Honey, I'm home

I came home from work last night; Emily was in the spare bedroom, at her desk, doing some work. I tried to come in and kiss her hello, but without even looking at me, she held up her hand and said she was busy.

I apologized for bothering her and went to our room to change and found a Maid's uniform set out on the bed.

I sighed. I bit my lip. I really (really) wanted just to get changed, have a glass of wine, and relax.

But that's not what she wanted.

So I changed out of my work clothes and into the uniform and spent the rest of the evening cleaning house.

I did laundry. I cooked dinner. I vacuumed. I dusted. I folded laundry. I changed the sheets. 

Not once did Emily acknowledge me, not even when I was in the spare room vacuuming or changing sheets.

Not until we were in bed and she rolled over and reached across me and took my balls into her hand (my balls being the only thing, free, the rest of me locked in a cage) did she say anything.

"You're such a good little house sissy," she kissed my ear and drifted off to sleep, gently massaging me.

Such a good little house sissy.

Evan...you remember Evan?

Do you? Well...

Guess who is in town tonight?

Guess who is going out to dinner with him tonight?

Guess who (despite the heat) is wearing a sexy bra and panty set and thigh high stockings under her dress?

Guess who was checked to make double sure her chastity cage was extra tight?

Guess who told me as she walked out the door, "don't bother waiting up, sweetie, I won't be home early."

Tease and Denial

One of the MOST frustrating things Emily does is masturbating in front of me when I'm locked in chastity.

Well?

"How do I look," Emily asked me, modeling the dress she was going to wear to out with her friends last night.

"Like you're going out to get hit on by men," I answered, the first thought that popped into my head.

"Yea," she smiled.

My clit tightened in the cage, not that it mattered, but I hadn't realized it was that kind of going out.

"Wait up for me," she said when she kissed me goodbye, "I've got plans for you later."


I raised my eyebrows and she knew exactly what I was thinking.


"No, sweetie," she looked down at my midsection, "not those kind of plans. I meant I have plans for this," she touched my mouth, "not that," she said, looking down again. 

Summer Stockings

Just because summer is coming doesn't mean a proper lady (or proper sissy) should stop wearing stockings. Just try some of these ultra sheer stockings from Secrets in Lace.

By the way, I'm wearing the last pair today, the Gennia Glamour in grey.

7 Denier Alisha Reinforced Heel and Toe Stockings:

Gennia 10 Denier RHT:

Gennia Glamour 10 Denier:

My Sunday Night With Emily

She told me to freshen up, come to bed wearing something pretty, so I did.

She told me to touch her and kiss her and lick her, so I did.

And after an hour of licking her, when I reached for the drawer, for the vibrator inside, she said, you don't need that, Sara, I'm just enjoying you.

Did she mean what I thought she meant? Did she mean that...I was too excited to ask, afraid I misunderstood, and she sensed it.

Yes, Sara, she said, I want to feel you inside me.

And for the first time in a month, Emily guided me into her.

With predictable results.

After ten seconds, I started to feel it, tried to think of something else.

Shhh, it's okay, she said, instinctively knowing.

After twenty seconds, I tried to stop moving my hips, hoping to prolong it.

Don't stop, Sara, she said, don't stop.

After thirty seconds, I knew it was too late, said her name anyway, begging with that one word that she let me stop, try to make it last.

Don't, she said, don't try to be a man, just be my sissy.

Instantly, I exploded, noticing that the clock had not changed from the moment I entered her until now, 11: 15 it read when I entered her, 11:15 it read when I finished.

Good girl, she said, stroking my hair, good girl, good girl, good girl.

Dripping

Eight weeks. Eight weeks since I'd been unlocked. Eight weeks since I'd been free. Eight weeks since I'd been inside her. Eight. Fucking. Weeks.

So was it surprising?

"You're dripping," Emily giggled when I walked out of the closet, practically shaking I was so excited.

"Huh?"

"You're little clitty," she pointed to my waist, "it's dripping."

I looked down—she was right—there was a thick, goo, a small line of it, leaking out of my penis (my little clitty), leaking out of the hole in the front of the cage.

"Emily, it's been two months, of course I'm dripping, I...I'm excited."

She frowned. Fuck. What was wrong with dripping? "What?"

