Shared Too Much

An honest to God fear of mine

It was all too perfect.  Almost everybody knew I’d always wanted to travel, so taking a ‘Bucket List’ trip to New Orleans for Mardi Gras didn’t raise any eyebrows even though I’d be doing it alone.  But to those that knew Caitlyn, I had another reason for the trip.  Meeting a friend that I’d only met online.  A friend like me that I knew only by her femme name.  Fiona. 

While I’d come to recognize that Caitlyn was truly my feminine side, Fiona was like an earlier version of me back when I thought this was all just a sexual erotic exploration.  We’d both shared long evening chats where we’d fantasize taking one of our friends and making their dreams come true…. Taking them and forcibly transforming them.  Oh sure, they’d play hard at it being against their will but we both knew they’d love it.  But that was then, and this was now.  I just wanted to meet someone who knew me as Caitlyn.

After an overnight trip on the ‘City of New Orleans’ Amtrak, I met Fiona at the train station.  Or I guess I should say I met Frank at the train station.  I knew I was going to have a hard time thinking of this hulking hairy man as Fiona as he was nothing like the small curvy nymphet I’d always pictured her as.  Conversely, he joked that it wouldn’t take much to make me look like the girl I acted like online.  The only thing missing would be my flame red hair. 

In retrospect, that’s where he began.  I thought it was just funny and endearing that he was treating me like a girl.  He pulled out my chair for me at the restaurant.  He ordered my meal… a salad even though I really wanted to try the gumbo.  I blushed pretty hard when he called me Caitlyn in front of the waiter, but I didn’t correct him.  When I told him I couldn’t imagine actually calling him Fiona he just chuckled and said that Frank was fine unless I wanted to call him Master.  I laughed it off and said I could get used to Frank.

Caitlyn?

When we went out to Bourbon Street and saw that massive crowd, I was immediately grateful that I’d shared so much with Frank.  He must have seen that the crowd was already getting to me and knew that I’d have a panic attack if we stayed there so we went off to explore the rest of the French Quarter.  We went into that little shop that sold the masquerade masks I felt a chill go through me.  I mean here I was, with someone who knew me as Caitlyn Masked in a place that sold the types of masks I used so often.  Frank saw me staring wide eyed at the lacy one on the mannequin’s head and before I knew it had it off and was wrapping it around my face.  I barely heard him purchasing the $400 mask while I stared in the mirror seeing her… seeing Caitlyn starting back at me. 

I was walking on cloud nine for the rest of the night.  No one batted an eye at seeing me with my mask on and Frank simply guided me to bar after bar.  He knew I’d wanted to try a Hurricane so he bought me one.  He knew I loved Moscow Mules, so he bought me some.  He knew I loved craft beer but couldn’t stand the hoppy nature of IPAs so he introduced me to NOLA brewing’s Irish Channel Stout.  By the time we got back to Frank’s quiet courtyard apartment I was stumbling drunk.  I again marveled that this man knew so much about me when he handed me a Gatorade, the exact drink I use to make sure I don’t have a hangover.  When I pulled my phone out to take a picture he casually slipped it from my fingers and guessed correctly at the password.  He took a picture of the skyline and posted it to my facebook feed.  Looking at it the post I couldn’t tell I didn’t type it out myself. 

Maybe it was the drink.  Maybe it was the heady buzz of being seen by a friend as Caitlyn.  Maybe it was just my inhibitions going out the window.  But when Frank suggested that there wouldn’t be any better place or time for me to try dressing up as Caitlyn, I couldn’t think of any reason to not do it.  We’d passed many women dressed up for Carnival, and plenty of men dressed as women for Mardi Gras that no one would blink an eye at me.  And no one outside of Frank would know it was really me. 

Maybe I should have been suspicious when he had the clothes already there.  The dress, the stockings, the garter belt, the heels.  The panties, the false breasts, the bra.  The pearl necklace, the diamond earrings, the fake nails.  The gaffe.  But instead of suspicion I was filled with amazement.   Here, laid out in front of me, was everything I’d ever written about and been too afraid to try on for myself.  Except for the panties… Frank knew from my blog and our chats that I’d worn a pair of pink lacy panties years before, and this pair was exactly like those. 

