FabSwingers.com forum: The unexpected

By *ocalsucker1 OP Man
1 week ago

Launceston

The house was quiet, save for the faint hum of the laptop fan and the occasional creak of the floorboards settling under the weight of another uneventful evening. Upstairs, in the dim glow of the study, I sat hunched over my screen, the flickering light casting shadows across the room. Jane was downstairs, likely fussing over the kettle or flipping through one of her gardening magazines. Our routine was predictable, carved into the years like grooves in an old record. Sex with Jane was... efficient. Two pumps, a squirt, and we’d roll over, her nighty barely lifted, my boxers barely down. Foreplay was a foreign country we’d never bothered to visit.

Tonight, though, I was restless. The internet had become my escape, a portal to something rawer, something alive. I didn’t chase the polished, airbrushed stuff—too fake. I liked the homemade videos, the kind where you could hear the squeak of a bedframe or the awkward laugh of someone caught off guard. Real people, real moments. Tonight, I’d stumbled on one that had my pulse quickening—a guy in lacy black lingerie, his hands trembling as he teased his wife, her gasps soft but unscripted. The way she arched into him, the way he groaned as he came—it was messy, human, electric.

I shifted in my chair, my boxers tightening, when Jane’s voice cut through the haze. “Dave!” she called from downstairs, sharp but not urgent. “You coming?”

“Coming, love!” I shouted back, my voice a little too loud, a little too guilty. I snapped the laptop shut, heart thudding as I willed my body to calm down. The erection that had been stirring mercifully faded as I padded across the landing, the cool wood under my bare feet grounding me. The stairs creaked under my weight, each step pulling me back to the familiar rhythm of our life.

At the bottom, Jane stood in the kitchen doorway, her hair pulled back in a loose bun, a faded cotton nighty hanging off her frame. She wasn’t trying to be sexy, but there was something about the way the soft light caught the curve of her shoulder, the way her lips quirked when she saw me. “You’ve been up there ages,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “What’s so interesting?”

I shrugged, leaning against the counter, my hands shoved in my pockets to hide the lingering heat in my bloodstream. “Just... scrolling. You know. Internet nonsense.”

Her eyes lingered on me a moment longer, like she was trying to read something I wasn’t saying. Then she turned, reaching for a mug, her nighty riding up just enough to show the back of her thigh. It was a small thing, but it hit me like a spark. I cleared my throat. “You want tea or something?”

She glanced over her shoulder, and there was a flicker in her eyes—something I hadn’t seen in a while. Not quite playful, but not dismissive either. “Maybe,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “Or maybe I’m not in the mood for tea.”

I froze, my brain scrambling to catch up. Jane didn’t flirt. Not anymore. But the way she leaned against the counter, the way her fingers toyed with the hem of her nighty—it felt like an invitation. Or at least the start of one. My mind flashed back to the video, the lace, the heat, the way two people could still surprise each other after years of routine. I stepped closer, testing the waters. “What *are* you in the mood for, then?”

She didn’t answer right away, just tilted her head, her lips parting slightly. The air between us felt heavier, charged with something unspoken. I could feel the pull, the possibility of something more than our usual two-minute dance. My hand brushed hers on the counter, and she didn’t pull away.

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By *ocalsucker1 OP Man
1 week ago

Launceston

Jane’s words hung in the air, her voice low and teasing. “Get me a glass of wine,” she said, brushing past me toward the living room, her nighty swishing against her legs. I grabbed a bottle of red from the kitchen rack, two glasses, and followed her, my pulse still thrumming from that charged moment by the counter. The sofa sagged under our weight as we settled in, the cushions soft and familiar, like everything else in our life. But tonight felt different, like the air was laced with something new.

We sipped the wine, and the conversation started light—old stories about the kids, that time we got lost on a road trip and ended up at a dive bar with a karaoke machine. Her laugh was louder than usual, her cheeks flushed from the wine, and I couldn’t stop noticing the way her nighty slipped off one shoulder, exposing the soft curve of her collarbone. Somewhere between the second and third glass, the banter turned. She leaned closer, her knee brushing mine, and started teasing me about my “internet nonsense.”

“You think I don’t know what you’re up to up there?” she said, her eyes glinting with mischief. “All that sneaking around, Dave. What’s got you so glued to that screen?”

I grinned, emboldened by the wine and the heat creeping up my spine. “Maybe I’m just looking for inspiration,” I shot back, my voice low. “Something to spice things up.”

Her laugh was throaty, and she nudged me with her elbow, her body closer now. “Oh, you need inspiration? What, am I not enough for you anymore?” There was a challenge in her tone, and the way she held my gaze made my stomach tighten. We kept going like that, tossing innuendos back and forth, each one bolder than the last. She mentioned a coworker who’d bragged about a wild weekend, and I countered with a half-joking suggestion about trying something new ourselves. Her eyes sparkled, and for a moment, I thought we might actually cross that line we’d been toeing for years.

But then, as the bottle emptied and the clock ticked past midnight, Jane’s eyelids started to droop. Her words slurred, her head lolled against the back of the sofa, and before I could process it, she was out—soft snores escaping her parted lips. The heat that had been building in me all night fizzled into frustration, a tight knot in my chest. I stared at her, sprawled across the cushions, her nighty rucked up to her thighs, one hand still loosely clutching her wineglass. She looked beautiful, maddeningly so, but unreachable.

I sighed, grabbing a blanket from the armchair and laying it over her. “Sleep tight, love,” I muttered, my voice thick with unmet need. The living room felt too small, too quiet, and my body was still buzzing with the energy we’d stirred up. I trudged upstairs, the creak of the stairs echoing my disappointment. In the bedroom, I stripped down to my boxers and flopped onto the bed, the laptop still sitting on the nightstand, tempting me.

I opened it, the screen flickering to life, and pulled up the video I’d been watching earlier—the one with the guy in lingerie, his wife’s gasps filling the speakers. My hand moved almost on instinct, seeking release from the tension Jane had left coiled inside me. The images blurred with memories of her teasing smile, the way her thigh had brushed mine, the promise of something more that had slipped away. I closed my eyes, letting the sounds from the video mix with the thought of Jane’s laugh, her bare shoulder, the way she’d looked at me like she knew exactly what I wanted.

But as I neared the edge, a creak from the doorway snapped me out of it. My heart lurched, and I froze, eyes darting to the shadow in the hall.

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By *ocalsucker1 OP Man
1 week ago

Launceston

Jane’s silhouette filled the doorway for a fleeting moment, her figure swaying slightly from the wine. She said nothing, just stumbled into the bedroom, her nighty twisted around her hips, and flopped onto the bed with a soft thud. The mattress barely shifted under her weight before her snores started, loud and unapologetic, cutting through the quiet hum of the laptop. I stared at her, sprawled across the duvet, one arm flung out, her chest rising and falling with each breath. The heat in my veins fizzled into a dull ache, the moment I’d been chasing snuffed out. With a sigh, I snapped the laptop shut, the video’s muffled sounds dying instantly. I slid under the covers, the frustration still simmering, but exhaustion won out. Sleep came fast, pulling me under.

Morning light filtered through the curtains, and the air felt heavy with the usual silence. Jane was already up, bustling around the kitchen, the clink of a coffee mug replacing last night’s charged banter. Neither of us mentioned the wine, the teasing, or the way the evening had fizzled. It was like we’d hit reset, slipping back into our well-worn routine. Around 11 a.m., Jane poked her head into the living room where I was halfheartedly scrolling through my phone. “Right,” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I’m off to Tesco, then into town to meet Angie for lunch. Be home about four-ish.”

“Alright,” I said, nodding, my voice neutral but my mind already drifting. She gave me a quick smile—nothing like the spark in her eyes last night—and then she was out the door, the car engine humming as she pulled away. The house fell silent, the kind of quiet that feels too big for one person. I sat there for a moment, the weight of last night’s unmet desire still lingering like a bruise.

Then, almost on autopilot, I headed upstairs. The laptop sat on the nightstand, its presence a quiet taunt. I opened it, the screen flickering to life, and navigated back to the video I’d been watching—the one with the guy in lacy lingerie, his wife’s soft moans filling the speakers. The scene picked up right where I’d left off, their bodies moving with a raw, unpolished rhythm that made my pulse quicken. I leaned back against the headboard, my boxers already feeling tight, my hand hovering as the tension from last night roared back to life.

The room felt warmer, the air thick with anticipation. My eyes stayed glued to the screen, but my mind wandered to Jane—her teasing laugh, the way her nighty had ridden up, the fleeting moment when it seemed like we might break out of our rut. I wondered what she’d think if she knew what I was watching, if she’d laugh or roll her eyes or—maybe—lean in closer, curious. The thought sent a jolt through me, and my hand moved faster, chasing the release I’d been denied.

But then, a faint noise downstairs snapped me out of it—a creak, like the front door easing open. My heart lurched, and I froze, the laptop still playing, the sounds suddenly too loud in the quiet house. Jane wasn’t due back for hours. Was it her? Or something else?

