En vacance

Ahhhhhhh...

I can feel the relaxation already. I'm stretching my limbs up towards the cloudless, crystal blue sky. I'm carefully cleaning the gunk from my sunglasses. I'm rummaging through my untouched stack of literature, looking for the one or two reads whose leaves will be easy to thumb through as my attention gets drawn out to the rolling surf bubbling up over my sandaled toes.

I'm leaving for the next two and a half weeks, and won't have any access to these pages until i return. But don't worry, my dignified readers.

Stormy, my beautiful and eloquent amie de coeur, has gallantly offered her gracious tutelage over this site in my absence. I look forward to the path Her Erotic Demise will take under her steady and (often) playful guidance.

So, without much regret, i depart. Enjoy the broadcast of TransformHer under different management. I know i will.

Get right back on the horse

Unplugged. Disconnected. Distanced.

It was a week where many horrible and taxing events took place, and at the end of it, i not only felt myself worn down, but completely detached. From everyone - including my girl.

I experience these moments, when my body has sustained several blows, and my psyche takes even more. Fatigued from the struggle, i sometimes pull very deep inside myself. To the outside observer, i look like a shell, a mindless facsimile of my normal engaging personality. To her, it's even worse. She feeds off my energy, off our discourse and dance, off my direction. When i get like this, any attempts at re-establishing the connection feels dull, clumsy - even foreign.

But i could tell it was affecting her. More presciently, i needed her closeness and warmth. These moments serve up a very difficult predicament. I'm in dire need of repair. She instinctively intuits this and draws near to me, but because i'm three layers deep inside of myself i won't notice or respond in-kind. Drastic measures are required to pull me out.

I was fixing dinner for us, when she came into the kitchen and asked if there was anything she could do. Here, she was not asking if she could help set the table. She was asking for something much more base. Her tone, gravelly, a bit vulnerable, sent the perfect note that reached me through the walls of my inner sanctum. I looked up from my just simmering pan of onions and spices, and calmly spoke:

"Go stand at the end of the bed, and wait until i come in there."

As she retreated to the bedroom, i returned to my cooking, making the final touches before i could let it simmer for 20 minutes, unattended.

I took a long time walking our hallway that led to our pitch black bedroom. Each step, i spoke to myself, pushing me, prodding, trying to shake the heavy veil that had settled on my mind. I stood at the precipice of the bedroom, and examined the back of her body - stolid and stoic, in anticipation of my arrival.

I stepped quickly behind her and ripped off her clothes, tossing her dignified wardrobe to the floor without any concern for their well-being. I grabbed her throat from behind, and pulled my mouth to her ear.

"Don't move," i whispered.

I jumped to the side of the bed, digging in the nylon sack that lay there, finally producing the weighty bit-gag harness. I held it in front of her face where, without any urging, she parted her crimson-painted lips, opening wide her mouth. I made quick work of the half-dozen straps and buckles, tightening each with a growing awareness and warmth in my hands and fingers. I looked at her face, and already a small trail of drool had developed at the left corner of her taxed orifice.

I stood behind her, and gazed at a sight i'd seen many times before. This gorgeous, quivering ass, which was eloquently framed by the long, outstretched arms of her garters as they anchored to her thigh-high stockings, greeted me with a familiar rush of blood to my extremities. I took my hand and slapped it, like a match head, across the flint of her velvety peach flesh. A spark ignited, lighting a flame inside of me.

I slapped her ass. I swatted it. I smacked it with the full meat of my palm. My rigid hand slammed into it repeatedly, over and over, firing multiple shots against her rotund rump in all different directions. I didn't stop, not even for a chance for me to catch my breath. I just continued to lay into her backside. Finally, she reached a boiling point, spilling over with the absorbed energy displaced into her flesh. She stomped and kicked militantly into the wooden floor, spitting and loudly grunting through the gag vicing her mouth open. I stood back and watched this creature expel a week's worth of disgruntlement and pain.