It felt surreal to slip out of my clothes and into that feminine world.  That was until I looked into the mirror and even with my mask on didn’t see Caitlyn staring back at me.  The five o’clock shadow, the hair on my arms, the hair visible under the stockings, the waist too big and the hips too small.  I didn’t see Caitlyn, I saw Calvin dressed up and looking ridiculous.  When I turned to tell Frank that this just wouldn’t work I stumbled on the too tall heels and ended up in his arms.  For a brief moment, I felt it… that feminine twinge from being held by a big strong man.  He laughed it off and said that maybe I’d feel different in the light of day when I wasn’t so buzzed.  I must have sounded so girly when he picked me up and I squealed out in surprise.  He carried me like I weighed nothing and slid me into bed, pulling the covers up and tucking me in for the night.  I could only blush and giggle when he kissed me on the forehead and told me to have sweet dreams. 

The next morning, I felt absolutely absurd.  The light of day didn’t make me feel more feminine and only reminded me that at best I was play acting out a scene from one of my many stories.  Finding a pink robe, I slipped it around me and stumbled out to the kitchen.  I saw Frank there on my phone as he waved me over to the coffee maker.  While searching through Frank’s kitchen cabinets for the coffee and filters I heard him talking to someone saying that he appreciated their help.  When I finally had the coffee brewing and sat down he told me the bad news… we’d left my suitcase somewhere last night.  He’d been calling around all morning and so far no one had seen it.  And to make matters worse, he’d turned my clothes into the full-service laundromat down the street, but because of the holiday they wouldn’t be ready to pick up until tomorrow. 

We both laughed it off, recognizing the ludicrous nature of the situation.  Here we were in the perfect set up for one of our stories.  A guy trapped without any male clothes, in a strange city, lost his wallet, and reliant on another man who had written extensively about forcibly changing men into women.  When Frank suggested that we actually try it out, I kept laughing even when I saw that he was serious.  When he continued though, it did make sense.  It’s not like I would look any less ridiculous wearing his clothes as he was two sizes larger than me.  If I did wear his clothes out I’d look disheveled and silly, where on the other hand if I went out in drag I’d look like one of a hundred different people enjoying themselves for Mardi Gras.  I’d eventually get my clothes back and if we couldn’t find them by the next day, I’d have my clothes back from the laundromat and could work on getting a replacement credit card and buy some new clothes.   

In the meantime, he continued, we could both experience something close to what we write.  I could only nod when he told me how much better my writing had gotten after I’d worn those panties… how experiencing it had made it seem so much more real when I wrote about it later.  We could even compare notes on how it felt to be ‘forced’ to dress and how it felt to ‘force’ someone to dress.  Seeing as how the only alternative was sitting around here dressed like this anyway, I agreed. 

Frank seemed excited as he laid down the rules.  He said that I could struggle all I wanted but that we both knew it would be part of the act and he’d force me to dress up and be as feminine as possible, but that too would be part of the act.  I smirked, stood up, gave him a pretty sad curtsy and told him I was going to go shower.  When I turned away I was shocked to feel Frank’s hand reach out and slap my rear.  Sure, it was through the thick robe, dress, and panties, but I’d never felt someone spank me before.  The shock that went though my whole body was more mental the physical but that didn’t reduce it’s impact as he told me to call him ‘Sir’ from now on.  I barely was able to whisper out a quiet ‘yes sir’ before heading off to the shower. 

Why did he have this?

While soaping up I shook off the nervousness and realized that this really would help my writing.  I mean I always assumed it would hurt to be spanked even through clothes, but now I knew better.  My eyes went wide when Frank stepped into the bathroom.  He reached around the shower curtain and laid down some skintimate shaving gel and a Venus razor.  In a matter of fact voice he told me that I should shave all my hair off south of my eyebrows… and that he’d be checking. 

The fact that he didn’t peek around the curtain told me that he wasn’t actually going to check, but I’d go ahead and shave my legs, arms, and chest.  I didn’t see any reason to shave my privates though.  It took me forever to actually shave those areas and I realized I’d never written about how hard it was to reach part of your legs while shaving, or how hard it was to shave dominant arm using your non dominant hand.  By the time I was finished the water had run cold but the bathroom was still steamy.  I slipped into the panties but saw that the rest of my clothes were missing.  Without even the robe to slip over my self I stepped out into the apartment and saw Frank sitting at the table with all of my feminine garb folding neatly next to him. 

