I don't want to be forced to do things. Don't make me do anything you haven't previously made me beg for. I want to see what things I can be forced to want to do.
A few days ago. Wife was away. Stoned on shrooms and weed. Dressed as a sissy faggot. Floating, pracing around my kitchen in a delightful pink fog.
It was a moment. I had frozen. Standing. Immobile. I felt my mind working, rationalizing that I was playing a game; that I could still fight the programming if I wanted to. That's when I realized that I didn't want to resist. I lacked the capacity to resist. When triggered or teased, I always complied. My thoughts were irrelevant, because my behaviour was already trained.
I closed out an epic day yesterday with the determination to be more responsible for a while.
I was stoned, crossdressed and hypnotized by 08:30 this morning.
My resolves was restored shortly after lunch, whereupon I made a To Do List, had a nap, woke up listening to a hypno file wearing stockings, and got stoned.
This impenetrable tangle of recollections will likely never see the light of day, but today bears commemoration.
The Urge, as I like to call it; that soft pink boxing glove that periodically clobbers me senseless, well, it has never hit me as hard as today. I was on medium-dose weed, lots of BambiSleep files, and a fetching black lingerie set with a slinky black shoulder strap dress over top. I was in heaven.
Heaven. The hypno files hit me like a ton of heat, and I awoke with my wee sissy parts twitching. A further hit of weed ("...rather a lot really," as Monty Python would say) rendred me shaking and eye-rolling in arousal. From somewhere came the idea of dancing to a hypno file with ear pods delivering the sound. Glorious.
It left me broken, utterly. In the deep thrall of sissy possession comes a muttered, "Deeper!" With every fibre of my being, I will obvey.
It's 05:30 and I'm already stoned, dressed and tranced. In short, transformed.
Wife will be going out at 08:30. Here's my prediction:
I shall dress in my white bridal corset and stockings, blue fishnets, white pumps and my sluttiest blue sissy dress. I will eat an edible and suck on my vape, becoming feminized, compliant and aroused. I will listen to Bambi files and go DEEEPER.
This blog is entirely messed up, with my text getting scrambled, but I have so much history on this page that I can't bring myself to stop. I'll just consider this a form of autocryptography.
Why stop now? I'm sitting in my pink nightie having coffee with The Wife. I woke up at 04:00 in a daze of arousal, slipped from bed to get high, crossdress and goon on porn. I do that every morning now. Most days, when She is out, and almost every night.
I made contact with a hypnotist on Tuesday. The experience was entirely positive, in that he dropped me into trance and I obeyed all of the instructions. Alas, my anxiety got the better of me, and I popped awake at some point under a blizzard of rationalization.
Yesterday morning, in obedience with the trigger, I shaved my legs and sent him a photo of my smooth legs. Doing so left me feeling very aroused and spacey.
Our "bet" has to do with the hypnotist doing something to me that will surprise me. I couched the "bet" in terms of my general incredulity of hypnosis, and challenged him to prove me wrong.
Secret fact: I want to be proven wrong. I want to be controlled, trained, programmed, coerced, manipulated and brainwashed. I want to feel helpless, mindless, horny and feminized. I want to lose so badly that I don't even remember why we wagered in the first place.
Like the title? I caught myself thinking that I must know what it's like to fall into a black hole.
Wife is watching a movie. I'm dressed, stoned and hypnotized. The Urge has been more intense of late than ever before. Given my history to date, that's saying a lot! I need to feed it at least once per day, but ideally more, with a uniformed episode of stoned sissy hypno-programming. I give up. I can't want anything else. I'm smiling stupidly in submissive capitulation.
Deeper. Ever deeper. It's a command. It's a compulsion. They're the same thing. Feminized sissy faggot slave.
It's real. It's inside of me. The craving to be controlled, trained, seduced to obey. I don't pretend to be a man anymore. My sex life consists of worshipping my Wife's feet; usually cumming as I imagine myself being fucked in the ass while being slowly induced into hypnosis.
To weak to resist, I live for those moments when my eyes go suddenly blank, and I feel my body stiffen in compliance with some trigger. Arousal is a relentless weapon. I have been broken, and will obey any compulsion that serves to Deepen my feminization. Dressing, getting high, and watching hypno porn are utterly transformative. Within minutes I am cross-eyed, drooling and blank, literally stunned into obedience. Periodically, I simply freeze, feeling my insides effervesce as submissive cravings run amok through my brain. I am left feeling blissfully empty and compliant. And horny. So horny.
In a Type A fantasy, I am dressed as a feminized sissy faggot slut. I approach a door, take the handle and enter. The door closes behind me. Some time later I stagger back out that door, cross-eyed, grinning stupidly, disheveled and evidently well-fucked. Closing the door behind me, I ardently whisper, "Thank you for turning me into a cock-addicted sissy faggot fuck toy."