I became suddenly apparent of the stiff erection stretching out my suit pants. I quickly stripped to the nude. Wrapping my hands on each side of her hips, i held them completely still, positioning her. Then, without any thought or question, i entered her from behind. My free right hand reached forward, grabbing a hold of her ebony mane, pulling her head back towards me.

Then, silently and thoroughly, i fucked her.

Find the clouds

I breathe.

In great glorious lungfuls, i drink in the air as if it were water, and i had a thirst deep in my chest.

Each breath draws from me a peaceful sigh, a connection to the portion of my mind too often misplaced throughout the regular activity of a day. One breath brings me back there. Another one, and i am centered. Once i am calm, it seems i cannot inhale enough, i am feeding oxygen to muscles and cells that are neglected by my regimental respiration. These parts of me come alive, they ask for more, they make the colors around me stand out, more brilliant. They imbibe the sounds that circle me with a three-part harmony. They lift the corners of my mouth ever so slightly into a smile. They make the blue in my eyes sparkle.

Just by breathing. This air i engulf helps me find my oneness with everything around me. It removes any notion of individuality that i may have allowed myself to falsely accept. It reminds me that i am not just breathing air. I am also breathing the sunshine that creates differing pressures that move the air. I am breathing the clouds that float on the air, and carry moisture from one land to the next.

When i breathe, i remind myself i must find the clouds. When i do, i feel calmness.

Every time she is bent over, naked, grasping the edge of the bed as told, i must remind her to breathe. I am breathing for her. I am breathing with her.

May i damage you?

May i take your perfect visage and slam against it, forcefully?

May i hold the alabaster of your soft cheek, only long enough to shatter it?

May i address you in curt ways, that humiliate you, reduce you to an insult?

May i seek pandemonium in your crevices, stabbing them thoughtlessly with my member?

May i cause you to shriek in fear, to mimic the pain i feel on a daily basis?

Will you do that for me? Will you suffer, truly suffer, not cosmetically suffer, but endure so much that it leaves a scar, a permanent welt that i can return to, when i need the solace that tells me i'm not alone with this torment?

May i look you straight in the eyes, and without remorse, collapse my entire spirit upon you, spilling my bloody insides all over your beautiful, untouched canvass?

May i maim you? Transform you? Turn you into something else that you do not recognize?

May i rob you of your persona, re-route your natural instincts and feed you my disease, my slanted way of life?

May i drag you along the rough, cragged surface of my abilities, my clumsiness and ignorance scraping across your flesh?

May i pounce on you, without any warning? May i shove my hunger onto you, taking what i need to feed, leaving you with just scraps?

May i reconstruct you? May i tear you apart and put you back as i prefer?

May i damage you? May i damage you? May i inflict?

Ask yourself if you trust me. Ask yourself if you can survive this.

still more Demands

Good morning, darling.

I leave this note for you with the understanding that you have a long day of meeting after meeting ahead of you. When i came to kiss you goodbye before i left for work, you looked so peaceful and innocent that i didn't want to disturb you.

That being said, there are some things that need immediate attention. During the last several anal inspections, evidence of negligence in your cleaning have been found. That leaves me to only assume that you've allowed yourself to become lazy and less introspective about this very important part of your body. As i've said many times, your ass is to be clean and presentable at all times.

The lapses force me to take drastic corrective steps.

You will find on the bathroom sink your longterm buttplug, and a bottle of mild baby shampoo. I'd like you to go about your regular regiment of getting ready, and then, right before you leave, go to the freezer. Take a tray of ice cubes with you into the bathroom.

Once there, i want you to forgoe the usual water-based lube you apply to your plug, and instead liberally coat the implement with the shampoo. I then want you to take an ice cube in your hand, letting the heat from your palm create a nice liquidy layer. Slip this ice cube up inside of your ass. Repeat this with three more ice cubes. Quickly follow this with the plug, pushing the wide bulge past your anal rings, making sure it sits in your rectum nice and tight.

