Looking forward to dressing up in leather outfit tomorrow
Looking forward to dressing up in leather outfit tomorrow
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Black Leather Skirt, Boots & LeopardBlack Leather Skirt, Boots & Leopard0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 441 Ansichten
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In this year of Our Lord 1885, I, a gentleman of four-and-sixty summers and considerable corpulence, find myself irrevocably committed to the most elaborate and humiliating semblance of a widow in deepest mourning, nay, a sissy crossdresser, every contour of my person exaggerated into an absurd excess of feminine propriety at the unyielding command of Madame. My unwieldy frame is confined within a voluminous gown of black bombazine, its lustrous silk bodice drawn so severely that my affixed bosom rises and falls in mock matronly dignity. Upon my head sits an immense crape bonnet, enveloped in multitudinous folds of black crepe veiling that descend softly over my countenance and shoulders like the very pall of perpetual bereavement, its diaphanous gauze quivering with each breath and rendering me a figure of spectral, enforced delicacy.
Beneath this sombre raiment, a prodigious crinoline encircles my ample waist, distending the skirt to such extravagant breadth that every halting step discloses the lace-fringed hems of my cambric under-drawers and the delicately trimmed tops of my black lisle stockings, secured by embroidered satin garters. At times madame requires silk hose of the sheerest texture, yet the mortification endures undiminished. My feet, protesting and swollen, are imprisoned within patent leather ankle boots of four inches’ Louis heel, their pointed toes permitting a glimpse of my varnished nails in pitiable vulnerability. Should indolence be suspected, Madame fastens the straps with black satin ribbons, forestalling any attempt at relief. My hands, bearing permanent false nails of gleaming pearl, are gloved in lace mittens, adorned with rings upon every finger, while a jet choker of frilled design encircles my thick neck as a badge of submission. The whole attire is so profoundly girlish, so burdened with widow’s frippery, that it would provoke scandal even among the most devout matrons of Her Majesty’s court.
I descend from our Brougham in the crowded precincts of Covent Garden, With utmost caution I arrange my skirts, the heels resounding sharply upon the cobblestones, and proceed with mincing steps, hips swaying perforce beneath the crinoline’s dominion and the boots’ perilous elevation. Soft laughter ripples along the stallholders. Smiles of polite astonishment. Complimentary remarks follow. “La, madam, what a most becoming habit of mourning!” one declares. “The veil is exceedingly elegant, and those boots quite the mode!” They suppose it a seasonal fancy. I colour deeply beneath the crepe, threading my way through the ordeal with measured tread, aware that I shall return in seven days, and seven again thereafter, clad precisely thus, bereft of any festal pretext merely a creature wholly subject to his lady’s will.
I procure the articles enumerated upon Madame's list, tea of finest quality, spices, and provisions discharge the account, and retire with mincing gait to the carriage, crinoline whispering, veil fluttering like a mourner’s sigh. Madame directs that I convey her thither beforehand, yet she commands me first to enter and obtain her broadsheet and sweetmeats. As I totter across the thoroughfare, heels clacking, a lady seated in an adjacent Hansom calls out: “Those boots are positively ravishing, madam!” I turn, the veil shifting with ethereal grace, and reply in a low, submissive tone, “I am most obliged to you, Madame is pleased to attire me in this manner at all times.” She laughs with genuine delight. “Would that I might prevail upon my own husband to exhibit such commendable obedience!” Having restored Madame to her residence, I repair to the wine merchant’s. The moment I enter, eyes fix upon me chuckles, prolonged gazes. The proprietress cannot forbear a smile at my boots, her glance ascending to my carefully plucked brows, arched with precision. “Heavens preserve us,” she exclaims, “this is no mere passing fancy of costume. You have worn it for a considerable period, have you not?” I venture a faint, veiled smile. “Indeed, madam… it is the garb prescribed for me upon every occasion of shopping. I endeavour, by degrees, to grow reconciled to it.” A youthful clerk conveys the case of port to the carriage. He chuckles softly. “You bear it with uncommon grace, sir.” Madame assures me that habituation shall ensue. “In due course, the sense of mortification will diminish,” she declares with quiet conviction. “You will become thoroughly accustomed to your station as my devoted maidservant.” She contemplates the future with satisfaction: I, attending to the household in full uniform, discharging her every errand, awaiting her return in patient seclusion. Upon her entrance, I must execute a profound curtsey and relieve