Sissified

Lily hopped back up on the bed, a wicked smile playing on her lips. She reached back, her fingers wrapping around the base of the butt plug, and slowly pulled it out of her ass. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine, the cum inside her spilling out and dripping down onto John's face. She laughed, a sound of pure, wicked amusement as she watched the cum coat his face. "What's the matter, John? Don't like the taste of your own cum? Don't like the smell of it on your face?" Lily mocked, her fingers trailing the dripping cum down John's cheeks. She leaned back, her eyes gleaming with a combination of amusement and cruelty. "But enough of that," she said, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "It's time for you to learn your place, John."

She hopped off the bed, her gaze never leaving John's limp form. She walked to her dresser, her hips swaying seductively with each step. She rummaged through her drawers, her fingers brushing past lacy fabrics and silky materials. She pulled out a pair of black, lace panties and a white, lace training bra, both in sizes far too small for John. She turned to face him, holding the undergarments up for him to see. "I think these will do nicely," she purred, her voice dripping with malice.

She walked over to her nightstand, her hips swaying seductively with each step. She opened the top drawer, revealing a collection of containers, each carefully labeled. She pulled out a small, clear plastic container, its contents a familiar, milky white. She unscrewed the lid, the scent of her boyfriend's cum filling the room. Lily grinned, her eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and cruelty. She dipped her fingers into the container, coating them in the thick, sticky fluid. She rubbed her fingers together, warming the cum before spinning around to face John, who was still lying on the bed, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

"Time to put these on, John," Lily cooed, her voice low and sultry. She held up the panties and training bra, the lace glinting in the dim light of the room.

Dipping her fingers into the container, Lily coated the delicate fabrics with her boyfriend's cum, the milky white substance clinging to the lace like a second skin. She leaned over John's prone body, her breasts brushing against his chest as she began to dress him like a doll. First, she slipped the panties over his thighs, the lace stretching taut over his flaccid cock and balls. She pulled them up to his waist, the fabric digging into his skin, the cum on the lace leaving a sticky trail on his hips. Next, she slipped the training bra over his chest, the cups far too small for him, his nipples straining against the lace. She fastened the hooks and eyes at the back, her fingers deftly securing them in place. John moaned softly, his body twitching as the cold, cum-soaked lace pressed against his skin. Lily smirked, her eyes gleaming with cruel amusement as she surveyed her handiwork.

"There you go, John. All dressed up like the little slut you are." She pinched his nipple through the training bra, her fingers twisting the sensitive bud until he twitched in pain. "You like the way the lace feels against your skin? The way the cum soaks into your skin?"

John groaned weakly, eyelids fluttering open. The world swam into focus: Lily’s predatory grin, the unfamiliar constriction of lace digging into his hips and chest. Cold stickiness clung to his skin beneath the panties and bra, Chris’s cum already seeping into his pores. He shuddered, revulsion warring with a traitorous flicker of arousal at the degrading attire. "Lily... please... take this off," he rasped, voice thick with humiliation. He tried to move, but his limbs felt leaden, the aftermath of oxygen deprivation and overwhelming sensation.

Lily chuckled, low and cruel. She leaned close, her breath hot on his cheek. "Off? Oh, sweet little bitch, we're just getting started." Her hand slid down his chest, fingers tracing the outline of the soaked training bra, deliberately brushing his stiffening nipple. "Look at you. Already getting hard again in your pretty little panties? Such a **** slut." She pinched his nipple sharply through the lace, making him gasp. "You smell like Chris. You feel like Chris’s property now."

Before John could form another plea, Lily leaned forward, gathering a thick glob of saliva in her mouth. With deliberate contempt, she spat directly onto his face. The warm, wet slap landed squarely on his cheekbone, a viscous trail sliding down towards his lips. "Taste it," she commanded, her voice devoid of warmth. "Taste your place." John flinched, squeezing his eyes shut against the violation. He turned his head away instinctively, a low whine escaping his throat.

Lily’s hand shot out, fingers tangling painfully in his hair, yanking his head back. Her other hand clamped over his nose, forcing his mouth open as he gasped for air. "Open wide, bitch," she snarled. Reaching for the small container still on the bed, she scooped out another thick fingerful of Chris’s cold cum. John struggled weakly, gagging as she shoved her cum-coated fingers deep into his mouth, scraping against his tongue and the roof of his mouth. The salty-bitter tang flooded his senses, thick and cloying. "Suck it clean!" Lily ordered, grinding her knuckles against his teeth. "Swallow every fucking drop!"

