For weeks, I’ve been molding this creature, stripping away every ounce of his dignity, but today was the real initiation.
I made him dress for the occasion. He looked absolutely ridiculous—a shivering, trembling mess in a frilly, neon-pink pleated mini-skirt that barely covered his shaking thighs, paired with a lacey white apron and a matching choker that marked him as my property. He looked like a cheap caricature of a girl, which only made the urge to ruin him more intense.
The moment I strapped on the harness, the look of pure terror on his face was intoxicating. I didn’t give him a choice. I shoved him face-down onto the bed, his skirt hiked up to his waist, exposing that pale, trembling ass to the cold air.
“Look at you,” I sneered, slapping his cheek hard enough to leave a mark. “A grown man, dressed like a little slut, begging for a woman to stretch him out. You’re not a man anymore; you’re just a hole for my amusement.”
The first thrust was brutal. I didn’t ease in; I drove the plug deep, silencing his pathetic whimper with a sharp command to shut the fuck up. I spent the next hour treating his prostate like a punching bag, mocking the way his hips bucked and the way he sobbed into the pillows. Every time he tried to moan, I reminded him that he was nothing but a sissy toy. By the time I was done, he was a shaking, broken mess, leaking and ruined. I think I’ll keep him.
Blanche
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