Forcemasc Fairy

Hello this is forcemace. A little place for me to wax corny and (h)orny about Forcemasc stuff. Please join me in being a desperate fantasizer.

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FtM - 22 yrs old - he/him - been on T since March 14 - in a 7 year monogamous relationship <3 my bf n he knows about this blog - bisexual and my blog reflects it

You can call me mace/fairy/whatever

If I post photos I took them.This is a side blog, so I can't follow people or like stuff.

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This is how this is gonna work, okay:

- My asks, also, are open for suggestions and chatting. This will take the form of suggested force masc scenarios you think of that you’d like to hear my word barf about. I’d love to think about scenarios I haven’t before. Also if you just wanna say hi or react to anything I wrote I love that (:

NO scat, water sports, vomit, incest, CBT, body humiliation, race-play, age-regression, guns, snuff, de-trans, diaper play

YES bondage, slight CNC, consensual somno, degradation, sadism/masochism to an extent, a little bit of breeding, intox, lil pup stuff

Thank you for enjoying my posts, and understanding my boundaries. Love you freaks <3

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"Look, kid, it's not a big deal." He's sat up on the counter, shirt lifted, waistband lowered, and salt-and-pepper happy trail on display. He burned his hand last week, and all you have to do is press the needle into his belly at a 45-degree angle, like the video you studied last night. Your hand is shaking, you're sweating, you're-

"Look at me, boy," you rake your eyes up to his and find his usual hardened look. "Now I said it's not a big thing, yet here you are making it one. Take a goddamn breath, steady your focus, and press it down." You nod, and yet your hand still shakes.

Much love back.

Masculinity is what we make of it. Being transgender is a freeing of the self, and if we decide there is only one box to fit that self into, yet again we are entrapped by gender, not freed.

We are taught to intrinsically couple masculinity with rough, dark, hateful practices. So much so that we see little boys scolded for not being angry enough. I say no, true masculinity comes from the man, is defined by the man. And anyone who feels like a man can be one, end of story.

I’m proud of you for holding onto your interests and not falling to the idea that you have to be something you’re not to prove things to others. Because we don’t!

We are trans! We will rebuild masculinity from the ground up and make it one with love baked in, with the joys of living and being alive as a critical part, with authenticity of the self as more important than any aesthetic markers of “manhood.”

You’re up at night, staring into the ceiling, you could be at rest if you just let that voice crack through, indulge in the fantasy of blood pumping through you, turning you “ugly.” Finally being freed of the constant pressure to be soft, beautiful, digestible.

There is a meeting of fine men in your town. You can’t help but be drawn to the building every time they come to meet. They wear corsets and large hats with complex plumage. You’re drawn to their foppish ways, and watch through a small window as they eat small cookies and drink their tea every week. Sometimes the men dance together, and sometimes you’ve seen a couple sneak out the back to the alley.

You’re obsessed, watching them laugh and merrymake as much as you can. On day you show, but when you sit in your usual spot, you are quickly approached by three of the men. You’re flushed and stuttering out an excuse when one says “look, men, he’s scared!” They all laugh with their polite slight laughs when one reaches out a hand to you,

“We’ve noticed you’ve taken an interest in our gathering. We’ve come to extend an invitation.” You are shocked

“But I’m not in proper attire!” You say, quickly and you’re about to add that you’re not even a boy -

“Well, yes but that, my dear friend, is the fun of it! We will dress you tonight!” Before you can get another word in they’re leading you in, twirling you around for the others to see, a scattered reply of ooo’s and ‘what a handsome young man’ echo through the room.

They get to work, taking your old clothes and quickly trying out different clothing on you, a bit of argument over style and color with your complexion. You are just staring at the looking glass, baffled by all the beauty you see.

Once they finish, after choosing a wonderful peacock colored material, they insist you take a turn about the room. As you walk all the talk is about the way you move, so gentlemanly.

At the end of the night you go to return the clothes, but they look at you with a bit of a giggle “They’re yours, of course! For what will you wear next week without them!”