You are not to remove the plug until you come home later tonight, no matter how uncomfortable the shampoo reacting with your insides get.

My hope is that you learn to take better care of the areas i have tasked you with grooming.

*this continues on here

Train wreck

The definition of an obsession is one of cruel consequences for the individual who suffers under its jurisdiction. Should you come across any example of the object of your obsession, your mind becomes hostage to the stimulus, and your body is left dangling in the wind, to act without the calm and cool collectiveness of rational thought. This is how it has been for me lately with regards to induced lactation, and more centrally, the female mammaries, as apparent by the above illustration.

I have collected over the years many examples of tit transformation. Either from the monstrous enlargement as represented dangling above or from the metamorphosis a girl experiences when put through a session of self-guided tit torture. I've never really stopped to examine why i spent so much energy gathering this material. The obvious and immediate answer would be that i can't get enough tit. Every girl i've ever dated, been intimate with, played with or dominated had a decent endowment. Discount those jagged romps of my prepubescent years, and i can go on record that all of my female counterparts were at least a C cup. Now was this purposeful? No, not really, i didn't size a girl up by the proportion of her attic to her cellar. But clearly, tits have played an important role in my sexuality.

Perhaps too important a role. After all, their mutation has played a central role in my fantasies. But were you to stumble onto this site for the first time and see the aloft jpeg, you might be quite perplexed as to where i derive the enticement. The poor swollen boobed girl above offers no further information about her submissive predicament other than the fact that she has been (or let her self be) subjected to some twisted scientist's modification. But it's the extreme proportion of this singular alteration that grabs a hold of me. Who would want such a thing? What purpose would a girl with such gigantic tits serve? Who could even do such a thing?

This site's url, TransformHer, pretty much declares the focus of my exposition. Thus, a preoccupation with the conversion of a female's breasts from biological purposeful instruments into sexually freakish objects should come as no surprise to those who visit. We love to objectify here at the Chapel of Deity. And we also love to raise the ante.

Enter the fetish artist, Simon Benson. His drawings remain some of the more extreme representations of female objectification i've ever encountered. Even i have some reticence with regards to some of his more lurid fantastic illustrations, but there is one sector that he excels at that i cannot - with much effort, i do try - to turn away from: tit transfiguration.























There is not much difference between the first image i presented and these two Benson offerings, except that the two girls immediately above have been stripped ever further of their humanity, which, of course, i find even more erotic. They are fixtures, appliances, mechanisms.

A man who lets such things overcome him to the point of obsession eventually, over time, seeks more and more accelerated stimulation. Staring at these pictures over and over, attempting to feed this insatiable beast inside could only last for so long. Soon the creature within will want something new, a different kind of prey. This leads someone with my affliction to search and scavenge for ever greater examples of objectification accomplished, of course, through even more extreme mammary alteration.

What i recently found, i'm still not sure what to make of. The video that concludes this entry represents the strongest example of female servitude to the patriarchal hegemony i've yet witnessed. Despite that, i couldn't help but watch the entire video, and worse, i couldn't help but be entirely aroused. What turned me on was the idea that someone would offer their body - specifically this one part - to another human being as their treasure, their domain to master.

I don't even know if the magnitude of the girls' tits in this video are real or possible. I don't know if, actually (and perhaps, thankfully) these are fake prosthetics strapped to these females' backs. And as i came down from the erotic rush that such massive transformation injected into me, i began to feel some remorse and hope that they were indeed fake. I couldn't imagine a world where girls had to manage with tits this large. What has happened to these young ladies borders on deformation, and i struggle with the idea that any of it aroused me (several times).

I'm quite secure about how my mind reacts to the world and constructs my desires, but i also recognize, as a result of my real life power exchange with my girl, that there has to be a natural ultimate to fantasy. This video exhibits the possible overstep of that limit as a rational and acceptable boundary.

Discuss...

