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Thischarmingdoll
Pan Male, 23, Lilburn, Georgia 
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Thischarmingdoll
Submissive Princess with a Penis looking for Dominants. Dress me up like a doll and play with me pretty please. Interested in Chastity, Humiliation, and Feminization.
11/24/2017 8:21:47 PM: Every submissive/sissy/slave has a dream right? It's something that guides you as you journey through the torrid and sometimes frustrating world of kink. A north star of sorts. Here's mine. This may take a while to write down, so it'll be split into multiple parts. Here is part one. I'm cold and wet. I walk through the rain down the sidewalk, my entire corporeal form drenched. My soul too. I can't tell the difference between the tears and the rain at this point. Each drop is a new bruise that I feel on my body. Me and my sense of touch have a weird relationship. A car peels down the street and cakes on more sewage. Sure, why not. I look up into the sky and see no sign of the clouds parting or letting up. I give up and sit down. My body starts to feel the urge to convulse. I hold it back. I'm in public, I can't do that here. People walk past with their umbrellas and look past poor pathetic me. A regal black car floats down in front of me and stops. A woman with light gray hair and large sunglasses pokes her head out of the window of the back seat. She points at me with an oxblood nail. I look up. I'm desperate at this point. She wiggles the finger towards her. 'Come with me' it whispers. I look up at the clouds, realizing I don't have much of a choice. The women takes off her glasses, revealing deep green eyes, she wiggles her finger once more. Forcefully. I stand up and walk towards the car. She opens the door and gestures for me to enter. My drenched clothes, weep, squelch and seep onto the ebony leather seats of the regal town car. The warmth is what strikes me first. Not, a moist, sweltering heat, but something subtle and gentle. My body still hunches as I sit, unsure of how to process the drastic change in temperatures. I can't help but quiver. Dammit, I can't embarrass myself in front of her. I try to keep still as I sit in the leather: afraid of sitting back and spreading the mess. I look over at her, her perceptive eyes piercing through me. It's like they can see into my soul. In the ten seconds that I look over at her, I notice the following. She's older, but no more than 40, her skin is still pure and milky. Her hair is gray, but it's made the transition wonderfully. I wouldn't even call it gray. Silver, kept in a short bob. She wears a black fur coat, underneath a black dress with grey polka dots. Subtle, but stylish. I look down for a moment, and something catches my attention. Tights. I quiver more. They're thick, opaque and a lovely maroon that matches her oxblood nails. Her shoes are simple leather Chelsea boots, but like the rest of her clothing, it feels too carefully constructed for her aesthetic to seem plain. It's refined and sophisticated. Everything she wears was picked for a particular reason. I look at her face and can clearly see she's the kind of beautiful that doesn't age. The ten seconds pass and I return to looking at the floor. There's a partition in between the back and front seats. A capped driver sits at the wheel. I sit, still wet, still quivering, still trying to be still. I feel fur envelop me and I look over. She's taken off her coat and wrapped it around me. She takes her warm hands and rubs them across my shoulders and down my arm. Her touch has weight to it. It's not fleeting like it is with most folks. It's a touch that warms me. The pearl bracelet around her wrist jiggles as she works her way down my arm. 'What is your name?' She asks with intricate diction. Her voice is low and mature. 'Ian.' I answer, my tenor voice still quivering as I shiver. 'Sit back, sweetie. You're shivering.' Her hand finds its way to my shoulder, she pushes me back into the seat lightly. She keeps her hand there. I look down at her tighted legs. I can't help it. I try to avoid her gaze. Eye contact. 'Well, Ian. Where do you live? I'll take you home.' I take a moment, struggling to find the write phrasing. 'I, um, don't really have one.' 'You don't have one?' 'Well, not anymore.' I must sound like an idiot. I brace myself, expecting to be kicked out at the next intersection. 'Well I'm sorry to hear that. A sweet boy like yourself shouldn't be without a home.' I look up at her. People make eye contact when they say things like that right? Her green eyes gaze at me intimately. I didn't notice her lips before. Deep maroon, almost black. They speak. 'I'll take you back to my place then, we'll find a place for you to stay.' I nod, still cold, still shivering, still wet. 'Thank you. Thank you, Miss...' 'Yvonne. You can call me Miss Yvonne.' 'Thank you, Miss Yvonne.' 'Good boy. She puts her hand on my leg reassuringly. She holds it there heavily. It's like she can read my senses. I sigh. We keep driving for a few minutes, until the car turns towards a particularly distinctive house. Flanked by average 5 floor walk-ups on either side, a towering Gothic mansion stands, shaded by a looming tree. A reasonable person would think this to be out of place, but I couldn't imagine the block without it. The black town car pulls up the cobblestone driveway and pulls around behind the house into it's small garage. The drive gets out of the car and walks around to her door. He opens it and holds out his hand for her. She grabs it and exits. 'Thank you Boris. Take the night off, and be sure to rest up for the drive tomorrow.' 'Yes, Miss Yvonne' Boris takes an umbrella from the garage and walks out into the rain. She grips my hand and leads me out of the car. 'Come with me sweetie, let's get those clothes dry.' She leads me through the garage and into the house. ~MORE COMING SOON~ 'Feeling pain is the first step to truly feeling alive. Let me teach you how to be alive my little doll.'

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VitaPostMortem
 
 Age: 43
 02189, Massachusetts