The Daddy

"Sorry, gents maybe next month." Your Daddy puts his cards on the table. You don't know what they mean, but his poker buddies sure seem to. You hear dejected groans and self censored curses. It seems your Daddy has won the prize he deemed worthless, and is 30 grand richer for it.

"Now don't feel too bad, boys. I promised you a eventful evening, and you shall have it. My bad little sissy slut is your party favor. You can use her, **** her, just don't bruise her. She has to be the pot next month." Your Daddy turns to you and offers a sadistic smile and a winsome wink. Before you can catch a breath, hungry hands have you face down, ass up, sissy cunt splayed and waiting.

"This little whore! Teasing me like all those text book twats." Principal Latimore covers your plump ass in furious spittle, lubing his fat cock as it stretches your virgin sissy cunt. You asked for this, practically begged for it with your naughty sissy teasing. Now that it's happening for real, you don't know whether to regret your avaricious appetite or be greedy for more.

"Well, it's not my first choice, but a hot eff is a hot eff." Mr. Roberts slides his thick cock in slow circles around your plump, panting lips. It doesn't even occur to you to not open and slobber around his fat mushroom head. It muffles the wet whimpers "Kingpin" is forcing out of your tight sissy cunt along with shameful sissy squirts out of your limp sissy clit.

"Hmm. If I can't even bruise it, I can at least hear it sing." Mr. Dessad cups the soft flesh of your armpits, sending waves of pain coursing through you. The tides of pleasure crashing against them tossing your frail form like a ragdoll between the cocks pistoning in and out of you. You scream, and spasm and squeal and squirt. And they're just getting warmed up.

You are caught in the thresher, torn to brainless, blissful bits as you get all the punishment and pleasure you could ever beg for. You can't tell anymore where the sissygasms end and the screams begin, and you are past the point of caring.

By the time you finish, you are long gone. A writhing, whimpering mass of convulsing, climaxing, crying flesh. They leave you a semen soaked, sobbing, satisfied sissy puddle. Your Daddy standing over you, looking down at you like something he threw up.

"Well, that was your best chance, Bitch. I doubt they'll pay ten grand for a shot at you now that you've been used so gruesomely. And the next game will have contenders willing to ante less, yet wanting more for their money. Every time I will have to make you more marketable. Hormones, implants, collagen, mind control, whatever it takes to make you slightly less worthless. Each time you will be worth less and less and each time the bettors become worth less and less too. So, how lucky do you feel, Bitch?"

You look up at your Daddy, dreading and dreaming of the future in equal measure. You spit back at him, "I'm all in!"