Writing

I'm working on a short story (along the lines of The Photo Shoot) called Her New Husband.

What's a short story? Well, for comparison, The Photo Shoot was 11,000 words while A Change in Our Marriage was 106,000.

Her New Husband will come in near or just under 20,000 (it is currently 12,000). But that's just an estimate.

What's is about, you ask? Well, a married woman decides to hire a male escort from a service called Rent A Husband to experience some sex and romance from a man. As you might surmise, she's not getting that at home with her legal husband (perhaps because he's much more interested in being her girlfriend than her husband.)

Just as a tease, here's the working cover to the book:

Of course

Wearing the new underwear my wife bought, boy shorts she called them, did not make me a sissy, after all, they were BOY shorts. Right?

Of course not, my wife said helpfully, soon replacing all my boxer shorts with boy shorts in different pastel colors and soft fabrics.

Wearing the new cotton tops my wife bought, camisoles she called them, did not make me a sissy, after all, they were cotton, no different than tee shirts I usually wore to bed. Right?

Of course not, my wife said helpfully, soon replacing all my tee shirts with camisoles in pretty feminine designs.

Wearing the new pretty silk set my wife bought for me, a camisole and tap panty set she called it, did not make me a sissy, after all, while pretty and soft, it was no different than the cotton sets I'd been wearing. Right?


Of course not, my wife said helpfully, buying me several silk and satin sets and insisting I wear them to bed.

Wearing the black one piece sleepwear my wife bought for me, a teddy she called it, did not make me a sissy, after all, while pretty and soft, it was not much different than the camisole and tap panty sets I'd been wearing. Right?

Of course not, my wife said helpfully, showing me how to fold my penis back between my legs, out of the way, so the teddy fit and looked proper. We don't need this, she told me, that's only something a man needs.

But what am I, I asked.

Shhh, she told me, don't worry about it, don't worry.

Wearing the long opaque socks my wife bought for me, thigh highs she called them, did not make me a sissy, after all, they were just like socks I usually wore, just a shiny and longer. Right?

Of course not, my wife said helpfully, helping me into the the first time, telling me to pack up all my old socks, that I wouldn't need them anymore.

Wearing the sheer long thigh highs my wife bought for me, lace top stockings she called them, did not make me a sissy, after all, they were just like opaque ones I had been wearing, just sheer and with a little lace. Right?

Of course not, my wife said helpfully, helping me into the the first time, telling me to pack up all my old socks, that I wouldn't need them anymore.

Wearing the stockings my wife bought for me, with lines in the back (full fashioned stockings she called them) and a tight garment around my waist to hold them up (a garter belt she called it)m, did not make me a sissy, after all, they were just like other stockings I had been wearing, just with this garter belt (and matching panties and a bra, too). Right?

Of course not, my wife said helpfully, filling the bra with two heavy objects that looked just like breasts, just to fill it out, she told me.

Wearing all the lingerie my wife bought for me, and a short skirt and a satin blouse, and makeup, with long hair, and heels and pretty nails, and carrying a purse. Why, that...that doesn't make me a sissy, right? No more than the...the toy she bought (the strap-on, she calls it), the one she likes to make me kiss and lick (and suck)...the one she likes to touch me with (push into my pussy ass, as she calls it. That doesn't make me a sissy, right?

Of course it does, my wife said helpfully, resting on top of me, her strap-on (her cock, she sometimes calls it), buried deep inside me. Of course it makes you a sissy. All of it, all of it does.

Lulu Love

Holy shit, you all...

While The Sissy Pilot may not be ranked so high in the Kindle store, on Lulu, it is currently the number 1 book in the Sex and Relationship category and number 18 overall.

Love all of you and thanks for supporting The Sissy Pilot!

Now, if you liked the book, give it a good review on either Amazon or Lulu so others can find it.

Seriously, reviews help.

And seriously, I really, really thank all of you for your support!

Sara

And the winners are...