her of mantle and parasol. At every ingress or egress from a chamber curtsey. All domestic duties devolve upon me, performed amid the perpetual rustle of bombazine and crinoline.In this year of Our Lord 1885, I, a gentleman of four-and-sixty summers and considerable corpulence, find myself irrevocably committed to the most elaborate and humiliating semblance of a widow in deepest mourning, nay, a sissy crossdresser, every contour of my person exaggerated into an absurd excess of feminine propriety at the unyielding command of Madame. My unwieldy frame is confined within a voluminous gown of black bombazine, its lustrous silk bodice drawn so severely that my affixed bosom rises and falls in mock matronly dignity. Upon my head sits an immense crape bonnet, enveloped in multitudinous folds of black crepe veiling that descend softly over my countenance and shoulders like the very pall of perpetual bereavement, its diaphanous gauze quivering with each breath and rendering me a figure of spectral, enforced delicacy. Beneath this sombre raiment, a prodigious crinoline encircles my ample waist, distending the skirt to such extravagant breadth that every halting step discloses the lace-fringed hems of my cambric under-drawers and the delicately trimmed tops of my black lisle stockings, secured by embroidered satin garters. At times madame requires silk hose of the sheerest texture, yet the mortification endures undiminished. My feet, protesting and swollen, are imprisoned within patent leather ankle boots of four inches’ Louis heel, their pointed toes permitting a glimpse of my varnished nails in pitiable vulnerability. Should indolence be suspected, Madame fastens the straps with black satin ribbons, forestalling any attempt at relief. My hands, bearing permanent false nails of gleaming pearl, are gloved in lace mittens, adorned with rings upon every finger, while a jet choker of frilled design encircles my thick neck as a badge of submission. The whole attire is so profoundly girlish, so burdened with widow’s frippery, that it would provoke scandal even among the most devout matrons of Her Majesty’s court. I descend from our Brougham in the crowded precincts of Covent Garden, With utmost caution I arrange my skirts, the heels resounding sharply upon the cobblestones, and proceed with mincing steps, hips swaying perforce beneath the crinoline’s dominion and the boots’ perilous elevation. Soft laughter ripples along the stallholders. Smiles of polite astonishment. Complimentary remarks follow. “La, madam, what a most becoming habit of mourning!” one declares. “The veil is exceedingly elegant, and those boots quite the mode!” They suppose it a seasonal fancy. I colour deeply beneath the crepe, threading my way through the ordeal with measured tread, aware that I shall return in seven days, and seven again thereafter, clad precisely thus, bereft of any festal pretext merely a creature wholly subject to his lady’s will. I procure the articles enumerated upon Madame's list, tea of finest quality, spices, and provisions discharge the account, and retire with mincing gait to the carriage, crinoline whispering, veil fluttering like a mourner’s sigh. Madame directs that I convey her thither beforehand, yet she commands me first to enter and obtain her broadsheet and sweetmeats. As I totter across the thoroughfare, heels clacking, a lady seated in an adjacent Hansom calls out: “Those boots are positively ravishing, madam!” I turn, the veil shifting with ethereal grace, and reply in a low, submissive tone, “I am most obliged to you, Madame is pleased to attire me in this manner at all times.” She laughs with genuine delight. “Would that I might prevail upon my own husband to exhibit such commendable obedience!” Having restored Madame to her residence, I repair to the wine merchant’s. The moment I enter, eyes fix upon me chuckles, prolonged gazes. The proprietress cannot forbear a smile at my boots, her glance ascending to my carefully plucked brows, arched with precision. “Heavens preserve us,” she exclaims, “this is no mere passing fancy of costume. You have worn it for a considerable period, have you not?” I venture a faint, veiled smile. “Indeed, madam… it is the garb prescribed for me upon every occasion of shopping. I endeavour, by degrees, to grow reconciled to it.” A youthful clerk conveys the case of port to the carriage. He chuckles softly. “You bear it with uncommon grace, sir.” Madame assures me that habituation shall ensue. “In due course, the sense of mortification will diminish,” she declares with quiet conviction. “You will become thoroughly accustomed to your station as my devoted maidservant.” She contemplates the future with satisfaction: I, attending to the household in full uniform, discharging her every errand, awaiting her return in patient seclusion. Upon her entrance, I must execute a profound curtsey and relieve her of mantle and parasol. At every ingress or egress from a chamber curtsey. All domestic duties devolve upon me, performed amid the perpetual rustle of bombazine and crinoline.