(I did write a little this week, but I will write more (; love werewolf Forcemasc)

You’re out for a walk. There’s been a curfew set in place, but you just needed a walk. There’s been a lot going on at home, lots of loud voices and shattered glass wear. So what if people are going missing, you won’t be out too long, anyway.

You’re in the park, sat on a bench, staring up at the full moon peering through the clouds. You take a breath and feel the air fill your lungs, a moment of solace awarded to you by the evening air.

A shiver up your spine proceeds the obvious growling sounds around you. You look around and at first, see nothing. Then you squint to see not all the yellow lights are lightning bugs. Eyes, all around you, searching and circling.

You want to run, but where? They’re everywhere, you brace yourself to try anyway but suddenly you feel a sharp pain in the back of your head before your vision goes black.

In your forced sleep you have visions of your family, would they care? You’re just another number now for the local paper, just another-

You awaken in a cave, surrounded by large beasts with large teeth and fur. You scramble on the floor a bit but quickly stop when one places its giant paw to your chest with a growl. You’re frozen now, just hoping there some way you sneak out of this, when suddenly it leans down and bites your neck.

You squirm, pain was expected but there’s more than that, something coursing through your veins, pushing through them, something that feels good. You pant a bit at the rush of the transformation, you hold your hands up to your face as they morph into fur-covered paws, with large claws to match. You feel stronger, and suddenly the growls around you begin to be understandable.

They’re shouting out with excitement, calling you the next man in their pack. Their pack? How nice that sounds. Their comments about being a man go right to your cock as that changes too, growing and morphing. You suddenly have the urge to howl out in pleasure. When you do the wolves around you laugh and cheer.

I didn’t know if you mean being forcemasced by robots or fordemascing a robot. I like both — I’ll do both. This post is the former. Also yes I use em dashes, I don’t use chat gpt even if I’d fuck a robot. TW: intox and medical setting

You wake up gasping, eyes blinded momentarily by bright overheads. You wince and look around to find many small bots tinkering at tasks connected to this kind of pod you’re in. Your breathing is frantic and panicked. In response, a robot outside the window boots up and rolls into the room.

“Hello,” it greets, cordially, “it seems to me that you are engaging in a series of panicked behavior. It is my job to aid you in these feelings,” the bot is smoothly checking all your vitals, seemingly logging away the numbers and running calculations on them.

“W-where am I?” You stammer, looking around the sterile room.

“A great and normal question, you are in our facility because we have detected that you needed treatment,” the bot coos.

“Treatment? I- for what?”

“Well we have identified that you are male, and intend to fix aspects that do not reflect this fact.”

“I’m not…” you trail off because it would hurt. It would hurt to try and say you’re not what you know you are. “How.”

“Well through a series of questions measuring your heart rate and blood pressure we were able to determine a pattern of arousal at instances of implication of transgender futures.”

“Arousal?” You huff, a slight laugh in your tone.

“Yes, you are aroused right now, as well.” The bot states, frankly. “Your chest is flushed, heart rate is increased from resting, nipples are erect, pupils displayed, your labia and clitora-“

“Enough, why am I here currently, though?” Anger mixed with the heat in your body, although ever since the bot adjusted something near your IV bag, the fight in you is faltering.

“We are here to do a testosterone plasma infusion,” before you can ask what the actual fuck it’s talking about it continues “the name is misleading, developed by your kind to define this process where we, through a series of chemical therapies, accelerate the effects of the hormone testosterone on a mature human. I’ve been told it’s quite enjoyable. Without further a do, we will commence the procedure.”

“Wait, I-“ but before you can finish you are suddenly filled with a euphoric feeling, you press your back down into the cold metal table but are unfazed by its temperature, muscles suddenly tense and full of whatever pleasurable chemical they’ve pumped you with.

Your dick is throbbing as it grows, sensitive and sending jolts of pleasure through you. You cannot help but fill the sterile room with loud grunting and moaning. You feel your vocal folds lengthening, your Adam’s apple appearing. It would hurt if it didn’t feel so fucking good.

You grab desperately at the sides of the table and the bot runs its fingers up and down your torso. “I have been told this is a soothing gesture,”

“You uhhnn wanna soothe me?” You gasp out.

