As the stings rained down, I moaned to Mistress' pussy and moved my head back and forth. I pressed my tongue inside her and longed to touch the inside...of her pussy, but I needed my hands to grasp the bench and press my ass up to the same height after receiving each blow. I knew Master was using his entire arm to whip me because he began to grunt as the stripes added up…or maybe he was grunting because he was producing a pleasing pink glow on his slave's ass? I was grateful when the blows. Again, I knew I was different. Ialways wished I were a girl. Girls were just better, in my eyes. I wasobsessed by the way they dressed and looked. Girls walked and talkedbetter, they smelled better; they were just BETTER! I don't know why Ifelt this way, but I did (and still do). The feelings I had didn'tchange when puberty set in, they got worse. It was around the age of 12that I really knew I wanted to be a girl. Any wet dream I had alwaysinvolved me being with a boy, and I was always a girl. More

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