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By *ocalsucker1 OP Man
1 week ago

Launceston

The creak downstairs turned out to be nothing but the cat, perched on the kitchen worktop, licking a paw with smug indifference. I shooed her off, my heart still thudding from the false alarm, and stood for a moment, listening to the quiet house. The laptop upstairs was calling, its pull stronger now, laced with the unresolved heat from last night and the morning’s lingering frustration. I climbed the stairs, each step heavier with a strange, unspoken curiosity that had been sparked by the video—the guy in lingerie, the way his wife’s eyes had lit up at the sight of him.

As I reached the bedroom, my gaze drifted to Jane’s dresser, the top drawer slightly ajar, a sliver of fabric peeking out. I don’t know what possessed me—maybe the wine-soaked memory of her teasing, or the way the guy in the video had moved with such confidence—but I found myself opening the drawer, my fingers brushing over Jane’s neatly folded underwear. Her choices were predictable: plain cotton briefs, a few sensible bras, nothing adventurous. But buried at the back, almost hidden, I found a pair of black lacy panties, delicate and sheer, and a black satin slip, smooth as liquid against my fingertips. I held them up, my breath catching. These weren’t Jane’s usual. These were a secret, a side of her I hadn’t seen in years.

Before I could overthink it, I was stepping out of my boxers, the air cool against my skin. I slid the panties on first, the lace stretching tight over my hips, clinging in a way that felt foreign and thrilling. The fabric was soft but insistent, hugging my thighs and cradling me in a way that sent a shiver up my spine. The satin slip came next, gliding over my chest like a whispered promise, cool at first but warming quickly against my skin. I caught my reflection in the bedroom mirror—awkward, unfamiliar, but undeniably arousing. The lace teased with every small movement, a constant reminder of its presence, and the slip’s smooth weight made me feel exposed, vulnerable, alive.

I settled back onto the bed, the satin sliding against the sheets, amplifying every sensation. The laptop flickered to life, and I restarted the video, the one with the couple, the lingerie, the raw intimacy. The guy’s moans filled the room, low and urgent, as his wife’s hands roamed over the lace on his body. My hand moved to the bulge straining against the panties, the lace adding a delicious friction that made me bite my lip. I went slow, deliberate, tracing the outline of myself through the fabric, savoring the way it hugged me, tight and teasing. Each stroke was a pulse of heat, building with the rhythm of the video, the couple’s gasps syncing with my own ragged breaths.

I rewound the video, watching it again, then again, each loop pulling me deeper into the fantasy. The lace shifted with every movement, a soft scrape against my skin that made my toes curl. The satin slip bunched slightly at my waist, its cool sheen a contrast to the warmth pooling in my core. My hand moved slower now, almost torturous, drawing out the sensation as I imagined Jane walking in, her eyes widening at the sight of me like this, her boring nighty replaced by something daring, her voice husky with surprise or approval. The thought pushed me closer to the edge, but I held back, letting the tension coil tighter, the lace and satin amplifying every touch.

The video looped again, the couple’s climax louder this time, and I matched their pace, my strokes slow but firm, the panties’ delicate grip driving me wild. The house was silent except for the laptop and my own uneven breathing, the world narrowing to the feel of the fabric, the heat of my hand, the fantasy blurring with reality. I was lost in it, teetering on the brink, when a faint sound—a car pulling into the driveway—snapped my eyes open.

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By *ocalsucker1 OP Man
1 week ago

Launceston

The rumble of the car in the driveway was just old John next door, probably tinkering with his ancient Ford again. My heart slowed, the panic fading as I crept back upstairs, the black lacy panties and satin slip still clinging to my skin, each step sending a jolt of pleasure through me. The lace tugged deliciously at my hips, the satin sliding like a lover’s touch over my chest. I wasn’t done exploring. I opened Jane’s drawer again, my fingers trembling as they brushed past cotton basics to something else—a pair of sheer beige tights, soft and slightly shimmery. I sat on the edge of the bed, wrestling to pull them on, the nylon stretching tight over my legs, encasing them in a glossy second skin. The struggle only heightened the thrill, and by the time I got them up, smoothing them over my thighs, I was rock-hard, the lace panties straining to contain me.

I stood, catching my reflection in the mirror, and fuck, I felt alive. The tights hugged every curve of my legs, the sheen catching the light as I moved, the sensation electric against my skin. The satin slip grazed my nipples, stiffening them, and the panties rubbed against my cock with every step, a constant tease. I pranced around the bedroom, shameless, my hands roaming over my nylon-clad thighs, up to the lace at my hips, then higher, tracing the slip’s smooth edges. I was d*unk on it, the way the fabrics amplified every touch, the way I felt exposed and powerful all at once. My cock ached, leaking into the lace, the wet spot growing as I slid my palm over it, slow and deliberate, savoring the slick friction.

Emboldened, I decided to take the show downstairs. It was only 1:30—Jane wouldn’t be back for hours. The idea of strutting through the house like this, so brazen, so fucking naughty, made my pulse race. I descended the stairs, the tights whispering against each other, the slip swaying with my hips. In the kitchen, I grabbed a mug, the routine act of making tea warped by the lewd heat coursing through me. As I stirred sugar into the tea, the teaspoon clinking against the ceramic, I pressed my cock against the cabinet door handle, the cold metal biting through the lace and tights. I groaned, grinding slowly, the pressure sending sparks up my spine. My free hand roamed the satin slip, pinching a nipple through the fabric, the sharp pleasure making my knees weak. I was lost in it, hips rocking, the lace soaked now, my breath hitching as I imagined Jane catching me like this, her eyes wide, her boring nighty replaced by something as filthy as what I was wearing.

I picked up the mug, took a sip of the scalding tea, and turned to head back upstairs. Then—FUCK. Dawn, my mother-in-law, stood in the doorway, her sharp eyes locked on me, her lips curled into a smirk that was equal parts shock and amusement. My heart stopped, my cock still straining against the soaked lace, the tights gleaming under the kitchen light. She looked me up and down, taking in the panties, the slip, the tights, her gaze lingering on the obvious bulge. “You look like a cock in a frock,” she said, her voice low, cutting, but with a strange edge I couldn’t place—mockery, yes, but something else too.

“Dawn, I—” I stammered, the mug shaking in my hand, tea sloshing over the rim. But before I could finish, she turned on her heel, her coat swishing as she strode out the front door. I shouted after her, “Wait, Dawn, please!” but the slam of the door cut me off. She was gone, leaving me standing there, half-naked, half-hard, and wholly humiliated. My mind raced—would she tell Jane? The thought made my stomach lurch, but something about her smirk, the way her eyes had lingered, suggested she had other plans. Plans she wasn’t sharing. Not yet.

I stood frozen, the tea cooling in my hand, my cock still pulsing against the lace, the tights clinging to my sweat-damp legs. The shame burned, but so did the arousal, hotter now, twisted by the risk of being caught. I set the mug down, my hand drifting back to the bulge in the panties, rubbing slowly, the wet lace slick against my skin. I couldn’t stop. Not now. I headed back upstairs, the video calling me, the need to finish what I’d started overwhelming the fear of Dawn’s mysterious intentions.

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By *eed AttentionMan
1 week ago

Oxford

Developing nicely

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By *ocalsucker1 OP Man
1 week ago

Launceston

Jane breezed through the door just after 4 p.m., her arms laden with Tesco bags, her face flushed from the day out. I braced for a storm, my stomach knotted with the memory of Dawn’s smirk, her cutting words—“cock in a frock”—still echoing in my head. But Jane said nothing. No accusation, no sidelong glance. She kicked off her shoes, collapsed onto the sofa, and fished her phone out of her bag, the routine swallowing any hint of what I feared she might know. The black lacy panties and beige tights were safely stashed back in her drawer, but my skin still tingled with the memory of them—the way the lace had gripped my cock, the nylon’s glossy embrace on my legs, the satin slip teasing my nipples. I’d spent the hours since Dawn’s departure replaying the video, stroking myself slow and deliberate, the wet lace amplifying every touch until I’d spilled into it, gasping, the shame and thrill blurring together.

“What you been up to?” Jane asked, her voice casual, her eyes flicking over the top of her phone. She was curled up on the sofa, her bare feet tucked under her, a loose strand of hair brushing her cheek. The normalcy of it felt like a trap.

“Nothing much,” I lied, my throat tight, the words barely squeezing out. I busied myself unpacking the groceries, my hands shaking slightly as I shoved cans into the cupboard, half-expecting her to call me out. But she just hummed, scrolling through her phone, oblivious—or so it seemed.

The Saturday routine took over like clockwork. Ant and Dec flickered on the telly, their voices a familiar drone, and Jane poured us each a glass of red. We sat side by side, the wine loosening the knot in my chest but not the heat in my blood. Every sip brought back last night’s banter, the way her nighty had slipped off her shoulder, the promise of something more that had fizzled out. I stole glances at her, the curve of her thigh under her jeans, the way her lips glistened with wine. My mind kept drifting to the panties, the tights, the way they’d made me feel—exposed, filthy, alive. I shifted on the sofa, my cock stirring in my boxers, the memory of the lace’s grip too vivid to shake.