When I reached for the clothes he stopped me and told me I had to be inspected first.  Standing up he methodically walked around me and pointed out how smooth my legs and arms looked.  He even gently caressed across my smooth belly and said he was happy that I’d shaved there too.  I let out a yelp when he suddenly reached between my thigh and my panties and pulled out a stray pubic hair.  Picking up the clothes he told me I could finish shaving in the kitchen sink while he took his shower. 

The spank this time actually did hurt.  Frank used the full flat of his hand and the thong panties offered no protection over my bare ass.  I considered just ignoring him and keeping my pubic hair where it was, but figured as long as Frank was getting this much into our roles, I’d go ahead and play a long a little more than I initially wanted.  If shaving in the shower was hard, it was almost impossible in the kitchen sink.  The fear of cutting myself down there also added to the time it took, but before I knew it I was baby smooth. 

By the time frank came back out I gave him a smirk as I pulled my panties aside just enough to keep my privates covered but show him my smooth groin.  I thought he’d be happy but instead of telling me to get dressed he sat down in a high-backed dining room chair and patted his lap as he told me I’d have to be punished for not doing what I was told the first time.  We’d both written extensively about the heroines of our stories getting spanked and knew what was going to happen.  My blush was real, as I remembered his playful spank just moments ago, but I nodded and laid over his lap.  Straining to look up at him I reminded Frank that this was fun and all but to go easy. 

It seems mouthing off to your ‘master’ is actually a bad idea.  Frank didn’t go easy.  Frank’s left hand held my wrists together in the small of my back as he told me to count out my ten hard spanks to my nearly bare ass.  The crying I’d written about before with a girl getting spanked had always seemed so sexy. So visceral.  My crying wasn’t that.  It was hard, hot tears streaming down my face as my voice broke over and over.  My nose was running, and I couldn’t stop sobbing between counts.  And Frank, to his credit, played it out fully.  When I thought I couldn’t count any more and stopped after the eight spank, he kept going until I started back up at nine.  I counted out ten spanks even though he smacked my ass thirteen times. 

Standing me up, he told me to get dressed while he rushed over to his laptop and started writing.  I couldn’t say anything as he told me that it was surprising how much that actually hurt his hand and just how red my ass had become.  After I got dressed, I didn’t offer a word of protest as he sat me down in front of a mirror and started to work on my face.  I was concentrating on not whimpering from the pins and needles flowing over my backside as he plucked my eyebrows and worked foundation all over.  I remained silent as he explained that he’d actually taken classes in cosmology and showed me how to apply blush, eye shadow, eye liner, and did my eyelashes. 

When Frank was finished with me I still felt out of place, but I couldn’t deny that his makeup did wonders on my face.  Especially with the mask on, I looked feminine.  I looked like Caitlyn.  While walking out the door he slipped my phone into his pocket and said he’d take pictures for me, but that I’d have to remain silent until he told me otherwise.  I didn’t see that as a problem as if I spoke, no one would be fooled into thinking I was a woman. 

A shop for... me?

Frank held my hand the entire time we walked through the French Quarter.  At first I couldn’t stop looking around, waiting for someone to point and laugh.  But after an hour I realized, I didn’t stand out.  Sure, I didn’t look exactly like a woman… but there were plenty of people out in drag and my mask marked me as just another person celebrating Fat Tuesday.  Our first stop was Prima Donna's Closet which sold clothes for women and men dressing as women.  While I thought Frank was going to make me look at dresses and imagine trying them on, he actually had the sales ladies help us pick out a corset.  He told them were trying to make me completely passable and they didn’t blink an eye at me dressing up.  While behind their curtain with them both pulling the laces tight they actually complimented me on my makeup and smooth skin.   I must have blushed so hard when they also complimented me on the red glow of my rear and gave me a little pat there. 

When they had the corset on and was showing me how wonderfully it shaped my body Frank stepped around and complimented the look as well.  He asked if there was anything that could be done about my breast forms and the women all smiled and told him that if I’d like, they could give me a more professional look with some glue and makeup.  I shook my head at Frank so that the women wouldn’t see, having no desire to have breast forms glued on.  I could imagine just how feminizing it would be to have a pair of breasts seemingly part of my body, but I knew that glue like that would take a special solvent to get off.  Franks grin told me he knew the same things, even as he told them that I’d love to have their help.  When the girls turned to look at me Frank simply mimicked spanking someone over his knee causing me to swallow hard, smile nervously, and nod my acceptance.  As I feared, the sales girls took their time and did the job thoroughly.  It took nearly an hour to get the D cup breast forms glued on and the makeup to blend them into my skin, but when they were done you could only tell they were fake upon close inspection.  And once a new larger bra was holding them up proudly and the dress was back in place, they looked perfectly natural. 

