tagTranssexuals & CrossdressersLosing My Maleness To Become A Girl Ch. 04

Losing My Maleness To Become A Girl Ch. 04

byLyricala©

Lots of people have written to me since the first three chapters of my transformation story. And rather than write to each person individually I thought I should try to answer some of the questions asked in one go. So here you are.

Do I really feel like a woman?

The simple answer is yes. I have the body and shape of a woman. I stand naked in front of a mirror and see my long hair resting on my slender shoulders, fulsome breasts with nice brown aureoli, wide hips, a pussy and long smooth legs. So my natural appearance is of the female species. When I make love with Peter I feel like a woman. He penetrates me; he invades me; he dominates me; he controls me; his body is hard, strong and muscular; mine by comparison is softer, more limber and slender. I feel an urge to let him enter me, to let him fuck me, to release his seed into me. Often when we make love I find myself with my hands on his ass as he fucks me missionary. I find myself pushing him into me with as much force as I can, wanting him to enter my core, to let his spirit into me, to make me part of him. That urge, so powerful and natural in me is my feminine soul and that I can fulfil that meaningfully with a beautiful hung black man, having transformed for him, gives me happiness. Sometimes in the morning I look at myself in the mirror after a night with Peter. My hair looks dishevelled, my makeup is smudged, my pussy is slightly red and dripping with Peter's cum and I think I look a real mess. But as I shower and rejuvenate I think to myself that this is the lot of many women. We are there to be fucked and inseminated by men and if we lose our gloss in the process it's fine. It's not as if we don't get pleasure from it. And there's plenty we can do to keep ourselves looking good. Access to the female beauty industry is another perk!

How did your family react?

Not so good. My parents are no longer with us. But I have siblings. One of my brothers called me a monster, which upset me very much and I don't see him any more. When my sisters saw me after the op I could feel that they thought I was a stranger to them but now they are fine. One sister, a bit of a feminist, came to stay and saw how I fussed over Peter bringing him drinks and food when he asked. When he asked me for a Coke as we watched the football game, she was about to tell him to go get it himself but I stopped her. I said I was happy to do it for him: it made me feel useful for him. She relented but I could tell she thought I was too much under his thumb. One night Peter was fucking me very very hard and the bed was bashing against the wall. I screamed in ecstasy at one point. In the morning when I was making my sister coffee she told me she had heard us and she could tell I had a good sex life. We laughed and from that point we became more like sisters. We shop together and she helps me choose clothes. After the majority of my life as a man, ladies' clothing was a whole new world. And she introduced me to some good on-line stores that she used herself. We see each other at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Strangely, Peter's family have been more accommodating of me. Perhaps because they did not know me as a male, they treat me like a woman. Or maybe they are just respectful of Peter's choice in me. I have been to Nigeria for one of Peter's cousin's weddings where I was dressed in traditional womens' clothing - Ankara Cloth - colourful and vibrant. Many of the men ogled at me and smiled. Some tried to dance with me, Peter did not allow though. But I felt welcome and part of their gathering. The night of that wedding, Peter gently made love to me whispering in my ear that he was proud of me. We were under a fan with a mosquito net over the bed and as he fucked me I remember thinking how happy and complete he made. Although the love-making was gentle he was still deep inside me. And as he ejaculated hot African gism into my year old pussy, I remember thinking he is my family now, and I am with his people.

Does your pussy really feel like a vagina?

That's a hard question to answer because I never had one before. But Peter is happy with it. He always says how tight and hot it is. I think his constant fucking stops me needing to use the dilators. If he didn't fuck me so regularly perhaps I would need more dilatory assistance but for the time being there's no need and my dilators lie unused. In any event Peter's dick is larger in length and girth than the largest of the dilators so I feel I have gone beyond them. When he is inside me I can feel him. I can feel the heat and the hardness of his cock. I love it when he rubs the head of his penis at my opening. I love feeling the precum of his cock moistening my clitoris. I love the expansion of my vagina as he fills it with his manhood. I love the feeling of his skin against my inner canal. And I can actually feel his cum when he ejaculates. So yes it does feel real to me, and it feels real to Peter. I keep it douched, clean and perfumed and it is certainly a giver of pleasure to both me and Peter.

Peter seems very domineering. Does he ever hurt you?

He has slapped me once and I feel now that he was right to do so. Although violence is very rarely acceptable I understood afterwards why he had hit me. We had been at a Nigerian friend's house and one of Peter's friends had cracked a joke about white girls being sluts. One of the girls there (Nigerian) had agreed and looked at me, and I had looked embarrassed and asked Peter if we could go. He took me out of the room and slapped me. I was shocked and wondered what it was for. He told me that I should stand up for myself and respect myself and not let people like that get to me. And of course he was right, as always. So I went back in to that room and we stayed and I got over my embarrassment and the girl warmed to me and we had a good evening. Driving home, Peter told me not to let people hurt me, and to stand up for myself and he was sorry for the slap. Oddly though he was savage in bed that night, fucking me doggy with my head pushed down on the pillow and holding my hips tightly as he pummelled into me. Long deep and fast strokes in my ass and pussy. He would thrust forward burying his dick as he pulled my hips onto him, then hold it there letting me feel his dick right in my deepest core, then pull out briefly to thrust back in again.

