You and Tyson went to a large event.

He helps you into the dress, his hands lingering on your hips as he zips it up. The material clings to your body like a second skin, highlighting every new curve. You slip on the heels, wobbling slightly, until Tyson steadies you with a firm grip.

"You're going to break necks in that," he says with a wink.

The event is a high-class affair, the kind of place you've only ever dreamed of going. The mansion is sprawling, with a grand entrance and a sea of luxury cars parked out front. Tyson leads you through the crowd, his hand possessively on the small of your back. You feel like a doll dressed up for a big show, and everyone is watching.

You spot some of the gang members mingling, their eyes widening when they see you. You give them a small smile, but Tyson pulls you away before you can say anything. You can feel the tension in his grip—a reminder that you're no longer one of them.

Throughout the night, Tyson introduces you to his associates as his girlfriend, and each one of them looks you up and down with a mix of envy and lust. You can't help but feel a little thrill at the power dynamics at play here. You're the trophy on his arm—the prize that sets him apart from the other gang leaders.

As the evening wears on, Tyson whispers in your ear, "You're going to make me so much money, baby. Just wait and see."

You're not quite sure what he means, but you nod, eager to please him. The night is filled with music, dancing, and the promise of more to come. You drink in the glamour, the fine liquor, and the feeling of being desired.

But when Tyson leads you to a quiet corner, his hands begin to roam, and you remember that you're still his property. He unclips the chastity cage, and you feel a mix of relief and dread. The pain from the surgery is still fresh, but you know what he expects from you.

"You're going to suck me off right here," he says, his voice low and commanding.

You drop to your knees without question, the plush carpet soft against your skin. His cock is already hard, and you take it in your mouth, feeling the weight of it on your tongue. The taste is familiar now, and you know just how to make him moan.

You work his shaft, the room spinning around you as you try to focus on the task at hand. The sound of his pleasure fills your ears, drowning out the music and chatter of the party.

"Not your mouth. I want those new tits." Tyson orders.

You wrap your new breasts around his thick cock, feeling the heat and power of his manhood against your freshly sculpted flesh. The sensation is strange and exhilarating—a reminder of your new role as his toy. The room seems to close in around you as you focus on pleasing him, his hands tangling in your hair as he guides you up and down.

The partygoers are none the wiser; their laughter and conversation are a distant hum as you serve your purpose on the floor. Tyson's grip tightens, and you know he's close. You pick up the pace, eager to make him cum. Your plastic tits are getting used and abused in this way.

"Fuck, Harl. You're the best I've ever had." He grunts, his cock throbbing between your mounds.

You can't help but preen at the compliment, knowing that you're the only one who can make him feel this way. You squeeze your breasts tighter around his member, and he lets out a guttural moan, his seed spilling over your chest. His BBc is milking all over your white cleavage.

The sight is obscene, his creamy essence coating your expensive dress, but you don't care. He's the king in your life, and you are meant to serve the king.

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