To who you really are

Guilt washed through you at the thought of what you had just done… though you knew it was utterly misplaced, really. It was more the idea that Trev might think you were considering infidelity that worried you, rather than Ben. You knew well enough what your lover and master’s opinions were on the matter.

Fastwalking back towards the safety of home, you escaped into nostalgic memories to avoid considering how many cheery neighbours you were passing… had seen an awful lot of you on the way in. You belonged to Ben, that much was undeniably true. But he was not a jealous owner… and certainly not above sharing his toys, even with complete strangers.

When you had first gone out to a gay bar with him, dressed in short-shorts and a baggy t-shirt… you had still been technically dating Roxanne. Finding them in bed together and then just being invited to join in, had so muddied the waters of everything you understood about yourself. Yet, this striking older boy had been so kind and understanding and different from everyone else you’d met. He didn’t seem to care what the conventions were for any situation. He'd come round to fuck your girlfriend in the afternoon, then take you out drinking and dancing all night… soaking in the music and atmosphere of bars and clubs you never even knew existed before.

Sat together on benches in the park, watching the dawning sun reflect off dappled water with no-one else around. You'd lay your head in his lap and take his cock into your mouth with absolutely none of the fears, doubts and trepidations that had seemingly always defined your existence. It didn’t matter if some other hungover, walk-of-shame stranger dragged themselves through the shrinking shadows nearby. Ben would just smile and wave and you were simply where you belonged, bobbing away so happily. It still seemed slightly strange to acknowledge: that those were some of your most precious memories… but they were.

Every night he would introduce you to more of his friends, and they were all so colourful and varied and interesting. They'd fawn over you and coo at how pretty you were and how good you were getting at putting on makeup or picking out dresses. Ben would sing the praises of your burgeoning erotic skillset as casually as any other compliments he might pay you. Leaving you twiddling your thumbs red faced as they discussed comparisons to other 'bottoms' they’d known.

The first time he'd just flatly offered you over for someone to 'try out' had been jarring and bewildering. Yet... within a week you had probably tasted the genitalia of most of his closest associates, male or female. It became an everyday occurrence for you to meet him at the bar after a day's studies and before long be dragged to the bathroom by one person or another. They became the group you’d consider your closest friends too, with the fact they all fucked you barely relevant. The art college cliques you'd stuck to the edges of falling away and the student flat you shared with Roxanne becoming somewhere you slept less and less. From one place to another you'd be fawned over or screwed senseless, then passed along to the next doting admirer. While always there was Ben in the background, watching over you as you realised just what kind of person you actually were.

Being a sissy slut didn't mean you were disloyal or capricious or confused in your gender and sexuality. You knew now exactly where you fit in all the complex circles of human interaction: You existed to give others pleasure. To make them smile and sigh with every inch of you you could. Ben had shown you that, so he was the one you loved above all others… but, in that, he knew you well enough to know keeping you all to himself was a waste. He was more than happy to see you pounded into the floor by anyone who wished to do so… because he knew that, really, that was where you were at your happiest.