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Had a great day, here’s my Sunday outfit. I wore a nice long leather trench coat over this outfit and of course some lovely silk underwear. Smoked a few cigarettes and yes Linda is a happy girl tonight. xxHad a great day, here’s my Sunday outfit. I wore a nice long leather trench coat over this outfit and of course some lovely silk underwear. Smoked a few cigarettes and yes Linda is a happy girl tonight. xx
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The Erebus Veil has always been more mausoleum than starship, but tonight she feels like a confessional. I press my forehead to the viewport again, the cold glass a thin barrier between me and the churning nebulae that swirl like spilled ink and blood. My breath fogs it in ragged bursts each one a small rebellion against the vacuum waiting outside. Sixty four years, I rasp to the empty deck, voice thick with the kind of ache that settles in bones and doesn't leave. Sixty four years of rewriting myself sentence by sentence, and the universe still hasn't bothered to notice. Or maybe it has. Maybe that's why it left me here to watch the stars burn without apology. My gloved fingers curl against the pane, kid leather creaking. The gown of satin so dark it drinks light, chiffon whispering like secrets I used to be afraid to keep shifts with the faint tremor of the hull. The high-waist satin panty girdle beneath bites just enough to ground me, to say: You are here. You chose this shape. You paid in blood and time and nights spent crying into star charts. I laugh once, sharp and wet. It echoes off the pitted bulkheads. You know what the cruelest part is? I ask the ship, or the nebulae, or the ghost of the girl I used to bury every morning. I finally like the sound of my name in my own mouth. Hanımefendi. It used to taste like ash. Now it tastes like victory and no one’s left to hear me say it. A distant fusion coil whines in sympathy, or maybe that's just my pulse in my ears. I dreamed of this, you know. Not the derelict part. The space part. Vast and indifferent and beautiful. I thought if I could just get out here away from gravity wells and small minded gravity bound people I’d finally breathe easy. Instead I learned the void doesn’t care who you are. It doesn’t applaud your courage. It just… waits. My reflection stares back: sharp jaw softened by decades of estrogen and stubborn hope, eyes lined in kohl that’s run from earlier tears, raven cameo pinned like a medal over my heart. The chiaroscuro light paints me half angel, half wraith crowned in bruise purple nebulae fire. I swallow hard. But I’m still here, I whisper, fierce enough that it hurts my throat. Still standing in this ridiculous, glorious dress I sewed myself on a ship that’s falling apart. Still breathing air you recycled for me when no one else would. Still choosing every damn day to be this trans, tired, terrified, and incandescently alive. The flare comes again brighter this time, gold and merciless. It floods the deck, turns every jet bead to molten starlight, every fold of chiffon into rippling shadow and flame. My silhouette burns against the glass like a brand. I don’t flinch. Look at me, I snarl at the cosmos, at the empty chairs where crew once sat, at the woman in the reflection who finally stopped flinching. Look at what survives when everything else leaves. A trans woman in a Gothic mourning gown, orbiting a nebula that doesn’t give a damn. And I’m not done yet. Tears cut fresh tracks through the kohl. I let them fall. I loved once, I confess, softer now, the words cracking open like overripe fruit. Her name was Mara. She called me ‘starlight’ when no one else dared call me anything at all. We used to stand right here, hands linked, watching these same nebulae. She said we’d outlive the stars. I believed her. My voice breaks completely. She’s gone. Everyone’s gone. But I’m still wearing the earrings she gave me the ones shaped like tiny crescent moons. I’m still carrying her in every stitch of this gown, every bead I sewed while crying over star maps. And if that’s all the legacy I get a solitary trans woman adrift in opera-scale darkness, dressed for the funeral of a life I refused to let kill me then let it be enough. I straighten. Shoulders back. Chin up. The girdle holds me like armor. So keep turning, you beautiful, heartless nebulae, I say, voice steady at last. Keep your silence. I’ve got enough words for both of us. I’ve got enough me for whatever comes next. The light fades. Shadow returns, satin soft. But this time, when I meet my own eyes in the