Tears welled in John’s eyes as he choked, his body convulsing. The sheer violation, the taste, the smell – it was overwhelming. Yet, beneath the disgust, a horrifying pulse of heat throbbed in his trapped cock, straining against the lace panties. He sucked weakly, gagging as the viscous fluid slid down his throat. Lily watched, eyes gleaming with sadistic satisfaction, twisting her fingers to smear the remnants around his gums. "Good little cum dumpster," she purred, finally withdrawing her slick fingers with a wet pop. "Getting used to the taste, aren't you? Chris’s gonna love feeding you." She wiped her hand casually on the lace covering his chest. "Remember the video, John? Remember who owns you? Every time you swallow his cum, you thank me. Every time you feel that plug holding your load inside you, you thank me." She patted his cum-smeared cheek. "Get comfortable in your new skin, slut. Tomorrow’s lesson involves lipstick and kneeling."

Lily watched John’s throat convulse as the last of Chris’s cum slid down, her expression one of detached amusement. The sharp scent of sex and humiliation clung to the air, thick as the drying streaks on John’s cheek. She traced a fingertip along the rim of the empty container, collecting a final viscous string.

"Look at my pretty little bitch," she murmured, her voice dripping with false sweetness. She tapped his chest where the lacy bra strained over his flat pectorals, the white fabric already yellowing with absorbed semen. "Pink and white. Cute. Fucking pathetic, but cute."

John flinched, the lace scraped his sensitive nipples. "Lily... please... it's... it's sticky. Cold. It stinks." His voice was a raw scrape, thick with swallowed cum and unshed tears. He tried to curl away, but the butt plug shifted inside him, a filthy reminder of fullness.

"Stinks?" Lily laughed, a sharp, humorless sound. She leaned down, grabbing his chin, forcing his cum-smeared face towards hers. Her breath was hot. "Yeah. It stinks of you, slut. Stinks of your jizz leaking into my sheets. Stinks of Chris’s load soaking into your new panties. Get used to the smell. It’s yours now." She squeezed his jaw until his lips parted. "Smells like my property."

She released him with a shove. "Sit up." John struggled, his movements clumsy, the unfamiliar constriction of the bra awkward, the soaked panties clinging obscenely. Lily watched, a predator observing wounded prey, then grabbed his hair again, hauling him upright. He wobbled, legs trembling.

"Those?" Lily pointed a lacquered nail at the bra, then the panties. "They stay on. Until I say otherwise. Got it? No peeling them off in some pathetic attempt to feel clean. You forfeited clean." Her eyes, dark and unyielding, locked onto his. "And you don’t shower. Not a drop of water touches this perfect little whore body I’m building. You marinate. You steep in what you are. In what Chris and I make you."

John’s stomach roiled. The cold stickiness beneath the lace felt like a second skin, already tightening as it dried. The smell – his own release, Chris’s, Lily’s spit – was a visible haze in the lamplight. "I can’t... I’ll smell like... like a fucking toilet," he whispered, horror dawning.

Lily’s grin was feral. "Exactly. My filthy, cum-drenched toilet." She grabbed the back of his neck, fingers digging in, and pulled him towards her. Before he could react, her mouth crashed onto his. It wasn't affection; it was an invasion. Her tongue, tasting of mint and power, **** past his lips, licking the lingering bitterness of Chris’s cum from his teeth, his gums. He gagged, trying to turn his head, but her grip was iron. She sucked on his tongue, possessive and cruel, then bit his lower lip hard enough to draw a metallic tang.

She broke the kiss, a thin string of saliva connecting them. "See?" she panted, her own pupils dilated. "You taste like us. Like ownership. Every breath you take, you’ll breathe us in. Every time you move, that lace will scratch, and you’ll remember my cock unloading in your guts, remember me shoving his jizz down your throat." She pressed her thumb against his spit-slick, bruised lip. "Tomorrow, we paint this mouth. Make it look as pretty and used as the rest of you. Then you'll learn how to kneel properly. How to worship what breaks you."

She pushed him back onto the bed. He landed with a gasp, the plug shifting again, the sodden lace biting into his ass and groin. The visceral disgust was a physical weight, thick in his throat, crawling on his skin beneath the drying cum. He wanted to vomit, to rip the vile fabric off, to scrub his skin raw. But the threat of the video – his jerking desperation, Lily’s panties – flashed behind his eyes. Humiliation warred with a terrifying, dark current of something else. His cock, trapped and aching, pulsed traitorously against the cold, cum-stiffened lace of the panties.

Lily stood over him, silhouetted by the lamp, her hand idly tracing the outline of her own butt plug beneath her shorts. "Sweet dreams, princess," she purred, turning off the light. Darkness swallowed the room, but the smell, the sticky chill, the relentless ache – they clung to John, inescapable. The only sound was his own ragged breathing and the frantic, shameful thud of his heart against the scratchy lace of the training bra. He was sealed in filth, Lily’s command echoing: They stay on. You don't shower. The night stretched ahead, an endless suffocation of degradation, and his traitorous body, already craving the oblivion of sleep or the sharp focus of more pain, betrayed him further by hardening insistently against its semen-soaked cage.