"You're right, I shouldn't be surprised, but..."

I raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know, Sara..."

"Em, you promised!"

"I promised to unlock you and let you cum, I didn't promise that you could do it inside me."

"Emily!"

"No, Sara, that was YOUR projection, not MY promise...my god, you're not going to last ten seconds."

"Please Emily," I mouthed.

She shook her head, "I'll let you squirt, sweetie—I promised—but NOT inside me."

I pouted. Heavily.

"Oh, honestly, don't be so melodramatic—you know you'd rather squirt into my hands like a sissy than inside me like a man," she said raising her eyebrows.

She was right, she was fucking right, of course, as badly as I wanted to be inside her, it was MUCH more exciting to me to be denied, it was MUCH more exciting to have her hands wrapped carefully around me, teasing me, touching me like a girl.

"Do you want me to unlock you?"

"Yes," I whispered.

She grinned. "After you lick me, sissy, I want to see you dripping while you're making me cum."

When did it start

Do you think it started with Emily? Do you think this is the first time I've had these feelings, these thoughts, these urges, these desires?

Are you kidding me? I've had them all my adult life.

All of it?

Yes, all of it, since I was eighteen. Since high school.

High school, when the girl I was dating cheated on me and I stayed with her and the next time we screwed, she pushed my head, wanting me to go down on her. And I did, knowing that a week earlier another guy, a football player, an alpha guy, fucked her, had cum inside her. I was shaking as I crawled down the bed, licked my way down her stomach, imagining I could still smell it, the stench of sex, of musk, of cum. I was shaking as I stuck my tongue out towards her eighteen year old pussy, shaking with fear and shame, for instead of dumping her, after she fucking cheated on me, I had begged her to stay with me, and now she was quite literally rubbing my face in what she'd done.

The first lick, the first taste, was the most emasculating thing I'd ever done in my life. The room was dimly lit, but I could see, there were candles lit, fucking candles, I lit fucking candles for her to be romantic, as opposed to throwing her down and fucking her like he did. The candles gave off soft light, softly illuminated her pussy so I could see it as I stuck my tongue out, licked her, emasculated myself. Yes, emasculated myself. I could see her clearly, could picture it in my mind, the guy, his cock out, pushing into her, fucking her, cumming in her. And I licked it. Instead of telling her to fuck off, I begged her to stay with me, first with words, then with my tongue. I licked her, not once, either, a hundred times that night, a thousand. I licked her for an hour, maybe two, licked her to orgasm after orgasm, every lick, every taste, a reminder of the cock that was inside her seven days earlier.

With every single lick, I thought of it, cock, touching her, filling her, I thought of her moaning like she was now, only doing it with him inside her. And I licked and I licked and I licked.

Why? Why did I emasculate myself like that? Because every lick made me harder, every taste got me more excited, every thought of him cum inside her drove me wild with excitement.

I doubt she ever saw me as a man again, fuck, I doubt she ever saw me as a man, period.

Even after we got married.

You see, it didn't start with Emily. No, no, not at all. It's just better with Emily as Emily loves me like my first wife never did.

She never told me again she was cheating on me (she did) or that she cuckolded me (what else could it be when I knew?)

She would have "girls nights out", you know, the stereotypical thing a woman has when she's cheating, when she wore sexy lingerie, lingerie I fucking bought for her, lingerie I picked out for her to wear when she went out. We never discussed it, but at some point, it was apparent we both knew the other knew.

Once, one of her friends told me, tried to tell me, anyway, which was funny, because I already knew.

She would go out two or three Saturdays a month, wearing matching bras and panties from Victoria's Secret, wearing the thigh high stay up stockings they sold back then, and get home late, two, three in the morning. I'd be horny when she got home, fuck would I be horny. But she was always too tired to screw. Always. And her response was always the same. Always.

"I'm too tired to screw," she'd say, "but I'll let you lick me for awhile if you really want to, if you ask. Nicely."

Did I want to? I fucking wanted to every time. And I did, every time. I'd ask her. I'd practically beg her. I'd go down on her and lovingly lick her, suspecting, no, knowing, that many of those nights, maybe most of those nights, she'd already been fucked, and that all I was tasting was not her.