glass, they’re blazing. No more apologies. No more smallness. Just Hanımefendi trans woman, space wanderer, survivor in satin and lace standing defiant against the dark opera of the stars. And for the first time in years, the silence doesn’t swallow me. It listens.The Erebus Veil has always been more mausoleum than starship, but tonight she feels like a confessional. I press my forehead to the viewport again, the cold glass a thin barrier between me and the churning nebulae that swirl like spilled ink and blood. My breath fogs it in ragged bursts each one a small rebellion against the vacuum waiting outside. Sixty four years, I rasp to the empty deck, voice thick with the kind of ache that settles in bones and doesn't leave. Sixty four years of rewriting myself sentence by sentence, and the universe still hasn't bothered to notice. Or maybe it has. Maybe that's why it left me here to watch the stars burn without apology. My gloved fingers curl against the pane, kid leather creaking. The gown of satin so dark it drinks light, chiffon whispering like secrets I used to be afraid to keep shifts with the faint tremor of the hull. The high-waist satin panty girdle beneath bites just enough to ground me, to say: You are here. You chose this shape. You paid in blood and time and nights spent crying into star charts. I laugh once, sharp and wet. It echoes off the pitted bulkheads. You know what the cruelest part is? I ask the ship, or the nebulae, or the ghost of the girl I used to bury every morning. I finally like the sound of my name in my own mouth. Hanımefendi. It used to taste like ash. Now it tastes like victory and no one’s left to hear me say it. A distant fusion coil whines in sympathy, or maybe that's just my pulse in my ears. I dreamed of this, you know. Not the derelict part. The space part. Vast and indifferent and beautiful. I thought if I could just get out here away from gravity wells and small minded gravity bound people I’d finally breathe easy. Instead I learned the void doesn’t care who you are. It doesn’t applaud your courage. It just… waits. My reflection stares back: sharp jaw softened by decades of estrogen and stubborn hope, eyes lined in kohl that’s run from earlier tears, raven cameo pinned like a medal over my heart. The chiaroscuro light paints me half angel, half wraith crowned in bruise purple nebulae fire. I swallow hard. But I’m still here, I whisper, fierce enough that it hurts my throat. Still standing in this ridiculous, glorious dress I sewed myself on a ship that’s falling apart. Still breathing air you recycled for me when no one else would. Still choosing every damn day to be this trans, tired, terrified, and incandescently alive. The flare comes again brighter this time, gold and merciless. It floods the deck, turns every jet bead to molten starlight, every fold of chiffon into rippling shadow and flame. My silhouette burns against the glass like a brand. I don’t flinch. Look at me, I snarl at the cosmos, at the empty chairs where crew once sat, at the woman in the reflection who finally stopped flinching. Look at what survives when everything else leaves. A trans woman in a Gothic mourning gown, orbiting a nebula that doesn’t give a damn. And I’m not done yet. Tears cut fresh tracks through the kohl. I let them fall. I loved once, I confess, softer now, the words cracking open like overripe fruit. Her name was Mara. She called me ‘starlight’ when no one else dared call me anything at all. We used to stand right here, hands linked, watching these same nebulae. She said we’d outlive the stars. I believed her. My voice breaks completely. She’s gone. Everyone’s gone. But I’m still wearing the earrings she gave me the ones shaped like tiny crescent moons. I’m still carrying her in every stitch of this gown, every bead I sewed while crying over star maps. And if that’s all the legacy I get a solitary trans woman adrift in opera-scale darkness, dressed for the funeral of a life I refused to let kill me then let it be enough. I straighten. Shoulders back. Chin up. The girdle holds me like armor. So keep turning, you beautiful, heartless nebulae, I say, voice steady at last. Keep your silence. I’ve got enough words for both of us. I’ve got enough me for whatever comes next. The light fades. Shadow returns, satin soft. But this time, when I meet my own eyes in the glass, they’re blazing. No more apologies. No more smallness. Just Hanımefendi trans woman, space wanderer, survivor in satin and lace standing defiant against the dark opera of the stars. And for the first time in years, the silence doesn’t swallow me. It listens.
