I am a sissy faggot transvestite cock sucking mind-fucked feminized hypno-slave.

There.  I said it.  I couldn't have physically typed anything else.  The compulsion is so intense.  Literally.

Stoned.  Dressed in stockings under my boi clothes.  Surfing tranny porn in the basement.  Blissed out on Pink Fog.  Wife is upstairs, watching TV, and either happily oblivious or equally likely, has long ago smelled the puffs from my vape and is 'giving me space.'  I love Her.

Many days now, to be honest, most days I find my incapable of any real resolve to disengage from the wheel of dressing-hypnosis-weed.  I'm under a powerful spell.  It is delicious, but I'm quite helpless to resist.  

It feels as if something has snapped.  I used to dress for ritual masturbation, then upon climax I would guiltily disrobe and try to forget what I had just done.  The Urge to dress was only in evidence when I was both particularly horny and mysteriously triggered.  No longer.  The Urge is upon me virtually all the time, with varying intensities.  Dressing occurs without consideration or restraint.  I might suddenly feel, "I need stockings!" and my body obeys The Urge.  I dress simply whenever I can, including some times when I really ought to know better.  Fantasy images of being dressed, brainwashed and dominated put me to sleep at night.  The sheer silken feeling of stockings as they tug against the leg are my first thoughts when I arise.  I no longer resist.  Just today, I walked around the house in red basqsue, stockings and heels, muttering contentedly that, "I'm a sissy faggot transvestite hypno-slave."  It's an almost natural state of events, except for the almost debilitating arousal that seeps into my every pour.  I give up.  I submit.  I obey.

Anyone who doesn't want to become a feminized submissive transvestite sissy faggot, it's time to get off!  Abandon ship!  We're taking on Pink Fog and the Captain thinks we're going down!

/H