Sometimes, she would be so hot, she'd get so worked up from me licking her, she'd relent and let me inside her. Not that I ever made her cum like that, I was much too quick, premature, sooooo premature.

She invited it, really. "Please," I'd beg, "please can we."

She'd usually tell me no, make me keep licking her until she was done. But sometimes she would say yes. "Fine, fine," she'd frown, "you know I don't really like that, so just make it quick." Oh, she liked that, she liked to fuck, just not with me, especially after she'd already fucked that very night.

Eventually it ended. Painfully.

So you see, Emily is not the first.

But Emily won't end the same. Trust me.

I love Emily. She loves me back. Unconditionally. I trust Emily. Completely.

The first one cheated on me, cuckolded me, treated me with cruelty.

Not Emily. Not ever. Not once.

Some things are the same, they both like to fuck men.

Everything else is different. Everything.

Sheer Panties

Love them...so sensual to look at, so erotic to lick, and thick enough to keep anything inside yet thin enough to suck anything through.

And by anything, I mean either her sweet nectar or his strong cum.

This is a long standing fetish of mine-the first woman who ever cuckolded me had a very pretty, very feminine sheer cream bra and panty set from Victoria's Secret that she used to wear when she "went out with the girls" and many Saturday nights I was awoken to the sight of her sheer panties hovering over my face, the scent, the musky scent of the mixture of pussy and cum, the feel of the dried crust, and the taste as she pulled my face up to her.

Day Fifteen. Sigh.

Laying in Bed

There were a couple of comments that Emily had sex with Evan, the man she went to see this weekend. I don't know. I'm not sure. I suppose, for those interested, I'll tell you what I know...

So...the evidence...that I'm not sure what to make of...

Friday night, Emily left town at about 3:00 and was supposed to get to Evan's by 7:00, then go to dinner with him and a few of their mutual friends.

Before she left, I told her I had a few expectations for her when she was gone.

"Expectations," she'd asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, please text me when you get to Evan's so I know you got there okay, and call me at night before you go to bed." I made that request because Emily is notorious for not answering her phone. Try calling her on her cell...good luck getting her.

She agreed. She'd text me at 7:00 when she got there and call me before she went to bed. She also said to text her at 7:00 to remind her to text me. Okay.

So, Friday, 7:00 comes and goes with my text. Nothing from Emily.

7:15. Nothing.

7:30. Nothing.

7:45. Nothing.

Finally, at 8:00 on the nose, I call her. Surprisingly, she answers. Loud noise. Clearly at a bar or loud restaurant. She apologized for not calling. She got lost, just met up with Evan at the place they were eating/meeting, etc.

I could hear Evan and her friends, so they must have been at a table. We talked for a minute. They were doing dinner, a club, maybe another bar.

"I love you," she said. Not softly. Loudly. Loud enough that anyone listening could hear, including Evan. "Talk to you later."

I puttered around the house the rest of the evening. Funny, maybe ironic, but while Em was going to be out of town, with a man, I might add, having fun, she'd left me a list of things to get done-ironing, laundry, changing sheets, cleaning the kitchen and bathrooms.

Yes, very domestic. And yes, it is humiliating to be hand washing your girlfriends panties wondering what the hell she was doing.

By 10:00 I was tired, showered, got ready for bed, slipped into a satin cami and tap panty set, slipped between the sheets, turned on the television, my cell phone cuddled next to me.

I didn't expect to hear from Em until late on Friday, figured I'd go to sleep around midnight and she'd call late, when they got back. And then I wondered when. When they got back and when she went to a guest room and called before she went to bed.

Or late, because she'd go up to his room and they would...well...this made my stomach turn and my groin ache.

I was surprised at midnight, just as I was about to turn out the light, to hear my phone ring and see Emily on my iPhone.

"Hey, I didn't think I'd hear from you so early," I said, half relieved, half disappointed.

Remember, I so fucking confused! Do I fantasize about being cuckolded. Yes. Have I masturbated to the thought? Yes. I've told Em that. But, that doesn't mean I want it to happen. Or do I?

"I know...I'm driving back to Evan's now. We're both tired. We went to one bar after dinner, but I just want to go back to his place and go to sleep."

We chatted as she drove, following him. She asked me what I'd gotten done. Talked about their dinner and friends, etc.

"Well, I'm pulling into his garage now, so I'll call you before I go to bed."

