I absolutely love and absolutely hate walking around with little secrets under my clothes.
I’m referring here to crotchropes, buttplugs, writing on my skin, a mandated lack of panties with a skirt.
I feel positively naked. I feel as if everybody knows and they’re all just humoring me while being faintly amused/disgusted with what I’m doing. I have fought tooth and nail with dominants who try to send me out with things under my clothes. The entire day I’m hyperaware of it. I suppose it accomplishes its purpose, I think about the person who put it there the whole time. I feel like I’m harboring some disgusting secret, ready to be discovered, possibly already found.
But part of me likes secrets. Part of me gets off on secrets. And so naturally part of me really enjoys having those secret things under my clothes in public. Part of me enjoys that swimming, anxious feeling of walking amongst the normalcy with feigned composure.
photo by Edgar Zhukovsky