fakeboy chaser dyke

I need her to beg me not to mutilate myself just to pretend to be a man.

I want her to manipulate me into thinking I only ever wanted to be a man to escape misogyny.

I want her to show me that being a woman feels so natural and beautiful.

I want her to play with my body the same way she would with any other woman's body, to show me how good it feels to be a woman and a lesbian, and teach me to love and accept my female anatomy.

But your blog makes me want to get groped by a lesbian, have my pussy worshipped and fetishized. I want them to ride my face and smother me with their pussy, laughing as I sputter and beg to breathe. They love riding my face so much they decide to keep my captive as their pussy eating slave and share me with all their lesbian friends

there's plenty of lesbians who are just waiting for you to give them the green light on this. sure, they'd probably be respectful to you now, but the moment you tell them about your fantasies, they'll be acknowledging every soft, feminine feature of yours that's been driving them crazy ever since they first saw you.

“What a good little lesbian you are.”

“I know what you really are. I know what you want.”

“God what a wet pussy, fuck.”

Scissor me and hold my legs open. Grab the curve of my hip, my chest, my nipples.

“Your nipples are so sensitive. Do you need them sucked? Would it feel good for me to wrap my lips around your tits?”

I’m so ashamed and want to ask you to stop, but every time I work up the nerve, you say something that completely crushes my resolve.

“Tell me, what are you?”

I don’t want to answer. I’m a dude. I know that. I’m a dude who likes women and just so happens to have a cunt. I like rubbing my cunt against womens’ pussies—but it’s not gay when it’s me.

But you need an answer. You can’t get off without me admitting it to you. You won’t let yourself cum until I’m praising our sapphic fucking sex and telling you I want to be girlfriends.

“C’mon, tell me. What’s your sexuality?”

“I’m straight.”

You push a finger into me. “Oh what wonderful straight sex we’re having.” You curl it inside of me, pushing, holding that spot until I’m squirming.

“I get it, just please—“

“Please what? Fingerfuck you? Scissor you harder? Or do you want me to eat out your cunt?”

All these terms, they all shouldn’t apply to me but they do. They’d all get me off. They’re the ways I can get off.

“I’m holding back. If you want me to really make you squirm—if you want to cum—tell me what kind of sex this is.”

“Hot sex,” I joke, but you just grab two handfuls of my small breasts, stare at them and say, “Yeah. Pretty damn hot.”

I’m so fucking wet. I murmur something but you say “huh? Say that again?”

“Can we change things up, I think I’m done with scissoring.” The word sends a rush of blood through me.

“Mm sure.”

You move, but you don’t get off of me. No, you lower yourself down on your arms and knees until you’re at just the right angle. Your face comes close to my tits, your tongue darting out towards my nipples. They’re obviously hard, almost aching from how much I need you sucking on them.

But then you stop. You have an idea.

“Here, let’s switch.”

I’m intrigued by the idea of being on top—maybe getting some dignity back—and agree. I move on top of you, but immediately you just guide me up. Your hands hold me still with my boobs hanging down from my otherwise relatively solid build. I could never get those things to stop being so soft, even if they are small. But you don’t seem to give a fuck about the size.

You pull me down so I fall closer to you, catching myself on my arms. Then you take my tits in both of your hands and hold them still as you lean forward and start sucking them.

It’s an incredible sensation. You nibble, bite (both gentle and rough), lick, and suck. Nothing feels better than the sucking. I know a cis guy wouldn’t get this much pleasure from nipple play alone. And I know what makes my body different. I know what my body is ‘supposed’ to do. And so do you.

“Such pretty, sexy buds.” Your mouth makes a ‘pop’ sound as you pull away.

I moan.

“It’s a shame there’s not a little more to your boobs. Wouldn’t that feel so good? Didn’t it feel good before, when you were openly gay? You let girls stare. You rubbed your breasts against another girl’s, I know it.”

You don’t even hesitate to call my old self gay, despite referring to me having sex with women. It probably never crossed your mind that me and gay could mean anything other than dyke. And of course, there it is. You calling me a girl.

“It did feel good.”

Shit. I’m losing it. I’m losing myself.

“Yeah,” you encourage, and you run one hand down my torso, your touch light and teasing. I know you won’t continue unless I say more.

“I loved when our nipples brushed…so delicate,” I say, half-miserable but halfway there. “So intimate and soft…”

“Yes,” you continue to encourage me. Your hand’s on my clit now. I mean dick.

Fuck.

No. I mean clit.

“Being a lesbian felt so good…fuck…”

“Yes!” You say happily, almost like you’re proud of me, and you cup my cunt firmly before licking your fingers and messing with my clit.

“Yes, sweetheart, and you miss that don’t you?”

“…A little,” I whisper, beyond turned on and getting close to that place we both desperately need.

“Well,” you say, and suddenly you’re sitting up. Your left hand tugs at my clit, your right sliding slowly in and out of me. Then faster. And faster still.

“You never changed. Do you see that yet? You may be a boy now but you’ll always be a woman. You can’t escape it. You can’t change it—you can only pretend. You’ll always know that deep down, you’re a woman—a lesbian, and you love it. You love having a cunt. You love making out with pussies. You love being a gay fucking dyke—and cumming on a mean dom’s fingers.”

Those words send me over the edge. As I’m cumming, you order me to say it. To tell you what I am.

“I’m a lesbian. God, I’m a fucking lesbian.” The rest I want to put out into the world gets smothered by moans.