warmed my heart and made me, dare I say it, quite jealous.
by Epic Sex Stories
This was a fun collection. The Boss, the Bride, and the Cuckold was glorious in its hot-wife sluttiness and orgiastic delights, but didn't push hubby in the direction I crave. Instead of being forced to fluff and clean, he merely watches and then slips into some sloppy seconds. The World’s Biggest Cuckold, on the other hand, was exactly what I was hungry for. I loved the progression of their relationship, the secrets that hubby discovers, and the various friends and family he's cuckolded by. Most of all, though, I loved the scenes where he describes his first time cleaning black cock, his first time being gagged by a gallon of sperm, and his first experience being penetrated at both ends.
The Cum Slut and the Cuckold wasn't quite as much fun for me, being told from the wife's perspective, but I do so love a hubby who arranges a gangbang just so he can slurp cum from his wife's holes! The Sex Master more than made up for that, though, with a submissive sissy who doesn't just get cuckolded by his wife, but dominated by her entire family. The scene where hubby sucks off his father-in-law while his mother-in-law watches . . . well, it nearly sent me over the top! Finally, we have The Nympho and the Cuckold, another hot story to be experience from the wife's perspective, but with not nearly enough humiliation or submission from hubby for my tastes.
by Anna Mayle
I liked this story, but I can't say I loved it. Yes, it was weird, dark, twisted, and dangerously erotic, but the most interesting part (for me) was glossed over and left in the past. As intriguing as it was to witness Daniel being coerced into illicit (almost incestuous) sex acts with his doppelgänger, that's not the part of the story I wanted to explore. I guess it's the submissive in me, the borderline sadist who loves force/coercion, but I really wanted to read more of Leinad's life as a captive sexual plaything for the Faerie. It's touched on in the first chapter, and we're offered just enough detail to really intrigue/excite, but then we're shuffled off into the 'real' world for a sad tale of revenge. Well done, for what it is, but I do feel a little teased.
Tuesday, 17 April 2012
We work in a company that has fired or laid off half its staff in the past two years, and which has not turned a profit in over three years. Employees have not even seen a cost of living increase in four years, much less a performance increase, and expenses that used to considered 'reasonable' are being denied across the board. The only things filthier than the heating ducts above are the carpets below, and the only things emptier than our pockets are the dusty cubicles that stretch into the distance.
So, with all of that to take into consideration, I can totally see how a crackdown on personal expression will magically make things better.
Step one in the stuff suits master scheme is to not just ban, but actually confiscate and destroy any 'personal' notebooks. After all, can't have all our trade secrets behind losing money walking home with employees who don't have money to lose! Instead, we were all issued one (1) plain, black, hardbound, undated, daily planner. It's a very nice, very boring planner, with one page per day, perfect for hiding in a drawer until you really need it. Just to ensure we don't suddenly break out into an orgy of non-conformity, it was made very clear to us that the outside is to remain clean of any stickers, markings, tape, or decoration of any kind.
They never said anything about the inside.
Is it childish and petty of me to fill the front cover with Monster High stickers? Probably. Is it silly and pointless of me to fill the back cover with My Little Pony stickers? Almost certainly. Does doing both make me feel a whole lot better, and make me giggle with glee at the prospect of 'accidentally' allowing the planner to fall open on my desk? Absolutely.
Oh, for those of you who are concerned about the fate of the very lovely Michel Tcherevkoff, I smuggled my Purses, Petals & Pumps daily planner out of the office last night. It may not be there to brighten my mornings, but at least I can still enjoy his breathtaking creations when I get home at night.
Monday, 16 April 2012
love your reviews on amazon, wow, you can write! isee you are also canuck, i live in the okanagan, share your femme male fashion desires, so where do you live, thanks for the sexy links, do you have any faves on literotica? you can find me on tumbler und
Thanks - so very nice to hear that somebody else appreciates my fetishistic reading desires! :)
Literotica and Fictionmania are two sites I frequent quite regularly. It's hard to pick favourites, but the tried-and-true authors I find I can depend on consistently include Monika Ikon (she also writes as Meeah Soo & Kimmie Holland), Sara Desmarais, Jennifer Jane Pope, Vickie Tern, Sissy Priscilla Valentine, Lesley Leeds, Tanya Allan, and Wholeman.
Tuesday, 3 April 2012
In a perfect world, I would be very well acquainted with the needle’s prick of hormones and the scalpel’s plastic surgery kiss. I would not only be on a first-name basis with both my electrologist and my hairdresser, but I would have the freedom to completely indulge in their arts. I would have a membership to a women’s only fitness club, a dancersize class, and an aerobics class . . . and I would use them all regularly.