Cut to the chaste

- You place the sealed envelope on the open lid of the blue postal box. You give it one last look, sigh, then let it slide into the belly of the container, certain it will take at least 3 days before i receive the keys in my mail.

- You pull the belt up your legs, situating it at your hips. The coldness of the steel pussy plate and chain that runs along the crevice of your ass causes you to suck in your breath. You adjust the latch in front, making sure the waistband is pulled snug, but not too tight for longterm wear. From the box, you pick up the 2" brass padlocks, sliding one in the latch on the front, and one in the rear. Clasping onto each lock with your hands, you click them closed. You go back to your bed, take out the manila envelope i provided and write my address on the front. You gather the keys, and drop them in, sealing it closed with clear packing tape.

- You carefully, meticulously lubricate your front passage. Sliding several lube-covered fingers in your radiating cunt, you ensure that this canal is adequately prepared. Checking one last time, you examine the small metallic dildo found, carefully wrapped, in the bottom of the package, ensuring the extended-release batteries are situated correctly. You turn the device on, feeling it buzz with animation in your hands. It goes silent, which for a moment causes you to panic, but then you remember its programmed sequence. It won't awake again for another 15 minutes, turning on for 3 minutes, and then hibernating, repeating this cycle until the power in the batteries expires. You slowly, deliberately slowly, slide it past your slick cunt lips, pushing it entirely inside your wet gash. You next grab the leather and metal chastity belt, admiring the weight of the device, anticipating the heavy presence it will render upon your body.

- You walk into the vestibule of your apartment, spying the medium-sized box placed at the foot of your door. You lean down to view the sender's information and immediately gasp when you recognize who it is from. Picking up the box produces a clattering of metal from inside. You fiddle with your keys, opening your door, and immediately walk to your bedroom, leaving the unopened box on your bed. You go to your nightstand and pull out a tube of lubricant and lay it next to the parcel. You try to fill the time that you can feel is rapidly shrinking between now and when you open the package. You take off your heels, remove your skirt, slide off your stockings. You thumb through the stack of regular mail. Bills. Bills. Solicitations. Bills. Distractions. Your mind does not think of these daily interruptions. Rather, it hones in on the ever growing in-your-mind collection of shipped materials waiting for you in your boudoir. Resigned, you take the letter opener from the drawer and take what seems to be a longer than usual walk to the back of your apartment. You quickly dismantle the taped seams, and carefully open the cardboard contraption. My handwritten letter greets your eyes:

"My dear,
We both knew this day would come. You'd expressed a desire for more. More control, more domination. Yet, you exhibited very little ability to accept what amount i could provide due to our distance. Despite the lack of commitment needed to maintain a healthy, strong and meaningful power exchange, i believe the items in this box will act as a catalyst to a much greater fellowship.

You have many choices. You have exhibited a willingness to keep that quantity as large as possible. I've reduced it down to two. Either, submit or not.

The material found within will facilitate your passage into the liberating servitude you've soberly spoken to me about. Choose quickly and resolutely.

I'll await the envelope with the keys inside, signaling your selection."

Framed

We've all heard "The Devil made me do it." So often, a discussion of the muse guiding the artist to their masterpiece serves as part of art history lore. I know i've wanted to use the Dark Lord as a scapegoat many a time, and i've certainly pined for the imposition of some angel as a catalyst to create.

The idea of compulsion, an automatic response from us that cannot be controlled is a very liberating notion. Accountability needn't fall upon us for we acted by someone else's prodding. Lately, i gave this some thought as i pondered my uncontrollable response to every female who unknowingly wandered underneath my gaze.

In the past, I've spoken in much flourishing detail here, here as well as here about my magnificent infatuation with the feminine creature. It comes as no surprise to me (and perhaps you, the reader) that i'm a gigantic fan. Further, i recognize i'm quite taken and affected by the characteristics and qualities that effluviates from the softer gender, and that my body has innate reactions to their perfumes, their voices, their silky skin, their curves. To be put bluntly, i become a hound. Removed are the gentlemanly mores of society i consistently uphold, they are replaced, almost transplanted, by a feral beast who lives by the guidance of his senses.