Huge, but natural. 

The Dungeon!?

By the time we left the shop it was dark and there wasn’t a soul that would guess that I was a man underneath this feminizing disguise.  Frank continued to lead me around as I struggled to keep up in the heels.  Just as I seemed to get adjusted to them though, he’d speed up and make it that much more difficult to not rely on his arm for support.  By the time I felt I could walk on my own, Frank had us strolling down Bourbon Street again.  The panicked feeling I felt the other night was worse now and I held onto Franks arm as my chest tightened and my nerves began to go crazy.  I was actually afraid that I might actually dip into an honest to God panic attack and try to run away when Frank pulled me close, told me it was going to be all right, and then pulled me into a storefront.  I only barely saw the sign before stepping in and had my worst fears realized… Frank was taking me into a bondage and discipline sex club; The Dungeon.

OH GOD!  It looks just like mine!

To his credit, Frank seemed genuinely surprised when he realized where we were.  At the same time though, he didn’t take us back out either.    Instead he walked us over to the sex toy shop.  As my heart started to beat at a more normal rate I looked through the toys in a whole new way.  When Frank held up the big red ball gag I shook my head no, but he reminded me just how much he knew about me when he chuckled and asked if I’d prefer a dildo like I had at home to fill my mouth.  I closed my eyes and wished the world would just open up and swallow me whole, as people standing nearby just heard about something I’d only ever shared online.  It was one thing to have purchased a dildo and share about trying oral on it online, but it’s quite another to have someone offer that experience out in public dressed en femme or not.  When I opened my eyes up Frank was holding the ball gag up in one hand and a large realistic dildo in another and said simply ‘Choose’.

Still less embarassing

I’m not sure I could speak even if I felt that it would have been appropriate to do so.  Instead I simply nodded to the ball gag and didn’t even balk when he put it in my mouth and buckled it behind my head.  I’d imagine it was the feared look in my eyes that gave the dark skinned, exotic, beautiful lady working there the idea, but Frank ran with it when she asked if he’d ever brought his slave to the club before.  When Frank answered no, she explained that they were respectful to any type of relationship we shared and she asked a series of questions so that they could follow our own personal rules.  Franks smile just grew and grew, while my heart sank and sank as he answered the questions.

Yes, I was his slave. 

No, I wasn’t allowed to speak.

Yes, this was my first time out dressed completely en femme. 

Yes, I was nervous about it but fully accepted my slavery to him. 

Yes, we’d had sex before. 

No, we didn’t want to have sex in public here. 

No, I didn’t conform to gorean rules of slavery.

No, he wouldn’t let anybody else dominate me.

Yes, others could punish me by spanking over their knees.

No, he wasn’t interested in other slaves.

Yes, he was interested in having me outfitted for new toys.

Yes, we had a safe word.

As Frank whispered our evidently secret safe word to the lady, I honestly began to doubt Franks intentions.  Yes, up until this point this was an amazing experience, the spanking not withstanding.  But I expected the evening to end soon.  I expected to get information on how to better write as a man being feminized against his will but not actually experience it this publicly.  But here we were, Frank setting me up to be his slave/lover in a place where such an experience wasn’t out of this world.  A place where seemingly with my permission, he’d just said that anybody could bend me over their knee and spank me.  And if I cried and said no and tried to refuse…. well this was a place where that was acceptable so long as there was a safe word.  How would they know that I didn’t know the safe word?

My feared look didn’t give the sales lady any amount of hesitation as she started to guide us around the store.  When she offered to show Frank how I’d look in a arm binder I shook my head vehemently in the negative.  To my shock and surprise, the sales lady didn’t hesitate in pulling over a chair, sitting down, and forcing me to bend over her shapely thighs.  Frank was all smiles as she gave me five very hard spanks…. My cries heard clearly enough through the gag.  When she stood me up I willingly turned my back to her and let her bind my arms up impossibly tight. 