While my name would be legally altered to reflect my true identity, I am far too much of a fetishist (and one with a lust of the beauty that lies between the gender binaries) to ever fully transition my gender.
That perfect world may be somewhere in my future, or it may be lost to me forever, but I stopped worrying about it a long time ago. Instead, I have found peace in my genderqueer identity, and I can honestly say the pleasure it provides is indescribable. It is more about a feeling than a look – a discreet expression of my true self, a physical alteration of my public persona that I can see in the mirror and feel in my heart, but which is largely lost on the casual observer.
It all starts with a solid (but subtle) feminine foundation, including a feminine antiperspirant (I love Secret Powder Fresh) and a light dusting of baby powder down below. I cream myself hairless every weekend (I find Veet Sensitive burns the least in the tender areas), and then touch up any stubbly patches with a razor during the week (Shick Hydro Silk razor, paired with Skintimate Skin Therapy cream, does wonders). I do pluck my eyebrows, as much as it hurts, but only to thin them and provide a little shape – I stop shy of fashioning the kind of pencil-thin arches I so dearly love.
As for my nails, they are painted with a lovely French beige polish (always OPI - I just find it lasts longer) during the week. It’s close enough to my natural skin tone that most people never notice, but it has a gorgeous sheen to it that makes me smile every time it catches the light. Even if the colour doesn’t ‘pop’ like a pink or jump out at you like a fuck-me red, I can feel the polish ever time my fingers or toes cross, and that anchors my identity. I'll usually stick with just one coat on my fingernails, to reduce the chances of being made, but always go with two coats on the toes.
Next, of course, is lingerie. It has been nearly fifteen years since I last wore a pair of boy’s briefs, but I still luxuriate in the sensation of a nicely frilled pair of panties, and the feeling of an expensive pair of stockings caressing my legs is almost orgasmic. For those ‘casual’ days in the office, I will forego the stockings for a cute pair of ankle socks. On those days, I’ll slip on a toe-ring to help anchor myself, since I’m not so worried about snagging the material, and sometimes even match it to a pink ring if I’m feeling daring.
As for clothes, I have a creatively genderqueer (androgynous/unisex) wardrobe. Roughly half of my pants are women’s slacks, carefully selected to give me a little shape, but not to hug or tug too much in the places that would draw suspicious attention. The other half of my pants are men’s pants, all of them altered to accommodate my identity. In most cases that just means replacing the ugly brass buttons with something a bit more colourful or flashy, but I have gone so far as to have a few tailored in the hips and legs to provide a bit of flair. I always top them off with a plain women’s belt – as much as I love my pink and purple belts with the studs, it’s a plain black or (on my more daring days) a very dark violet in the office.
On those casual days I mentioned, a cute pair of capris does draw a bit of attention, but since I’ve established a long history in the office of not liking full-length pants, and since we’re only allowed to wear shorts in the summer months, they get passed off as more of an eccentricity on my part than a violation of the gender binary. I've even cheated a few times in the nice weather and worn my convertible capris, which look like full-length pants all day long (a bit tailored in the legs, perhaps), but with the cuffs that can be rolled up and tied off into capris the moment I'm ready to leave the office.
Up top, my ‘dress shirts’ are almost exclusively women’s blouses, once again carefully selected to avoid the obvious darts or suspiciously-placed seams that would give away the secret. Fortunately, the recent trend towards colourful pastels for men and women has significantly expanded my wardrobe over the past two years, and since people generally see what they expect to see, only a very small handful of coworkers have ever noticed that the buttons fasten on (to them, at least) the ‘wrong’ side.
My hair has always been an issue, which (in the grand scheme of things) actually works in my favour. People devote so much attention to the length, questioning when I’ll cut it or why I’ve let it get so long, that they fixate on it to the exclusion of everything else. I keep it trimmed to about the middle of my shoulder-blades, making it just long enough to look acceptable in an office ponytail, while providing enough wavy length to style loose and free. So long as I stay away from bright colours, I can even get away with a cute scrunchie to hold it all in place.
At the end of the day, if somebody was to look at the tags and scrutinize me up-close, they’d realise just how feminine my expression is, but casual acquaintances rarely devote that much attention to one another. I do get the occasional odd look or quizzical expression, especially if they catch me putting on flavoured Soft Lips or Chaptstick (a great substitute for the feel of lipstick)
I know you're probably thinking I must look like quite the effeminate sissy or flamboyant gay man, but you'd be surprised how much people see what they want to see. Were we to meet in line at Starbucks, you'd probably look right past me, never noticing anything unusual . . . it's what you know that makes the difference in what you allow yourself to see, and it's what I know that makes the difference in what I allow myself to feel.