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Life had a way of working out. When a person was supposed to be somewhere, fate moved put them in position. Mine was on my knees in front of a proper man. A real man. I’d learned the difference years earlier. When I failed to pleasure my girlfriend at nineteen years old.

I’d always been small down there. Barely an inch and a half when soft. Not even three inches when hard. I thought I’d gotten as hard as I ever had in my life when I made out with her, went down on her, felt her move and grind. She tasted like copper and allure.

And she held my head…cumming on my lips. Then, she asked me ‘fuck me’. I slipped up. She kissed me, tasting herself on my soaked lips and chin. Our tongues intwined. I pressed my cock against her folds. Gasped…pushed…pushed…

“What’re you doing?” She breathed.

“I’m…” I pulled back, then pushed again. “We’re making love.”

“What?” She reached between our legs. Touched me. “You’re not hard.”

“I am.” Her fingers touching it made it twitch.

“That…can’t be hard.” She teased me a little.

I came. All over her hand.

“Oh shit.” She smiled. “You WERE hard. Man…that was…quick.”

“Sorry…we can try again?”

“What’s the point?” She moved away from me. And that was the last time a woman and I were naked together.

It took me YEARS to understand what that meant, what the world was trying to tell me. That I wasn’t a typical man. Nor even a mediocre one. I’d failed as a man. I couldn’t take charge, couldn’t lead, couldn’t feel myself without wearing panties. What MAN does that?

These things tickled my brain for a long time before I discovered my submissive side. Or rather developed a name for it. And a place. Online, I could explore. I started dressing more. I shaved. Groomed. Turned myself less masculine. Emasculated as I could.

I sat to pee.

I crossed my legs when sitting.

I sat up straight, watching my posture.

I masturbated by rubbing with two fingers rather than gripping it.

And when I did cum, I spoke out loud, calling myself a sissy. “You’re not a man, you’re a sissy whore.” That statement did more to my mental state than anything else, particularly while I felt intense pleasure. And it worked so well, that I found myself enchanted, enthralled with the idea of serving a real man.

So I began to learn. What did I have to do? How did I need to behave? What would be expected of me? Some, I figured out. Others, I needed to experience. But when I met my Master online, I knew that I had a great deal of work to do to not only be worthy of him, but ti please him.

My introduction complete, I went to the car. It was a black sedan. The driver said nothing when I got in. But a note beside me gave me instructions. All my belongings were to be placed in a bag then handed to the person in front of me.

I complied.

The moment he took it, he handed it to someone outside. Then, we were off.

The tinted windows at night made it hard to know where we were going. I

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