Just as we were about to head to bed, her phone pinged. Jane glanced at it, her expression unreadable. “Oh, it’s Mum,” she said, and my heart stopped, my body going cold despite the wine’s warmth. I waited, braced for the worst, for Dawn to have spilled everything—my prancing, the panties, the cabinet door handle slick with my grinding.

“She wants you to pop around tomorrow afternoon,” Jane continued, typing a reply. “Her Freeview box needs retuning.” Her tone was so normal, so fucking mundane, it threw me. No hint of suspicion, no edge of knowing. Dawn hadn’t said a word. But that smirk, that lingering look—she was holding something back, something I couldn’t guess at.

I opened my mouth, but my words tangled, coming out as a mumble. “Uh, yeah, sure, I can… do that.”

Jane didn’t look up from her phone. “I’ll tell her about 2-ish,” she said, her fingers tapping. Then, almost as an afterthought, “Might come with you.”

My stomach lurched, a mix of relief and dread, my cock twitching traitorously at the thought of being in Dawn’s house, her knowing eyes on me, Jane oblivious by my side. “Right,” I managed, my voice hoarse, my mind already spiraling to what Dawn might say—or do—when I showed up.

We went to bed, Jane slipping into her usual cotton nighty, the one that barely hinted at the body beneath. I lay awake, the sheets cool against my skin, my boxers a poor substitute for the lace and nylon that had consumed me earlier. My hand drifted down, slow and deliberate, stroking myself through the fabric as I pictured the video again—the guy in lingerie, his wife’s hungry eyes, the way the lace had felt when I’d rubbed myself raw. But now, Dawn’s smirk crept into the fantasy, her voice low and mocking, her plans a shadow I couldn’t shake. I moved faster, the friction building, my breath hitching as I teetered on the edge, the thought of tomorrow’s visit twisting the pleasure into something sharper, riskier.

Morning came, and Jane was up early, humming as she made coffee, no sign of anything amiss. I dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, but under them, I couldn’t resist—I slipped on the black lacy panties again, the fabric snug and illicit against my skin, a secret that made my pulse race. Every step to the car, the lace rubbed just enough to keep me half-hard, my mind torn between dread and a perverse thrill at facing Dawn. Jane climbed into the passenger seat, her perfume filling the air, and I wondered if she’d notice the flush on my cheeks, the way my hands gripped the wheel too tight.

As we pulled up to Dawn’s house, her front door loomed like a challenge. I glanced at Jane, calm and oblivious, then at the house, where Dawn’s silhouette moved behind the curtains. My cock twitched in the panties, the lace a constant tease, and I steeled myself for whatever game she was playing.

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By *ocalsucker1 OP Man
1 week ago

Launceston

Dawn flung the door open, her sharp eyes glinting with that same unreadable edge I’d seen yesterday. “Hello, Mum,” Jane said, brushing past her with a quick hug, oblivious to the storm brewing in my chest. I managed a weak “Hi, Dawn,” my voice cracking, the black lacy panties under my jeans rubbing against my cock with every step, keeping me on a razor’s edge of arousal and dread. The memory of her smirk, her “cock in a frock” jab, burned in my mind, and the lace clung to me like a guilty secret, slick with sweat and anticipation.

“Where’s Dad?” Jane asked, setting her bag down on the hall table, the normalcy of her tone jarring against the heat pulsing through me.

“Upstairs, playing with his trains,” Dawn said, her voice flat but her gaze flicking to me, heavy with intent. “Jane, be a love, pop down to the shop and grab some teabags. We’re out.”

Jane sighed but nodded, already halfway out the door. “Back in a bit,” she called, the gate slamming behind her. The sound hadn’t even faded when Dawn’s hand shot out, grabbing me by the scruff of my neck, her nails digging into my skin. “You stupid cunt,” she hissed, her voice low and venomous, yanking me forward. “Follow me.”

My heart pounded, my cock twitching traitorously in the panties as she dragged me upstairs, her grip unrelenting. The stairs creaked under us, the lace rubbing with every step, sending jolts of pleasure-pain through me. She shoved me into the bedroom, and I froze, my breath catching in my throat. Kev, Dawn’s husband, was sprawled across the bed, his wrists and ankles bound to the posts with red silk ties. He was decked out in the most jaw-dropping lingerie I’d ever seen—a sheer black teddy, the lace so delicate it barely covered his skin, stockings clipped to a garter belt, and a fucking cock cage glinting between his thighs, his erection straining uselessly against the metal. A black plug nestled in his arse, the base visible, obscene and unapologetic. His eyes met mine, wide with shame and something else—lust, maybe, or surrender.

“This,” Dawn spat, gesturing to Kev, “is what a sissy looks like, you cunt. Not a cock in a frock like you.” Her words cut, but they landed like fuel on the fire in my gut, my cock throbbing so hard against the lace I thought I’d burst. Kev’s chest heaved, his nipples hard under the teddy, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away, the sight searing itself into me, filthy and intoxicating.

“Fuck off and fix the telly,” Dawn snapped, already moving to untie Kev. She yanked at the silk, her movements sharp but deliberate, like she was putting on a show. “Get changed and come downstairs,” she told him, her voice softer now, almost tender, but with a steel edge. Kev nodded, his face flushed, and I stumbled out of the room, my legs weak, my mind a haze of shock and arousal. What the fuck was happening? My cock was leaking into the panties, the lace soaked, the friction unbearable as I shuffled downstairs, every step a reminder of the secret under my jeans.

I fumbled with the Freeview box in the living room, my hands shaking, the image of Kev burned into my brain—his bound body, the cage, the plug, the way Dawn had owned the room. My fingers brushed the bulge in my jeans, the lace teasing my cock, and I bit back a groan, desperate to stroke myself right there. I didn’t dare. Not with Dawn’s footsteps on the stairs, her presence like a storm cloud. She strode into the room, her eyes locking onto mine, and before I could react, she stepped close—too close—and grabbed my cock through my jeans, her grip firm, unyielding.

I gasped, my knees buckling as her fingers squeezed, the lace amplifying the pressure, my balls tightening. “Next time I tell you to visit,” she whispered, her breath hot against my ear, “make sure you’re alone.” Her hand lingered, stroking once, slow and deliberate, before she let go, leaving me panting, my cock throbbing so hard I could barely stand. She turned away, casual as if she’d just asked me to pass the salt, and started fussing with the kettle. Kev appeared moments later, dressed in jeans and a jumper, his face still flushed but his eyes avoiding mine.

I mumbled something about the Freeview box being fixed, my voice hoarse, and Dawn just nodded, her smirk back in place, her plans—whatever the fuck they were—locked tight behind those eyes. Jane’s car pulled up outside, and I adjusted my jeans, the panties still clinging, wet and obscene, my body screaming for release I couldn’t have. Not yet.

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By *ocalsucker1 OP Man
1 week ago

Launceston

The next few weeks slipped back into the familiar grind, the routine wrapping around us like a worn-out blanket. Jane and I fell into our usual rhythm—Ant and Dec on the telly, a glass of wine, her scrolling through her phone while I pretended to care about the news. The black lacy panties stayed hidden in her drawer, but their memory clung to me like a second skin, the ghost of their tight grip haunting every quiet moment. I’d sneak upstairs when Jane was out or asleep, firing up the laptop to rewatch that video—the guy in lingerie, his wife’s moans—my hand working slow and deliberate, stroking my cock through my boxers until I spilled, biting my lip to keep quiet. The lace, the tights, the satin slip—they were a drug, and I was hooked, chasing the high of that day in the kitchen, Dawn’s mocking voice ringing in my ears.

Jane even let me fuck her once, a rare break from our two-pump norm. She lay back, her nighty hiked up, her sighs soft but distracted, and I thrust into her, my mind not on her but on Kev—bound in that sheer black teddy, his cock caged, the plug in his arse. I came hard, too fast, and Jane just patted my arm, rolling over to sleep. I lay awake, the image of Kev’s flushed face and Dawn’s hand on my cock burning brighter than the feel of Jane’s body.

About a month later, we were in the kitchen, Jane chopping carrots for dinner, when she dropped the bomb. “Mum just called,” she said, casual as ever, and my heart skipped, a jolt of fear and filthy anticipation shooting through me. I froze, the mug in my hand suddenly heavy, my cock twitching at the memory of Dawn’s grip, her whispered command: Next time, make sure you’re alone.

“She wants to redecorate the spare room, but Dad’s not up to it,” Jane continued, oblivious to the heat flooding my veins. “I volunteered you.”

“You did what?” I exclaimed, my voice too loud, cracking with panic. My mind raced—Dawn’s smirk, Kev’s bound body, the way her fingers had squeezed me through the lace-soaked panties. What the fuck was she planning? Jane glanced at me, frowning slightly, but shrugged it off.

“Don’t make a fuss,” she said, peeling carrots into a pot. “It’s just painting a room. You’re free Saturday, right? Mum said around noon.”

