Loading...It was a very pleasant date, all in all. She was lovely and funny, and the curves beneath her dress made me very aware of the hopeful bulge in my jeans. She seemed shy, though, and I did not feel quite ready for ‘the talk’ just yet. Still, when she insisted I come in for a while, I humored her. That was my first mistake.
My second was accepting the drink.
When I woke, head groggy and mouth dry, I struggled to remember. We had gotten into a conversation about…Star Trek? Some show we both liked, anyway. Nothing sinister. I could not recall actually losing consciousness, but clearly that had happened at some point.
I lay supine on a firm bed, pressure around my wrists and ankles, a solid rubbery object in my mouth. I could feel dry air from a ventilation system on my skin–all of my skin. Even my jockstrap was gone, though the silicone prosthesis remained, its weight against my crotch unmistakable. So much for ‘the talk.’
When I tried to move, I found my limbs firmly tethered. I could not see through the blindfold, but by stretching one arm out I could just barely get my fingertips on the nylon strap anchoring my cuff. Its latch was padlocked.
Next I tried overwhelming the bonds by main force, flexing wiry muscles and twisting my body. The bed frame barely even creaked. After a few minutes of struggling, I flopped back, breathing hard. Then, quite suddenly, something seized my erect prosthesis. I froze.
“You took long enough waking up,” said my date’s voice, just as cheery and nonchalant as before. “I was growing impatient.”
She must have stolen into the room while I was occupied with my escape attempts, for I had not heard her at all. She stroked gently, making the bulb that anchored the prosthesis inside me nudge my g-spot. Her other hand crept up to my chest, fingers tracing the scars around my right areola, then pinching the nipple–hard.
Pain shot through me. The whole area had been hypersensitive ever since the operation. My back arched off of the bed, but I gritted my teeth and kept silent. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.
“Oh, good,” she said, “I was afraid the nerve damage might have prevented you from feeling that.” The hand on my prosthesis never stopped moving. I was starting to get wet. “Would you like to see?”
She did not wait for an answer, not that I could have spoken through the gag. The blindfold came off, and the lights were low enough not to dazzle me, though still bright enough to see by.
She loomed over me, completely nude. Her pale blond hair draped over her shoulders, her breasts large and shapely. She was tall and solidly built, and even where her waist narrowed she did not look willowy or weak. Her hips were wide and I could clearly see the trimmed blonde patch of pubic hair between her slightly parted legs.
I’m not sure how long I stared, salivating–which was quite troublesome, as the gag made swallowing a very obvious effort–while she stroked my flesh-colored prosthesis. At last, she must have grown tired of jerking, for she climbed onto the bed and straddled me. The scent of her arousal blossomed into the air as she did so, and my head swam.
Pressing her vulva against my shaft, she started rocking her hips back and forth. The ridges on the prosthesis did what they were designed to do, rubbing against my clitoris–almost an inch long in its erect state. My eyes rolled back in my head, my breath quickening.
She dragged her labia up the length of the prosthesis, then back down, coating it with her fluids. Meanwhile, lowering herself to her elbows, she licked and sucked each of my nipples in turn. After the third pass, she hiked herself up and aligned the tip of my penis with her entrance. This levered the anchor bulb of the prosthesis against the back wall of my vagina, and pushed it away from my tortured clitoris.
“You want in?” she asked, her voice a sweet whisper. Her legs pinned mine such that I could not thrust into her even if I wanted to, which I did not. She wiggled from side the side, nestling the glans of the prosthesis into her and making her breasts sway. I closed my eyes.
She leaned in over me and licked my shoulder, then my neck, then my ear. “Do you want to fuck me?” she asked, more firmly this time, punctuating her question by rotating her hips around slowly without pushing me into her any further. As much as I wanted it, I could bring myself to agree. She shifted back down my body again and clamped her teeth down on my left nipple.
I screamed into my gag, the noise coming out like a chesty moan. My entire body convulsed as though I had orgasmed, even though I had not. She did the same thing to my other nipple, which did not have quite the same impact, but then her hand moved down to my abdomen. Her fist dug into the soft tissue just above my mons pubis and ground my g-spot against the firm anchor bulb of my prosthesis.
My breath hitched and I clenched the bulb involuntarily, which only made the effect of her manipulation more intense. Without something on my clitoris, however, it was not nearly enough to bring me to the edge. She took her time, kneading my g-spot from the outside with her fist. I bucked my hips once, twice, and finally sagged back down. What was I trying to accomplish, anyway? She was in control.
I opened my eyes and nodded.
She flashed me the sweetest smile and engulfed my prosthesis with her magnificent body. I didn’t feel much as she did so, which might have been fortunate, since the sight alone was almost enough to send me over the edge at that point. But she took her time and seated the six-and-a-half inches of silicone inside her, until her clitoris rested against mine. Then she started grinding.
I was on the edge of orgasm instantly, my hips thrusting without my volition. She allowed me, having moved her legs off of mine, and lowered herself just far enough to let her nipples brush my chest. It didn’t take long. I clenched the bulb harder as I tried to force the prosthesis even deeper into her, struggling for the bliss of release. She bit her lip and moaned–a low, sultry sound in her throat. That was it for me.
My body thrashed and I cried out into the gag. The muscles inside me spasmed, spreading warm bliss through my body as I relaxed. She, however, did not stop moving. If anything, she rode me harder, which prolonged my orgasmic bliss until it became unbearable. I struggled, trying to buck her off, but that only encouraged her.