Tabby of Mr Hugo Black and Tabitha Jones (winner of the random pick)*

Rebecca of Rebecca's musings (an extra winner for being the first to say she's a sissy pilot, too.)

nicolette pennysworth of Sissy sub nicolette (an extra winner because she raised her hand and said please.)

To everyone else, thank you so much for reading my blog and my stories, your support means so much to me.

So, Tabby, nicolette, and Rebecca, get in touch with me.

Sara

* To select the random winner, I went to a random number generator site and asked it to pick a random number between 1 and 28 and it came up with 25, which, by my count, was Tabby. 

iBookstore

The Photo Shoot is finally available on Apple's iBookstore. I'm working on getting other books available there and will update you as that happens. Publishing a book on Amazon takes 12 hours. Publishing a book in the iBookstore takes about 12 days.

My new book is published!!!

I'm so excited! My new novel, The Sissy Pilot, is now available for purchase from Amazon and Lulu for $4.99.

The Sissy Pilot tells the story of an unemployed pilot who is offered a career and relationship saving job, with one catch - he must work as a woman. In the book, we follow the tale of self-discovery, as our pilot (our sissy pilot), with the help of his loving fiancée, discovers, much to his surprise, that he likes working as and living as a woman. And follow the tale of his relationship with the love of his life, his fiancée, too, as he discovers no matter how much she loves him as a woman, deep inside, she still craves a man, and both wonder, if she will, if she should, cuckold him.

It will be on iBooks and Barnes and Noble at some point, but for not is on both Amazon and Lulu.

I really hope you will all will pick up a copy, and if you like it, give it a positive review.

The Sissy Pilot Update

Update on The Sissy Pilot, my new book. It is written (first and second and third drafts) and my editor (the amazing, Vickie Tern), has the last three chapters to edit. It will be published soon! I'm so fucking excited, this is my first full length book in awhile (it is about 130,000 words).

It will be published and on sale at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Lulu, and if I ever can manage to get a book in the iBookstore, there, too.

Pricing to be determined (probably $4.99).

Decisions

I opened the door, saw her immediately, my wife, still dressed in her work clothes, on the floor, bound, gagged.

"Mmmmggggfffff," was all she could say through the gag.

"What," I asked, taking two steps towards her, hardly able to comprehend what I saw. Who did this, what happened, why was she bound like this.

"Mmmmggggfffff" she yelled again.

"She said leave her like that," a masculine voice from behind me spoke.

I spun around, heart pounding, saw a well dressed man sitting casually on the bench at the other end of the hall. "Who the hell are you," I shouted, more in surprise than anything else, my first thought being that he was the best dressed burglar or a rapist I'd even seen, that he didn't even have a weapon, that I should run for the phone, the car, out of the house, to get help. I took a step away from her, towards the door.

"The man who is going to make both of fantasies come true, sissy," he said, uncrossing his legs, standing.

I froze at the last word. Sissy? Sissy? He said it far to casually to mean it as a general taunt, no, his tone, his inflection was serious, specific. "How did you..."

"She told me, sissy, she tells me everything. Everything.

"I..."

"You have two choices. One, tell me she's wrong, that she's been lying to me, and I'll walk out the door, now. Or two, get out of that suit, get dressed in something more appropriate and bring me a drink while I get some of those clothes off her."

I looked towards my wife, saw the begging in her eyes, begging me to...

"Scotch," I asked him, looking downward, deferentially.

"Perfect, sissy, perfect."

Ready. Set. Go!

Before going out on a date, Jill liked to unlock her sissy cuckold's chastity cage and play a little dice game. Sissy rolled a die, then rolled it again. The numbers then represented how many seconds sissy had to play with her sissy clit and make herself cum. Once her time was up, it was back into the chastity cage, whether she made herself squirt or not.

And squirting was rare. Very rare.

See, Jill unlocked the cage, but would not let sissy remove it until her time started, so she always started with a flaccid clit, meaning anything less than thirty seconds was NEVER enough.

Tonight, sissy was lucky, very lucky. She rolled a 4 and a 6, giving her forty-six long seconds to reach an orgasm.

