All dressed up in my hotel room, with nowhere to go. I had originally planned to go out like this, to walk past the hotel lobby, braving the stares, and to subject myself to the most intense of public humiliation. But I eventually chickened out.
Still, I know that I need to be humiliated. I need to be dressed in the most ridiculous, over-the-top ultrafeminine dresses that no real woman would ever be caught dead wearing. There would be no mistaking what I am if people saw me. They would see a bimbotic frilly sissy in an outrageously short dress, panties permanently on display, thanks to the stiff thick petticoats pushing out the skirt.
I would be totally humiliated. Totally emasculated. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. People would point at laugh at me, calling me a sissy, a queer, a fairy, a pink princess, a sissy bimbo fuck doll.
This is what I need, to keep me in my place. The humiliation will be soul crushing, but a sissy has no say in her fate. The fate of being slowly transformed into a mere object, a caricature, a doll and a toy. The fate of being exposed daily like this.