Denial (Patreon)

I close my eyes and beg for darkness.

But the darkness does nothing.

Instead, I feel… everything.

My long, mascara-coated lashes brush against my cheeks like feathery prison bars. My lips, swollen with so much filler, refuse to close all the way; I have to press them together consciously, and even then, they part again with a soft, wet sound.  A sound almost asking for something.

The weight of my breasts…

…my breasts…

press against the lace of my bra, the underwire digging in, reminding me with every breath that they’re there.  My bra…

…my bra…

…is so tight now.  They’ve continued to grow well past the implants. 

Why had I ever agreed to…

The choker around my throat tightens as I swallow.

This isn’t me.  This can’t be me…

But it is. She made sure of that.

Step by step, she transformed me. 

…just try on my panties…

…just grow your hair out…

…just take these pills for a day or two…

…just a few more days…

…just keep taking them, it would be unhealthy if you stopped…

…just think how much easier it will be to have to shave anymore…

…just tell the therapist how your body is changing…

…just tell her that you want it…

…just sign your name on the papers…

…just relax, they’re not that big…

…just accept it…

…just this once…

…just a few more times…

…just so that he’s more comfortable around you…

…just for tonight…

…just a taste…

…just the tip…

…just a little more…

I shift, and the garter belt bites into my hips. The stockings whisper as my thighs press together. Between my legs, there’s nothing but a smooth, tucked-away absence, my useless little cock hidden, irrelevant.  Yet so desperate…

The darkness hides none of it.

No. No, no, no.

But denial does not change the way my nipples stiffen under the sheer fabric.  I shiver as I remember every step that turned me into the thing I am now.   The chill on my skin does not diminish the heat pooling low in my belly, a traitorous pulse of arousal at my own debasement.

I try to retreat deeper into myself, but my body won’t let me. 

Every inch of me is designed to be touched…

…used…

…fucked…

I hear her call from the other room.  I hear them laugh. Them. The happy couple, ready for their little fucktoy to do anything and everything they want.  I hear them in the darkness behind my eyes.  There is no denial.  

My eyes flutter open and I hear my new voice say the word:

“Coming!”