ftmiss moved here!

And every time he saw it every stroke, every guttural Yeah, take Daddy’s dick, fag he came a little harder. Touched himself a little deeper. Hated himself a little less.

Because deep down, he wanted to be the one bent over.

He needed it.

Eli messaged back and said, Daddy wants to meet you, there wasn’t a single part of him that hesitated

He showed up in nothing but a hoodie, no underwear, no resistance. His cock was already pressing against his thigh, leaking from anticipation, trembling at the thought of being seen.

Daddy opened the door shirtless. Covered in tattoos, gold chain resting between hairy pecs, a smirk like he already knew what kind of whimpering bitch just stepped into his home.

You’re the one Eli said used to be some little hormone girl?

Yes, Sir.

Daddy grabbed him by the throat. Not hardjust enough. Not anymore, huh?

He shook his head, breath already catching.

I can smell the boy on you already.

He was stripped before he could blink.

The hoodie hit the floor. His cock stood tall proud, twitching, uncut and desperate. Daddy licked his lips.

You sure you’re ready for this, little man?

I want to forget I was ever her, he whispered.

Daddy pushed him to his knees. Then open your mouth and earn your name back.

He choked on cock like he was born for it.

Daddy held his head down, fucking his throat with slow, cruel strokes, letting drool pour down his chin. No mercy. Just raw correction. Every gag was a reminder he wasn’t a girl. Not anymore.

His eyes watered. His dick got harder.

Daddy pulled out and slapped him. Get on the couch. Face down. Ass up.

He obeyed instantly.

Daddy spread his cheeks and spit on his hole. Then again. Then shoved two thick fingers in, just to see if he’d flinch.

He didn’t.

Good little whore. You’ve missed this, haven’t you? You missed being used.

Yes, Daddy… please…

You missed your dick leaking while you get fucked like a dog. That estrogen tried to kill him, but your cock’s still begging to serve.

Daddy shoved in hard. One stroke. No warning. Just thick, brutal ownership.

He screamed. And moaned. And begged.

It was that type of pain that just hurt so fucking good

Daddy grabbed his hips and started pounding. Balls slapping, growling in his ear, grabbing his hair and whispering:

You're mine now. My little bitch. My tranny faggot whore.

Each thrust drilled it deeper into his brain.

He wasn’t Arielle. He wasn’t a woman.

He was a boy.

A filthy, brainfucked, cumcraving thing.

His cock slapped against the couch. He wasn’t even touching it, but it was rock hard and leaking nonstop.

Who do you belong to?

You Daddy!

What are you?

A worthless fucking boy! Just a slut! Just a faggot with a girlcock!

Daddy roared, then pulled out and bred him. Thick ropes shooting inside, dripping down his thighs, soaking the couch.

But Daddy wasn’t done.

He turned him over. Now jerk that pathetic dick for Daddy.

He obeyed instantly. Face red, cum dripping from his hole, he stroked his cock like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

And in the silence after, body twitching, hole still leaking, Daddy kissed his forehead.

Say who you are.

I’m your faggot boy, Daddy I’m yours!

Say it while you cum.

Daddy leaned down, whispered:

He moaned.

Cum exploded from him. Hot, violent, cleansing. He screamed with it like his soul was ripping free.

“Ugh, yeah, I was rough with you last night. You look like shit, man.” Nathan opened his eye, the one that wasn’t swollen shut. He groaned, looking up at Ryan through the metal web of right angles. “C’mon. Bathroom. Gotta clean you up.” Nathan groaned again, sluggishly disconnecting his face from the pillow while Ryan unlocked the cage door. 

“Wouldn’t have to clean me up if you didn’t go overboard, like, every time.” Nathan looked at the smears of dried blood across his thighs and stomach, halfway flaking off. From there, he visually traced the bloody trails that had flowed from his neck the previous night, with his gaze finally landing on his chest, which sported nasty bruises from heavy impacts. Nathan’s heart sunk at the sight.

