I’ve got a secret…

I like humiliation. I like to take it and I like to dole it out. That’s not my secret. That’s something that I talk about openly, early on when I’m negotiating.

The secret is that while I’m sitting here at work right now I’m wearing a pair of silk panties in hot pink, trimmed with black lace. My cock hard at the thought of what’s under my usual work outfit.

The panties (and a few additional pairs) arrived in a package this morning at the office. And the second the package landed on my desk, I started planning for when I could slip away to the bathroom and climb into a pair.

What hot about this for me isn’t really the idea of cross dressing, or even forced feminization. I do like to wear a dress or skirt occasionally, but more as a kind of gender fuck than anything else. I like the contrast between my hairy beary self, and some sort of feminine piece of clothing. But as for going full on drag queen? Way too much work. I can’t get together the makeup, the wig, keeping things “nice”. Shaving gives me razor bumps, and so on. I’ve done full drag a couple of times and it was just nerve wracking.

The panties also don’t make me feel “less of a man”. I don’t associate women’s things with some sort of inferiority (although I do associate sitting down to pee with submissiveness. Hmmm). What they do do is give me a secret. A secret that I wouldn’t want others to find out about. And that’s where the humiliation comes in.

That sense of being vulnerable – that it could happen that everyone could find out some truth about me, that I could be exposed: that’s what lies at the hart of humiliation’s thrill. Humiliation scenes enact that fear of exposure: I’ll write “slut” on you so that everyone will know what a slut you really are.

The things we expose in humiliation play are rarely our deepest truths. Those inadequacies would be far too caustic for us to entrust to someone else. Instead we set up something else, some other secret to stand in their place. So when the dirty truth is revealed, when the worst that could happen happens, we can be bothsafe and in danger all at once.

Humiliation is liberating for me because I can be free to drop my usual garrulous chatty mask and fumble and blush. When we are made humble, brought low, we no longer have to live up to what we perceive to be everyone else’s ideas of us.

Once I got the panties on I of course had to tell The Princess. I sent her a text and immediately she told me she wanted to see. “Too bad your office has a glass door”. That’s my girl. I took the hint and slunk back to the bathroom to take a picture with my cell phone. “They look sexy!” is what she wrote back “You’re going to have to model all of them for me”

There’s something so retrograde about this scenario: the businessman in women’s frillies under his suit. I think that’s part of the appeal for me: it’s so cornball. Sometimes you’ve got to go with the classics.

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