"Feel this dick Chrissy"

he said and I felt he was teaching me a lesson - that the only person who could use me (in that complicated way that fucking is almost disrespectful/invasive of the fuckee) - was him. I loved it. I loved him. I wanted him to own me and the deep respect I felt for him made me love him more.

Personality Changes?

Definitely. The reader can tell I am completely submissive now. I basically do as I am told by Peter. He decides when I go out, who I see. He even tells me what to wear. I seem to have slipped into this role willingly and happily. But now if I am out shopping on my own I find I cannot make a decision without thinking:

"What would Peter do?"

Such that I am almost pathetic without him. If I am with him I am happy. If alone, indecisive and uncertain. This may be partly the hormones I still take which can give me emotional imbalances. But it's also the loss of my dick. It's funny that they say men's heads are in their dicks. Without my dick I lost some confidence, some assuredness that is only made whole when Peter was around. I find I think about him ALL the time. I am lost without him. So in summary, a loss of confidence and deference to Peter. I have also become more feminine in my behaviour and actions. This seems to have been an entirely natural development not as a result of artifice. Of course in the early days Peter was telling me to sit down on the loo, or sit with my legs crossed. But I found that the very clothes women wear commend themselves to a certain kind of gracefulness and graciousness and I became more feminine in my behaviour as a result.

Which locker room do you go to?

The ladies, of course! And I have never been asked or questioned at any stage. I am a completely passable woman.

Before when you had a dick, you must have enjoyed using it. Don't you miss it?

No not at all. In fact there was an unexpected but now seemingly quite natural development a year after the operation. Now that there was only one dick in our love-making, that dick assumed a greater importance. Of course, Peter was always the large dicked top but when I lost my dick I tended to find that I worshipped his all the more. I loved to give him blow jobs; I loved burying my nose in the creases of his testicles breathing in his scent as I licked his large hairy balls, working my way up and down his erect pleasure shaft as he held on to my hair with both hands. He would lie on his back as I kneeled between his legs licking and slurping on his beautiful 14 inch black veinous cock. It was almost as if by treating his dick worshipfully I hoped that he would not damage me too much with it. I remember once I was straddling Peter's cock cowboy style, riding him up and down, willing gravity to push him deep inside me. He had one finger in my ass, which he liked to lube up for later. I was kissing him full on, his long tongue invading my mouth, as we gently bit each others lips. And with his other hand he was teasing my tits. I could not have been in more intimate direct contact with him. All my holes were filled with him and the warmth of our bodies and the excitement of just being almost as one, were heavenly. I pondered for a moment whether I wanted my dick back, and I knew then that I didn't. The devotion and attention that I could give to Peter's was markedly better after the op, and the natural fitting together of a man (even a humongous one like Peter) and a woman seemed to me the most perfect union on earth. Peter's manliness also makes for me the act of love making one of devotion. I never tire of seeing him hold his dick at my vulva and slowly push himself home so that our pubes are touching. I never tire of his taste, his scent, his aggression in bed. For me it is now so natural to be fucked for hours and hours by him that I miss it if he stops after an hour.

Do you like wearing women's clothing?

I love it. The whole lot. Hot pants, sheer nylons, skintight denims, blouses, heels. In an earlier part of this journey I informed of the purchase by Peter of Victoria's Secret underwear. And he still does it. Sometimes, when he is horny, he will bring a VS bag home and tell me to go put it on. I will go shower, soften my skin and perfume myself and try on the new VS. I love having breasts now, as they fill out the cup of the bra. And having a pussy means I can pull the panties over my mound and they sit more naturally than when I was bedicked. Even as I put them on I feel a hardening in my clitoris as I know Peter love fucking me in VS. He has a pair of black PVC boots for me and he loves it when he fucks me missionary and the heels of my boots dig into his bare ass. Outside of the bedroom I am attractive in all sorts of clothes. If we are going to the mall, Peter will sometimes throw an item at me and tell me to wear it, saying I look good in it. I hold his arm as we walk around and I know he feels proud of me. I look good in jeans and a white shirt. I have just a few items of jewellery and I sometimes wear a necklace and ear-rings - but nothing too flash. I know as well that if Peter sees another guy eying me up he is pleased - I guess I am something of a trophy for him

Will you get married?

I have already changed my surname to Peter's. I would be happy to get married although we are OK as we are. I love smelling of Peter. There is something primevil in this I know - it's like a dog that fucks a bitch and she takes on his scent so that other dogs know not to touch her. But I can smell Peter on me all the time from his sweat and his cum. He is in me all the time. Often we will go for a walk after love-making and his sperm is still in my slowly pussy. Sometimes I will out a dilator in using it as a barrier, just to keep Peter's cum there. I swallow his cum daily and so it's like a constant taste in my mouth. So in that sense I am his and his alone. Marriage may be on the horizon but I am in no hurry in case it changes the dynamic between us. I am undoubtedly now his. Not many girls are lucky enough to receive 14 pleasurable inches of very hot hard black cock on a daily basis and I accept it's not for every girl. But by some divine intervention I have gone on this path and am deliriously happy and fulfilled. My position as Peter's woman is conditional of course. I must obey him. I must fuck when he wants to. I perform all the domestic duties of a wife - like cooking cleaning and laundry. But I understand my place and in return I am pleasured to immeasurable ecstasy for about four or five hours of each day.

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