That's not your asshole, that's a pussy!

That's not your mouth, it's another pussy!

He'd have to walk around topless when he's alone, even the rub of his binder and tops would edge him all day.

Walking in early to find his fat rippling udders greeting you. His embarrassment making his nipples perk up and his boxers dampening even as he tries to cover himself and go to his room.

Stopping him from leaving as lean towards him, his sextrained mind racing as he tries to resist his instincts. All it takes is a single touch, a lean in for a kiss and all that self improvement gone.

Once again, he's just a pleasure junking cum whore that begs to be bred and sneaks into your bed to taste your morning wood. He stops wearing any tops around you, letting you use every part of him whenever you want.

Soon after that, you convince him to start wearing more slutty clothes, "you said the fabric on your skin is maddening, so why not wear clothes that cover less." " No, I don't think people will stop seeing you as a man because you stopped wearing your binder."

Using him in when with your mutual friends.

You tell him you'll stop helping relieve his frustrations if he doesn't wear more feminine makeup some days. Him fighting back at first. But you bought him half of his toys, and all of the ones he's obsessed with. It took 3 days before you come home to find him dolled up like some bimbo, kneeling at the door and begging for your cock.

You breed him until he passes out, tie him up against the bed. He wakes to find you inside his "boycunt", playing with his clitty, cumming almost immediately.

maybe i’d start by making a few jokes about you being a good house wife whenever i get home from work and you’ve cooked and you laugh it off, because you do enjoy not working, and gender is funny.

the first time i call you my wife while i’m stuffing your cunt full you’re insulted but you don’t say anything about it, because it turns you on just a bit. when i ask you if it would feel good to call you a good girl in bed would you really say no? especially when i do everything for you, support you, pay your rent, and of course fuck you so nicely you ask for it more than i do.

of course the money would never be together for your top surgery, but that’s okay. i like your tits, and i’m the only one who ever sees them, right? and when my insurance falls through and we can’t afford your hormones, you can’t be too upset now, can you? we’re in this together.

it’s easier for me to introduce you as my wife at work parties, you understand, right? they wouldn’t really get the whole trans thing, especially since you don’t pass that well anyway.

I imagined several different attendants with different personalities: a sweet, cheerful woman who always makes them cum; a stoic professional who treats them like animals more than people; and a charming sadist who pumps their pussies first so they’re dysphoric and heated and tight when he fingers them. If they’re bad he slaps their pussies instead of pumping them. Or before he pumps them anyway.

A line of moaning sluts waiting to be evaluated and touched and moved. And fucked of course. That’s how they fund the facility.

It’s really hard to convince the directors that you’re cured and believe you’re a woman again. If you tell them you think you’re a cow instead you’ll stay forever.

He makes you take off your shirt and binder long before you need to, and he openly leers at you.

We discuss your body like you aren't even there, and ignore your quiet, pathetic attempts to "correct" our she/her pronoun usage. You're sitting there with your tits out in a public shop, why would anyone use male pronouns for you?

The piercer takes a long time lining up the piercings, drawing and redrawing lines on your nipples, staring at your body in the full-length mirror, pressing and pulling on your sensitive skin. He keeps making comments about how you have the perfect shape for this, and I agree.

He gets much closer to you than he needs to during the piercing, making sure your dangling arm, which he ordered you not to move, is rubbing against his crotch.

You let out some beautiful noises when he finally does it, hot tears rolling down your cheeks. The piercer makes it obvious that he's hard as he moves around to the other side.

You gasp and whine when he does the second, and he leans back to look you up and down again. We both agree you look beautiful like this. He warns that you definitely can't wear your binder for several weeks, and I nod too. Definitely no binder, and probably no bras either. Everyone should be able to see your beautiful tits and their new jewelry through a tshirt.

"Why do you need to be on T? You don't need hormones to be trans!" "Don't you like being a hairless twink?" "Would you wear this for me, baby? Boys can wear skirts if they want!" "Men can get pregnant, too!"

normalize me pinching your tits through your shirt, mid sentence, and making fun of you when you lose you train of thought.

normalize me tugging your stupid shirt down under your tits in public and you walking around with them out because you’re not allowed to cover them up.

normalize me referring to you by your tits, looking at your tits when i address you, and leading you around by pinching a nipple and pulling you along.

I need someone who wants to detrans me for real. No matter what I want. I'm going to be a girl for them