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There's something about these leather pants that really intrigues me... that feeling of tightness against my legs is something wonderful.
I hope I'm not the only one who feels that. Let me know.There's something about these leather pants that really intrigues me... that feeling of tightness against my legs is something wonderful. I hope I'm not the only one who feels that. Let me know.4 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2KB Ansichten
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Just been told - before we go out tomorrow morning I`m going to get a hard spanking with a hard black leather Tawse and I have to wear some of my new clothes (Panties, Bra, cage and plug) under my "every day cloths".......xxxJust been told - before we go out tomorrow morning I`m going to get a hard spanking with a hard black leather Tawse and I have to wear some of my new clothes (Panties, Bra, cage and plug) under my "every day cloths".......xxx1 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2KB Ansichten
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Took my wife to Manchester airport overnight. Rain and fog was extreme to say the least around ladybower. All i could think about was doing something I've never done before on the way back . Got to near glossop, almost zero visibility so pulled over and got undressed. Just put these thermal tightson, these low heels that i love and my leather jacket. Got in the car and drove a few miles further and got the urge to pull over and walk for a few minutes. I felt liberated for the first time ever and wasn't cold at all?do thumbe up to these tights haha.Took my wife to Manchester airport overnight. Rain and fog was extreme to say the least around ladybower. All i could think about was doing something I've never done before on the way back 😊. Got to near glossop, almost zero visibility so pulled over and got undressed. Just put these thermal tightson, these low heels that i love and my leather jacket. Got in the car and drove a few miles further and got the urge to pull over and walk for a few minutes. I felt liberated for the first time ever and wasn't cold at all?do thumbe up to these tights haha.
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All Green today (almost) #outfitfortheday satin crossover blouse with faux leather skirt and suede bootsAll Green today (almost) #outfitfortheday satin crossover blouse with faux leather skirt and suede boots
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Outfit for the day is Faux Leather Midi Dress, Crimson stockings, Block suede Knee high boots with block heels, fur lined hooded cloak to keep the chill off the shoestring strapped shouldersOutfit for the day is Faux Leather Midi Dress, Crimson stockings, Block suede Knee high boots with block heels, fur lined hooded cloak to keep the chill off the shoestring strapped shoulders
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Good morning ladies, outfit for the day, a little leather and satin, but also trying these new fleece lined tights that everyone is raving about these days, and wow, just wow!Good morning ladies, outfit for the day, a little leather and satin, but also trying these new fleece lined tights that everyone is raving about these days, and wow, just wow!
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Hello, my sisters and admirers. My boots finally arrived, and I decided to try them with some leather shorts that I've been wearing for a while. I'll be pairing this look with other pieces again and again. The boots are great, I love them. They're the perfect choice for me, in terms of design, price, and size.Hello, my sisters and admirers. 💋💋💋My boots finally arrived, and I decided to try them with some leather shorts that I've been wearing for a while. 😜I'll be pairing this look with other pieces again and again. The boots are great, I love them.😊 They're the perfect choice for me, in terms of design, price, and size.8 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 4KB Ansichten
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#Fauxleather and a Tassled #Suede jacket for #Outfitoftheday
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Okay, went to change bedding, and realised, oh, not trtied that on yet, new #corset, so changed the outfit for the day with short #PVCskaterskirt and #fauxleather shirtOkay, went to change bedding, and realised, oh, not trtied that on yet, new #corset, so changed the outfit for the day with short #PVCskaterskirt and #fauxleather shirt
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Another past outfit of the day, Duede boots with tassle fringe, Burgundy faux leather skirt and red with black lace detail top with shoestring straps, the fut is from a faux fur waste coat too, needed this time oif year, especially in my areaAnother past outfit of the day, Duede boots with tassle fringe, Burgundy faux leather skirt and red with black lace detail top with shoestring straps, the fut is from a faux fur waste coat too, needed this time oif year, especially in my area
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Hey everyone. I had a fantasy-themed corset. A friend said it looked like leather armor. So I thought of putting together a matching outfit: a leather striped skirt, fur-trimmed boots, and leather bracers, also fur-trimmed. What do you think of this idea, which is still just in my head?
