Having some fun

It’s not entirely unsurprising, but the more masculine I get socially/physically, the wetter I get imagining being forced into a submissive, feminine position.

When I was still butch (and actively repressing the conscious knowledge that I am man, as I had for as long as I can remember), I remember the concept of even having sex with a man — losing my “gold star” — being so taboo, but shamefully rubbing myself through my boxers at the thought. At that time, I had always said it was just a kink, and that it would never actually happen. I remember deleting social media to try and get away from the dykebreaking content, but jerking off to the mere *memory* of some of your posts, first thing in the morning.

Fast forward to now… I *have* had sex with a man. Not only that, but all of the lesbian friends in my life were so disgusted by my willingness to lose my “gold star” (due to my butch history, and them lumping me in with butches rather than actually seeing me as a man) that it makes me even hornier.

Now that I’ve had sex with a man, and now that I *am* a man, that concept being “humiliating” doesn’t seem to cut it for my brain anymore. It’s so tame, in comparison, which is really funny because at the time I thought it was the craziest, sexiest, most taboo thing in the world. 

Nowadays, I get so viscerally turned on at the thought of my Christian coworker turning me into his tradwife; breeding me so I bear his children, and my breasts (which I am extremely dysphoric about) swelling up with milk, which he can nurse as I dutifully jerk him off… I have cum to the thought of me holding his hand in a church on a Sunday morning, my hair long and my clothes modest but feminine. A picturesque, traditional family. How horrified our trans/queer coworkers would be to see two seemingly cis men turn into a man and his swollen housewife.

It’s an overwhelming, assimilationist yet shameful urge to be someone’s pretty, frail girl… all smoothly shaven, clean, and soft, wearing some type of floral perfume. To be picked up, thrown onto a bed, have my lacy lingerie peeled off, and getting fucked in my pussy, (which I also fully plan on getting rid of) deeply and raw. It’s intoxicating, and also my deepest fear to end up that way. And to think that the kink started off with something as simple as the mental image of me, as a butch, having sex with a man.

It sucks, honestly. I have never been happier than I am now: my outward appearance reflects what I’ve always felt on the inside. I genuinely experience euphoria simply existing  day-to-day as a man, but in the back of my brain, there’s always that itch; How religiously gratifying it would be to assimilate to the role I was always meant to fill. How freeing it would be to accept my body’s biological, REAL purpose. Everyone I know who has detransitioned seems so happy and at peace with their bodies and societal role. Despite being happy as a decently hot, masculine guy, maybe I could be even happier as a good, pregnant woman.

I keep telling myself it’s just a kink, but then again… that’s what I told myself before, and look at how that turned out.

It's almost like a rubber band, isn't it? The more you try to pull away, the greater the tension. And you know that if you just let go, it'll snap back with unstoppable force.

When you were a "lesbian" - trying to pull away from men - you felt it. Even just the idea of fucking a man seared itself into your brain, unforgettable and inescapable. (Always happy to help.)

You understand that you only got relief from that when you stopped fighting, don't you? You stopped trying to be a lesbian, and fucked a man. You didn't break under the strain, but only because changing your identity gave you a way to gently give in.

This new identity of yours, though... You're so much more committed to it, and so the tension is so much stronger. You don't just want to be fucked; you want to be heavy with babies and heavy with milk, soft, submissive, scented, yielding, on display. You fought hard to be a man, and now you come hard to the idea of being the picture of femininity, the woman who men show off as the right kind of woman to be.

And there's no relief coming. You can't release that tension gently, like you did when you took a man inside of you. You have to strain to resist it, day after day after day - except when you come your brains out thinking about letting go.

He makes you take off your shirt and binder long before you need to, and he openly leers at you.

We discuss your body like you aren't even there, and ignore your quiet, pathetic attempts to "correct" our she/her pronoun usage. You're sitting there with your tits out in a public shop, why would anyone use male pronouns for you?

The piercer takes a long time lining up the piercings, drawing and redrawing lines on your nipples, staring at your body in the full-length mirror, pressing and pulling on your sensitive skin. He keeps making comments about how you have the perfect shape for this, and I agree.

He gets much closer to you than he needs to during the piercing, making sure your dangling arm, which he ordered you not to move, is rubbing against his crotch.

You let out some beautiful noises when he finally does it, hot tears rolling down your cheeks. The piercer makes it obvious that he's hard as he moves around to the other side.

You gasp and whine when he does the second, and he leans back to look you up and down again. We both agree you look beautiful like this. He warns that you definitely can't wear your binder for several weeks, and I nod too. Definitely no binder, and probably no bras either. Everyone should be able to see your beautiful tits and their new jewelry through a tshirt.

Not only are you not worth a night in a hotel, but you're made to strip off your clothes in public view, and I'll force you into an uncomfortable position until I finish.

The best part is, I'd cum inside his cunt and then make him leave right after. Just like how I'd treat any other girl. And she would take it without complaint.

the thing that tends to separate ace people from allo people is a lack of innate sexual desire. a lack of NEED to feel that, a lack of that tugging in your gut, the pulling, the desperation that comes naturally...

But ace people, just like anyone else, can enjoy activities, and want to do those activities. crave those activities. Games that they enjoy, books they want to read, songs that urge them to sing....

When you do activities you like, you develop habits and wants, cravings to do those things again, especially when you might be feeling down, you need a pickmeup

And -- ace people do still feel physical pleasure. It's different, their minds don't react the same way, but their bodies still trigger rushes of endorphins, their bodies still feel these physical things.

So what better way to break a cute asexual than to gently, gently, ease them into realizing that you are good at making them feel good. They may not crave sex, but you can condition them over time to crave having a good time with you.

Condition their mind to crave enjoying yourselves together because it's a fun activity. Create, bit by bit, a sex drive by engineering it out of normal wants and needs and desires.

"listen to the sounds that sloppy cunt's making, you can't tell me no."