On the one hand, I was thankful that Frank had her remove the arm binder as it really stretched my shoulders hard and almost painfully.  But on the other hand, that simply freed me up to try on any other bondage device he thought was interesting.  The handcuffs seemed simple until she showed him they could connect to a belt, keeping my hands bound near my waist.  A blindfold was terrifying as I was blinded completely and then made worse when they added a set of earmuffs that sent the entire world silent.  I was relieved when they were removed, but only for a moment before they replaced them with a hood that accomplished the same things.  Blind and deaf I felt someone’s hands on my shoulders making me kneel down.  I honestly started to shake when I felt this person take ahold of the hood’s built in handle and taking complete control of my head.  I let out a little yelp around the gag when I felt the feminine but strong hands of the saleslady again guide me into the handcuffs and attach them at the small of my back to the belt still around my waist.

Why is there a handle?

With my hands bound behind me I had no choice but to crawl around on my knees as the person pulled on my hood’s handle.  As I worried what I must look like being paraded around bound up like this, and wondered how this could possibly get worse, I felt my answer as two strong thighs crushed into me on either side.  I’d written about it enough to recognize where I was.

I was kneeling, bound with my hands behind my back, blinded, and deafened, between the legs of a sitting man.    I was nearly hyperventilating through the small nose holes of the mask when I felt the ball gag being removed.  As soon as it was free I tried to beg for help but barely got “Frank I don’t…” out before I felt a hand squeeze my mouth open and a metal ring forced in-between my teeth.  While sound could still come out, it was a garbled vowel filled moan as my teeth were jacked apart. 

I tried to pull back, now incredibly afraid of what was to come but the handle on top of my head kept my movements down to a mere squirm.  The groan escaping my lips was muffled as I felt my head being bent forward and something warm slipping between my wet lips.  I could only sob as my head started to slide back and forth, being fed this fleshy monster over and over again.  When the blindfold portion of the mask was lifted I was at first too horrified to open my eyes.  But when the motion didn’t stop and the thighs around me gave me a hard squeeze I finally looked. 

I’m not sure I could call what I saw a relief.  I was still dressed like a woman, in a public shop, bound and kneeling between Frank’s thighs, but at least it wasn’t his cock sliding in and out of my mouth.  Instead what I could see was Frank holding an incredibly realistic dildo that he was making me blow.  When the muffs were loosened enough, I could hear the sales lady evidently in the middle of a sales pitch.  “…and when it’s filled with hot water and warmed on the outside like that, most slaves can’t tell the difference between this dildo and a real cock.  So… what do you and Caitlyn think of it?”

Frank simply pulled my mouth up and off the disgusting toy and made me look right up at him as he told the sales lady that we loved it. 

Still kneeling between Frank’s thighs, he pulled the mask and ring gag off of me and held out the ball gag to my lips.  When I didn’t open up for it, he simple laughed and looked up to the sales lady saying “Aww… looks like we’re getting her all hot and bothered.  Maybe I should see if she’d like the dildo again…”  he turned to look back at me and I swear I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not when he added “…or maybe she’d like the real thing while she’s down there.”

Afraid to find out just how far Frank was willing to take this charade I willingly opened my mouth and even leaned forward to take the gag between my lips.  As Frank buckled me once again into silence I saw the saleslady adding the dildo and hood to a bag.  Looking back up to Frank, his sly grin told me that indeed he was purchasing these toys. 

When Frank helped me up to my feet, I immediately noticed he wasn’t standing up.  When he patted is lap I swallowed what little remained of my pride and laid down over his lap.  With my hands still bound behind my back I felt Frank’s hand on the back of my neck, holding me down.  As I tried to steal myself for another spanking…. why I was getting a spanking didn’t seem really relevant at this point…  I could only groan as I felt my dress pulled up and exposing me to anybody that cared to glace in my direction.  I tried to say ‘Please No’ around the gag as I also felt my panties being slid down and completely off but it came out as a pathetic pleading whine. 

Frank spread my legs apart a bit before my entire body stiffened.  I felt what I assumed was Frank’s lubricated finger push painfully past my sphincter.  With as much as I’d written about things invading a man’s ass, I never once considered that even something as small and as well lubricated as this could feel so painful.  I squealed loudly through the gag and tried to kick my feet but soon felt the sales lady holding my legs still and apart.  Her soothing calm directions to Frank were in direct contradiction to the horror I was experiencing.  “Now Frank, it’s obvious Caitlyn here isn’t experienced in anal yet, but this will help her get ready.  Just keep moving your finger in and out.  See, that’s why you needed so much lube, it’s really tight until she relaxes.   Later, when she’s used to being opened up like this you won’t need as much but it might take her awhile to relax upon command.  Right now just keep moving in and out and tell her how good she’s being.  She’s a good girl and she loves you and is wonderful for letting you open her up and love her like this.  Yup, see how she’s relaxing?  It’s hard to keep up that kind of struggle.  Now that she’s a little relaxed, slide out and relube.  Yup, get plenty on both fingers and get ready for her to be a little skittish.  If one was surprising to her, then two will really make her jump.”