"Ready, sweetie," Jill asked, looking at her watch. "Set," she looked up at her sissy, to make sure she wasn't touching herself early. "Go!"

The second Jill spoke the word 'Go' sissy reached for the unlocked padlock, fumbling to remove it so she could remove the cage. Sissy was particularly excited today, she had not cum in six weeks and knew that forty-six seconds could be, should be, enough time. Barely, but enough.

Ironically, it was this knowledge, this eagerness, that was her downfall. Eager and excited, her boy clit was swollen, not erect, of course, impossible in the cage, but swollen to the edges of the hard plastic. The swelling made the cage tug against the lock, causing her to have trouble removing it. 

Second after second passed by.

"Thirty-eight seconds, sissy," Jill said when ten seconds passed, smirking watching her sissy struggle with the lock, wondering if there would be enough time. At thirty-five seconds, wasting thirteen precious seconds, the lock was off.

"Thirty seconds," she continued her countdown, just as sissy ripped the cage off, freeing her now fully soft boy clit, the pressure of the countdown ironically making her soft the second she should get hard (just as it made her hard when she should have been soft.)

The instant the cage was clear, she watched him start rubbing the tip of his boy clit with two fingers (two fingers, like any girl, all he was allowed to use).

"Twenty seconds." She watched him, watched his clit swell, slowly, too slow, knowing it would be close, knowing he needed at least fifteen seconds after he was hard to have ANY chance of cumming, knowing he knew it, too, and that would make it that much more difficult for him.

"Fifteen seconds," she said sternly. His clit was not quite there, not quite erect, close, close, but not fully. He was going to run out of time, she realized, suddenly elated. She much preferred the times he couldn't cum, preferred his attitude the next week, his desperation, his devotion to her. While she did not want to completely deny him, she wanted him to have the CHANCE to cum, she loved it when he couldn't. 

"Ten seconds, sissy," she began the countdown, sure now he would not finish. 

"Nine..." 

"Eight..."

"Seven..."

"Six..."

At six, he grunted, the grunt he should have made at ten seconds, the grunt that he was getting close, not there, but certainly close. All the better, she knew, for him to have a fighting chance to cum and lose it because of his own fumbling. Nine times out of ten, with forty-five seconds or more, he would cum, but not today, not today.

"Five..."

"Four..."

He knew it now, knew there wasn't enough time, knew he was going to have to stop in seconds, stop when he was close, so fucking close, so tantalizing close. This was the worst, the absolute worst...

"Three..."

The cage would be tight the rest of the night, the entire time his was was out on her date, he'd think of her with him, her with a man, and denied his own orgasm, he'd be wild with jealousy, envy, and lust.

"Two..."

"Please Jill," he rubbed furiously.

"One..."

"Please..."

"Stop."

Instantly, he removed his hand, knowing the consequences if he didn't. Not that it was easy, in fact, quite the opposite, stopping now, so close, so fucking close, was TERRIBLE.

Jill reached down to the floor, to where the cage had dropped, picked it up, handed it to him wordlessly. 

The looks on their faces said everything. His of crushed hopes, hers of smug satisfaction.

Lulu

Over the past year, some people without a Kindle or a Nook have asked if they could buy a copy of some of my work in some other format, to which my answer was always no. Regretfully, no.

Well that changes today.

I'm happy to announce that three of my stories, A Change in Our Marriage, Mother-in-Law's Visit, and The Photo Shoot are now available for purchase as an ePub book (for Adobe Digital Editions).

Lulu has also submitted those three books to Apple's iBooks bookstore.

Links to the right, have been updated.

If the Lulu experiment goes well, I plan to make my next book, The Sissy Pilot, available on Amazon, B&N, Lulu, and iBooks.

Thanks again, seriously, from the bottom of my heart, for all your support and encouragement, and for buying my books. I LOVE writing these stories and your support in buying them really means so much to me.

Sara

Captivity

"How long," President Anderson asked the director of the re-education camp as the stood in the Transformation Ward, watching the bound prisoner drool and shake in orgasm.

