🐷BITCH IS BACK AGAIN 🤡

It starts with your clothes disappearing. You go to your closet and all you have for bottoms are skirts. Your panties and bras disappear one by one until you just stop wearing them.

Whenever you walk by a man in public, your skirt blows up whether there's wind or not. Every man in town has seen your pussy by now. Many of them see it daily.

If you're wearing white, you can guarantee you'll have water spilled on you at some point during the day. People like to joke about your free wet tshirt contests.

Your shirt unbuttons itself while you talk to people. Most people don't mention it anymore. They just stare at your bare tits until you realize.

People in town trade the best stories of seeing you naked. That time your bikini fell off at the beach and you couldn't find it and the day the wind blew your sundress fully off at the town fair are top favorites.

Eventually, people get bolder. They start taking photos of your clothing mishaps. The ghost is always sure to hold your skirt up long enough for them to get a good shot. Pictures of your ass, tits, and pussy are everywhere.

Not only do they not tell you when your shirt falls open, people start to grope you. It's not even worth fighting it. You let them feel you up until they've had their fill. Eventually, people don't even pretend they need to talk to you. They come to see you just to play with your tits.

The ghost doesn't even need to lift your skirt anymore. People in town will lift it up just to squeeze or slap your ass.

You get used to being fingered out in public. On the bus, in line at the store, even at work. Everyone has seen your pussy anyway.

People start licking your pussy every time you ride the bus. You sit with your legs open so people can taste you on their morning commute. You don't remember what it was like to ride the bus without a tongue inside you.

Every man in town as fucked you at some point. Most of the women too. Instead of paying at the store, you bend over and let anyone present abuse your pussy. You lose count of how many men shove their dick inside you daily.

Someone got into your head. Your ex? A stalker? You'll probably never find out and it doesn't matter. You are what he made you.

It all comes to you in a rush of memory. What did he make you? The woman who threw out all of her own clothes except the sluttiest, easist-access pieces. The woman who for months has been lifting up her own skirts and unbuttoning her own tops to show off her nude features to everybody.

And they didn't start groping you because you exposed yourself, either. You invited them to. Begged, really. Masturbated for them while whining for a good, hard fuck, until they finally broke down and started pawing you. The few men who still resisted, you shamed, you fondled, you threatened to accuse of rape if they didn't give you what you needed. You corrupted the whole town into treating you as a free-use whore, a public utility.

It was all you, all along.

And you don't want to stop. Now that you know, you want more. You know that it isn't natural, that someone did this to you, and you don't care. You just want to keep being used by more and more people, trade your ass for your groceries and other needs, be the town bicycle.

Whether anyone does fuck her is, of course, up to each of the men. Maybe we'll compromise: push the fleshlight into her asshole and fuck it while it's inside her, so we can improve on her natural abilities, and she can at least feel the pounding and the stretched-outness, but nothing more. Like being fucked with a condom, but even worse for her.

The difference?

So why shouldn't we be able to create AI of that? Just like of any other object we think of. And share the AI, just like any other?

A few months ago I started dating this guy. Very nice cis man a few years older than me. He took me out on a date. We started texting more and more afterwards and opened up about kinks. I didn’t share my detrans kink right away.

I forget how it came about, if he mentioned it first or if I did but one day it came up. Well he realized how turned on it made me and jumped into it head first.

During normal conversations he made references to me being a woman. He would say “how’s my girl doing?” When I woke up in the morning. It all made me guilty but disgustingly horny. When I had to fill out forms with my birth sex on them I sent him pics.

He changed my name in his phone to my deadname. He told me he would never fuck me as a man ever again. Every single time we fucked he called me a woman. I started shaving my body, wearing lingerie under my clothes for him.

Anyways it didn’t work out for other reasons and he dumped me but wow was that fun

Aww, this one is just sweet. You start dating a nice guy, you open up to him about what your cunt really needs, and he treats you like the slutty girl that you are.

My favorite part about this, actually, is the forms. Because it shows off one of the best things about fakeboys: even the most mundane reminders of what you are can get you wet. Some girls need wine and roses and soft beds; some girls put down an "F" on paperwork and are instantly ready to be fucked full of cum on a hard floor.

I wanted to get a little more in depth about what we did.

At first I told him I only wanted to do the detrans kink part of the time and he agreed. However, he did confess that he thought it would be very exciting to do it all the time.

Little by little he began wearing down my mind. If I forgot something obvious he would blame it on my “girl brain”. When I made a joke I was his “crazy woman”.

What did it for me was how casual and confident he was. He called me a woman, the opposite of my identity, as if he was commenting on the weather. It was as though my years of transition and hard work were just nothing. The worst part was how much I enjoyed it. I was slipping off to my bedroom throughout my day to make myself cum.

The horniness became more and more overwhelming until I stopped telling him I needed emotional breaks from the kink.

He noticed, and told me how happy he was that I was more comfortable with myself. I had shared with him pictures of me pre transition in college and he sent them to me telling me I was so beautiful in them. He said he couldn’t wait for me to get back to that and how happy he was to be able to help. It was all so caring and degrading.

At his house I told him I wanted to wrestle him and prove I was stronger. He laughed at me sweetly and agreed. Anyways one moment I was on my feet and the next I was flat on my back with my legs over his shoulders hahaha. I did genuinely try my best to fight back but it was kind of shocking how easy he overpowered me. He knew he was a lot stronger than me so did it gently by firm as to not hurt me. My pants were pulled down and he choked me while he fished his cock out and….well you know the rest.

I think it was that experience that really solidified in my mind I was not a man. Even the guys I’ve messaged with after the breakup have made references to my small and delicate nature even if I never mentioned my detrans kink.

Next he began calling me by my deadname more. My real name, my legal name. In a matter of days it was all he called me, whispering it in my ear even around my friends. He showed me how he changed my name in his phone.

We went out with my friends and he pulled me into a club bathroom and fucked me. All while calling me his girl and I confessed to him out loud over and over that I was a woman and would never pretend to be a man again. It was the most turned on I’ve ever been.

He pulled me aside three time that night to breed my pussy. Each time he just pulled up my pants and we went back to the party.

Anyways I just thought I’d share that haha. Haven’t been able to cum even months after we last saw each other without thinking about how I’m a woman.

The first ask was fun, but this is so much better. 🖤

I love that the thing that really made you his woman was... casual misogyny. Again, some girls would be upset at their boyfriend implying they were ditzy and emotional because of their sex - but not you! You'd fought so hard to be a man, and so him telling you that you were a silly girl was just one defeat layered on another, and that just made you need to find somewhere private to rub your girl brains out.

The wrestling, though: that's classic. It's so funny that fakeboys truly don't understand how different they are from men. Believing the lies you tell yourself that you're basically a man, I guess? But it's hard to keep up that lie when you're fighting as hard as you can, and he's trying his best to be gentle, and you still end up on your back with your dripping pussy spread wide open.

The difference?