And the background is AI-generated, like a medieval tavern.Hey everyone. I had a fantasy-themed corset. A friend said it looked like leather armor. So I thought of putting together a matching outfit: a leather striped skirt, fur-trimmed boots, and leather bracers, also fur-trimmed. What do you think of this idea, which is still just in my head? And the background is AI-generated, like a medieval tavern.
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Good morning. The leather look came about spontaneously, at the request of some men who wanted to be dominated. They insisted on wearing this look, but when I put it together, they all vanished. Probably because I have virtually no experience with domination, and I don't particularly enjoy being in that role. But the look remains, and I'll expand on it over time. For now, I'm showing it off because I think it's my red dress, which I personally really like, but it's probably already become too familiar.Good morning. 💋The leather look came about spontaneously, at the request of some men who wanted to be dominated. They insisted on wearing this look, but when I put it together, they all vanished. 😅Probably because I have virtually no experience with domination, and I don't particularly enjoy being in that role. But the look remains, and I'll expand on it over time. For now, I'm showing it off because I think it's my red dress, which I personally really like, but it's probably already become too familiar.😅😊
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I present, androgynously, my materially comfortable and very elegantly draped Dewewan accordion pleated faux leather midi skirt. It is complemented by a polo/turtle neck pullover, a gold Lupai Wristwatch/Bracelet and Vancy open toe Kitten heeled ankle shoes:I present, androgynously, my materially comfortable and very elegantly draped Dewewan accordion pleated faux leather midi skirt. It is complemented by a polo/turtle neck pullover, a gold Lupai Wristwatch/Bracelet and Vancy open toe Kitten heeled ankle shoes:
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Pumpkin pie 'n' Black Leather
I've met a Prince
Prince by the Sea
Young
Moderate
With Sword
He wanted more
Than just eye shot
I did not say a word
He left
He understood my Yes
As No for a man...
I could not ever to confess
My path, my past, my stem...
I still remember pretty eyes
And honor with no words
I d love to cry
"You're now mine..."
But girls are often wrong...Pumpkin pie 'n' Black Leather I've met a Prince Prince by the Sea Young Moderate With Sword He wanted more Than just eye shot I did not say a word He left He understood my Yes As No for a man... I could not ever to confess My path, my past, my stem... I still remember pretty eyes And honor with no words I d love to cry "You're now mine..." But girls are often wrong...
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I find it interesting...
Some need therapy and dominative correction Some come to some of these stages naturaly because their hormons and eros were readily sleeping for that.... I do wonder how subtle combinations of female and male hormons dictate behaivioral patterns. What is submission for some is a pleasure for the other. What is tragic loving triangle for some becoming a happy stable union FMM or FMF or FF or MM for others... Thank you for making it clear what stages we might pass Except one thing is missing here If something opens true self , even so mosaic and strange in the dress, it is not necessarily might be felt as dominative correction or enforsment.
I think Misses of leather and whip might get more deeper if all that anturage is a form of Love ...Love of helping the other to find true herself...
This site unfortunately is not yhe place for that level. But thank you DisChasMommy for rising the issue here clearlyI find it interesting... Some need therapy and dominative correction Some come to some of these stages naturaly because their hormons and eros were readily sleeping for that.... I do wonder how subtle combinations of female and male hormons dictate behaivioral patterns. What is submission for some is a pleasure for the other. What is tragic loving triangle for some becoming a happy stable union FMM or FMF or FF or MM for others... Thank you for making it clear what stages we might pass Except one thing is missing here If something opens true self , even so mosaic and strange in the dress, it is not necessarily might be felt as dominative correction or enforsment. I think Misses of leather and whip might get more deeper if all that anturage is a form of Love ...Love of helping the other to find true herself... This site unfortunately is not yhe place for that level. But thank you DisChasMommy for rising the issue here clearlyHow Female Hormones Affect a Sissy’s Body and Mind
For many sissies, taking feminizing hormones (HRT – Hormone Replacement Therapy) is more than just a fetish—it’s a deliberate step toward physical and mental feminization. Estrogen and anti-androgens don’t just alter appearance; they reshape desires, sensations, and even self-perception.