She started groaning rhythmically as she thrust me into her again and again, sitting upright so she could rub her clitoris with one hand and grind the knuckles of her other into my g-spot from outside. Her orgasm followed quickly–I could feel her contractions through the prosthesis–and she stopped just as I was on the edge of another.
When I tried to thrust into her, she removed herself from the prosthesis, letting the warm, wet shaft slap my abdomen.
“Do you want more?” she asked, and I nodded frantically. With a wicked grin, she disappeared from my field of vision briefly, returning with a Hitachi Magic Wand. Oh-oh. I started shaking my head, but she wagged a finger at me. “You asked for it.” She plugged in the monstrous vibrator and knelt down on my legs again. I stared with a mixture of excitement and dread as she wedged the head of the wand between the prosthesis and my softening clitoris.
When she flicked the vibrator on, I thought I was going to come immediately. I was wrong. It took several seconds, and it when it happened it was catastrophic, curling toes and cramping immobilized limbs. She kept the wand on me, its vibrations traveling through the base of the prosthesis and up into my g-spot through the bulb. The sensation went from overwhelming to unbearable very quickly. I begged her to take it away, even though the gag muffled my words beyond recognition.
She smiled wider and switched the wand to a higher setting. My begging turned to screaming, and, though I thought it impossible, I orgasmed again. My prosthetic cock twitched repeatedly from the involuntary contracting of PC muscles. I felt drained, like I was dying the most pleasurable and agonizing death imaginable.
Turning off the terrible, wonderful machine, she took hold of my shaft again. After giving it a few strokes, she slid her hand down to the base and, taking hold of the sculpted scrotum, pulled it away from me. I held onto it with all my might and tried to shout “No”, but it just sounded like another in a long stream of incoherent noises. It was only momentarily painful because I resisted it so hard, but at last the bulb popped past my clenched PC muscles.
My face burned. I did not know how to handle this, for it had never happened before. I was emasculated, which might seem laughable given how unmanly most would think me if the knew my condition. Spread-eagle on a bed, nude, I did not feel completely helpless until she took the prosthesis away from me. My pussy, still clenching at the air, lay open to her. I could not meet her eyes.
She got off of my legs and knelt between them, lowering her face to my newly exposed crotch. Her tongue made one gentle pass over my clitoris, and I broke down. Reluctant tears streamed from my eyes, not over the gentle pleasure her touch brought, but for all the shame and doubt that came of my misshapen genitalia. She closed her plump lips over the shaft of my enlarged clitoris and flicked the tip of her tongue across its head. My body jerked every time she did this, and I cried harder.
Her fingers slipped into my well-lubricated pussy, though I tried to shut her out with exhausted muscles that refused to obey me. Those fingers felt for the g-spot from within even while her other hand massaged it from without. My sobs turned into moans again, and my breath quickened until I feared I would asphyxiate. The orgasm, when it came, felt cathartic. She eased off and slid her fingers out of me, licking them with relish.
My eyelids felt heavy, my body deliciously tired. I could not muster the attention to focus on what she was doing off in my peripheral vision, but when the bed dipped again and looked and sucked in a sharp breath. She was wearing my prosthesis. It jutted from between her shapely thighs, perhaps a bit small for her, as it had been chosen for my petite frame. She coated it with lubricant, then lowered her lubed fingers to my pussy.
I tried to shrink from her, to no avail. She sank her index and middle fingers into me, braced her thumb against my clitoris, and rubbed me to the edge of orgasm in an almost businesslike fashion. Just before I passed the point of no return, she stopped and slowly withdrew, leaving me gasping in frustration.
Then she lined the tip of the cock–MY cock–up with my entrance. I shook my head violently and tried to twist away, but she took hold of my hips in an iron grip and started pushing. I parted around the slick, unyielding silicone.
I had not been penetrated like that in years, not since before my transition. My mind reeled and my pussy squeezed against the painful intrusion, but she kept pushing until she bottomed out, the tip of the cock nudging up against my cervix. I was hyperventilating. The prosthesis, so familiar to me, felt enormous inside. She bent over me and pressed her soft breasts against my scarred chest.
She started moving, only a little bit at first–an inch or so out, then back in. Her momentum built as I lubricated more, and soon she was impaling me over and over, mashing my clitoris against her pubic bone and slamming into my cervix with each stroke. She pulled her head back every so often to lick and bite my nipples.
I heard a faint whimpering, and it took me longer than it should have to realize the sound was coming from me. She sat back on her heels without withdrawing from me and picked up the wand. I shook my head, but not with much conviction or struggling. She turned the vibrator on and braced it just above my pubic mound as she started thrusting again.
The head of the cock inside rubbed my g-spot across the vibrating head of the wand outside, over and over again. I exploded in mind-destroying pleasure, but she still did not stop. She just turned the vibration up and fucked me even faster, grunting between her quickening breaths. Between her relentless driving and the wand’s relentless buzzing, I came again. This time, the over-stimulation that followed the orgasm seemed somehow more pleasurable than the orgasm itself.
She turned off the vibrator and, wrapping her fingers around my neck, rested the full weight of her torso on mine. I did not even try to get away from her as she cut off my air supply, fucking me all the while. Already hypoxic, I remained conscious barely long enough to register my last orgasm before sliding into darkness.