Freedom in Femininity

I feel so pretty. So feminine. So alive. So happy.

I am meant to be the beautiful, submissive wife of a strong, dominant man.

In my heart of hearts, I am a woman.

The thing about this dress is every luscious curve of my body is on display. I can’t help but feel a little thrill, the way good looking men stare at me when I wear it.

Sometimes I want to dress and act in a way where there’s really only one inescapable conclusion: I’m a rich bitch.

I suppose it sounds a little needy, but I really do wait around all day, hoping he’ll call.

I can’t help but think how much curvier I’ve become, day by day my hips growing wider, my butt more full. I feel so womanly. So feminine. So fertile.

I couldn’t help but wear this outfit for a day of sailing long the coast.

A beautiful day to be by the sea.

I’ve never minded getting older, because I only get closer to my femininity.

This skimpy little bathing suit is so tight against my pussy.

I feel so pretty. All the time, now. Every day. It’s wonderful.

He should know. He does know. I do all this for him.

The sun feels so hot and warm on my smooth skin, my supple thighs, my slim shoulders, my big butt.

There is something about summer that makes me feel girly.

He found me and made me his wife. Soon I’ll be the mother of his children. He means everything to me.

It’s not about where I am or what I wear. It’s a feeling. A feeling of femininity. I am finally free.