at the risk of sounding sappy, thanks for the works you write. i am a closeted acespec transguy who presents quite femininely, reading your posts help me explore that side of myself. may i request something?
i have this recurring fantasy where i find myself at a house party full of people i barely know. i want to leave but some guys (usually older, too) keep trying to convince me to stay and offer me drinks.
he says that it would be fun, that i should stop being such a stuck-up.
in the end, i do get drunk and they have their way with me, sort of like a free use situation. there's a bit of misgendering too, and i do end up "having fun." ...perhaps this counts as corruption?
thank you again. keep it up!
I'm really glad that you enjoy my writing and find it helpful! Don't worry, it's not sappy, I know a lot of ppl, especially queer, feel bad for exploring their sexualities if it's considered shameful and taboo, when there is nothing wrong with that in a controlled situation. Here is what I came up with for your request -
You're at a house party, music thumping through the walls, surrounded by faces you only vaguely recognize. The air is thick with sweat and cheap beer. You've been trying to edge toward the door for the last twenty minutes, a growing anxiety tightening your chest.
Two older guys notice your attempt to leave. They're broad-shouldered, with easy smiles that don't reach their eyes. They intercept you near the hallway, stepping into your path.
'Leaving so soon?' the first one asks, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder. 'The party's just getting good.'
'Yeah, don't be like that,' the second one says, moving to your other side. He holds out a red plastic cup. 'Have a drink with us first. Be a good girl.'
You mutter that you really should go, but your protest is weak. The first man's grip on your shoulder tightens just slightly, a silent command. You take the cup, your fingers trembling. The drink is too sweet, burning a little as it goes down. They smile, exchanging a look over your head. 'See?' the first man murmurs, leaning close. 'That wasn't so hard. Now why don't you stay a little longer? For us.'
They guide you to a worn-out sofa, sinking into the cushions on either side of you. The room spins a little as they push another drink into your hand, urging you to finish it. You feel lightheaded, the world going soft and fuzzy at the edges.
Their hands are on you then, one sliding up under your shirt to grope your chest, his palm rough against your sensitive skin. You give a weak squirm, a mumbled protest that you should go. He just shushes you, his breath hot against your neck as he kisses you there. He tells you to stop being such a stuck-up, to be a good girl and just relax.
You try to tell them you're a guy, your voice a slurred whisper. They just chuckle, patronizing. 'Sure, sure, sweetheart,' the one groping your chest murmurs, his fingers pinching your nipple through the fabric. The other man's hand slides past the waistband of your pants, his fingers delving lower.
His fingers find your wetness instead, stroking through your slick folds. You gasp, your back arching off the sofa as a jolt of pleasure shoots through you. He laughs softly in your ear. 'Look at that. All ready for us.'
His fingers circle your clit, making you whimper. You try to squirm away, but your body feels heavy and pliant. You don't want to admit how good his touch feels, how your pussy clenches around nothing, aching for more.
They keep you pinned between them, their hands working you over as the party noise fades into a distant buzz. The one at your neck kisses and bites, marking your skin while his friend fingers you with slow, deliberate strokes. You're so wet his fingers slide easily, curling inside you just enough to make you moan.
'See? You like it,' the man at your ear whispers, his other hand still groping your breast. 'Just be a good girl and take it. Doesn't that feel better than fighting?'
You shake your head weakly, but your hips are rocking against his hand, chasing the friction. A pathetic, traitorous sob escapes you as he adds a second finger, stretching you. He speeds up, his thumb pressing hard on your clit, and you can feel your orgasm building—a hot, shameful coil in your belly. You try to clamp your thighs together, to stop it, but he just pushes them wider apart with his knee.
They push you down onto the sofa, your head spinning from the drinks and the overwhelming sensation. The one who’d been groping your chest keeps you pinned, his weight on you as he kisses you hard, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You taste the beer on his breath, and a pathetic little moan escapes you.
The other man yanks your pants down your thighs, his hands rough on your bare skin. He doesn't wait, just spreads your legs wider and pushes the head of his cock against your wet entrance. You gasp into the first man's mouth as he thrusts into you, filling you in one deep, brutal motion. Your body arches, a mix of pain and shocking pleasure making your eyes water. He sets a relentless pace, fucking you deep into the cushions while his friend watches, his hand moving to your throat, not squeezing, just holding.
You can feel every inch of him, the friction so good it makes your head swim. You don't want this, you try to tell yourself, but your hips lift to meet his thrusts, your pussy clenching around him greedily. You're enjoying it against your will, your body melting into the sofa as he uses you.
The first man keeps his hand on your throat, a constant, claiming pressure as his friend drives into you. Every thrust pushes a broken sound from your lips, a mix of a sob and a moan. You can feel the eyes of strangers on you, their gazes heavy and intrusive.
You catch glimpses of them over the man’s shoulder—people sipping drinks, talking, watching your humiliation like it’s just part of the evening’s entertainment. His cock hits a spot deep inside that makes your vision blur. A shuddering wave of pleasure rolls through you, so intense it steals your breath.
You try to fight it, to tense up and push him away, but your body betrays you, going soft and pliant beneath him. Your legs wrap around his hips on their own, pulling him deeper, and you whimper at the shame of it. He grunts, his pace becoming erratic, and you know he’s close.
The knowledge that he’s going to finish inside you, that everyone will see, sends another jolt of unwanted arousal through your core. You come around him with a silent cry, your body convulsing in a helpless, humiliating orgasm that just makes him thrust harder. He spills into you, hot and deep, and you feel every pulse, a stark reminder of what they’ve done. He stays buried inside you for a long moment, both of you panting, before he pulls out and leaves you there, exposed and dripping onto the sofa.
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