A set of THREE!?

I spent a good thirty minutes like that.  Bound with Frank holding my neck down and the un named sales lady holding my thighs apart as Frank slowly worked one, two, and finally three fingers into my rear.  And when I felt that it couldn’t get worse, Frank replaced his fingers with an anal plug.  I proved the sales lady right when I tried and failed to push the intruder out before they together slid my panties up and dress down, then deposited me back onto my knees.  While the exotic confident sales lady guided Frank away for further shopping, she had another girl come over and clean me up.  It seems that so much crying was bound to ruin my makeup. 

I was in for another shock as the ‘girl’ that came over was dressed only in a lather harness of some type, leaving her large fake implanted breasts open for everyone to see, and her chastity caged cock bound up between her smooth thighs.  It seems ‘she’ was like me, but obviously happy and willing to be treated this way.  She chatted amiably, calling me a ‘good girl’ and giving me tips on how to relax around the butt plug.  She reminded me that it was the first size in a series of three, and that once I was fitted to the largest size, I would barely even feel the first one slide in, let alone be skittish when my master took my virginity. 

I openly cried again as she explained, what I assume was a happy fairy tale to her and a nightmare to me.  Thankfully I was tear free when she cleaned my face for a second time and applied my makeup again.  When Frank got back the ‘girl’ leaned in and gave me a kiss on the lips around the ball gag then stood up and left us.  Frank held out some red rope to me as the sales lady unzipped and pulled off my dress and bra.  I considered just trying to run away but was so deeply trapped in this nightmare that I knew it would be futile.  I’d written about it before and figured I was stretching the truth when I had the heroine of my story just sit there and take it.  I always thought running would be better…. But where was I going to go?  I was in a sex club, bound and gagged, in the French Quarter of New Orleans during Mardi Gras.  If I even could make it out of the store, where exactly was I going to go for help?  What were the chances that some drunk tourists wouldn’t see me as some kind of fetish whore and not just take advantage of my bound state?  No…. the truth is, I was stuck. 

I could run and get abused, hurt, and maybe raped.  I could struggle against Frank and this devil woman, get spanked for my troubles and end up submitting anyway.  Or… I could submit.  I could let Frank, my master, do what he wanted to do. 

Submit.  Something I had written about hundreds of times and was only now truly learning about. 

I didn’t budge when they removed my cuffs.  I remained silent when they removed my gag.  I stood obediently when the evil temptress demonstrated how to tie up someone, ending up with the rope over my shoulders, over my upper arms, under my glued on breasts, around my biceps, between my legs, and binding my wrists once again behind my back.   I whispered a quiet ‘thank you’ when she complimented me on my smooth skin and blushed when she complimented Frank on my demeanor.  I didn’t even balk when the brought over a trench coat and put it over my shoulders, adding my dress to the bag of toys.  Even more so than before, I was completely under Franks dominion as we walked out into the everlasting party of Bourbon Street.  To anybody else I was a woman dressed in a long trench coat with stockings on.  But a stiff breeze could open the coat and show everybody my bound form wearing only the stockings, garter belt, heels, corset, and panties.  They probably wouldn’t see the butt plug unless I bent over, but they could certainly see it making me swing my hips widely and seductively. 

I used to celebrate with this.

When we got back to Frank’s apartment he walked in, set the bag down and poured us each a glass of Scotch.  I couldn’t help but noticed it was Highland Park 15-year-old single malt… one of my favorites. 

 After helping me take a good long burning gulp of the liquor and downing his own glass Frank sat down and pulled my phone from his pocket.  Without saying anything he showed me the posts he’d made to my social media accounts.  So far as anybody would see, I was enjoying my time in the Crescent City.  When it was obvious he was showing the world that everything was normal, he then flipped through the other photos.  Us walking down the street with me in full drag.  Me with the girls pulling my corset on.  Me blowing the dildo in his lap.  Me being bound by the sales lady.  And finally, without saying anything he snapped another picture of me. 

With me watching he put all of these photos into a Facebook post.  He added a paragraph of text then showed it to me.