“Of course, this is my purpose!”

“Move your hand, fuck, lower,” you almost jump from the table when the cool metal of its hand slides against your thickening cock

“In me, fuck. Fuck please—“ you know you’re pathetic, begging to be fingered by this bot, but you need it as your shoulders develop and hair sprouts on your chest.

The bot quickly rolls down to between your legs, it grabs your thighs and pulls you down the table to line your cunt up with the end of it, before quickly pushing its hand up to your entrance. It’s smaller than a person’s hand. Even with retractable fingers, though, it’s still a lot to take, but it’s following orders and pushes it in.

You feel the stretch and melt into the table, moans louder and less controlled. “In— oh god. Move it in and out,” you barely finish demand before it begins pounding into you at a merciless pace. You feel so fucking full and the sensation goes straight to your now throbbing dick. You cry out and your moan is stuttered by the force it’s fucking you with.

“Believe it or not, orgasm has been known to speed up this process, are you closer to experiencing an orgasm? It seems as though you are entering into the third phase of human sexual ar-“

You arch off the bed, clenching hard around the bot’s hand as you cum loudly, voice almost unrecognizable to you. It pushes it as deeply as it can get it and your vision goes a bit white at the pure crackle of sensation that rips through your body.

Always love this.

Your parents are sending you to a boarding/finishing school because they’re “tired of this lack of femininity” on your part, whatever that means. You spend the bus ride sure the next few years will be torture.

Until you get off the bus, and the woman that greets you squints, “There must have been a clerical error, we were expecting a lady but this is obviously a gentleman.” She scribbles on her clipboard and shakes her head. “Well, that won’t do. Here, I’ll take you to your dorm.”

As you walk through the grounds to your dorm you’re in awe of the beauty of it, lush gardens, stables, archery arenas, lake sports. “Uh, will I get to try that stuff?” You ask, quietly.

“That ‘stuff’ is all part of a growing boys curriculum.” She says, slight smile at your obvious excitement.

As you settle into the school you struggle a bit with all the things to learn, which fork is which, how to walk like a gentleman, how to lead a dance. But you also love how much you get to run around outside, you are a boy, after all, it’s what you do.

You also love your school curriculum, centered on making sure you’re well read in all subjects, study groups with other boys under trees, eating sliced fruit and cured meats and getting distracted laughing.

You’ve excelled at the different sports, especially since they started giving you this new sunscreen. It smells a bit of alcohol, but you’ve noticed ever since you started using it you’ve improved remarkably at many of the activities. Last week, you brought home four large grouse on your trip.

You’ve even attended the winter formal, where more than a few girls were interested in dancing with you, even if you’re still getting the hang of it. Afterwords, you and a few other boys, determined to improve, met in the moonlight and spun around for the rest of the evening together, flushed and excited.

Ugghhh yessss. You’ve been transferred to a new hockey team and you’re determined not to let them down. You’ve been working everyday on your body before the season starts. One day a member of the team asks you to meet them in the locker room and when you get there, most of the other members are there already.

You sit down, worried, but ready to face whatever insults they’ll throw your way. But then one of them pulls out a small vial of t and a needle. “Look, man, you’re strong, but we’ve all been at this longer, and we think this’ll help you hit to your scoring goal this season.”

“Yeah you’re our new right hand, and we want you as strong as possible.” You watch as they fill the syringe and press a bead out of the top. Your heart rate spikes and you flush.

“Wait, guys, he’s nervous.” One says, hands up. “Let’s do my strategy.”

Before you know it you’re being lead to the rink. The cool air feels good on your red cheeks. They walk you on the ice and one player places his hands down on it. Another grabs you from behind and lifts your shirt up. He takes his cold hand and places it against your stomach before quickly pressing the needle in.

Your legs are weak, and the flush can no longer be explained by the cold. The players laugh and look at each other, reading you like a book. The player behind you runs his hands up and down your skin, smiling into your neck as you make soft noises for him. The needle goes in the sharps box and a kiss is pressed on the small round bandaid now on your stomach.

