The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of our bedroom, casting a soft, golden glow across the rumpled sheets. I woke slowly, already half-aroused, the familiar weight of my silicone breasts pressing against my chest beneath the silky black nightie I'd slipped into the night before. The lace trimmed hem barely reached mid-thigh, and the matching black satin panties hugged my smooth-shaven skin like a second layer. My long auburn wig spilled across the pillow, strands tickling my bare shoulders. I felt pretty. I felt feminine. And I felt ready.
My wife—my beautiful, commanding Sarah—lay beside me, her dark hair fanned out, one arm draped possessively over my waist. Even in sleep she radiated control, the kind that made my pulse quicken every time she looked at me with that knowing smirk. Last night had been teasing, edging, her fingers tracing the outline of my caged cock through the panties while she whispered how much she loved seeing her little sissy squirm. But she had denied me release. She always knew exactly when to stop.
Now, as consciousness returned, her lips brushed the shell of my ear.
“Roll over,” she whispered, voice husky from sleep and desire. “I get to fuck you this morning. You’re going to take it like a good little bitch.”
If I had been a cat, I would have purred. The words sent a shiver racing down my spine, settling hot and heavy between my legs. Nothing—nothing—felt better than surrendering to her like this, dressed in lingerie, body softened and curved by padding and desire, her strap-on claiming me completely.
I obeyed instantly, rolling onto my stomach, then pushing up onto my knees. The nightie slid forward, the bodice stretching tight across my heavy fake breasts, nipples already stiff against the satin cups. The skirt draped sensually over my hips and ass, fluttering slightly with each breath. I arched my back instinctively, offering myself.
Sarah chuckled low in her throat, a sound that always made me melt. She reached up to the headboard drawer—the one we both knew so well—and retrieved the clear bottle of thick, glistening lube.
“Get yourself ready while I put on my cock,” she ordered.
How could I do anything else?
I shifted my weight forward onto one elbow, using my free hand to tug the nightie’s skirt higher. My fingers slipped beneath the waistband of my panties, pushing them down just enough to expose my smooth, eager hole. I popped the cap on the lube with my teeth, squirted a generous dollop onto my left index and middle fingers, then reached back.
The first touch of cool slickness made me gasp softly. I circled my entrance slowly, teasing myself the way she liked to watch, feeling the muscle flutter under the gentle pressure. Then I pressed inward—one finger, then two—working them in shallow thrusts, coating every inch of my inner walls. The stretch was delicious, familiar, promising more. My cock—still locked in its small pink cage—twitched uselessly against the satin, leaking steadily now, a small wet spot forming on the front of my panties.
Behind me, I heard the soft rustle of leather and silicone. Sarah was stepping into the harness, adjusting the straps with practiced efficiency. I glanced over my shoulder into the large mirror mounted on the headboard and nearly moaned at the sight.
There she was: confident, naked except for the black leather harness cinched tight around her hips. The dildo—my favorite, nine inches of extra-realistic, veined silicone, skin-tone and slightly curved—was already seated firmly in the ring. It jutted proudly from her body, glistening faintly where she had slicked the shaft with a little lube of her own. Her breasts swayed gently as she moved, nipples dark and erect. She caught my eye in the reflection and smirked.
“Eyes forward, princess,” she murmured. “You’ll get to watch soon enough.”
I turned my gaze back to the pillows, breathing harder now. My fingers were still buried inside me, scissoring gently, opening myself wider. Every slide sent sparks up my spine. I was dripping, aching, desperate.
Sarah moved behind me. The mattress dipped. I felt the heat of her body before her hands even touched me. Then she leaned over my back, her full breasts pressing against my shoulder blades through the thin nightie, her nipples dragging deliciously against the fabric. The weight of her pinned me deliciously in place. The cool tip of her silicone cock nudged between my ass cheeks, sliding up and down, teasing without entering.
I whimpered.
She reached forward with one hand, something black and round dangling from her fingers. Before I could process it, she pressed the ball gag against my lips.
“Open,” she commanded softly.
I did. The thick silicone ball filled my mouth, stretching my jaw. She buckled the strap behind my head, tight enough that I couldn’t push it out with my tongue, loose enough that I could still breathe. Drool would come soon—I knew from experience—but right now all I could focus on was the heavy fullness in my mouth and the insistent pressure of her cock sliding along my crack.
“Good girl,” she purred, stroking my wig. “Such a pretty, obedient sissy.”
She pressed forward again, letting the shaft nestle between my thighs, the underside gliding against my caged cock and balls. I rocked back instinctively, trying to chase more contact, but she held my hips still with strong hands.
“Not yet.”
She reached to the side of the bed. I heard a soft thud as something heavy landed on the mattress beside me. The sex wedge—our newest toy, ordered late one night after too much wine and filthy conversation. In the product photos, a woman had been draped over it, ass high, being taken from behind. We had both known, even then, who would really end up in that position.
“Put this underneath you,” Sarah said, voice thick with anticipation. “You’re going to need the support by the time I’m done with you.”