I mumbled something incoherent, my throat tight, my cock already stirring in my jeans. The thought of going back to Dawn’s house, her knowing eyes, her sharp tongue—it was terrifying and intoxicating. I spent the next few days in a haze, barely able to focus. At night, I’d lock myself in the bathroom, the laptop balanced on the sink, the video looping as I stroked myself raw, imagining Kev’s lingerie, the cage, the plug, but now it was Dawn’s voice in my head, calling me a “stupid cunt,” her hand on me, promising something I couldn’t name. I’d come so hard my knees buckled, the shame and lust twisting into a knot I couldn’t untangle.

Saturday morning arrived, and Jane was out with Angie again, leaving me to face Dawn’s house alone. I stood in front of Jane’s dresser, my hands shaking as I pulled out the black lacy panties, the ones I’d worn before. I slipped them on, the lace tight and teasing, clinging to my cock, already half-hard. I didn’t dare wear the tights or slip, not with Dawn’s unpredictable edge, but the panties were enough—a secret rebellion, a pulse of defiance under my jeans. Every step to the car, the lace rubbed, keeping me on edge, my balls tight with anticipation.

I pulled up to Dawn’s house at noon, the curtains drawn, the air heavy with something unspoken. My cock aching in the panties, the fabric damp already, and I adjusted myself, trying to steady my breathing. I knocked, and the door swung open, Dawn standing there in a tight black top and skirt, her eyes raking over me like she could see right through my jeans. “You’re late,” she said, her voice low, that smirk curling her lips. “And you’d better be alone.”

I swallowed hard, nodding, my mouth dry. “Where’s Kev?” I managed, my voice barely a whisper.

“Out,” she said, stepping aside to let me in, her hand brushing my arm, deliberate and electric. “Spare room’s upstairs. But first…” She paused, her eyes dropping to my crotch, and I swore she knew about the panties, the way her smirk widened. “Let’s see if you’ve learned anything since last time.”

She turned, her hips swaying as she led me upstairs, my heart pounding, the lace rubbing with every step, my cock straining, my mind screaming with fear and need. The spare room door was open, paint cans and brushes scattered, but Dawn didn’t stop there. She pushed open another door—the bedroom again—and my breath caught, my body frozen, the memory of Kev’s bound form flooding back, raw and obscene.

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By *mlcutencuddleyMan
1 week ago

barnsley

Wow this made me so hard my cock is trobing now

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By *ocalsucker1 OP Man
1 week ago

Launceston

Dawn’s command hit like a whip. “Strip,” she barked, her voice cold and unyielding, her eyes boring into me with that smirk that made my stomach churn and my cock throb harder against the black lacy panties. I gulped, my throat tight, and stammered a weak protest. “Dawn, I—I can’t—”

Before I could finish, her foot shot out, slamming into my bollocks with a sickening thud. Pain exploded through me, my knees buckling, but the lace clung to my cock, amplifying the ache into something twisted, something that made me harder despite the sting. “Strip, you pathetic cunt!” she yelled, her voice echoing in the bedroom, sharp enough to cut through my haze of fear and lust. My hands fumbled, shaking, as I unbuttoned my jeans, letting them fall to the floor. The panties were exposed, soaked through with pre-cum, the lace stretched tight over my bulging cock, betraying every ounce of my shameful arousal.

“You are a fucking disgrace,” Dawn spat, circling me like a predator, her heels clicking on the hardwood. “A pathetic pervert.” Her words landed like slaps, each one sinking into me, making my face burn and my cock twitch. I stood there, naked except for the panties, my body trembling, the lace rubbing with every shaky breath, the air cool against my exposed skin.

“Kev, get in here!” she called, and my heart lurched. “Wait,” I croaked, “I thought you said he was out?”

Before I could process it, Kev shuffled into the room, his head bowed, his body a vision of submission. He was decked out in lingerie that put my panties to shame—a crimson corset cinched tight, accentuating his waist, sheer stockings clipped to garters, and a pair of silky panties that barely contained his caged cock. The plug was still there, its base visible through the thin fabric, and his face was flushed, his eyes darting nervously between me and Dawn.

“Now this is a real sissy,” Dawn said, her voice dripping with disdain as she gestured to Kev. “Not a sad little cock in a frock like you.” She stepped closer, her perfume sharp and heady, and I flinched, expecting another blow. Instead, she pointed at Kev. “On your knees. Get those pathetic panties off him. Now.”

Kev dropped instantly, his knees hitting the floor with a soft thud. He crawled toward me, his hands trembling as he reached for the lace. His fingers brushed my thighs, and I gasped, my cock jerking upright as he slid the panties down, the fabric dragging over my sensitive skin, leaving me fully exposed. My erection stood proud, slick with pre-cum, and Kev’s eyes widened for a moment before he looked away, his face red. The humiliation burned, but it fueled me, my balls tightening as Dawn’s gaze raked over me, cold and mocking.

“Kev, fuck off and get what I laid out for this pathetic cunt,” she ordered. Kev scrambled to his feet, disappearing out the door, his stockings whispering against each other. Dawn circled me again, her eyes never leaving my naked body, my cock throbbing under her scrutiny. “Look at you,” she sneered. “Hard as a rock, leaking like a fucking tap. You’re disgusting.” Each word was a lash, and I hated how much I loved it, how the shame made my cock pulse harder, my body aching for release.

“You will call me Mistress at all times when I summon you,” she said, stepping so close I could feel the heat of her body. I opened my mouth, stuttering, “Er—” but before I could finish, her hand cracked against my cock, a sharp slap that sent pain and pleasure shooting through me. I yelped, doubling over, my erection bouncing, the sting radiating through my balls.

“Yes, Mistress!” I gasped, the words spilling out. “Thank you!”

She smirked, satisfied. “Good boy. You’ll thank me for everything.”

Kev returned, his arms loaded with a pile of lingerie and sex toys that made my breath catch—a black lace bra, a garter belt, sheer black stockings, and a sleek, curved plug that glinted in the light. He knelt beside Dawn, his head bowed, and murmured, “Thank you, Mistress,” before setting the items at her feet.

“Dress this pervert and prepare him,” Dawn commanded, her voice like steel. “Yes, Mistress,” Kev replied, his voice soft but obedient. He stood, picking up the bra first, his hands shaking as he stepped toward me. My cock twitched, still slick, as he slid the bra straps over my shoulders, the lace cool and scratchy against my skin, the cups tight against my chest. He fastened it, his fingers brushing my nipples, sending a jolt straight to my groin. Next came the garter belt, his hands wrapping it around my waist, the clips dangling, teasing my skin. He knelt again, rolling the stockings up my legs, the sheer fabric hugging me like a lover, the sensation so intense I bit my lip to keep from moaning.

Then he picked up the plug, slick with lube, and my heart raced, fear and desire crashing together. “Bend over,” Kev whispered, his voice barely audible, his eyes flicking to Dawn for approval. She nodded, her smirk widening, and I obeyed, leaning forward, my hands gripping the bedpost, my cock dripping onto the floor. Kev’s fingers were gentle but firm, spreading me, and the plug’s cold tip pressed against me, pushing in slow, stretching me until it settled, heavy and intrusive, every movement sending waves of pleasure through me. I groaned, my cock throbbing, the lace bra and stockings amplifying every sensation, my body a live wire.

Dawn stepped forward, her hand grazing my cock again, a fleeting, teasing stroke that made me whimper. “You’re mine now, pervert,” she whispered, her voice a promise and a threat. “Next time, you’ll do better. Or I’ll make you wish you had.”

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By *ocalsucker1 OP Man
1 week ago

Launceston

Dawn’s presence filled the room like a storm, her smirk sharp as a blade as she sank into the armchair, her legs crossed, the tight black skirt riding up just enough to make my mouth dry. The lace bra scratched against my nipples, the sheer stockings clung to my thighs, and the plug shifted inside me with every breath, a constant, intrusive pressure that kept my cock throbbing, dripping onto the floor. I stood there, naked except for the lingerie she’d forced me into, my body trembling with a mix of shame and unbearable need, the garter belt’s clips tugging at the stockings with every slight movement.

“On your knees,” she commanded, her voice low and unyielding, her eyes locked on mine. I dropped instantly, the hardwood biting into my knees, the plug shifting deeper, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain through me that made my cock twitch in the open air. My face burned, but the humiliation only made me harder, the slick tip of my erection glistening under her gaze. She turned to Kev, who stood meekly by the bed, his crimson corset and stockings a stark contrast to his flushed, submissive expression. “Over my knee, sissy,” she said, patting her lap.

Kev didn’t hesitate, murmuring, “Thank you, Mistress,” as he draped himself across her thighs, his arse raised, the silky panties barely covering him. The base of the plug in his arse peeked out, obscene and deliberate, and I couldn’t look away, my cock pulsing at the sight. Dawn reached into a drawer beside the chair and pulled out a paddle, its surface gleaming in the dim light. One side was engraved with “Sissy,” the other “Slut,” the words bold and menacing. She held it up, letting me see, her eyes never leaving mine, a silent promise of what was to come.