"Prisoner Number 2142 one was captured on March 3rd," the director said, consulting her notes, "field interrogation lasted for six days, the prisoner arrived here on March 12, and treatment began immediately, so, this is the 50th day with ten to go.

The President nodded, looked down at her own file, at the picture of Prisoner No. 2124 upon arrival at the camp, the hardened combat veteran, with the four day beard, the muscles, the crew cut. When he—she—arrived, Prisoner 2142 was practically a recruiting poster. "It's amazing."

"Thank you Madam President," the director nodded. "While the Ngozi Process is time consuming—complete feminization of a typical male involves eight hours of treatments daily for sixty days—the results are total and irreversible."

The Ngozi Process, developed by Profession Annabelle Ngozi, just over a year ago, was used by the Republic to deal with captured male soldiers. "Rather than house them, feed them, and worry about them escaping back north," Professor Ngozi argued, "we need to find a way to sap their will to fight for the Dictatorship.

"The moans," the President asked, "they seem...genuine."

"Oh, they are, Ma'am, they are—at least in the later stages. At the beginning, when the prisoner still has a penis, things are different—as you can imagine, once a male has an orgasm, continued stimulation is actually quite painful. However, as reproductive tissue is moved from the penis to the breasts, the effect of the vibrations deaden until, at around day 35, multiple orgasms become possible, until finally, around day 49 or 50, when the breasts are fully formed and the penis is completely shrunken to clit size, a prisoner will, for all practical purposes, orgasm throughout the entire eight hour process."

"An eight hour orgasm every day for ten days," the President raised her eyebrow, "no wonder we're sweeping up so many deserters."

"Since the broadcast, yes, the choice is stark, but clear. Face the brutality of war and life in a dictatorship or the pleasure of enhanced womanhood."

"This will sound crude," President Anderson actually blushed, "but what about, um..."

"Cock," the director laughed, "don't worry, Ma'am, everyone asks. See the two long slots running from her feet to her knees? That's where we attach it."

"When?"

"Today, for this one, Ma'am, that's part of the reason I wanted to show you this prisoner. In fact, here they are now..."

Two female technicians wheeled a cart into the room, sitting on top of which was a two foot rectangular box with a long, metal cylinder protruding. Attached to the end of the cylinder was an eight inch dildo—flesh like with a bulbous head and veins, stunningly realistic—a cock that was going to fuck Prisoner 2142 for eight hours a day for the next ten days.

On Sale Now

What I've been working on...

There have been fewer personal updates lately, about Emily and I, for which I apologize, but I've been hard at work on my new book, The Sissy Pilot, which should come out in the next few months. This is a long story, currently a little longer than A Change in Our Marriage, and of that genre (feminization, emasculation, cuckolding). While I have a couple of other long stories in the works, it looks like this is the one that is going to get published first.

Below is my working cover (thanks to the simply amazing OnlyTease, which you should all check out for letting me use the image, which I'm super pumped about because that image was the inspiration for the story).

And here is an excerpt:

The run didn’t clear my head, didn’t even come close. I tried, I really did, to lose myself in the road, but I couldn’t. Every time my thoughts drifted, every time I started to just myself  go, mentally, two images flashed into my brain: the picture of the pilot Mrs. Peterson gave me and the white lace bra and panty set. I couldn’t let it go because I kept coming back to imagining myself dressed like, looking like, that pilot in the picture. She was beautiful, stunning even. And Mrs. Peterson, with some apparent help from my fiancée, expected me to look like that. I couldn’t let it go, because I was marching to my execution. I felt emasculated enough when I was out of work—though I assumed finding work would end that—but now the job itself, by design, was going to emasculate me even further. 

Up until two days ago, I was only mentally emasculated, but not it was going to be physical emasculated, too, a physical manifestation of the feelings I’d had for weeks and weeks. That wouldn’t help my thoughts and feelings, it would make them so much worse. I thought work would restore my masculinity, but it was going to do just the opposite. And all with my fiancée’s fucking support!