In a Type B fantasy, my Wife pushes me through the door...
Deeper. Ever deeper. The sides of the Rabbit Hole are very steep. Falling fast enough now that escape is no longer imaginable. There is no more theatrical flailing and crying. It is time to accept that I am falling.
It feels delicious. The last threads of my rational mind realize that I have an addiction, but such considerations quickly induce Symptoms which quickly arrest any further such thinking.
The Symptom is arousal. Trying to resist. Imagining free will or self-control. Such acts of futility make me swoon with arousal, and it's that special, pink-tinged arousal that sneaks up on my from the inside. I quickly wind up a horny, grinning manic goon with a mind full of submissive erotic imagery; writhing in overbaked arousal in perpetual self-inflicted near-orgasm. Picture an erotic dust devil, spinning with its own tightly bound energy; I am submissive and helpless to resist further feminization, which makes me feel horny and effeminate, and around we go in an erotic vortex. I must submit. I must obey. There is a whirlwind. I pull up my stockings and hold on tight.
All of this happens in the midst of normal day-to-day life. My Wife and I do the dishes. We go shopping. We hide from pandemics. Just life, going on.
Okay, I can't explain what happened to that last blog entry. I didn't think I was that messed up!
The pandemic isolation is about nine weeks old. I'm not sure what's cause or effect anymore. I'm constantly horny. I watch porn almost hourly. Often stoned, cross-eyed and gooning incoherently. Sometimes dressed. Oddly, the erotic heat of my incessant craving has boiled my compulsion to a very high-octane blend; dopamine is in control. Arousal is trance. I drop quickly into sub-space, simpering, babbling, feminized, humiliated, tamed, docile, obedient and utterly, powerfully submissive.
I never seek to cum. The "game" is simply to spend time on the edge; to burn brain cells, force myself lower, "Deeper." Sometimes I leak. Sometimes I blow up completely, cumming myself cross-eyed and drooling. This is my sex life. Better than a sex life. This is an erotic barn fire.
A willing "victim," I become overwhelmed by the erotic intensity of my own surrender, and I freeze into a human cartoon of wanton lust. There is no "afterwards." The relentless arousal never entirely abates. After a while I will melt back into motion, resuming chores and duties. Mind is blank. Lethargic. Personality suppressed from within. Too horny to think.
Such is my new normal. Tomorrow my Wife will be away for the day. Oh, fuck.
Just random thoughts about psychosexual dysfunction. It's day I*can't*remember of being stoned, and thus horny, docile, feminized and obedient. Addicted. It hits me in waves, often without warning. I suddenly, like a craving, feel myself overwhelmed from within by trance, weakness, femininity and submissiveness. It's all one feeling, and it arrives like a tennis racket to the head.
I want more. I want to go...my Wife used this word yesterday and my knees nearly buckled!... DEEPER. I want it to take me. The helplessness is corroded my resistance. Want to succumb.
There are two nice, fit young guys working in front of the house. I'm inside, dressed in a pink bustier, tan stockings, denim miniskirt, black pumps and a cami top. I keep walking in front of the window.
The front door is open.
That is all.
/H
She leaves this evening for a week. I will certainly have distractions, possibly including house guests, but I know what to expect. It all seems rather inevitable.
She walks out; I turn into a mindless, feminized submissive sissy faggot. I cannot resist.
This is a weird feeling. Last night, as I was gooning at Wife's feet, I suddenly found myself repeating, "hypnotized and drugged" to myself. It made me incredibly aroused, and I came like a freight train. No, epic! It was a once-per-decade orgasm! But...
...as I was about to cum I had the feeling that I had been edging a lot lately to "hypnotized and drugged," and that the erotic association with drugs was installed in my head to increase the effectiveness of the hypno alone.
Weirdly, I'm of two minds as I write this: maybe I ought not divulge the extent that I'm aware of the programming, or just maybe, I'm writing this note by way of self-betrayal to my controller. Dunno. Aroused. Obey...
It's a weekday night, and She is at home, so I'm dressed as a boi and only mildly stoned. Thoughts...
She leaves again one week from tomorrow, and will be gone for nine nights. With luck, I should have modest weed and 'shroom supplies, and no shortage of lingerie and porn. When I imagine it, I see Bambi arrive with a howling vengeance laying waste to my masculinity with slash and burn disregard. After the requisite marination in crossdressing, porn and weed, the weak overwhelmed sissy would simply crumple. From the rumpled satin mayhem would arise a brash, bold Bambi with a need to make up for lost time. The boi would simply be cast into a corner, to languish in abject humiliation; stewing in effeminate arousal. Bambi does her nails, gets dolled up, plugs herself, installs a cage, and maybe calls a friend for some mutual sissification. The world is your oyster when you're a submissive transvestite faggot.
