Seasons

While there may be 4 seasons technically, for my kinky life there are just two. 

The first coincides with Spring and Summer, when i play sport and must be in my natural state, hairy and "masculine". For these times I serve naked and collared, in my red service collar belled to provide a melodious background to my movements. 

This is the perfect season for my straitjacket, which I have been lucky enough to get more wear out of this year. Miss likes it as it covers my hairy chest, and I like because it is flattering and keeps me comfortable, but wonderfully bound. One day I will hopefully be kept in it for longer than just the odd afternoon. 

Hopefully I'll have a pic or two of me in it for my therapy sessions soon. In my soft black hood too. 

But Miss prefers the other season, the season of the sissy slut. 

The season starts when I have my first shave, and consists mainly of me in stockings, a lovely 6 strap suspender belt and full figure, black control panties. However, to describe them as "panties" does not do them justice, they are full figure, cover the hips and belly and compress me everywhere, especially my poor balls and knoblet, squeezing them down to a tiny package. If I fall asleep in my hosiery I often wake in panic at being breathless and so crushed. My favourite red short satin nightie is little comfort in those moments, however silkily it glides over my chest.  

I would love to be able to wear my control hosiery, with a lace push up bra to highlight my burgeoning b cups and the lovely red dress Miss used to have me wear out to dinner. Accessorised with dangling clip on ear rings (ouch), tight full lace choker, black opera gloves, head out in that with a remote control vibe in my underwear and have an interesting romantic candlelit dinner at our new favourite steak restaurant. I'd drink a full bottle as Miss sadly doesn't drink any more and get squiffy and frisky and ripe for some rough handling. 

Then home to have Miss force herself upon me, strip me of my dignity, rope my wrists behind my back, still in their black gloves, bend me face down over the dining table, ruck up my dress, expose the knoblet by peeling it out of the gusset of the control pants, spread my legs apart with hers, pin my wrists into the middle of my back and with a generous dollop of coconut oil, pump the knoblet until i paint the floor with my shame.   

Then off to bed and my favourite red shirt silk night gown so I can wake up the next day and have Miss rip my self respect apart again by pumping me dry again, to leave with my knoblet tucked into my pants, rubbed red raw, sore and aching and still smelling of coconut oil.

Which is all very well, but I don't want to disturb my fellow patrons, with some unconvincing transvestite being blousy and flirty while they're trying to enjoy a nice dinner out.

Not nice. But if the package was tied up with less pretty paper... ?

Thought is that I go out with stockings, suspenders, and the mean control underpants but with a nice blue suit over it all. Maybe a green vibrating remote control friend wrapped around the knoblet and held tight by those ultra controlling black panties. Then Miss could switch me on over the course of a long fine meal at said new favourite steak house, and on a quieter afternoon train home back to hers.

Then when inside I can peel off and hang the silly outer layer, and reveal the sluttish truth beneath, and then get on with the serious business of first pleasing Miss with a nice long, slow rub down. And finally the bending over the table as described above... 

It's my burfday coming up Miss. Sound like fun to you?

Nice way to bring on the season of the sissy slut?