submissive to men

The metal was cold against my skin, a permanent fixture that redefined my anatomy. The first photo captured a forced flatness, a cage that had rendered my manhood a mere suggestion. A promise of a life that had been taken from me, and the beginning of a new life. A blank space, a void where something had once been.

Then came the second photo, a brutal juxtaposition. From behind, the unnatural curve of something else entirely, a foreign object that had claimed my body, a silicone invader that mocked my form. It was a statement, an act of erasure. This is who I was now. It’s what she made me.

She had done this. She had shaped me, molded me into something I never wanted to be. I was an experiment, a canvas for her warped desires, a before and after, a demonstration of her absolute control. She took what she wanted, and what she wanted was me, twisted, helpless, an empty vessel waiting to be filled. It was no longer about me.

'You know what you have to do,' she said, her voice firm but distant.

I hesitated, fingers trembling as they brushed against the icy surface. There was no going back once this thing was on.

With a deep breath, I locked it in place. The cold seeped into my skin, a stark reminder of my new reality.

I looked down at myself, now altered, reshaped by her will. It wasn’t just about the physical change—it was the loss of control, the stripping away of who I was.

I know I know but you will get used to things in your mouth and throat 💅