Untitled

One year ago when you started hormones and began your transition, you knew there would come a day where you'd have to take that uncomfortable step of coming out at work.

As the first few months ticked by and your breasts began to bud, you were able to easily hide them with a discrete sports bra under your baggy flannel. Your facial features were beginning to soften a bit as well, but your co-workers simply failed to notice, given how slow and subtle the changes were from day to day. Or so you thought.

Your hair was getting longer as well, which combined with all the previously mentioned changes, was really starting to make you take on a more feminine appearance. But again, nobody said anything, although at this point, you were sure they were beginning to wonder what was going on with you?

One day, a co-worker approached you and asked if they could speak to you in private? As you both walked to an area away from others, she asked the question: "What's going on? Why do you look so different nowadays?" Her eyes then looked directly at your bulging chest. "I don't mean to be blunt, but you look like a woman." she said. Caught off guard, and unprepared to be "outed" in that moment, you simply replied " really don't want to talk about it right now, but I will soon." You telt so nervous in that moment, but nothing felt more affirming than her saying you looked like a woman!

That day you went home, and knew it was time, time to come out as the real you. Putting this off any longer was only delaying the inevitable. Clearly your appearance was already outing you.

You sat there for hours writing, and re-writing your coming out letter a 100 different ways until it was absolutely perfect. You entered the HR email address and CC'd your boss. Then after 15 minutes of just staring at the screen, you finally worked up the courage to press that Send button. You then immediately closed out of the email.

Period Training (Day 2)

Period Training (Day 3)

Oh, sweet thing… you think you’re hiding it so well under those “manly” jeans? That soft, sheer black pantyhose hugging your legs, sliding against your skin with every step, reminding you who’s really in control.

I love making my boys layer up like this—nylon under denim, a secret slutty secret that only I know about. It turns every meeting, every commute, every mundane errand into delicious humiliation. You feel feminine, exposed, owned… even when no one else can tell.

Reblog if the thought makes your caged clit throb. Reblog if you’re already sliding into a pair right now, just because Mistress said so.

Bonus task for my good girls: Wear them to work tomorrow. Send proof. If you’re extra pathetic and silky-smooth, I might let you edge through the fabric… but no release. That’s reserved for real cocks.