Sissification is so hard

Fuck. You were still in the black lace panties she picked out yesterday when he bent you over the edge of the bed. His hand's around your throat, fingers digging right where the skin goes soft, and he's got his cock buried so deep you can feel it in your guts. Your tits bounce every time he slams in. They feel heavier than they should, like the hormones are finally doing something, and the way they jiggle makes you stare at them even while he's choking you. The room smells like sweat and that cheap vanilla body spray she uses. Sunlight's cutting across the sheets. You can see the little tattoo on his forearm flexing every time he squeezes harder. I didn't think it'd hit this fast. Three weeks ago I was still trying to act normal around her friends, still jerking off in the bathroom when she was out. Now I'm face-down getting railed by the same guy who used to come over for poker night, wearing her old underwear, and my dick's tucked so far back it barely even twitches anymore. She watched the first time. Just sat there with her legs crossed, sipping wine, telling him to go harder when I started making noise. He shifts his grip, thumb pressing up under my jaw, and my mouth falls open without me telling it to. The sound that comes out isn't even close to my old voice. Higher. Needier. Like I'm begging even when I don't mean to. His hips snap forward again, hard enough that my knees slide on the blanket. One of my stockings is already starting to slip down my thigh. I can feel the lace catching on the edge of the mattress, the fabric pulling tight across my ass while he fucks me like he's trying to prove something.