“Worrrth it,” Ryan said, clearly quite pleased with himself and his work. He turned on the shower and shoved Nathan in, who immediately started to violently shiver. “Tell me when the water gets hot.” Ryan finished undressing and waited for Nathan’s go-ahead to enter, which came soon after. Ryan and Nathan both began to wash themselves. Nathan turned away from Ryan as he washed, which didn’t really prevent any groping and grabbing, but at least made him feel a little better. To distract himself, Nathan watched intently as the diluted orange-red of his blood flowed into the shower drain, swirling and rippling. Despite the traumatic violence it originated from, the look of it was comforting at this moment. Nathan sighed, as he does often; but no lungs have the capacity to sigh as hard as Nathan deserved- no, needed, to sigh.

Ryan finished up and started to dry off while Nathan started to shampoo his hair. Ryan makes a noise of realization. “Ah, yeah, that reminds me- on the topic of you looking like shit, we gotta get your hair cut, dude.” It had been about a year since Nathan’s last haircut, and maybe 6 months since his last missing poster came down. He looked back at Ryan, wearing a confused expression.

“Why though?”

“‘Cause, uh, that shit is tangled as hell all the time?”

“I don’t really mind it.”

“Plus it’s always in your eyes.”

“Yeah, well, whatever, don’t do that.”

“‘Don’t do that’? Man, you’ve been down here for like a year, you’ve pretty much stopped resisting the stuff I do to you. Why are you fighting me on this?”

“I don’t know! I just don’t want it! It’s not like it matters, the beating me up gets you off but it’s not like you have a haircut fetish. Don’t you like yanking on my hair anyway? You’re always doing it.”

Ryan scoffs. “What, have you finally come around then? Helping me rape you better… Bet you fuckin’ like it or something. You got Stockholm?”

“You should be so lucky.”

“Pff, motherfucker is funny… That always impresses me. You’re damn funny, even here, even about this sort of stuff.”

“I can’t be anything else.” He looks at the shower floor.

“Mhm. Hey, anyway- get out of there already, bro. Fuckin’ using up all my hot water.”

Nathan exits the shower awaiting the arrival of the ritu-SNAP… There it is. Nathan doesn’t flinch, he’s used to it now. Every shower, the same towel flicking him in the same place, and that same singular beat of shit-eating laughter; “Ha!” Nathan just blinks slowly, exhaustedly, at the captor. “Why are you hugging yourself like that?” Ryan refers to Nathan’s hands holding onto his upper arms. “Don’t tell me you’re cold after spending half an hour in the hot water.” Nathan shrugs. “Whatever man. Dry off, I’ll get the hair stuff.” Nathan resigns.

Nathan sits alone in the bathroom waiting for Ryan. He holds a lock of his hair in his hands, out in front of his face. He twirls it between his fingers, fidgeting, wrapping it around, feeling its texture, looking at its shine. It’s soft and comforting. His hair has always been naturally soft, even here with the stress and lack of proper care. It’s the part of his body he’s the most proud of. He doesn’t want to lose it. 

Ryan comes back. Nathan’s gaze does not visit him until he hears the sound of items being put down. He turns to look; there’s a small handheld broom, a dustpan, and- Nathan’s stomach almost explodes. “Wait, wait, you’re gonna buzz it off? All of it?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t!”

“Come on, man, I’m not going to the trouble of giving you an actual proper haircut, I’m just gonna reer, reer, reer, ya know?” He mimics the sound of the electric shaver in his hand, waving it as if along the curves of a head.

“Can’t you just not?” Nathan asks desperately.

“Yeah, I can just not. Because I can do whatever I want with you.” Nathan goes silent. Slowly, with eyes still turned to Ryan for a few seconds as if he may change his mind, Nathan puts his head down and faces the floor, submitting. He flinches as the buzzing begins and stares with dull eyes at the ground directly under his head. Long strands of hair start to fall into his peripheral vision. Nathan wants to cry, and in his eyes there’s a feeling of pressure that might suggest that tears were in fact about to burst forth- but not for a second can Nathan fool himself into believing he could claim such an emotional release- because with the pressure sensation comes another, a feeling of profound dryness, as if he were crawling in the desert with the sun beating down on him. No moisture could exist here.