The first crack of the paddle against Kev’s arse echoed through the room, sharp and brutal. He gasped, his body jerking, but his voice was steady as he said, “Thank you, Mistress.” Another blow, harder, the word “Sissy” leaving a red imprint on his skin. Then “Slut,” the paddle alternating, each strike leaving his cheeks redder, the words branded into his flesh like a claim. Kev’s moans grew louder, his “Thank you, Mistress” coming faster, his caged cock straining against its confines, the plug shifting with every blow. I watched, transfixed, my own cock aching so fiercely I thought I’d come without touching it, the plug inside me amplifying every sensation, the stockings rubbing my thighs, the bra teasing my nipples into hard peaks.

“This,” Dawn said, her voice cutting through Kev’s gasps, her eyes boring into me, “is what disobedience gets you, cunt.” She landed another blow, the paddle’s crack making me flinch, my cock bobbing, slick and desperate. “Fail to serve me properly, and you’ll get it. Worse.” Her words were a threat, a lure, and I felt them in my bones, my body screaming to please her, to avoid the paddle and earn… something. Her approval? Her touch? I didn’t know, but I wanted it, needed it.

“Thank you, Mistress,” I blurted, my voice hoarse, my cock aching so badly I could barely think. The plug shifted as I knelt, sending waves of pleasure through me, my balls tight, my erection dripping onto the floor. Dawn’s smirk widened, and she shoved Kev off her lap. He stumbled to his knees, his arse red and marked, the words “Sissy” and “Slut” stark against his skin. “Get up,” she told him, and he obeyed, murmuring, “Thank you, Mistress,” before retreating to the corner, his head bowed.

Dawn leaned forward, her eyes locked on my cock, her fingers grazing the paddle’s edge. “You’re a mess,” she said, her voice low, mocking. “Leaking all over my floor, you filthy pervert.” She stood, stepping closer, her heels clicking, and reached out, her fingers brushing my cock, just enough to make me whimper, the touch electric through the haze of my arousal. “You want to please me, don’t you?” she whispered, her breath hot against my ear. I nodded, unable to speak, the plug and lingerie overwhelming me, my cock screaming for release.

“Then prove it,” she said, stepping back and pointing to the bed. “Lie down. Spread your legs. Let’s see how well you take instruction.” My heart pounded, fear and lust crashing together, but I obeyed, crawling onto the bed, the plug shifting with every movement, the stockings sliding against the sheets. I lay back, spreading my legs, my cock standing upright, slick and exposed, the bra and garter belt framing my vulnerability. Kev watched from the corner, his eyes wide, his own arousal evident despite the cage. Dawn picked up a sleek, black vibrator from the pile Kev had brought, its hum low and menacing as she switched it on.

“Say it,” she commanded, standing over me, the vibrator inches from my cock. “Thank you, Mistress.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” I gasped, my voice breaking, my body trembling as she lowered the vibrator, the anticipation alone enough to push me to the edge.

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By *ocalsucker1 OP Man
1 week ago

Launceston

My body betrayed me, the pressure too much—the lace bra scratching my nipples, the stockings tight against my thighs, the plug’s heavy stretch inside me, and Dawn’s mocking gaze burning into my soul. I couldn’t hold back. My cock pulsed, untouched, and I spunked hard, ropes of cum splattering across my stomach, the garter belt, the bed. The release was shattering, my body shaking as I gasped, the plug shifting with every convulsion, amplifying the pleasure into something raw and obscene. Dawn just laughed, a sharp, cruel sound that cut through my haze, her eyes glinting with amusement and disdain. “Pathetic,” she sneered, stepping back, her heels clicking on the hardwood. “Can’t even last a minute, you filthy cunt.”

She leaned over me, her fingers grazing the cum-slick garter belt, then turned to Kev, who knelt in the corner, his crimson corset and stockings gleaming, his caged cock straining. She yanked the plug from my arse with a swift, brutal tug, the sudden emptiness making me cry out, my hole clenching, my cock twitching despite the orgasm. She tossed the plug at Kev, its slick surface catching the light. “Clean it,” she ordered, her voice like steel. Without hesitation, Kev caught it, his eyes lowered, and started licking it clean, his tongue sliding over the lube and my shame, his “Thank you, Mistress” muffled but obedient. The sight made my stomach lurch and my cock stir again, the humiliation twisting into a fresh wave of arousal.

Dawn picked up the vibrator, its low hum filling the room, and pressed its tip against my still-sensitive hole. I cried out, “Thank you, Mistress!” my voice desperate, raw, as the cold, slick head teased me, circling the tender rim. She didn’t ease me into it—she plunged it deep, the intrusion sharp and overwhelming, stretching me wider than the plug, the vibrations pulsing through my core. I arched off the bed, my legs spread wide, the stockings rubbing against the sheets, the bra’s lace biting into my skin. “You disgusting slut,” she hissed, fucking my arse hard, the vibrator’s relentless buzz driving me to the edge of sanity. “Look at you, leaking again, you worthless pervert. A cock-hungry sissy who can’t get enough.”

She thrust the vibrator deeper, angling it to hit every nerve, her words a torrent of filth. “You’re nothing but a hole for me to use,” she spat, “a cum-soaked bitch who’d beg for this.” Each insult landed like a blow, and I loved it, hated it, needed it. All I could do was whimper, “Thank you, Mistress,” over and over, my voice breaking, my cock hardening again despite the recent release, the cum on my stomach cooling, sticky against the garter belt. The vibrator’s hum was relentless, pounding into me, my hole clenching around it, every thrust sending shocks of pleasure through my balls, my nipples, my entire body.

Kev knelt nearby, the cleaned plug set aside, his tongue still glistening, his eyes fixed on the floor but his caged cock dripping, betraying his own arousal. Dawn glanced at him, then back at me, her smirk widening. “You think you’re done?” she said, slowing the vibrator’s thrusts, letting it linger deep inside me, the vibrations torturing my oversensitive nerves. “You don’t get off that easy, cunt.” She pulled the vibrator out, leaving me gasping, empty, my hole twitching, my cock throbbing painfully. She tossed it to Kev, who caught it without a word, his “Thank you, Mistress” automatic.

She stood over me, her skirt hiked up slightly, revealing the edge of her own black lace panties, a deliberate tease that made my mouth water. “Get up,” she commanded, pointing to the floor. “Kneel. You’re going to learn what it means to serve.” I scrambled off the bed, my legs shaky, the stockings sliding against each other, the bra’s straps digging into my shoulders. I knelt before her, my cum-smeared stomach glistening, my cock hard and dripping again, the humiliation and need consuming me. She stepped closer, her hand tangling in my hair, yanking my head back so I was forced to look up at her. “You’ll do exactly what I say,” she whispered, her voice low, dangerous. “Or I’ll make sure everyone knows what a pathetic sissy you are.”

My heart pounded, fear and lust crashing together, but I nodded, my voice barely a whisper. “Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.” She released my hair, stepping back, and gestured to Kev. “Show him how it’s done,” she said. Kev crawled forward, his corset creaking, his stockings catching the light, and knelt beside me, his head bowed, his caged cock still leaking. Dawn picked up a leather crop from the pile of toys, its tip gleaming, and ran it along my jaw, then Kev’s, her eyes gleaming with something dark and unspoken.

“Now,” she said, her voice a command that brooked no refusal, “let’s see if you can earn my approval, you filthy little cunt.”

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By *onny-2024Man
1 week ago

Wick

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By *ocalsucker1 OP Man
1 week ago

Launceston

Dawn hitched up her skirt with a slow, deliberate motion, the black fabric sliding over her thighs to reveal a pair of lacy panties, sheer and clinging, the dark outline of her cunt visible through the fabric. My cock ached painfully, dripping onto the floor, the lace bra and stockings amplifying every sensation, the garter belt’s clips tugging with every shaky breath. Kev, still kneeling, his crimson corset tight around his waist, his caged cock leaking, leaned forward, his face inches from her crotch. “Please, Mistress,” he begged, his voice thick with desperation, “can I clean you?”

“No,” Dawn snapped, her voice sharp as the crack of a whip. “The pervert cunt sissy will do that.” Her eyes locked on mine, a cruel glint in them, and she crooked a finger. “Come here.” Before I could process it, her hand shot out, grabbing my hair and yanking my face into her crotch, the lace of her panties rough against my lips, the musky heat of her overwhelming. My cock twitched, slick with pre-cum, as the stockings rubbed my thighs, the bra’s straps biting into my shoulders.

“Remove my panties and lick me clean, sissy,” she commanded, her voice low, dripping with disdain.

“Yes, Mistress, thank you, Mistress,” I gasped, my hands trembling as I reached for her panties, my fingers brushing the warm skin of her hips. I slid the lace down, the fabric catching on her thighs, revealing her glistening cunt, the scent heady and intoxicating. I leaned in, my face buried between her legs, and lapped hard, my tongue sliding over her slick folds, her taste sharp and salty, coating my lips, my chin. I worked eagerly, desperate to please, my cock aching, dripping onto the floor as I licked, her moans soft but commanding above me.

