Part 1 of Alyssa owned by Trans

I wake up sore.

I don’t know what time it is. The room is dim. My body aches. My throat is raw. My clit is still caged — numb, untouched, forgotten. Just as it should be.

But that’s not what wakes me.

What wakes me is the pressure.

The fullness.

I gasp softly, eyes fluttering open.

I’m on my stomach. Arms bound beneath me. My face pressed into the sheets.

And she’s inside me.

Balls deep.

Her thick, beautiful, trans cock buried 30 centimetre’s into my stretched, leaking ass.

Not moving. Just there. As if I’m not a person, but a sheath she left herself in overnight.

I whimper.

She stirs behind me, hips twitching.

And then it happens—

She gets hard.

Still buried, still deep inside me, her cock thickens and pulses, growing inside my guts like it owns the space.

Because it does.

I cry out into the pillow, body locked around her as she expands.

I’m pinned, plugged, pulsing.

She’s not asking. She never has.

“Mmm. Morning, cumdoll,” she growls into my ear.

“Still tight. Still mine.”

Then her hips begin to move.

Slow at first.

Then harder.

Each thrust is deliberate—stretching me, pounding into the mess she made last night, pushing deeper than I thought possible.

My body isn’t resisting.

It can’t.

It’s trained.

I exist to take this.

She uses me like a warm hole — her hole.

No words. No permission. No care.

Just slaps, groans, and thrusts.

Her balls slap against me with every push.

My mouth hangs open, drooling.

There’s nothing left to say.

I’m not Alyssa anymore.

I’m her doll. Her toilet. Her cocksleeve.

She grabs my hips and slams deep, holding herself fully inside me—

And unloads.

Thick, hot cum floods my guts, pushing in so far I feel it churn in my belly.

She groans, satisfied.

I collapse, used, leaking, destroyed.

She doesn’t pull out.

“Go back to sleep, bitch,” she mutters.

“I’m not done using you.”

And I smile.

Because I don’t need sleep.

I just need to be filled.