I nodded frantically around the gag. She helped guide me, lifting my hips so I could slide the higher, angled end under my pelvis. Then I let myself fall forward. My padded breasts settled into the first gentle dip, squishing luxuriously against the firm foam. My head rested in the shallow cradle at the front, face turned toward the mirror so I could watch everything. My ass was lifted perfectly, presented like an offering, nightie rucked up around my waist, panties stretched taut across my thighs.
Exposed. Vulnerable. Feminine.
Sarah didn’t hesitate.
She knelt behind me, one hand gripping the base of the dildo, the other spreading my cheeks wider. The blunt head kissed my slick opening.
“Breathe,” she whispered.
I did.
Then she thrust.
One long, smooth, relentless push—nine inches sinking deep in a single stroke. My eyes flew wide. The stretch burned sweetly, my body yielding around the thick girth. I felt impossibly full, impaled, owned. For a heartbeat I couldn’t breathe around the gag, lungs frozen in overwhelmed pleasure.
She held still, buried to the hilt, letting me adjust. Her hands roamed my hips, my waist, up to cup my dangling breasts through the nightie. She squeezed gently, thumbs brushing my nipples, sending jolts straight to my prostate.
“You feel that?” she murmured. “That’s my cock owning your pretty little ass. You were made for this, weren’t you?”
I moaned around the gag, nodding as much as the wedge allowed. Yes. God, yes.
Only then did she begin to move.
Slow at first—tiny withdrawals, barely an inch, then pressing back in, grinding the curved head directly against that magic spot inside me. Each pass made my toes curl, made pre-cum drool steadily from my trapped cock. The prostate stimulation was relentless, overwhelming, different from anything “normal” sex had ever offered. My pleasure built in waves, centered deep inside rather than at the tip. My caged clit throbbed uselessly, secondary, unnecessary.
She gradually lengthened her strokes. Halfway out, then almost all the way, the fat head catching on my rim before plunging back in, balls-deep. The rhythm built, hypnotic, consuming. My wig fell forward in messy strands, sticking to my damp cheeks, getting caught between my lips around the gag. I didn’t care. I was lost in the sensation of being fucked—truly, thoroughly fucked—like the girl I felt like in these moments.
My hands couldn’t stay still. They slid up my body, cupping my breasts, kneading them through the satin. The weight, the bounce, the way they moved with each thrust—it was intoxicating. I pinched my nipples, rolling them between thumb and finger, moaning louder around the gag.
Sarah’s grip tightened on my hips. Her breathing grew ragged.
I felt her shift, one hand leaving my waist. Then a soft click—and vibration hummed to life.
The harness had a built-in bullet that pressed directly against her clit. Now it buzzed fiercely, transmitting through the silicone shaft and deep into me. Every thrust sent shivers racing through both of us. I could feel the pulsing inside my ass, amplifying every sensation.
“Fuck,” she gasped. “You feel so good taking my cock. Such a perfect little slut.”
I keened, high and desperate.
Her pace quickened. Harder. Deeper. The wet sounds of lube and skin filled the room. My body rocked on the wedge with each impact, breasts jiggling, nightie slipping off one shoulder to expose more skin. Drool leaked from around the gag, pooling on the foam beneath my chin.
I was close—so close. The pressure against my prostate built unbearably. My caged cock strained, balls tight, the orgasm coiling not from stroking but from being filled, claimed, used.
“Oh fuck—I’m gonna cum,” I tried to say. It came out muffled, garbled, pathetic.
Sarah laughed breathlessly. “Cum like the bitch you are. Cum on my cock.”
She slammed in deep, grinding, holding there while the vibrator buzzed furiously against us both.
That was it.
My vision whited out. A long, broken moan tore from my throat as my prostate pulsed violently. Cum surged from my trapped cock in thick, helpless spurts, soaking the front of my panties, dripping down my thighs. Wave after wave crashed through me, body shaking, ass clenching rhythmically around her invading shaft.
She didn’t stop.
She fucked me through it—hard, relentless—chasing her own peak. The continued stimulation dragged my orgasm out impossibly long, turning it into something almost continuous, a rolling, shuddering ecstasy that left me sobbing around the gag.
Finally—mercifully—Sarah stiffened behind me.
“Yes—fuck—yes—”
Her hips jerked erratically as she came, grinding the vibrating base against her clit, riding the waves while buried inside me. I felt every flutter, every clench, transmitted through the silicone.
When it ended we collapsed together—her weight pressing me into the wedge, cock still deep, both of us panting.
Slowly, gently, she eased the gag from my mouth. Drool slicked my chin; she wiped it away with her thumb, then leaned down to kiss me. Soft. Possessive. Sweet.
“Good morning, baby,” she whispered against my lips.
I smiled, dazed, spent, utterly content.
“Good morning, Mistress.”
She slid out carefully, the sudden emptiness making me whimper. Then she unbuckled the harness, set it aside, and curled around me on the bed. I rolled onto my back, nightie twisted, panties ruined, breasts heaving with each breath.
I closed my eyes, feeling the lingering throb inside me, the sticky warmth between my legs, the comforting weight of my tits rising and falling.
This was me.
This was us.
And the morning had only just begun.