*Whack!* The leather crop cracked against my back, the sting sharp and sudden, making me cry out into her cunt, the vibration drawing a low groan from her. “Useless, pathetic sissy cunt,” she yelled, her voice cutting through the haze of my arousal. “You call that cleaning? You’re a fucking disgrace.” Another whack, this time across my arse, the pain blooming hot and bright, my hole clenching from the memory of the vibrator, my cock getting harder, leaking a steady stream. I kept licking, my tongue frantic now, her juices smearing across my face, my nose pressed into her, every breath filled with her.

“You will be mine,” she hissed, grabbing my hair again, pulling my face tighter against her, “to do as I wish, when I want.” She thrust her hips, grinding against my mouth, her moans louder now, her control absolute. “A pathetic sissy slut who lives for my command.” I moaned into her, my “Thank you, Mistress” muffled, my body shaking with need, the stockings slick with sweat, the bra’s lace scratching my nipples raw.

She shoved me back, my face wet, my lips swollen, and stood, smoothing her skirt as if nothing had happened. “Get up,” she ordered, pointing to the corner. “Stand there, you stupid sissy cunt.”

“Yes, Mistress, thank you, Mistress,” I stammered, scrambling to my feet, my legs unsteady, the stockings slipping against each other, the garter belt tugging at my waist. I stood in the corner, hands behind my back as she’d commanded, my cock dripping, a puddle forming on the floor beneath me. My body was a live wire, every nerve screaming, the humiliation and arousal so intertwined I couldn’t tell them apart. Kev knelt nearby, his eyes down, his caged cock still leaking, his “Thank you, Mistress” a soft echo of my own submission.

Dawn paced behind me, the crop tapping against her thigh, the sound a constant threat. “You’ll wait,” she said, her voice low, dangerous. “And you’ll learn what it means to serve me properly.” For what, I didn’t know—more punishment, more pleasure, more of her cruel, intoxicating control. My cock pulsed with every tap of the crop, my hole twitching from the memory of the vibrator, my face still slick with her taste. I stood there, trembling, exposed, the lingerie clinging to my sweat-soaked skin, my mind racing with fear and need. What was she planning? What would she demand next? All I could do was wait, my body hers, my cock dripping, my voice ready to chant “Thank you, Mistress” for whatever came next.

The faint sound of a car pulling up outside made my heart lurch—Jane, back from the shop. Dawn’s smirk returned, her eyes flicking to the window, then back to me. “Not a word,” she whispered, her voice a warning. “Or I’ll make you regret it.”

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By *..NemoMan
1 week ago

Durham

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By *pacecowboy99Man
1 week ago

Near You

Love this

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By *ocalsucker1 OP Man
1 week ago

Launceston

Kev and I stood in the corner, faces to the wall, our bodies pressed against the cool plaster, the silence heavy with our shared shame and arousal. The lace bra dug into my shoulders, the stockings clung to my sweat-slick thighs, and my cock, still hard despite the earlier release, dripped steadily, the garter belt’s clips tugging with every shallow breath. Kev’s crimson corset creaked beside me, his caged cock leaking, the faint scent of his submission mingling with mine. Neither of us spoke—too scared, too humiliated, too caught in the web of Dawn’s control. My face was still slick with her taste, her juices drying on my lips, the memory of the crop’s sting and the vibrator’s relentless thrust burning through me.

Downstairs, Jane’s voice broke the silence. “Hi, Mum, all okay?” she asked, her tone bright, oblivious, as she stepped into the house. My heart lurched, my cock twitching traitorously at the thought of her finding me like this—dressed in her mother’s lingerie, marked by her dominance.

“Yes,” Dawn replied smoothly, her voice calm, betraying nothing. “The boys are at B&Q getting supplies. Probably nipped off to the pub for a drink.” Her lie was effortless, and I marveled at how easily she wove it, her control absolute even in casual conversation. Jane laughed, and they fell into general chit-chat—something about the garden, a recipe, the weather—mundane words that felt surreal against the obscene reality of the bedroom. Kev and I stayed silent, our breaths shallow, the lingerie a constant reminder of our submission, my cock aching with every word from downstairs.

After what felt like an eternity—forty minutes by the clock on the wall—Jane’s voice cut through again. “Right, Mum, I’m off. Send him home when he gets back. Love you.” The door clicked shut, the gate slammed, and the car engine faded into the distance. My stomach knotted, relief and dread mixing with the ever-present lust. Jane was gone, and Dawn was coming.

Her heels clicked up the stairs, each step a pulse that matched the throb in my cock. The bedroom door creaked open, and her presence filled the room, heavy and electric. “On your knees, both of you,” she commanded, her voice low, commanding, with that cruel edge that made my balls tighten.

Kev and I dropped instantly, the hardwood biting into our knees, the stockings sliding against the floor. “Yes, Mistress, thank you,” we said in unison, our voices trembling but obedient. I glanced at Kev, his head bowed, his caged cock still dripping, and felt a twisted kinship, both of us bound by her will.

Dawn stood over us, the leather crop dangling from her hand, her black top and skirt a stark contrast to the lingerie we wore. “Today,” she said, her voice slow, deliberate, “was an introduction to how our perverted world works.” She paced, the crop tapping her thigh, each sound sending a shiver through me. “You can fuck off now, and we’ll never say another word on the subject. Or…” She paused, her eyes locking on mine, that smirk curling her lips. “You can continue your visits. Your training. What’s it to be, cunt?”

I didn’t even think. The words spilled out, driven by the ache in my cock, the taste of her still on my tongue, the image of Kev’s red, branded arse seared into my mind. “More, if I may, Mistress. Thank you.” My voice was hoarse, desperate, my cock leaking onto the floor, the stockings and bra amplifying every sensation, my body screaming for her control.

She laughed, a sharp, mocking sound. “Good. Now get up, get dressed, and fuck off home, you sissy cunt.” She turned to Kev, dismissing him with a flick of her wrist. “You too. Clean yourself up.”

I scrambled to my feet, my legs shaky, the lingerie clinging to my sweat-soaked skin. I peeled off the bra, stockings, and garter belt, the absence of their tight embrace almost painful. My jeans and T-shirt felt wrong, too plain, too ordinary, but the memory of the lace, the plug, the vibrator, and Dawn’s cruel voice stayed with me, a fire in my blood. Kev dressed silently, his movements quick, his eyes avoiding mine. We left the room without a word, Dawn’s smirk following us out.

Back home, I slipped into the routine like nothing had happened. Jane was in the kitchen, humming as she unpacked groceries, her cotton nighty later that night a stark contrast to the lingerie that had consumed me. We watched telly, sipped wine, and went to bed, her soft snores beside me a reminder of our predictable life. But my mind was elsewhere—on Dawn’s crop, her taste, the way Kev had licked the plug clean, the vibrator’s relentless hum. I lay awake, my hand drifting to my cock, stroking slow and deliberate, the memory of her words—“you’ll be mine”—pushing me to the edge. I came quietly, biting my lip, the release a pale shadow of what I’d felt in her bedroom.

The days that followed were torture. Every glance at Jane’s dresser, every quiet moment, pulled me back to the panties, the stockings, the plug. I’d sneak to the bathroom, the laptop open to that video, my hand working my cock as I pictured Dawn’s smirk, Kev’s marked arse, the promise of “training.” I was hooked, craving her next summons, dreading it, needing it. A week later, my phone buzzed—a text from an unknown number. *Noon, Saturday. Alone. Don’t disappoint me, sissy.* My cock hardened instantly, my heart racing. Dawn.

I mumbled some excuse to Jane about helping her mum again, my voice steady despite the heat flooding my veins. Saturday morning, I stood before her dresser again, my hands trembling as I pulled out the black lacy panties, slipping them on, the familiar grip reigniting my need. I drove to Dawn’s, the lace rubbing with every shift of the car seat, my cock already leaking. Her door loomed, and when it opened, she stood there, a leather corset hugging her curves, a riding crop in her hand, her eyes gleaming with dark promise.

“On your knees, sissy,” she said, stepping aside. “Let’s see if you’re worth training.”

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By *usie pTV/TS
1 week ago

taunton

frigging hell

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By *ocalsucker1 OP Man
1 week ago

Launceston

The collar bit into my neck, its etched words—“Sissy Cunt”—a branding as real as the paddle’s marks would soon be. The leather was cool, tight, a constant reminder of Dawn’s ownership as she clipped a lead to it, the metal clasp cold against my skin. “Follow,” she commanded, yanking the lead, forcing me to crawl on all fours, my knees cold on the hardwood, the black lacy panties clinging to my dripping cock. The stockings I’d worn last time were gone, but the memory of their slick grip lingered, and my cock hurt, leaking into the lace, the humiliation fueling my need. My face still burned with her taste from last time, her juices a ghost on my tongue, and my arse clenched, remembering the vibrator’s brutal thrust.

We reached the living room, and Dawn sank onto the sofa, her legs spread wide, her skirt hiked up to reveal those sheer black panties, the outline of her cunt already glistening. “Kneel in front of me, cunt,” she ordered, her voice sharp, unyielding.

