Tg/Bondage Captions

I love captions and crossdressing lol. Bondage is also a great way to attract my attention;)

[rustyfff]

The Night I Was Followed

It started as a thrilling night out—just me, the city lights, and the intoxicating rush of stepping out as my other self. The heels clicked against the pavement, my skirt swayed with every confident step, and the cool night air whispered against my skin. It was empowering. Liberating.

But then I noticed him.

At first, it was just a shadow in the corner of my vision, a man in a dark coat lingering a little too long on the opposite side of the street. I told myself it was paranoia. People stare all the time—some out of curiosity, some out of malice. I was used to it. But the way he moved, slow and deliberate, staying just out of reach yet never too far, sent a shiver up my spine.

I quickened my pace. So did he.

By the time I reached my apartment building, my pulse was hammering in my ears. I slipped inside, locking the door behind me, my breath shallow. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe I was imagining things.

Then the lights flickered.

The power cut out for just a second, enough to make my stomach drop. And then—

A hand over my mouth. A sharp yank backward. The world tilted, spinning into darkness.

I woke up on the cold, textured floor of a dimly lit room, my body restrained—ropes tight against my arms, legs bent in a cruel arch. My wrists burned where the knots bit into my skin. A gag muffled my scream. My mind raced. Where was I? Who had done this?

Footsteps approached.

A figure crouched beside me, their voice a low murmur in my ear.

“You were beautiful tonight.”

Terror coiled in my stomach.

The night wasn’t over.

It had just begun.

[rustyfff]

I never thought my life would take this turn. One moment, I was just another guy trying to get through high school, and the next, I was sitting in the backseat of a luxury car, wrapped in a black velvet dress, my legs crossed in sheer stockings, my lips glossed and parted just enough to feign allure.

It all started when Ethan, my tormentor for years, cornered me after school. His usual smirk was different this time—less cruel, more… calculating.

“You’re mine now,” he had whispered, his fingers gripping my chin. “And you’re going to be the perfect little girlfriend.”

I should have fought back. I should have screamed. But something in his eyes told me resistance was futile. He had power, influence, and a twisted sense of ownership over me.

The first time he dressed me up, I felt humiliated. The second time, I felt numb. Now, as I sit in the car, his hand resting possessively on my thigh, I wonder if I even recognize myself anymore.

I glance at my reflection in the tinted window—soft curls, delicate earrings, a dress that hugs my frame in ways that shouldn’t feel right but somehow do.

Ethan leans in, his breath hot against my ear. “You’re mesmerizing,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the bare skin of my shoulder.

I swallow hard.

I don’t know whether to fight or to fall.

[rustyfff]

The morning started as usual, but the looming dread of seeing Mr. Harris, my principal—and my mom’s bitter ex—gnawed at my stomach. Ever since their breakup, his quiet disdain for me had transformed into something much darker: a game of humiliation.

Today, his “punishment” was another level of twisted. He tossed the outfit on my desk before school and said, “You’ll wear this all day. Consider it a lesson in humility.” My protests went unheard. If I refused, he threatened to report me for made-up infractions that could ruin my future.

So, here I was. Sitting in the school’s lounge, legs crossed, dressed in a tight, electric-blue two-piece and sparkling heels, every gaze burned with a mix of disbelief and snickering amusement. I could feel my face flush, but I knew better than to fight back—he thrived on my discomfort.

[rustyfff]

I sat outside on the patio, the sun warm against my skin, feeling the light breeze ruffle my hair. I never imagined I’d be dressed like this: a pink, heart-patterned dress hugging my figure and bright red heels giving my legs an elegant length I wasn’t used to. It felt surreal, yet strangely thrilling.

I knew the mafia boss would be arriving soon. This outfit was his idea, his way of making me understand who held the power here. He’d said the debt would be forgiven, but only if I presented myself like this, laid bare under his gaze. A small part of me bristled at the thought, but I pushed it down, knowing I was in too deep to walk away.

As I waited, my mind raced, wondering what he would think, what he would say. My heart pounded in my chest, my nerves tangled with something unexpected—a curiosity, a thrill at the unknown. And when I heard footsteps approaching, I knew there was no turning back. I crossed my legs, sitting up a little straighter, and prepared myself for whatever was coming.

