Fakeboy story time! Back in action for all you fakeboys.
It actually started off in a kind of boring way. You'd been dating your boyfriend for about a year now. When you met him, you were already out as a trans man, so there was never any confusion, never any misgendering, nothing like that. In fact, if anyone called you by the wrong pronouns in public, he was actually the first to stand up for you. That's why you were kind of surprised the first time he brought it up when you were in bed.
"Wouldn't it be kind of hot if you wore lingerie while we fucked?" He said while you were kissing his neck lightly. It wasn't the weirdest request in the world. Plenty of men wore stuff like that for fun with their partners.
So you gave in. He picked some out online, it arrived a few days later, and that night, the two of you had the best sex you'd ever had.
The fact it was so good should have been a warning sign to you.
It started out with just lingerie. Then, he started having you wear some lipstick, telling you it was just so you could leave lipstick marks on his neck when you kissed him.
Then it moved on to him groping your tits during sex. You'd told him never to do it, it made you dysphoric as hell, but there he was, doing it anyways. In the heat of the moment, you were too horny to complain, but afterwards you brought it up, he apologized, and you thought that would be the end of it.
The next time the two of you started fucking, he immediately started to grab your chest. You pushed him away, protesting loudly, but you were met with a smack in the face.
"You're mine. You don't get to tell me what I can and can't touch." The seriousness in his voice scared you, but the dominance turned you on, flooding your hole with wetness. You decided to go along for the ride, letting him touch wherever he wanted, getting off harder than you had in years. Afterwards, you didn't even think to bring it up. It felt natural, so it must be okay.
The next time you two fucked, things went further. Maybe too far.
Just a few minutes into pounding you from behind, your boyfriend lent in behind your ear, practically growling the words.
"You're such a good girl for me."
And the crazy thing is, you didn't even say anything back. You didn't complain. You didn't remind him that you were a man. You just moaned. Like a good girl.
After that, everything changed. It was clear he didn't see you as a man anymore. You came home the next day and found him in your closet, throwing out all of your manly clothes and replacing them with feminine ones, ones that showed off the tits you were so "dysphoric" about, ones that said things that went against all of your beliefs, labelling you as "Daddy's Girl" and other objectifying phrases. He'd bought you sets of makeup and left them on your dresser, ready to be applied, right next to a paper saying you were scheduled for breast enlargement surgery. And what did you do? Stand up for yourself? Declare your manhood and show him how wrong he was? Kick him out for doing so much harm to your trans identity?
You knelt down on the ground right then and there and gave him the best blowjob that a real man could ever ask for, sucking gleefully as he moaned your real name.
You were never really happy as a man, you can see that now. Because you were always meant to be a dumb, cock sucking bimbo.
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