Forced Crossdresser Fantasies นิยาย & เรื่องราว

roommate has homosexual thoughts and fantasies he has been fighting. Thoughts about me. Seeing my cock in the locker room and at the house when I walked around post shower. Fantasies of sucking my cock, worshipping me. Fantasies about being bent over in the locker room and being “claimed” and “taken”, made to take my big cock so deep that his abs bulge from the other side. Fantasies of submitting and surrendering to me and being my fuck toy. Fantasies about absorbing my seed and carrying it around with him everywhere he went. Fantasies about hanging with his “gym bros” while having my kids swimming deeper and deeper into his guts, with his friends being non the wiser.

My pussy clamped down hard on the dildo. No. Stop. That's wrong. But my body didn't listen. The fantasy twisted; Sebastian’s hands instead of Marcus’s, his younger, harder thrusts, his voice younger and rougher while calling me something dirty while mom slept in the next room. Forbidden. Slick and hot. I fucked myself faster. Harder. The vibrator mashed against my clit until stars burst behind my eyelids. “I'm gonna come…fuck daddy… I’m gonna squirt thinking about you…” I didn't say whose name. Didn't want to know.

I leaned back on my palms boldly as Chris came between my legs, his breath hitched audibly and his eyes locked on my exposed cunt as though it were the only thing in existence. Chris gripped his cock and dragged the thick head of his cock along my hot and insistent slit, smearing my wetness across his shaft and teasing me with every slow stroke. Outside, I knew Xander was listening. I wanted him to. I closed my eyes for just a second, and in the dark behind my lids, I imagined his cock, not Chris’s, gliding along my folds, teasing me, smearing my wetness across his thick length. When I opened my eyes again, I saw him there, his face replacing Chris’s, his need burning into me. The fantasy al

How can we put an end to this if we don’t stay away from each other? We were not in any kind of relationship, but when I write my diary entry that night, it feels like I’ve been jilted. I strike through the whole entry, determined not to let him mar my sexy fantasies. Just because I stopped acting on these fantasies doesn’t mean I can’t write them. This time, I’m writing from experience. When Rhys touches me in my fantasies, I feel his touch as though it were real, the scent of his skin when he embraces me so unadulterated that the lines between imagination and reality start to blur.

“Do you need a break?” I shake my head, not as a response to his question, but to the internal battle about to consume me. “Good.” He assumes it is my reply and resumes his job. I take a deep breath. Eyes on him, but not for long I start battling the urge to look down. Foot fetish is my dark fantasy. One that I’d rather take to my grave than explore. Because one silly mistake and it may affect my brand. “Pose like you're selling those straps to me.” He groans, quite frustrated at my poses. “Tilt your face… just a little…”

A Climactic Encounter. Exploring the depths of pleasure and connection in a moment of intense passion. . A smirk formed on Frank’s lips as he turned towards me, catching me staring. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, but I couldn't deny the desire that burnt within me. I desired to touch him, to feel his wonderful cock beneath my fingertips. I knew I had to act on it before the moment slipped away. Embracing my boldness, I closed the distance between us, ready to fulfil the fantasy that had taken root in my mind.

Tell me your darkest fantasies. "What! I'm not admitting to shit." "Come on, tell me," he urged, laughing. Axton's laughter was one of the most beautiful I'd ever heard because it was light and a sharp contrast to his baritone voice. "Okay, let me tell you mine," he continued. "When I was a young, horny bastard, my biggest fantasy was getting a massage from three-breasted women and they only massaged me with their boobs." I doubled over and whizzed with laughter, falling off the bed. Axton cackled and lifted me, wrapping himself around me.

He drops a hand to Sky's fly, freeing his cock too—slimmer but long, curved perfectly, the tip weeping as Ryder strokes them together, foreskins sliding, pre-cum mixing in a filthy sheen. My breath hitches as my balls draw tight while I palm myself harder, imagining joining them. I'd shove Ryder aside, bend Sky over, and ram my aching dick into his clenching hole while he sucks Ryder off—throats bobbing, asses slapping, cum spraying in hot ropes. The fantasy shatters me; I bite my fist to muffle a groan, spilling my cum into my briefs with shuddering pulses, my vision blurring as I watch them tuck away, stealing one last grinding kiss before slipping apart.

Craft pushed a button for the top floor, and I held my breath. Him caressing his thumb along mine should have felt soothing, but I was anything but calm. Fantasy Night. I kept picturing shirtless men walking around, flirting, and having an orgy or some other weird kinky shit that I was naïve to being a reality. Was Craft really into that crazy stuff? Guess I was going to find out.

He was tender yet insistent, his thrusts rolling in deep sensual waves that dragged out every aftershock. My pussy fluttered around him, another smaller climax following the first as juices gushed out in fresh spurts. My eyes rolled inside my head. “Fuck, Dorian…don’t stop,” I begged, as my voice broke. The sickness of my reality hit just then, twin fantasies flooding my mind like forbidden poison. Two identical men, same bodies, same cocks but different in how they claimed me. It was twisted and depraved. In fact, some would call it the ultimate taboo. Yet it made me wetter and hotter, my core throbbing with shameful need.