“Hey, shit,” you start to protest. You don’t want this guys thinking you’re pathetic, but your voice cracks and your obvious arousal get them laughing as they undress you.

Your nipples are hard in the cold air and don’t go unnoticed, they’re getting constant attention as they lay you on top of your clothes on the ice, not enough padding to stop the cold from getting to your skin. It has to fight against all the heat pooling in you now that one of the players is pushing his fingers into you.

Werewolf Forcemasc where you were out with some friends who suck. They don’t like you enough and all find your final-girl aesthetic forced. They take you out in the wood and abandon you, laughing thinking about how scared you’ll be.

You were scared at first, but you’ve settled under a tree, tears creeping down your face. Now you’re still, less afraid and more accepting of the horror in the night. You always felt more at home in your mind, under the white moon and canopy of pine trees. You’ll die here. For a moment, you almost can’t find it in you to care.

Until you hear a rustle far off, two hundred feet maybe. It wasn’t that of a bunny or bird, it was large. Your heart jumps back to life, pure adrenaline coursing through you. You know it’s probably the wrong thing to do but you take off running the opposite direction, what your body decides before you have a say.

While you’re messily running, feet hitting the ground hard, you are hit with the sudden realization that you want to live. You run and you want to live, a reminder of the gift you’ve been given to be here, with blood to rush through you and ache in your muscles.

Such a shame that whatever made that noise quickly catches up to you, barely enough for you to register that there are footsteps before your pushed to the ground and turned over.

Above you is a humanoid, silhouetted by the moonlight, claws on your arms and their chest heaving. If you weren’t about to be ripped apart you’d almost find them beautiful, their animalistic nature turning something in your heart.

He pushes his nose into your neck and inhales deeply. Then moves their maw over your throat. Your eyes flutter shut and you wait for it to end, but it doesn’t. You feel the pain in you and then something else, something spreading through your veins, the moon whispering to you that she knows what you are, her son of Canis.

She assesses your form, and begins to change it, hair sprouting from you, muscles broadening, jaw setting. She builds you into the man she knows you to be. You sleep and dream of her diligent hands crafting you a new form.

He looks tense and you can see the worry about your perceptions of him on his face but you don’t care because you’re already sucking it back down your throat. it feels so fucking good to have him in your mouth.

They take pity on you, pricking their finger and pressing it to your panting lips. You suck their finger eagerly into your mouth as you continue to rut into your hand, breath quick. They smack it away and use their hand to show you how to jerk your cock off like a man.

She explains this giddy and full of joy as she runs to the nature she’s been kept from. You feel your herb begin to wear off and sip from your flask again to continue your conversation. But you’ll run into a problem when you stop for the night, only one day into your multi-week journey. You must take your chest piece off, and underneath is only your loose linen blouse you were wearing when you ran away from home to pursue this dream.

You decide to wait until the maiden is sleeping, and set the wake up early. Instead she finds you bathing yourself before nightfall, just after hunting your dinner. You quickly move to hide yourself and she turns around, her back to you. You hunch in shame and fear but she says, loudly, “sir, you cover yourself, do you not wish for me to see you? I can leave,”

Did she not see your body? You are sure she got more than enough of a look.

“Because if you are ashamed and do not wish for an onlooker, or if you just wish that onlooker wasn’t me, I’d understand. But, truly, I would much like to join you. It’s been a long day of trekking and the water looks very soothing and cool.” The freedom in her voice is mixed with one of excitement, too.

You decide to take a chance and invite her to bathe, it is hot, even as the sun dips further below the horizon. When she quickly strips down, running into the stream, you are pensive. She notices, “what is it, sir?”

“You don’t mind… the way I am?” You hesitantly start.

“You saved me, that’s made you more of a man than most. You say you are a man, who is anyone to tell you otherwise?”

She saunters over to you and takes you jaw in her hands, forcing your head to face her. “Regardless, you are my knight, whom I owe my life.” She stands on her toes to plant a small kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I’m eternally grateful and thankfulness tends to send my mind toward untoward thoughts,” she bites her lip and grins up at you.