Tyler’s heart was still hammering when the Uber pulled up outside his girlfriend Lauren’s sorority house. It was the night after the wildest party of the semester, and the eight girls—Lauren and her seven sisters—had dragged him inside at 2 a.m., giggling and tipsy, insisting he “join the debrief.” He’d spent the entire evening dressed as one of them: a tight pink bodycon dress, strappy heels, full makeup, and a long wavy brunette wig that matched half the girls in the house. They’d renamed him “Tayla” for the night and paraded him around the frat party like their newest pledge.
Now, in the brightly lit living room, the girls arranged themselves in a perfect line on the long sectional couch, still in their party outfits—shades of pink, red, and white dresses hugging their curves. Tyler stood in front of them, still in the pink dress and heels, wig slightly askew, makeup smudged from sweat and… other activities. His legs were trembling. The lacy thong underneath the dress was soaked with his own precum, and his ass felt tender, stretched, undeniably used.
Lauren, sitting in the center like the queen bee, crossed her legs and smiled sweetly up at him.
“Tell us all about it, sissy!” she said in that bright, teasing sorority-girl voice the others immediately echoed with delighted squeals.
The girl to her left—Brianna, the blonde in the red dress—leaned forward, chin in her hands. “Did you feel like a woman when his cock was in your ass?”
The room erupted in laughter and excited gasps. Phones came out. Someone hit record.
Tyler’s face burned crimson. He opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. The memory was too fresh, too vivid.
It had happened in one of the upstairs bedrooms at the frat house. The girls had dared him—pushed him, really—into flirting with Connor, a tall senior linebacker who’d been eyeing “Tayla” all night. Lauren had whispered in his ear, “Just dance with him. It’ll be funny.” Then Chloe had slipped Connor a note: She’s shy but really wants it.
One thing led to another. Hands on hips. Grinding on the dance floor. Connor’s strong grip guiding Tyler upstairs. The door closing. The shock of being bent over the bed, dress hiked up, thong pulled aside. The overwhelming pressure as Connor pushed inside—slow at first, then deeper, harder. Tyler had whimpered, clutched the sheets, and to his eternal confusion and shame… moaned like a girl.
And the worst part? He’d stayed rock hard the entire time. Even when Connor thrust deep and growled in his ear. Even when he felt the hot rush of cum filling him. His own cock had throbbed untouched, leaking into the lace until he came hands-free, shuddering and gasping in a voice that didn’t sound like his own.
Back in the sorority living room, the girls were waiting, eyes gleaming.
“Come on, Tayla,” coaxed Madison, the brunette in the teal lace two-piece. “Be honest. When he was fucking you… did it make you feel pretty? Like one of us?”
Tyler swallowed hard. His voice came out small, higher than usual from hours of practicing his “girl voice.”
“I… I don’t know. It hurt at first. But then…” He trailed off, cheeks flaming.
“But then it felt good,” Lauren finished for him, grinning wickedly. “We know. We watched the door. We heard you moaning like a little slut.”
The girls burst into fresh laughter.
Brianna held up her phone, showing a blurry video—clearly taken through the crack in the door—of Tyler on all fours, dress bunched around his waist, head thrown back in ecstasy as Connor pounded into him.
“Look how hard you stayed,” she said, zooming in on the obvious bulge in the front of the dress. “Not even touching yourself and you came like a girl. That’s so fucking hot.”
Tyler wanted to disappear. But his cock—still trapped in the ruined thong—was twitching again, betraying him.
Lauren stood and walked a slow circle around him, trailing a finger across his shoulder.
“Tell them the truth, sissy. When his big cock was all the way inside you, stretching your little pussy… did you feel like a real woman?”
The room went quiet, all eight girls staring at him with hungry, delighted smiles.
Tyler’s breath hitched. He looked down at his painted toes in the strappy heels, then up at the circle of beautiful, powerful women who had orchestrated his total emasculation.
“Yes what?” Lauren pressed, cupping his chin and forcing him to meet her eyes.
“Yes… I felt like a woman,” he admitted, voice breaking. “Like… like I belonged there. Taking it.”
The girls cheered and clapped like he’d just won homecoming queen.
“Oh my god, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard,” Chloe squealed.
“We have to do this again,” Madison declared. “Next party, Tayla’s getting passed around.”
Lauren pulled Tyler into the center of the couch, sandwiching him between her and Brianna. Hands roamed over his dress, teasing his sensitive nipples through the fabric, brushing the damp spot at the front.
“You’re one of us now, baby,” Lauren whispered in his ear. “Our little sissy sister. And we’re going to make sure you get fucked like a proper girl every weekend.”
Tyler closed his eyes, overwhelmed, humiliated, and—despite everything—achingly aroused again.
The girls leaned in close, just like in the photo, all smiles and glowing pink text hovering in his mind:
Tell us all about it, sissy.
And, trembling in their arms, he did. Every filthy detail. While they recorded it all for next semester’s pledge initiation video.
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