Hey Everybody!  I figured this was as good a time to tell you all my big secret.  It’s going to be lent and I’m giving up the charade.  You see I live a second life as Caitlyn Masked.  While I did come down to New Orleans to celebrate and enjoy Mardi Gras, I also came down to ‘come out’.  Frank, my lover, is showing me how wonderful it is to finally give in and just be myself.  I hope you all love and support me through this and will accept my new life.  Please, call me Caitlyn from here on out.  And when you see me, be sure to ask about my new sex life!  It’s embarrassing, and I’ll probably blush so bright, but after a bit of prompting, I love to talk about it.  Love, Cailyn.  XOXO.

After he was sure I read the post, he saved it as a draft, then put the phone down.  In a calm voice Frank explained what was going on.  He told me that he understood that I accepted Caitlyn as half of my life, but that I never wanted to let her live out in public.  He could see the frustration that gave me and knew that I’d eventually need an outlet.  And as a good friend, he’d be my outlet.  If I complied and accepted his help, he’d guide me through most of my fantasies over the next week and continue to post my ‘normal’ vacation for everybody else to see.  But if I was going to be stubborn and act like I didn’t want this, he’d be happy to publish that drafted post and let the world see Caitlyn on his terms instead of mine.  Further, he’d expect me to visit regularly… at least twice a year… so that Caitlyn could come out and play and live a full life.  In other words, all my future vacations would be spent as his forced femme girlfriend. 

Still standing there, I felt like I was going to faint.  The whole world was turning into variations of gray and black as Frank stood up, took off his pants and underwear, and sat back down.  Spreading his thighs he motioned me to kneel before him.  My phone was lying on the table next to him, and I imagine he was ready to show me his drafted post again.  But it wasn’t needed.  I’d written about this too many times to think I could find a way out now.  He had me.  I was his to do with as he pleased.  Maybe soon, I could convince him that this was cruel and that he should stop, but I couldn’t do that now and knew what I had to do. 

Taking my spot between his legs I kneeled down and felt his hairy thighs close in around me.  Wordlessly he lifted his cock up as he pulled the back of my head down.  As his long hot cock was fed into my mouth, Frank showed me the error of sharing too much again.  “You said that you never could deep throat that dildo… let’s go ahead and fix that tonight Caitlyn!”

source:  fuskator and way too many Google image searches!

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This has to be the most 'realistic' cap/obscura I've ever written.  Before I go too far down this story though, NO this did not actually happen to me.  I'm not currently down in New Orleans writing this while chained up in Frank's bedroom.  Although to be honest, I did consider writing this section like that.  But as I started, I realized I wanted to share the realism of this situation with you and not cloud it up with more of the 'story'. 

Okay, so if this didn't happen how exactly is this real?  Well it all started with me taking a trip down to New Orleans for Mardi Gras.  I took the 'City of New Orleans' train down.  This was actually my second recent trip to the big easy.  On the first trip I saw just how many people were openly out in drag and how many places seemed fully accepting of various states of gender play.  At one point I was in a bar that was just like any other bar anywhere else... except that there was a lady and a guy in drag sitting up at the bar, drinking, joking, laughing, and having a good time.  Except it wasn't a lady... it was a guy that was 90% of the way to passing completely.  And even though this wasn't specifically a gay bar or a trans bar or a drag bar, no one blinked an eye at these people being there.  

So on this trip, I knew I'd see things that reminded me of Caitlyn.  More so than on other trips.  I didn't think of Caitlyn too much while I was on my first trip, but maybe knowing what I'd see let my imagination wander more freely on this second trip.  Maybe it was just the fact that it was Mardi Gras and even further out in the open.  Regardless of the real cause, it seemed my subconscious mind wandered into Caitlyn's playland a LOT during this trip.  So instead of seeing things like the Prima Dona shop and just thinking 'neat!' my mind wandered and set up a story.  By the time I was on the long train ride back home, I had the basics of this story worked out.  I knew it would be about 'me' meeting someone down in NOLA and would involve Prima Dona, the Dungeon, those pink panties, sex toys, and someone taking over my facebook posting and making it look like I was having just any other normal trip while in fact they were feminizing me.  

So, on one hand this may not be a good Obsucra.  At least not one up to my recent standards as it hits notes that strike close to my heart.  That might make it seem a little 'off' to anybody else.  On the other hand, I think my emotional honesty in this might make it feel more 'real' than other fictions I write.  So... since I get to have all these delicious bits of story that strike a chord in me, I figured I should share them with you.  And yes, I know the irony of sharing too much about a story that involves 'me' sharing too much!

