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Submissive slave boy needed

It was just that one time - one time! - you didn't lock the door before a crossdressing and bbc and sissy hypno goon fest

Of course that would be the time your neighbour Mr Henry happened to be passing by. He called out, he said. But with your headphones on you were a world away. So he came in, and he saw the whole damn thing.

You tried to stammer something, but what could you say, really? Encased in your mom's lingerie, two waterballoons for tits, your heels up either side of your monitor filled with videos of big black cocks pumping slender white girls.

He smirked, turned and left and not a word was spoken. The only sound was of the big black dildo you'd been suckling while you jerked yourself, slipping from your now numb fingers and to land with a meaty thud on the floor. You spent the next 24 hours in abject fear, waiting for the hammer to fall, but... nothing. You passed him in the hallway the next morning and he didn't say a word, just that damn smirk that made you blush furiously.

Then the parcels started arriving. Lingerie that fit you better. Heels about your size. A long luscious wig. Makeup. And in the last a handwritten note. 'Wear this', signed 'your new Daddy'. It was only much later you realised you'd leaked a little reading it. That's when you knew.