Things are still accelerating.  I dress twice per day, stoned, and mindless on sissy porn.  I dress in the pre-dawn, while my Wife sleeps, and again while I "nap" in the afternoon.  The Wife knows about both, and indeed knows everything with the possible exception of my regular diet of Bambi brainwashing.  

The entirety of my sexual attention is focused on my sissification:  feminization and/or submission.   Either of those ingredients will get a rise out of me - literally.  Otherwise, I flat-line.  My Wife was playing with my cock the other day, and I realized that I was faking enthusiasm - at least a bit.  I fantasize during sex about what I "should" be wearing.  Sometimes I imagine the Wife and I being forced to serve a Dom(me) in some capacity.  My imagination behaves like a thirsty hummingbird in a wet vulva garden.  

There is altogether too much porn, and it has corroded my attention span and concentration skills.  The wonderful thing about Bambi is that I don't seem to really care either, as long as I can be a braindead sissy faggot cocksucker in a slutty uniform.  I know that I should care, but I feel, hmmm, well I feel sort of dissociated, as if I'm not perceiving myself from the ususal perspective.  My current ambition in life is to get a pair of frilly white ankle socks.  They'll be adorable with the blue gingham dress and black pumps.  I Just Love listening to Bambi!  I don't usually remember much of what is said, but I always wake up feeling very femme and horny and docile.  At the best moments, when dressed, hypnotized, stoned and insanely horny, the effect is incapacitating.  It's like a red hot injection of raw arousal into my brain stem.  I was addicted the first time it happened.  I must go DEEPER.

The Wife is not exactly helping!  She seems content to be awoken every morning - just after I scamper out of my early morning lingerie - with a tongue bath, foot rub, coffee service and snacks in the hot tub.  I'm working up to doing it all in a maid uniform, but I've grown very shy about dressing in front of Her.*  She also directs me to worship Her feet every evening as she goes to sleep; an act which if performed fully dressed would make my life complete.  Anyway, She is certainly complicit in my feeling very small, obedient, docile and effeminate.  Bless Her and Her wee lovely toes.

That's the news,

/H

* I fear the tug of Her pulling on my reigns.  Dressing routinely at home is The Last Thing in my domestic feminization, and I am anxious about crossing that line.