Written by belinda_king

Fact
9 Nov 2014


Elegant Ladies

This story is the continuation of my slim blonde transvestite early years story. These stories also connect with my other Belinda King postings and are all true. There must be men who visit this site, who recall meeting me in certain places in the Milton Keynes/Bedfordshire area.

As my previous stories show, and I will go on to show more, I have been on the receiving end of humiliating, rough and degrading sexual behaviour for most of my adult life. Readers with the patience to wait, will hear more stories of men seriously using and abusing me in very aggressive and painful ways. They made me cum even though I did not want them too.

The fear of orgasming in front of brutal men, while stripped and being fucked by brutally ugly men, made and still does make me cum hard, while feeling utterly helpless. It is what they do after I have cum that is always the worst, because then my tiny sex is no longer proud and I just want to run and hide.

It is at that point that men really enjoy fucking me from behind, while they torture my tiny sex. Even erect, my penis is not much more than a button sitting above a ball sac that is no tiny it is hardly there. Men seem to love the fact that I am circumcised because it makes my sex even more vulnerable to pain. There is a picture on my swinging heaven site, stripped to black satin undies, stockings and suspenders, at a truck stop. It shows just how flat and girlie my bald pubic area is. By the way, if I am not telling the truth, I never would have stripped for those truckers in broad daylight. That is another story.

By the time I was 18, I was very proficient at cross dressing and prayed every night that I would wake up transformed into a girl. Growing up on a large country estate, pampered and spoiled, there were lots of women’s clothes and lingerie to wear, along with shoes, make up and jewellery. I also had perfect elegant female role models.

There are reasons for everything, but exactly why I wanted to dress for men so that I could be embarrassed, abused, physically, verbally and sexually, is hard to explain. As with most of us who dress, I think we start out doing it secretly, fearing but possibly excited by the embarrassing prospect of being discovered, laughed at and the inevitable humiliation.

Elegant ladies- part 2

What pushed me over the edge, into the danger and craving the sort of humiliation I received in that cinema, just before I went up to university, was the rough old man who worked on my parents estate.

I was 18 at the time and due to start student life at Cambridge, where my parents had bought me a flat. They knew I wanted as much privacy as possible. I needed to avoid sport and any prospect of being seen in communal showers because of my micro penis problem. Being circumcised for medical reasons, made my situation even more embarrassing.

But for some strange reason, being embarrassed about my sex made my little button penis go stiff and my little balls tingle. Lack of testosterone was good for my hair and skin, but I was lacking in male aggression and assertiveness and my voice was high pitched like a girls. I had little body hair, slight female breast development and overall was rather effeminate.

With fair complexion, big blue eyes and shoulder length blonde permed hair, I looked younger than I was, and still do. Though it embarrassed me, always being mistaken for a girl made me feel dizzy, helpless, vulnerable and excited between my legs.

My sex tingled when men looked me up and down and spoke to me as if I were a girl. I felt that they had power over me and wanted to use it. . Though mummy was petite, she wore foundation garments to make her look even more perfect.

The garment s were small and fitted me well, amplifying my girlie look. I had also taken two satin and lace full sips, by Janet Reiger. They were exquisite and I felt so warm and feminine when wearing them. Stockings, make up and high heels were also a must to help me escape into my version of womanhood. It was easy to hide stuff in our vast country home. It was Enid Blyton land. The attic was enormous and so was the cellar. I also had two rooms of my own.

Among items I had previously taken by me from my mother’s lingerie collection, that she’d thought she’d lost or one of the staff had taken, were two satin fronted pantie girdles, one black, one white and two open bottom girdles, one black and white. I had also takem a black and a white corsolet, each with sheer satin front panels and very expensive.

During leisure time, I always wore my jeans tight, balls pushed tight up in front of my bald pubic bone, penis taped flat between my skinny thighs, a borrowed black satin fronted pantie girdle, from my mother’s vast collection of coordinated undies, made me look utterly convincing between my skinny thighs.

With all of this in mind, I was rather nervous about going to university. Boarding school had been bad enough. Whenever I was anxious or under pressure, dressing in ladies clothes and lingerie always comforted me. So I dressed whenever I could. That summer my parents were travelling abroad and my older sisters were away pursuing careers and boyfriends.

So I had a lot of space to myself and full access to mummy’s vast wardrobe , hat and shoe collection and also to my sister’s stuff. With my parents being away, I also had access to mummy’s beautiful skirt suits, stockings, lingerie and sheer blouses which gave such a clear view of her pretty ,underwear, make up, shoes, perfume and jewelery. Luckily we were both size 8. The only things I had to buy were clip on ear rings, pretending to the shop assistant that they were presents for a girlfriend.

And so that summer, with the house to myself, with make up perfect, hair curls teased out and lacquered, I was in my parents bloudoir, wearing a very tight black satin fronted corsolet, matching suspender belt, silk seamed stockings and high heels and was about to step into and pull up a fitted black lace and satin full slip, prior to putting on a yellow skirt suit, when I heard the click of a camera.

I had been so engrossed in being Belinda King, - my the second name taken from someone played by a role model, Tara King in The Avengers TV series-that I had not noticed my parents bedroom door being pushed open. I looked up and like a startled female deer and was blinded by a series of flashes as the old man with the camera made full use of his motor drive to capture and take away all of my female innocence. His film would soon make its way to a friend who had a market for that sort of stuff if I did not do as this disgruntled family retainer commanded. It may not sound true, but it is true. I am writing this because I am trying to understand myself. I know nothing will stop me wanting to offer myself to horrible men, an d he was the start of it. If readers want more, then I will write. To all of those wanting to meet me, please be patient. I am seeing a lot of men at the moment, but don’t want to disappoint anyone.

Anyway, I was about to be on the receiving end of serious and aggressive sexual humiliation and to learn also about how certain men felt about upper class females like myself and my mother. According to the old man, we were all spoiled cock teasing bitches and sluts.


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