“Yes, Mistress, thank you,” I gasped, dropping to my knees, the collar tugging as I positioned myself between her thighs. My cock twitched, the lace soaked, my balls tight with anticipation. She grabbed a sleek vibrator from the side table, its buzz filling the air like a warning. She rubbed its humming head against her large clit, slow and deliberate, her eyes locked on mine as she dragged it up and down her crack, the lace of her panties darkening with her arousal. My mouth watered, my cock dripping onto the floor, the sight of her so raw, so commanding, unlike anything I’d ever seen.

She plunged the vibrator into herself, her moan low and guttural, and I whispered, “Thank you, Mistress,” in awe, my eyes glued to her cunt as she fucked herself hard, her hips bucking, the wet sounds obscene. Her moans grew louder, sharper, and my cock ached, leaking a steady stream, the collar’s weight grounding me in my submission. “Get your face on my pussy, you disgusting sissy cunt,” she screamed, her voice breaking with pleasure.

I dove in, my lips meeting her slick folds, her juices gushing over my face, hot and salty. I lapped frantically, drinking her in, my tongue sliding over her clit, her inner thighs, her taste overwhelming. She grabbed my hair, pulling me closer, grinding against my mouth. “Lick it harder, you cunt,” she snarled. “Tongue my fucking ass and don’t stop until I say.” I obeyed, my tongue darting to her tight hole, licking desperately, the musky heat driving me wild. My cock pulsed, and I couldn’t hold back—I came hard, untouched, my spunk splattering the floor, some splashing onto her leg, the lace panties soaked through, my body shaking with the force of it.

She noticed the cum on her leg as her own climax subsided, her eyes flashing with rage. “You pathetic, useless fucking sissy!” she roared, yanking the lead, the collar choking me as she stood. “Lick it off and clean the floor!” Humiliated, my face burning, I bent down, my tongue lapping at the warm, sticky mess on her leg, then the floor, every drop bitter and shameful, my cock still twitching despite the shame. “Yes, Mistress, thank you,” I mumbled, my voice muffled against the hardwood.

“Kev!” she barked, her voice like a whip. “Get in here now!” Kev appeared, dressed as a sissy maid—black satin dress, frilly white apron, stockings, and garters, his caged cock barely hidden by lacy panties. His eyes were downcast, his face flushed. “Get your pathetic cock out,” Dawn ordered. Kev pulled his panties aside, his caged cock springing free, dripping despite the metal confines. “You have a liking for spunk,” she said, turning to me, her smirk cruel. “Suck him till he cums.”

I hesitated, my stomach lurching—sucking a cock was something I’d never done, never even considered. Dawn lurched from the sofa, grabbed my hair, and dragged me to the armrest, shoving me over it. “Get up, you useless cunt,” she snarled, and the paddle came down hard, the words “Sissy” branding both my arse cheeks, the sting searing through me, my cock hard despite the pain. “Marked and owned,” she hissed, hitting me again, the word “Sissy” burning into my flesh, my hole clenching, my body hers.

“This is your last chance,” she said, yanking the lead. “Drain his cock.”

“Yes, Mistress, thank you,” I gasped, no hesitation this time. I crawled to Kev, my face level with his caged cock, the metal glinting, his pre-cum dripping. I took him in my mouth, the taste foreign, salty, the cage’s edges rough against my lips. “Gag on it, you pathetic sissy,” Dawn ordered, and I did, pushing deeper, my throat tightening as Kev moaned, his hands trembling at his sides. He came fast, his spunk flooding my mouth, hot and thick, more than I could handle. I tried to swallow, gagging, but some escaped, dripping down my chin, pooling on the floor.

Dawn noticed, her eyes narrowing. “Pathetic cunt sissy,” she scolded, grabbing the crop and cracking it against my thigh, the sting sharp and immediate. “You’ll be punished accordingly.” She yanked the lead, pulling me to my feet, my arse burning, my cock still hard, dripping, the collar tight around my neck. “Stand in the corner again,” she commanded, pointing. “Hands behind your back. You’ll learn to do better.”

“Yes, Mistress, thank you,” I whimpered, stumbling to the corner, my body a mess of cum, sweat, and shame, the marks on my arse burning, the taste of Kev’s spunk lingering on my tongue. Kev knelt nearby, his maid outfit pristine despite his own degradation, his “Thank you, Mistress” a soft echo. Dawn paced, the crop tapping her thigh, her eyes gleaming with that dark, unspoken promise. “You chose this, sissy,” she said, her voice low, dangerous. “You’ll come when I call, and you’ll take what I give you. Next time, you’ll swallow every drop, or I’ll make you wish you had.”

She dismissed us with a wave, ordering me to dress and leave. I peeled off the collar, my neck raw, and slipped back into my jeans, the absence of the lace panties jarring, my cock still aching, my arse marked with her words. I drove home, the taste of her cunt, Kev’s spunk, and the sting of the paddle seared into me. At home, Jane was on the sofa, scrolling her phone, oblivious. “Good time at Mum’s?” she asked, not looking up.

“Yeah,” I mumbled, my voice hoarse, my body still humming with what I’d done, what I’d become. That night, in the bathroom, I locked the door, opened the laptop, and watched the video, my hand on my cock, stroking slow, the memory of Dawn’s crop, her taste, her commands pushing me to the edge. Another text buzzed on my phone: *Next Saturday. Noon. Alone. Wear the panties.* My cock pulsed, and I came, whispering, “Yes, Mistress, thank you,” into the dark, already dreading and craving her next summons.

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By *ocalsucker1 OP Man
1 week ago

Launceston

Saturday couldn’t come fast enough, the days dragging like a slow burn, my cock twitching every time I thought of Dawn’s text: Noon. Alone. Wear the panties. Jane was oblivious, humming as she got ready to meet Angie, her plans a perfect cover for my lie. “I’m meeting your dad for a couple of pints,” I said, my voice steady despite the heat pooling in my gut, the black lacy panties already snug under my jeans, rubbing my cock with every step. Jane nodded, barely looking up from her phone, and I was out the door, my heart pounding, my balls tight with anticipation and dread.

I arrived at Dawn’s—Mistress’s—door right at noon, the lace panties soaked with pre-cum, my cock straining against the fabric. The door swung open, and Kev stood there, a vision of obscene submission in super frilly lingerie—a pink satin babydoll, sheer and ruffled, barely covering his caged cock, with matching thigh-high stockings and a garter belt that framed his trembling body. His face was flushed, his eyes downcast, but his cock dripped through the cage, betraying his need. “Come in,” he mumbled, his voice soft, “Mistress is waiting.”

Inside, Mistress sat in the armchair, a leather corset hugging her curves, her legs crossed, a riding crop resting on her thigh like a fucking threat. Her eyes raked over me, that cruel smirk curling her lips. “You’re barely worth my time, you pathetic sissy cunt,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “Kev, get him dressed.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Kev replied, his frilly babydoll swishing as he led me upstairs. My cock hurt, the panties rubbing relentlessly, and I followed, my body already hers. In the bedroom, Kev handed me one of his maid outfits—black satin, obscenely short, with a white lace apron, stockings, and garters. I stripped, the panties clinging to my dripping cock, and slipped into the outfit, the satin cool against my skin, the stockings tight and slick, the apron’s lace teasing my thighs. The collar from last time was there too, etched with “Sissy Cunt,” and Kev fastened it around my neck, his fingers brushing my skin, making me shiver. My cock stood hard, tenting the skirt, and Kev’s eyes flicked to it, his own cage dripping.

“Clean the kitchen, you pathetic sissy cunt,” Mistress ordered when we returned downstairs, her voice sharp, taking no argument.

“Yes, Mistress, thank you,” I said, my voice hoarse, and I scurried to the kitchen, the maid outfit swishing, the stockings rubbing my thighs, the collar tight around my neck. I scrubbed counters, the satin skirt riding up, exposing my arse, the panties clinging to my leaking cock. Kev knelt beside Mistress in the living room, his frilly babydoll bunched at his waist, his caged cock glistening. She ignored him, her eyes on me through the doorway, her crop tapping her thigh, each sound making my hole clench, my cock drip.

After an eternity of scrubbing, my knees aching, my cock throbbing, Mistress called us back. “Enough,” she snapped. “Kneel, both of you, you useless fucking sluts.” We dropped to our knees before her, the hardwood biting, our “Yes, Mistress, thank you” echoing in unison. She stood, her corset creaking, and circled us, the crop trailing over my shoulders, then Kev’s, her perfume thick and intoxicating. “You’re both disgusting, cock-hungry sissy cunts,” she said, her voice low, venomous. “Let’s see how far you’ll go to please me.”

