Whispers of a Submissive Soul

Another day ends in the familiar silence of the spare room, the door locking behind me like a final period on my autonomy. My body tenses, adjusting to the loneliness, but my mind is restless, caught in the web of conflicting emotions. There’s the sharp sting of angst, remembering nights spent listening through the device my wife and her regular now call "my sex life." But arousal soon follows—after all, isn't the memory of my torment part of what fuels my desire? Their voices filter through the listening device—not whispers of passion, but something more intimate in its own way. Just two lovers, discussing their days, their thoughts, and, occasionally, me. There’s no sex tonight, but the way they speak about me, their amusement and consideration, makes my skin prickle with awareness. I am the unspoken presence in their relationship, the audience to a play written without me in mind. When the door finally unlocks, I slip into routine. My morning is spent stripping away an...

  Daily Structure & Rules Hourly Diddling (Weekdays): 30-second sessions every hour from 8 AM–5 PM. Must begin within 2 minutes of the chime or skip the session. No punishment for missed sessions, but all sessions are logged. No chimes on weekends—track sessions manually if Sandra is out. Random 1-Minute Challenge: Triggered by an alarm at a random time. When the alarm goes off, you have one minute to orgasm using only one finger. If you succeed, you must swallow your cum. Goal is to train toward uncontrollable, premature orgasm. Limp-to-Precum Training (10 AM): Track the time it takes to feel precum. Measures your body’s natural arousal before the day builds up. Extended Diddling Session (2 PM): 1 to 3-minute session. Stop immediately if fully hard. Once precum appears, continue rubbing for 30 seconds to reinforce fast response. Never exceed 3 minutes. Mental Conditioning & Physical Reinforcement Mantras:...

I don’t know how it started. Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe I wanted it to happen. Maybe I needed it to. I sat at the café table, knees pressed tightly together, my hands resting in my lap, trying to make myself as small as possible. Across from me, my female friends laughed and chatted, carefree, their voices light and confident. I forced a smile, nodding at their conversation, hoping to blend in. Then it happened. "Are those… women’s socks?" The words hit me like a shockwave. My stomach clenched. My breath caught. I should’ve laughed. Shrugged it off. But I froze. Just for a second. And that was enough. Their eyes flickered to one another. Smirks widened. They sensed something. I swallowed, my throat dry. "Uh… yeah. I mean… they just fit better. I’ve got small feet, so… why not?" Too much explanation. Too defensive. It didn’t sound casual—it sounded guilty. And they knew it. "Ohhh, I see," one of them hummed, dragging out the words. My stomach tightened,...

 My first attempt at an erotic audio file. It is Erotic Mantra Training. Take a listen and let me know what you think. https://soundgasm.net/u/cucktimmi/Mantra-Reinforcement-Drip-Edge-Fail

 I’ve always known I was on the smaller side, but for a long time, I still believed I was somewhat average in length. I never thought of myself as big, but I also didn’t think I was exceptionally small. I assumed I was just within the normal range—until my previous wife made it clear that I wasn’t when I became her cuckold. That moment changed everything. It was the first time I had to truly confront my size, not just in a vague, abstract way, but in a stark, undeniable comparison to real men. When I became a cuckold, there was no avoiding it anymore—she wasn’t just with other men, she was with men who were bigger, better, and more satisfying than I could ever be. Still, even with that reality sinking in, I never once thought to actually check where I fell on the scale. I just accepted that I was small, but not too small—not micro. Until today. I decided to look up the numbers, and what I found stopped me in my tracks. The average erect penis length is 5.1 inches. The average erect...

The restaurant was louder than I would have liked. Silverware clinked against plates, voices layered over one another, and somewhere in the background, an espresso machine hissed. But all of that was just a dull hum beneath the pounding in my ears. I shifted in my seat, feeling the lace of my panties brush against my little penis, a constant, humiliating reminder of how small and insignificant I was compared to him. Compared to him and my wife, sitting right across from me, smiling at each other over their menus. My stomach churned with nausea, my pulse racing, every nerve in my body screaming at me to run, to escape this unbearable torment—but there was nowhere to go. The night had already been difficult, and we hadn’t even ordered yet. It started when my sister dropped by earlier in the afternoon, unannounced as usual. “So, where’s your friend?” she asked casually, stepping inside, eyes scanning the living room. I hesitated. “Uh, he’s out.” She turned toward the hallway, where the do...