"I...I assume you two want to talk and catch up for a bit, so it will be awhile?" My voice almost cracked. They would want to talk. They might also want to fuck! And I was shaking, but still excited.

"I think we're both tired, so I should be calling back in a few as soon as I crawl into bed." Which meant she wasn't sleeping in his room!!!

"Okay, love you," I said.

Two hours later she called back. Two hours later. "I'm sorry, we got to talking."

"You mean fucking," I thought, though, honestly, I couldn't accuse her of that, not if they really were talking.

Our call was quick; she was tired.

I slept fitfully. I think I was erect all night. I think I was awake most of the night. Angry. Excited. Hurt. Thrilled. I didn't know what to feel. I fantasized about Emily with a man.

I got a good morning text from my lover, but didn't hear from her until later in the day. She and Evan were going golfing. 11:00 tee time. Emily is a late sleeper, so she likely slept until it was time to golf.

Or...I don't know if I want the or...

Remember, I'm trying to figure out, without asking, what, if anything, she did.

I heard from her again at 5:30. She was drunk...or really tipsy, at least. "We had Irish Cream in our coffee, a couple of six packs golfing...I know, I drank too much," she laughed. "I miss you," she cooed.

"I miss you too, Emily. What are you..."

"Evan, stop," Emily laughed, cutting me off. "My boyfriend, silly...want to say to him," she asked Evan.

My blood froze. I had no desire to talk to Evan! Luckily, he had no desire to talk to me. Why would he? He fucked, or wanted to fuck, my girlfriend. Like he wanted to talk to me.

Emily and Evan went to some play that night, dinner. Em texted me from the play, "Play is great, Evan is so nice to do this."

Evan, Evan.

10, 11, 12, 1, 2, 3...I lay in bed watching the clock. 3. 3 in the morning, nothing from Em. I was laying on her side of the bed, wearing on of her negligees. 3 in the fucking morning.

3:30. Ring. "Damn, woman, I didn't think you could stay up this late."

"I know, hon," Emily said in almost a whisper. "I'm sorry, I must have drifted off."

Drifted off. When does a woman drift off? After sex?

"I love you, sweetie," she said, "I'll be home by 4 tomorrow, so I'm leaving at noon."

Another night of fitful sleep. Another night fantasizing about Emily with Evan. Another night dreading the same.

The next morning she called at 1:00. She was just leaving. "Sorry, he wouldn't let me leave. I've been up for awhile, made coffee, then we were just laying there and he got some pictures out of his night stand and was showing me..."

I don't know what she said after that.

Laying there. They were just laying there. In his bed.

I don't know. I don't know if she was teasing me or not. I don't know if I'd rather have her fuck him, complete the fantasy, or if that would be the worst thing in the world.

I don't know.

I don't know.

How I want to submit to Emily

Em

Emily is a big fan of matching lingerie. Every bra must match every pair of panties which must match every garter belt, if she wears one. Not that I dispute her thoughts on the topic. I prefer her in matching lingerie and prefer to wear the same.

It is a little after 8:30, so Emily is out with Evan at the concert they are going to tonight.

And all I can think about is...


Which bra and panty set is she wearing? She packed this one. It was the fanciest she packed. Is she wearing it tonight?

She called me at about 6:00. "I'm kind of drunk," she laughed.

"At 6:00?"

"We had some Kahlua in our coffee this morning, and I kind of drank a six pack when we were golfing."

"So what are you doing now?"

"Getting dressed to go to the concert whatever we are doing after."

That's when I started thinking about the bra and panty set.

Is she wearing it now? Did she get dressed in it thinking how pretty, how sexy she must look.

Is he going to see it later?

I'm ashamed to admit (yes, this is a confessional blog entry) that I'm completely turned on by the thought, by imagining her standing in front of a bed, Even laying in it, watching her in just her bra and panty set.

I DON'T want that to happen, but I'm incredibly excited thinking about it.

Sigh.

Soul bared

I love this picture, as it reminds me of the look I had the first time Emily saw me dressed like so. Heck, I still get that look sometimes, the demure, the submissive, the slightly humiliated, the embarrassed that I'm a sissy, not a man, the wonder of what will she think of me.