When it comes to my applications of sadistic potency, i do not see an immediate demilitarized zone between them and the effect a beautiful girl has on me. In fact, i wonder if part of my punitive focus on females stems from a desire to make the damn, incredibly gorgeous nymph pay for her dominance over me.

I couldn't help it. She made me do it. It was out of my hands.

Luckily, i've found a few willing martyrs to soothe these demons.

Sugasm #126

Sugasm #126

from Sugasm by Vixen

Vanessa courtesy of Badgirl’s Hotbox.

The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #127? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set.

This Week’s Picks
Up Your Bum
“Now, every mainstream porn film seems to include anal sex as part of the sequence”

A Moment Captured
“Right now I am looking out down at the street from my window and my fingers have found their way to my soft wet labia.”

Things Every Man Should Own/Know/Hear
“You can also give the controller to her, or use it yourself, and play with the power of the vibrations.”

Mr. Sugasm Himself (one from the vaults)
The New York Times’ Best Porn Articles

Editor’s Choice
Feminist Carnival of Sexual Freedom and Autonomy #1

More Sugasm
Join the Sugasm

See also: Fleshbot’s Sex Blog Roundup each Tuesday and Friday.

BDSM & Fetish
Piss off

Wrapped up in herself

She'd had a particularly horrendous week. Her job had become a rather stressful environment as the rumor of multiple layoffs built steam - a job, it should be noted that she only works to pay the bills while she spends her free time pursuing multiple projects that fulfill her advanced degree and training. She'd also just endured this, not to mention that we had an upcoming visit to the corsetier, which is never a completely enjoyable event for her.

All of this fell upon us as we were walking back home from an engagement. It heralded in a much needed weekend, which led us to discuss what we might do with our "ample" leisure time. We individually keep our own calendars, taking great care in synchronizing them as our lives are robustly spent in multiple theaters, and both of us had set aside time for yet another quartet with my friend K and his girl. I hadn't heard from K all week, which led me to believe that our night of sundry behavior was not to occur. Taking this into account, i measured my own mental faculties and recognized i needed a replacement, some form of play that would satisfy my appetites. I weighed this against the kind of week my girl had tolerated, and then created a program in my head that addressed both our needs.

Realizing we had no obligations or appointments, she asked what i wanted to do with our now open and free evening. I told her i had a plan. In her agitated and overrun state of mind, this chafed her, which i could detect as well as anticipate.

"I have a vision for what i'd like to do."

She breathed a heavy sigh,"Baby, i don't think i can do anything too strenuous. Not with the week i've had. I don't think i could handle any serious spanking or flogging."

"I know. If you can believe it, i'd actually assumed you'd be stressed. But, you needn't worry. What i have in mind will be very calming. Trust me."

Those two words - 'trust' and ' me' - signaled to her my overall reflection on her emotional state. All negotiations ceased, she could tell i had the situation well in hand. Once we returned home, she slipped into the resigned state of a vessel that would allow my empathetic guidance to overcome her.

A while back, i had ordered a large amount of items that would permit a serious session of mummification. I know how my girl reacts to this method of entombment, and felt it a perfect fit for her current state of chaos and flagrant uncertainty. Upon entrance into our home, i told her to find a comfortable seat as i readied the implements of her next status. I laid out a dozen roles of 3M athletic wrap, a pair of surgical safety scissors, and her Hitachi wand. I then summoned her to the bedroom.

I asked her to remove her robing, positioning her at the foot of the cast-iron bedframe. I took a roll of the colorful permeable wrap, and wound it around her upper torso, followed by her neck, then fully encased her entire head. I then turned to a different color of the flexible dressing, and bound her arms to her mid-section, encasing the rest of her body in tight constriction. I then grabbed the Hitachi, positioned it with the business end right at her sensitive floral parts, and secured this with more 3M tape.