 I've been reflecting on my journey and realizing that I was always wired for this. It wasn’t something I had to learn or be taught—it was just who I was, even before I had the words for it. Looking back, there were signs early on. I had crushes in high school, but I was never the guy who aggressively pursued. When my best friend dated one of them and became sexual with her, I didn’t feel anger or resentment. I just accepted it. If anything, I fantasized about it. I spent so many nights alone, masturbating to the thought of them together, knowing that she was experiencing something I never would. Even then, masturbation was my real sex life, not actual intimacy with a woman. College reinforced it. I spent most of my time on the outside looking in, watching other guys get the girls I wanted. While they were out having sex, I was alone, masturbating into a sock, over and over again, wishing I could be one of them. But I wasn’t. And yet, I didn’t feel bitter. I wasn’t angry at them. I...

The Psychology of My Sock Fetish: A Deep Dive Your sock fetish is more than just a visual attraction—it's a powerful mix of early conditioning, psychological reinforcement, submission, and erotic contrast. It has evolved from a personal sensory experience into a complex symbol of longing, exposure, and control. 1. The Origins: A Personal Sensory Experience Your fetish began when you first started masturbating using a sock. This early association between sexual pleasure and the texture of socks created a deep imprint in your mind. Since first experiences of pleasure are particularly powerful, this connection was reinforced over time. At this stage, socks were purely a personal object of arousal , linked to sensation and self-exploration. 2. The Shift: Externalizing the Trigger Over time, this fetish transitioned from an internal experience to an external one. Seeing socks on women began to serve as a visual and psychological trigger —reminding you, consciously or unconscious...

The lock clicked shut behind me, and I stood there in the dim light, swallowing hard. I didn’t test the door. There was no point. It locked from the outside, and I already knew there would be no release until morning. That was the expectation—no, the rule. The spare bedroom was barren, stripped down to the essentials. A twin-sized mattress lay on the floor, thin sheets, no pillows. A small nightstand with a single lamp, a bottle of water. Nothing soft, nothing comforting. A plain wooden chair sat against the far wall, its presence almost mocking. No distractions, no comforts—just a space to exist in while they occupied the Master bedroom. I took a deep breath, my fingers brushing over the waistband of the soft, lacy panties hugging my hips. Pink, delicate, humiliating. The kind she liked me in. The kind he insisted I wear. Below them, my feet, adorned in cute, feminine ankle socks—a soft pastel, with little ruffles around the trim. I walked to the bed and sat down, the springs creaki...

 No woman has ever wanted my little dick. No woman ever could. It’s not even a real cock—just a useless, humiliating nub that exists to be mocked, ignored, and reminded of its pathetic place. I’ve finally accepted the truth: I will never be a man. I will never satisfy. I will never deserve anything more than teasing, denial, and ridicule. I’ve started training myself to fully embrace my inferiority. My pathetic excuse for a cock doesn’t get to be stroked like a real man’s. No, if I get any release at all, it’s only through my 1-Minute Challenge —one single finger rubbing my tiny clit while the clock ticks down. Sixty seconds to prove just how quickly and pathetically I squirt like a worthless beta. If I fail? I suffer. If I succeed? I humiliate myself by cumming too fast, too weakly, and knowing I don’t deserve better. Either way, it’s exactly what a little dicked loser like me deserves. I’ve been denied for days now, my tiny thing desperate, leaking, throbbing against my will. B...

 I asked my Mysterious Trainer to read an exchange from years ago that my Mistress at the time had with a perspective Bull. She and I never met the Bull. Bull: Hi Bull: my pleasure Mistress Kara: you found my e-mail where? Bull:  FMSB  (now cuckoldmarriage.info) Mistress Kara: have you seen my sissy slaves website? Bull: no, I haven't Mistress Kara: <former website> Mistress Kara: He serves me Mistress Kara: you can see one of the bulls we've had play with us Bull: where are they located on the site Mistress Kara: under "other men" I think it is? Bull: timmi isnt very well hung is he? Mistress Kara: lol....no, but then....that is not his purpose Mistress Kara: bulls are for that purpose? Mistress Kara: how well hung are you? Bull: I have a few pics on my profile. I am 7+ inches and very very thick Bull: big balls and large loads Mistress Kara: Do you have pics of yourself? Mistress Kara: or just your cock Bull: they are of me on my profile Bull: oh, I have a fac...