I tried to let it go, because there was another thought in my mind, a creeping suspicion, a lingering fear. What if I…no, no, I couldn’t think that, no. There was no way. Stop, Dana, stop, I told myself, stop. Run, let it go, run. Run.

His New Rule

I walked into the master suite carrying the try of drinks, heels clicking and clacking on the hardwood floor, the petticoats of my French Maid’s uniform rustling softly. My wife looked at me as I set down the try, caught my eye, so I took a chance and mouthed the words. “Is there anything else,” I asked her silently, hopefully, mentally begging and pleading.

She bit her lip, looked down as if embarrassed, and while he may not have seen me ask her the question, it was quickly obvious that something had passed between my wife and I, something that bothered her.

“What is it,” he asked her, putting an arm around her possessively.

“It’s…it’s nothing, don’t worry.

“What,” he asked again in that tone only a man, a real man, an alpha man could use.

She looked up at me, her eyes silently apologizing for what she was about to say, for the imminent betrayal. “It’s nothing, Jason, she just asked me if there was anything else, that’s all. But there isn’t, this,” she pointed to the tray of drinks, “this is all we need.” Her words were meant to diffuse the situation, to diffuse something, but her tone betrayed her. And me.

“That’s not what he’s was asking, is it,” Jason challenged my wife, purposefully referring to me as a ‘he’ instead of a ‘she’ something he did when he was displeased with me, knowing it only reinforced my humiliation.

She paused before answering, but did just the same. “No,” she said quietly.

“He’s asking about the key. Again.”

“Yes, but please, don’t worry about it Jason.”

“You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“Jason…”

We looked at each other again. Tell me what, my eyes asked, but she looked away again.

“I told you to tell him, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“And if you didn’t, I would…is that what you want? For him to hear it from me?”

“It’s just hard Jason, I mean, I know he’s just a sissy cuckold to you, but…but I still love him.”

“As you should,” Jason said, “but that has nothing to do with this, so again, do you want me to tell him?’

“No, no, Jason, I…I need to be the one,” she sighed, then looked to me again. “Honey, Jason’s upset with, well, I guess I told him you’ve been bugging me to unlock you when he and I are together and…”

“Pestering you,” Jason chimed in, “you said he’s been pestering you non-stop, even after you said no.”

“Yes, well, he…he said that sissies shouldn’t pester their wives, I mean, you can ask, but, well, he’s right, I said no and you still keep asking and…”

“Go on,” Jason encouraged her.

“And he doesn’t want to hear me complaining about it anymore, you know he doesn’t like to hear me complain about anything about you, so…” She paused, looked me straight in the eyes again, seeming to steel her will, then rushed ahead and finished quickly. “He’s going to be holding the key from now on.”

My eyes widened, the walls of the room seemed to rush in quickly, smothering me. He was going to hold the key? Jason? My wife’s lover (a bad word because she did not love him), boyfriend (perhaps a better description), fuck buddy (also accurate, as he and he alone fucked her)? He was going to hold the key to the lock on my chastity cage? He was going to…to…

He snorted. “Obviously I’m not going to tolerate you pestering me to unlock you,” he said with a smirk.

“But when will I…will you…,” I started to ask, quickly thought better of it and shut my mouth.

He decided to answer just the same. “Rarely. Depending on your behavior, very rarely, and much less than you are now.”

Now was once a month, minimum, at least once a month she would unlock me and play with me, once glorious time a month, though often more, often twice a month, sometimes three or four times.

“But…but…I…one should…should

He held up his hand, stopped me. “Rarely,” he said with finality, “you’ll be unlocked rarely, a few times a year, maybe, and if you pester me like this, like you did her, never.”

“I…” I composed myself, tried to take hold of the terror running through my brain at the thought of my wife’s lover holding the key, controlling my chastity, determining when I was unlocked, when I could cum. I felt terror because I knew I could play on my wife’s love, on her sympathy, to let me out if I really, really wanted to, but Jason would never listen to that, would not care. “Sir,” I started again, knowing addressing him by title, formally, was ALWAYS a good start. “May I…may I say something.”

