I need to get forcemasced by a woman so bad. To someone who actually enjoys it, it'd be so easy to spot me masquerading as it out of necessity, awkward and unstable like a baby deer trying to stand — It's pitiful to see, really. Everyone averts their eyes from who I really am, but not her. She knows how eager I must be after avoiding talking about it for so long. She starts small, mentioning how muscular I am, joking that I'm basically her boyfriend, and when she sees my eyes light up each time, she knows she's got me. By that time I'm addicted to masculinity, constantly looking for a new way to feel that high again. Luckily, she's there to guide me, she helps me pick out my name and is there for me when it feels too scary to accept. Soon enough, she has a say in everything I do — I only wear clothes picked up by her for her little Ken doll and encourages me to go to the gym so I can look pretty for her. She shapes my personality, trains me into the man of her dreams, teaching me all the unspoken rules of being a man, like listening and obeying women without question and letting my head cloud with confusion and allowing myself to be her dumb happy boy. She can transform me into whoever she wants, take me from the self hating "girl" into her beautiful husband that she shows off like a prized accessory.
kaledo-art
andulkaphoto
snowghoul
romaincrisis