1. Key Hormones and Their Effects
Estrogen (Estradiol)
The primary female hormone, responsible for:
Softer, smoother skin – reduces pores and oiliness.
Fat redistribution – to hips, butt, and breasts (creating a feminine silhouette).
Slows body/facial hair growth – makes body hair finer and sparser.
Reduces muscle mass – leads to a softer, more delicate physique.
Emotional changes – increases sensitivity and mood fluctuations.
Anti-Androgens (Spironolactone, Cyproterone Acetate, etc.)
Block testosterone, enhancing estrogen’s effects:
Suppresses erections – random arousal becomes rare.
Shrinks testicles – they gradually reduce in size.
Lowers libido – but may shift desires toward submission.
Progesterone (Optional)
May enhance breast growth and affect mood (some report feeling more "dreamy").
2. How Hormones Change a Sissy’s Life
Physical Changes
Breast development – small buds form within months, growing into soft breasts.
Curvier hips & butt – fat deposits reshape the body.
Softer facial features – jawline and skin texture become more feminine.
Thinner body hair – though existing hair won’t disappear without laser/electrolysis.
Psychological Changes
Heightened emotions – more prone to crying, tenderness, and mood swings.
Shift in sexuality – desire becomes more receptive, focused on touch and submission.
Increased submissiveness – some report stronger urges to please and obey.
Sexual Changes
Weaker erections – or none at all without stimulation.
"Full-body" orgasms – less localized, more wave-like (similar to female orgasms).
Reduced semen – may dry up completely over time.
3. Risks and Considerations
⚠ Hormones are not toys! Potential risks (without medical supervision):
Blood clots, liver issues, depression.
Possible infertility (sometimes permanent).
Irreversible changes (breast growth won’t reverse after stopping).
For mild feminization – some try phytoestrogens (soy, red clover), but effects are weak.//t.me/DisciplineMommy0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 7KB Ansichten1
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On my way to work just seen my breath so this is your winter warning ladies
Time to get yout Boots, long leather skirts and thick fishnets out
On my way to work just seen my breath so this is your winter warning ladies Time to get yout Boots, long leather skirts and thick fishnets out 🥶3 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 5KB Ansichten
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So I was looking at leather look mini skirts on Amazon and one of them I had actually ordered before in February 2024. When I ordered it then it was £19.99. Today it's over £50. Story of my life lolSo I was looking at leather look mini skirts on Amazon and one of them I had actually ordered before in February 2024. When I ordered it then it was £19.99. Today it's over £50. Story of my life lol1 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 4KB Ansichten
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Something a little different in my leathers!!Something a little different in my leathers!!1 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 5KB Ansichten
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YouTube Crossdressing Chick Veronica in leather and high heels https://youtube.com/shorts/4rsQZws8NZs?si=ngZQx13D7cwqc9D1 #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #crossdressers #mtfYouTube Crossdressing Chick Veronica in leather and high heels https://youtube.com/shorts/4rsQZws8NZs?si=ngZQx13D7cwqc9D1 #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #crossdressers #mtf
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 13KB Ansichten
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Catching rays of sunshine...
Feeling happy after a quick walk, last night with leatherette trousers, heels, wig, and false breasts, and today's walk to the shop, in my top, skort & wig (with cap) and Vans.
Dion getting more and more adventurous by the day.Catching rays of sunshine... Feeling happy after a quick walk, last night with leatherette trousers, heels, wig, and false breasts, and today's walk to the shop, in my top, skort & wig (with cap) and Vans. Dion getting more and more adventurous by the day.
1 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 7KB Ansichten
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Leggy crossdresser Veronica in leather and heels Watch video on Youtube! https://youtube.com/shorts/fqUbaMtOy_o?si=ggGLSjH18BXkMvCO #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #crossdressers #mtfLeggy crossdresser Veronica in leather and heels 🌈 Watch video on Youtube! https://youtube.com/shorts/fqUbaMtOy_o?si=ggGLSjH18BXkMvCO #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #crossdressers #mtf
1 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 7KB Ansichten18
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