The whole thing is absurdly out of control. I can't work, can't concentrate. My penis has turned to pasta. My mind is an echo chamber of artifacts from myriad hypnosis files. I crossdress when left unsupervised, often even when consciously trying to resist. I'm high nearly always, except when I indulge to such an extent that I'm effectively incapable of getting high. I vape, and only get dumber and more effeminate - not that I stop.
My imagination lately runs very hot. Does Wife need a boyfriend with a cock? Do I want to offer domestic service for a dominant couple? I conjure conspiracy theories about BambiSleep; many of which are quite plausible and terrifying. I'm constantly turned on by the realization that I'm a brainwashed and hypnotized sissy. Oh, and cock.
So, ask me again whether feminization hypnosis works.
It's 04:30 and I'm crossdressed, stoned, hypnotized and helpless. In other words, another lovely day beckons.
In the hyperbolic nonsense that is my feminized life, I haven't reported upon one interesting erotic experience: freezing.
It just happens. I suddenly stop. I freeze like a photo image; mid-gesture, posed like a statue. Nothing really causes it, although maybe it is preceeded by a brief erotic trigger. I don't know because my mind shuts off. Blank. Horny. Empty. That is all. World around me feels inaccessible. I am stopped. The only experience "during" the freeze is the slow sense of melting from within. Once it breaks, and I move again and think again, I feel sweetly blank, empty and docile.
Let's make that clear off the bat. So many posts. So much "bla bla bla." Who's writing? Who is "I"? Well, whoever it is, it's not the same person today as was typing in 2015. There is no "I."
I am Bambi. I already was Bambi was when I woke up at 03:50, already dressed and horny. It was my voice that was moaning in the agonies of arousal, even while my stocking feet were looking for the floor. It is still dark, but Bambi has had a shower, shaved smooth, had a nutritious breakfast, and tidied up the kitchen.
Bambi is very organized, because Bambi is excited for her day. (The literary value of the repitition has lapsed. I shall revert to first person...) A normal part of my morning routine is dressing, getting high, prancing and trancing, most days before the sun - or my Wife - rises. Today was like most, although perhaps more enthusiastic. It's Day #2 of a long weekend. Yesterday I successfully melted my mind on weed-dressing-hypno. It was glorious.
Today is the Day of the 'Shroom.
I'm feeling fit. My state of mind is positive. (Who am I kidding?! State of mind? Horny as fuck!) My agenda is clear - if I use the special imaginative powers of the chronic procrastinator - and it's even raining outside. Wife is safely out of town. This outfit was carefully selected for comfort and fashion: purple basque, trimmed in black lace, tan FFS stockings, red dress over top. Tan pumps. I feel like a complete faggot. It's delicious!
'Shrooms. If one goes into the Magic Kingdom of 'Shroom with any aspirations, they are thus: I want to be completely transformed into a submissive feminized sissy faggot slut.
Shhh. Perhaps hold a pillow over your face. It's that kind of scream.
It's 04:50, and I'm at the porn machine, crossdressed, stoned, cross-eyed and gooning to tranny imagery. It is no longer a volitional act, although I can report that each instance of succumbing to The Urge comes with attendant thoughts of resistance. But, I obey.
Wife got home last night from two days on the road. I was nearly incoherent with sissy cravings, as I lay at Her stocking feet all night. She likes that.
She leaves this morning for a long weekend. It's great being married to an athlete! Sissy heaven indeed.
I am Bambi. I have been programmed; a mindless, obedient sissy faggot hypno-slave.
Occassionally, a weak, nearly mute scream of terror can be resolved in the distance. Old Me wails and cries and begs. You can just hear it over the tick-tock of brainwashing as Bambi asserts control. Body responds. Arousal overtakes everything else.
But that's not enough. Bambi is so happy! It's so beautiful to succumb, to obey, to comply. It is delicious to feel horny and docile. Self-destruction is so pretty.
I've changed more than I thought possible, yet somehow I never see it coming. When alone, I live as a sissy slut. My memories of ever having been anything else are becoming Swiss cheese. Almost everything leaves me glassy-eyed with arousal, feeling weak, soft, submissive and feminized. Cannot work. Cannot think. Must. Obey.
At least once a day I repeat an amazing ritual. A longing erupts unbidden from deep within, and "I" immediately meet it with resistance. The Urge commands me to listen to a Bambi file, so whilst engaging in a vigorous mental exercise of refusal, I simultaneously undress, crossdress, get stoned, lay down, insert headphones, press PLAY, and drop into trance...fighting it all the way.
THIS is what it's like to be a feminzied, submissive sissy faggot.