“Yes.”

“We, she, unlocked me monthly because, well, I know because I liked it, I know, but…but for health reasons, too.”

“I understand,” he said, “she told me. And I agree, completely. She’ll still drain you monthly, you’ll just remain locked.”

“He said I can milk you, honey, you know,” she lowered her voice as if ashamed of the words she was about to say, “massage your prostate until you…squirt."

Ideas

How's a story start in my mind? Something like this triggers it, usually.

I see this picture and think:

My mother-in-law offered, no, really insisted that she come to town spend the week and a half my wife would be out of town at our house. "Gina," I heard my mother-in-law talking to my wife, "do you really trust him left alone for ten days?"

"Well, it's not like he's going to cheat," my wife laughed, "he'll be in chastity." That itself was comical, because the openness of our relationship went one way only-given that her former boss was going to be on the trip, she was likely, in fact certain, to find herself spending few nights alone.

"Yes, but unsupervised sissies find all sorts of ways to misbehave when given the opportunity, you know that, from simply neglecting chores until the last minute to reverting back to dressing as a boy."

"I'm sure he'll behave, mother," my wife said somewhat dismissively.

"Perhaps, but wouldn't you feel better if he was supervised?"

"It's not like I can't take him with me, mother."

"No, no, Gina, that's not what I'm mean; he needs a house sitter, much like a pet would."

"Mother, don't mean..."

"I have plenty of frequent flier miles, Gina, and no plans I cannot reschedule."

"You'd really come down?"

"Of course, dear."

And come down she did, only too glad to take the opportunity to train me in some ways my wife was hesitant to take too far; the dildo, for instance, was a completely different experience when wielded not by my loving wife, but instead by my domineering mother-in-law, who insisted on a minimum sixty minutes each evening of oral practice.

Warning

When dropping me off at college, Mom warned me about fraternities, telling me not to get involved with one, "you're not quite, um, fraternity material, sweetie," she told me before leaving as she carefully arranged some flowers on my chest of drawers, "at least not in the, um, traditional way."

"What do you mean, Mother," I asked, innocently.

"Sweetie, you know you're my special boy, how you're not like the other boys."

I agreed, but later in the week, at the urging of my dorm's resident advisor, found myself taking the fraternity tour just the same with all the male freshmen. And, to my surprise, I thought my mother was wrong as several fraternities seemed to be very interested in having me join their pledge class.

Thrilled to finally fit in with the other boys, I picked the fraternity most interested in me. Things were going great the first day. Until evening.

That night, I thought I was still incredibly lucky, as when the other new pledges were sent off on some stupid scavenger hunt, I was invited into basement, the place pledges were absolutely forbidden to go without an escort.

Turns out there was a reason I was so special, a reason they took particular interest in me, a reason a mousey, soft, and far from masculine boy was invited to a special place in their house. And, as much as what they said was going to happen scared me, I couldn't turn and walk up the stairs. Not that they wouldn't let me, no, I was free to go, but that I didn't want to go.

Source | Trapsicles:

Saragirl’s Sissy Confession

Hey all of you, guess what I have for you today. A link to one of my short stories as recorded by Teresa Bowers from the cool site, Strapped in Silk.

The free, yes, FREE audio recording is here:

Saragirl’s Sissy Confession | Strapped In Silk-Forced Feminization

I like free things, don't you? Enjoy, and explore Ms. Bower's site to see what other goodies are around.

Vicious Rumors Black and White

Sissy followed her Mistress by the tugging on the leash to her collar through the room. Unable to see or hear the people socializing there, she still felt their hands brushing over her. Mistress led her kneel before a coat closet, hung up her leash, and moved her head until her lips were positioned over the dildo suctioned to the door. She began sucking, taking the toy deep into her mouth. Sissy was aware of the people around her, occasionally standing near and watching her demonstrate her impeccable training, but had no idea of their identity or their number. They were secondary to her, now, only the dildo mattered, only the demonstration of her cock sucking skills.

Source | Vicious Rumors Black and White