I then stationed her in the bed for her long-term internment. I grabbed the camera and started taking pictures.





































































Admittedly, i had a specific color scheme in mind (some of you may try to guess what that "inspiration" was). I examined her to make sure all of her vital functions could continue and then left her resting there in her tight fortressed cocoon. Checking on her periodically where i would fiddle with her exposed tits - tugging on her nipple rings and rubbing the soft skin of her bosom - and flick on the slumbering vibrator strapped to her cunt, i returned to release her after almost an hour of encasing. After this amount of time, she receded in my mind into an absolute object, one in which i unabashedly play with to satisfy my urges of manipulation and control. She was no longer the girl i converse with about our daily meanderings, but instead, she assumed the form of my full throttle sadistic design.

Once she emerged from these layers, she faced the world as one who had found a comforting center. Here, she was allowed to occupy a persona that sloughs off the hardships of her everyday life. No matter how many times i repeat this ritual, i welcome this rebirth. I thrill at the evidence of this renaissance, knowing that we will continue on to face whatever mediocrity all of us must encounter in this austere hardship we call life.

more Demands

It is very evident that you require a strict, regimented structure to keep you organized, otherwise you have a tendency to forget important tasks, let requests slip, or do things incorrectly.

I want you to begin keeping lists. I want you to keep track of objects i say you need to have on hand that are easily obtainable at your grocer, hardware store or art supplies dealer. You will put this on a 3'x5', unlined notecard. You are to make the list as neat as possible, using your best penmanship, each letter finely crafted, each line perfectly straight and evened out. You are not to make any spelling errors or miscues - even a single errant pen mark or drop of ink will require you to start all over from scratch.

When this list reaches 25 items, i want you to set aside a day where you will go and fetch every single one of them.

When that day arrives, before you dress, i want you to place the following items on your bed:

- one pair of foam ear plugs
- large black butt plug
- ankle cuffs, with 1' chain
- full length, black leather, over-the-mouth neck corset
- locking steel elbow cuffs, with 1' chain
- two miniature brass bells with clasp

You are to wear (and only) the following:


- thigh-high, back-seamed stockings
- white 12-suspender lace garter belt
- 4" black leather oxford heels
- floor-length blue worsted wool skirt
- powder blue turtle neck sweater
- elbow-length black cotton gloves
- long forest-green knitted poncho
- long creme-colored scarf
- tan wool beret

Before a stitch of clothing touches your skin, i want you to place the earplugs into each ear. I want you to notice the silence you are entering. It will not cut off all sounds, but you will be removed from normal interactions. Then liberally lube your asshole, the butt plug, and slide it inside. You should apply enough lube to ensure that, while snug, the plug can squeeze out of your anal passage. This will force you to clench your cheeks the entirety of your task. Pull the stockings on, one foot at a time, making sure that the seam is straight and orderly on the back of each leg. Next, lace up your heels, tightening the laces more than you usually would.

I want you to lock the ankle cuffs on, securing the 1' chain between them. Pull on your skirt, and then your turtleneck sweater. Slide your hands inside the elbow-length gloves. Position the neck corset so that it sits just beneath your nose, covering your mouth completely, then lace it shut. Pull the neck of the sweater as high as you can.

At this point, you are to lock the elbow cuffs on, again making sure to secure their 1' chain. Over your head, pull on your poncho. I want you to then attach a bell in the midpoint of each chain. Wrap your scarf around your neck, fully concealing the neck corset. Place the beret on your head, making sure it covers your ears.

You are required to keep all chains, bells, cuffs, corsets, earplugs completely concealed.

It is obvious, you are not to speak to anyone. If anyone asks you a question, politely wave them off.

I want each item purchased, precisely as i have described them. If there is any failure to comply with this task exactly as detailed here, there will be an appropriate correction upon your return.

*this continues on here