She grabbed Kev by his hair, yanking him forward. “Suck his pathetic cock,” she ordered, pointing at me. Kev hesitated, his eyes wide, but a crack of the crop on his arse—already marked with “Sissy” and “Slut” from last time—made him yelp, “Yes, Mistress, thank you.” He crawled to me, his babydoll swishing, and pulled my panties aside, my cock springing free, slick and aching. His lips closed around me, warm and wet, his tongue clumsy but eager, and I groaned, the sensation overwhelming, the maid outfit’s satin rubbing my skin, the collar restricting me slightly. “Harder, you fucking sissy,” Mistress snarled, cracking the crop on Kev’s back. He moaned around my cock, the vibration pushing me closer to the edge, my balls tightening.

“Now you,” she said, turning to me, her eyes gleaming. “Get your mouth on his caged cock, you filthy cunt.” My stomach lurched—I’d tasted him last time, but this felt different, more depraved. I leaned forward, the maid skirt riding up, and licked at Kev’s caged cock, the metal cold against my tongue, his pre-cum salty and thick. He moaned, his babydoll brushing my face, and I sucked harder, the cage’s edges rough, my own cock dripping onto the floor. “Gag on it, you worthless slut,” Mistress barked, the crop landing on my arse, the sting sharp, reigniting the “Sissy” marks. I gagged, my throat tight, Kev’s moans mixing with mine, our bodies trembling under her command.

She laughed, a cruel, throaty sound, and sat back, hitching her skirt to reveal her lace panties, already soaked. “Keep going, you disgusting cunts,” she said, sliding a vibrator into herself, fucking her cunt hard, her moans filling the room. My cock ached, my mouth full of Kev’s caged dick, his tongue on mine, the maid outfit and collar driving me wild. I came without warning, spunk splattering the floor, some hitting Kev’s stockings, and he followed, his cum leaking through the cage, coating my lips. Mistress screamed, her own climax shaking the sofa, her juices glistening on her thighs.

“You fucking messes,” she snarled, standing, the crop raised. “Lick it all up—each other, the floor, every fucking drop.” We obeyed, our tongues lapping at each other’s cum-soaked skin, the floor, the taste bitter and humiliating, my cock already hardening again, the satin and lace amplifying every touch. “Pathetic sissy cunts,” she said, cracking the crop on my arse, the pain blooming, my “Thank you, Mistress” automatic.

She yanked my collar, pulling me to my knees. “You’re mine, both of you,” she said, her voice a promise and a threat. “Next time, you’ll do worse. Now fuck off home, you useless slut.” She dismissed Kev with a wave, and I dressed, the jeans and T-shirt feeling wrong after the satin and lace, my arse stinging, my cock still leaking. At home, Jane was on the sofa, scrolling her phone, oblivious. “Good pints with Dad?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I lied, my voice hoarse, the taste of Kev’s cum, Mistress’s cunt, and my own shame lingering. That night, I locked myself in the bathroom, the laptop open, stroking my cock to the video, but it wasn’t enough—only Mistress’s voice, her crop, her control could satisfy the need she’d carved into me. Another text buzzed: Next Saturday. Noon. Bring the collar. Disappoint me, and you’ll regret it. My cock pulsed, and I whispered, “Yes, Mistress, thank you,” already lost to her world.

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By *oppy12Man
1 week ago

Swindon

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By *erry bull1Man
1 week ago

doncaster

Awesome

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By *ocalsucker1 OP Man
4 days ago

Launceston

The week was a fever dream, each day a torment of craving and dread, my cock aching at the thought of Mistress’s text: Next Saturday. Noon. Bring the collar. Viv’s coming too. Jane’s routine—wine, telly, her cotton nighty—felt like a pale shadow, her obliviousness a stark contrast to the fire burning in my veins. At night, I’d sneak to the bathroom, the black lacy panties pinched from her drawer clinging to my cock, stroking myself to the memory of Mistress’s crop, Viv’s dripping cunt, Kev’s caged moans, and the double-ended dildo that had bound us in shame. My arse still bore the faint “Sissy” marks, a secret brand under my jeans, and I’d cum whispering, “Yes, Mistress, thank you,” my addiction to their world complete.

Saturday arrived, and I lied to Jane again, mumbling about helping her dad with more DIY. She waved me off, engrossed in her phone, and I drove to Mistress’s, the “Sissy Cunt” collar in my pocket, the lace panties already soaked under my jeans, rubbing my cock with every shift of the seat. My heart pounded as I knocked, the door swinging open to reveal Kev in a sheer black teddy, his caged cock bulging obscenely, a plug’s base visible through the fabric. His eyes avoided mine, his “Mistress and Miss Viv are waiting” barely a whisper.

In the living room, Mistress lounged in her armchair, a black leather catsuit hugging her curves, her legs spread, a riding crop in one hand, a thick strap-on dildo strapped to her hips. Viv sat beside her on the sofa, her latex dress replaced by a red corset and thigh-high boots, a flogger dangling from her fingers, her lips curled in that cruel smirk. “Look at the pathetic sissy cunt,” Viv purred, her eyes raking over me, lingering on the bulge in my jeans. “Already leaking like a fucking whore.”

“Collar on, you disgusting slut,” Mistress ordered, her voice sharp, cutting through the air. I fumbled, fastening the “Sissy Cunt” collar around my neck, the leather biting, my cock twitching in the panties. “Yes, Mistress, thank you,” I stammered, dropping to my knees, the lace soaked, my balls aching.

“Kev, dress him,” Mistress snapped. Kev led me upstairs, his teddy swishing, and handed me a new outfit—pink latex maid dress, tight and glossy, with matching stockings, garters, and a ruffled collar. I stripped, the panties clinging to my dripping cock, and squeezed into the latex, the material squeaking, hugging my body like a second skin, the stockings slick against my thighs, the collar tight around my throat. My cock tented the dress, obscene and obvious, and Kev’s eyes flicked to it, his own cage leaking.

Back downstairs, Mistress and Viv circled me, their heels clicking, their laughter sharp. “Clean the kitchen, you useless sissy cunt,” Mistress commanded, her crop cracking the air. “Miss Viv wants to see how fucking pathetic you are.”

“Yes, Mistress, thank you,” I gasped, scurrying to the kitchen, the latex dress creaking, the stockings rubbing, my cock dripping onto the floor. I scrubbed, the skirt riding up, exposing my arse, the collar marking me, the humiliation making me harder. Kev knelt beside Mistress, his teddy bunched, his caged cock glistening, while Viv whispered to her, their eyes on me through the doorway.

“Enough,” Mistress barked after what felt like hours. “Kneel, you filthy sluts.” We dropped, our “Yes, Mistress, thank you” echoing, the hardwood biting our knees. Viv stood, her boots creaking, and grabbed my collar, yanking my face to her crotch. “Lick my cunt, you disgusting sissy,” she ordered, pulling her corset aside to reveal her shaved, dripping pussy.

“Yes, Miss Viv, thank you,” I whimpered, my tongue diving into her, her taste sharp and heady, her moans loud as I lapped, my cock so stiff in the latex. Mistress grabbed Kev, shoving his face into her strap-on. “Suck it, sissy,” she snarled, and Kev obeyed, his lips stretching around the thick dildo, his “Thank you, Mistress” muffled.

Viv pushed me back, her juices coating my face, and Mistress stood, her strap-on glistening from Kev’s mouth. “Bend over, both of you,” she commanded. We obeyed, the latex dress riding up, my arse exposed, the panties pulled aside. Mistress lubed the strap-on and plunged it into me, the stretch brutal, my hole clenching, my cock dripping as I cried, “Thank you, Mistress!” Viv took Kev, her flogger cracking his arse as she fucked him with a matching strap-on, his moans mixing with mine, our “Thank you, Miss Viv” a desperate chorus.

They fucked us hard, the latex squeaking, the collars tight, our cocks leaking onto the floor. Viv grabbed my hair, forcing my face to Kev’s. “Kiss him, you fucking sluts,” she ordered. Our lips met, sloppy and desperate, his tongue tasting of Mistress’s dildo, mine of Viv’s cunt. I came, spunk splattering the floor, the latex amplifying every pulse, and Kev followed, his caged cock leaking through the bars. “Clean it up, you disgusting cunts,” Mistress snarled, yanking my collar. We lapped at the floor, our cum mixing, the taste bitter and humiliating, our “Thank you, Mistress” automatic.

Mistress and Viv sat back, their strap-ons glistening, their laughter cruel. “You’re ours, sissy cunts,” Mistress said, her crop trailing over my marked arse. “Next time, we’ll push you further.” Viv leaned in, her flogger brushing my cock, making me whimper. “You’ll beg for it, you pathetic whore,” she purred.

They dismissed us, and I dressed, the jeans and T-shirt wrong against my skin, my arse burning, my cock still dripping. At home, Jane was on the sofa, scrolling. “Good time with Dad?” she asked, oblivious.

“Yeah,” I lied, the taste of Viv’s cunt, Kev’s lips, and Mistress’s control lingering. That night, I locked myself in the bathroom, stroking to the video, but it was Mistress and Viv in my mind, their strap-ons, their commands. A new text buzzed: Next Saturday. Noon. Collar and panties. Viv’s bringing a friend. My cock pulsed, and I whispered, “Yes, Mistress, thank you,” already lost, craving the next descent.

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