First is the masks.  New Orleans seems to LOVE their masks.  I've seen plenty of masks online and have even seen some people wear cheap ones to Halloween parties... but on both trips down to NOLA I walked into several shops that were dead serious about selling high end high quality masks.  And yes, I did find myself staring down at a lace masquerade style mask that just SCREAMED Caitlyn.  

The Panties.  If you've read all my posts here, you'll remember that years ago I stole a couple pair of panties from the store I worked at.  Hey, I was dirt poor at the time!  No excuse for stealing, but I couldn't imagine any scenario where I'd actually be able to purchase such frillery.  Anyway, even though I could have swiped some bikini bottoms or granny panties or simple silk ones, I instead opted to steal two lacy thongs.  One in black and one in bright bold pink.  I wore them for just long enough to get over the high of wearing something feminine under my regular 'boy clothes' and then eventually threw them away.  I wouldn't say I purged them, but I knew I wouldn't be wearing them any longer.  After that secret high wore off, they were just uncomfortable underwear.  But to this day, I can't see a lacy bright pink thong without getting a very special kind of aroused.  If anybody were ever to get me to consider dressing fully, they could get me in the mood by including such a pair.  

Prima Dona.  Yes, it's a real store in New Orleans French Quarter.  And while they don't really push for men to shop for women's things there, I did see several men looking through the dresses and even holding them up to check sizing.  Again, they're just so open and accepting down there.  I doubt that the sales staff would be quite as helpful as they were in this little story, but that's the thought that went through my head any time we passed this store.  

The Dungeon.  Again, it's a real club down on Bourbon Street.  After passing it a couple times I found out that it's a club that plays heavy metal music and doesn't seem to be any type of sex club.  BUT there are both seedy and high quality sex clubs down near there and I can easily imagine there being a B&D sex club openly setting up shop on Bourbon.  People wouldn't even pause if they saw leather clad masters and slaves walking down the street.  So each time I'd pass and see that sign hanging down I'd feel this jolt in my chest, imagining being dragged in there and finding sales staff willing to help enslave me to some master.  As for the toys, well there are places that openly sell toys and I had a similar ball gag in my hands, ready to buy it as a 'gag gift'.  At least that's what I told my buddy I was with.  I saw a hood that I used as inspiration for the story.  Sadly, I couldn't find an image similar to it, but the one I use gets the idea across close enough.  This hood had a built in blindfold that could be flipped up but naturally sat over the eyes and was specifically designed to deafen the wearer.  Oh, and it had a leather handle build into the back of it.  Not the top, but the back.  I couldn't help but imagine someone using that handle to angle the wearers head down in the perfect fellatio position to a sitting man.  Chills.  And the dildo?  Well, it wasn't too long that I wrote about that.  Yes, that's an image from Amazon of THE dildo I actually own.  Just seeing it on the screen gives me that same shocked feeling, knowing that my lips have indeed been around a toy that looks just like that.  

Speaking of Bourbon Street, it is just as busy as anybody has ever told you.  There are quite literally thousands of people just wandering up and down a roughly 5 block area, drunk, partying, and carrying on loudly.  There's pounding music coming from various establishments, places with walk up windows to buy beer and booze, trash everywhere, everybody has a drink in their hand, people handing out flyers and trying to talk you into their sex shows.  If I were in my 20s again, this would be a party dream.  As I'm NOT in my 20s and suffer from crowd induced panic attacks, it's a nightmare for me.  I seriously had a panic attack this past trip.  My heart was pounding, my chest hurt, I was finding it difficult to breathe, it felt like everything was pushing and squeezing against me and I had to run to get away from it.  It took me a couple hours to calm down.  So when I write about that fear in the story, it's real.  It did happen, and if I were experiencing that someone could easily guide me into any establishment if they simply said it was going to be better in there.  

The last addition is the drinks.  Yes, I wanted to try a Hurricane while I was down there.  Yes, I love Moscow Mules.  And yes, I absolutely adore Highland Park 15 year old scotch.  It's so damned tasty and has such a wonderful burn as it goes down.  

So... there's my sharing.  When I read through this story I get an honest to God tightness in my chest.  My breathing gets a little tighter and shallower.  It's not because I actually experienced it, but everything calls out to a 'fantasy' that's never been closer to a reality.