The ultimate in giving, of myself, my soul, to another, to her. What will she think when it sinks in, when she realizes, her man is not a man at all, but a sissy.

Submission to Emily

On Saturday night, after we got home from the show and dinner, I took off my suit, clad in my undergarments, walked up behind Emily, who was in her closet looking at herself in her mirror, similarly dressed only in lingerie.

I kissed the back of her neck, her shoulders, each bra strap, licked, slowly, down her spine, down to her garter belt, the thong of her panites.

Emily mumbled something. "What, love," I asked, licking the curve of her ass.

She turned her head towards me. "I said I don't want to screw tonight. Before you go too far, I thought you should know."

She turned all the way around so she faced me, looked down at me. "I mean it," she said.

"Yes, Ma'am," I answered, knowing she did.

"Do you still want to continue?"

I looked up at her, at her body, at her eyes. Did I want to continue?

"Yes, Ma'am," I said softly, knowing that to continue meant serving her tonight, serving only her, knowing it meant licking her, massaging her, pleasing her.

Surrender.

It meant surrender.

Conversation with Emily

"Christ, Emily, why do you always dress like this when you're having lunch with him?"

"Who?"

"Jason, when you have lunch with Jason. I saw it on your calendar for today."

"Oh, is that today, I didn't realize," she said with an impish smile, knowing full well that she was having lunch with him, knowing that she was dressing in pretty lingerie because of her lunch, knowing full well how it would make me feel.

"Lunch at 11:30 at Sconze."

"Should I wear something less sexy then," she asked running her hands up her stockings. "I mean, if it bothers you sweetie, knowing how pretty I'll look, I could change?"

"Em..."

"But I kind of think that its just the opposite, isn't it? I think it kind of excites you to see me dressed like this when I'm having lunch with Jason..."

She lowered her voice. "That's what you fantasize about isn't it?"

Antoinette Open Back Thong with Tassel from StockinGirl Online Boutique for Nylon Stockings, Hosiery, Fashion Legwear & Lingerie

I love thongs...not on me...I much prefer them on Emily. I like a pretty pair of briefs under a girdle, or matching panties for a garter belt. I'd love to see Emily in this Antoinette Open Back Thong, especially holding a ruler like this. Safe to say that Em has spanked her sissy's pretty behind when I misbehave.

Boots and Stockings

From Nylon Dreams: Boots and Stockings:

One of the things I remember as a young person, and I mean grade school, it that at that time the female teachers wore what were almost mini skirts. One teacher in particular, Ms. Bieriens, wore dark hose and boots to school. Though I was not cognizant of it at the time I think that perhaps that is why she was one of my favourite teachers.

Emily wears boots and stockings or boots and pantyhose quite often in the winter. Let's just say, I love those days!

I have a similar memory of one of my high school English teachers wearing boots and hosiery. She was brand new, I was a senior, thus she was 22, I was 18. Close enough that I, and every male in my high school, was totally in love with her.

Date

Emily and I have a date tonight; she's picking me up, but I do not know where we are going. She told me to wear something nice, which, coming from Em, means two things to me:

1. Wear a suit and tie.
2. Wear pretty lingerie.

I have a lacy garter belt much like this one that I plan on changing into when I get home tonight. The matching bra will have to wait till later, when we get home, as with the heels.

I assume we're coming home, back to my place, that is. I assume we're going to end up back at my place where Emily will wait patiently for me to change out of my suit, into just my lingerie, wait patiently on the couch or on my bed, remaining dressed, waiting patiently for her sissy boyfriend to walk slowly into the room, get down on bended knee, and worship her.

Bikini

Emily got a new bikini, from Nordstrom, a picture of which is above. I'm not sure I'm such a fan.

Em: "Do you like?"

Me: "It's pretty. Kind of, er, skimpy?"

Em: "I know."

Me: "If you tugged at those strings, it would fall right off."

Em: "I know!"

Me: Frown.

Em: "So, do you like?"

Me: "Yea, I suppose. So will every guy." Frown again.

Em: "I know," with a smile.

At that point, I thought it was a good thing I was wearing a girdle with a tight pair of panties, so my erection wasn't obvious. Yes, I was thinking about every man staring at my girlfriend in her bikini, thinking of a man tugging at those strings.

She knows, of course. She knows.