[rustyfff]

Need a daddy dom

[rustyfff]

It started as a joke, a little experiment. I was just curious, trying on some clothes I’d hidden away, ones I’d never admit to anyone that I owned. But there I was, sitting on my balcony, legs crossed in a tight leather skirt and a red leopard-print top, heels clicking softly as I tapped my foot. The city stretched out below, quiet and still. That’s when I heard it—a sound from the balcony next door.

I looked up, and there he was. Jake, my neighbor. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of me. My heart dropped, and I froze, caught in the act. Before I could even try to explain, he broke into a slow grin.

“I won’t tell,” he said, stepping closer to the railing. “But there’s a catch.”

My face flushed. Of course, he’d want something in return. Jake’s voice lowered as he leaned in. “You have to go on a date with me. Just like this.”

I wanted to protest, say something, anything. But what could I do? My parents could never find out about this, and Jake knew it. After a painfully long silence, I finally nodded, feeling both humiliated and strangely exhilarated.

Now, I’m standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the same outfit I wore that night on the balcony. My reflection stares back, red lips, sharp heels, every detail in place. My phone buzzes with a message from Jake. He’s waiting downstairs.

With one last, shaky breath, I step out the door, heels clicking against the floor as I head out to meet him. My heart is racing, fear and excitement blending together in a way I’ve never felt before.

[rustyfff]

I don’t know how I let him talk me into this. It started as a simple invitation to a “unique night out.” He made it sound like harmless fun—something I’d remember and laugh about later. So, I went along, intrigued and maybe a little too trusting.

When we got to this old building, he handed me the outfit. I laughed it off at first, thinking it was just a joke, but he kept urging, saying, “Come on, it’s all part of the experience!” I shrugged, thinking, “What’s the harm?” But the moment I put it on, things escalated quickly. He somehow convinced me to stand in front of that cage, to “try a few poses,” and before I knew it, he had me tied up like this, completely at his mercy.

Now here I am, unable to move, wondering how I ended up in this situation, dressed in something I’d never normally wear, and completely at his mercy.

[rustyfff]

I never thought prison would be like this. When I was sentenced, I imagined steel bars, cold concrete floors, maybe a rough crowd. But this? This is something out of a nightmare—or maybe a twisted fantasy.

For some reason, the warden decided I’m the one who has to wear this ridiculous outfit. The other guys walk around in their sweats, their jeans, their regular clothes. Meanwhile, I’m stuck in a cropped leather jacket, a tiny white skirt that barely covers anything, and knee-high boots. Every time I walk into the yard, I feel all their eyes on me.

At first, it was humiliating. I could feel my skin burn with embarrassment every time I passed by a group of inmates. But now? Now I’ve noticed something else in the way they look at me. It’s not just mockery or pity anymore. It’s desire. They want me. They whisper when they think I can’t hear, staring a little too long when I walk past.

Some of them have tried to talk to me, offering me protection, promising me favors if I give them what they want. I can see it in their eyes, the hunger, the way they hang around my cell just a little too long. They act like they’re doing me a favor, but I know what’s really going on.

Every step I take in this stupid outfit draws them in closer, and strangely, it gives me power. It’s not the kind of control I ever wanted, but in here, I’ll take what I can get. They might be bigger, stronger, and more dangerous than me, but I’m the one they can’t stop thinking about. The one they want.

And in this place? That gives me more leverage than any muscle or weapon ever could.

[rustyfff]

The sound of my heels clicked down the school’s tiled hallways, echoing like a constant reminder of the choice that wasn’t mine. My principal had made it clear: a dress code just for me, the guy who had dared to challenge authority. It all started with a simple protest about unfair rules, and now, I was forced into these dresses, heels, and glittering outfits every single day.

Today’s ensemble, a golden, barely-there number, was the worst yet. Every inch of the shimmering fabric clung to me, and the intricate straps crossed over my chest, making me feel exposed, vulnerable. I could feel the stares as I walked past my classmates, some of them curious, others mocking. But the deal was non-negotiable—either wear these outfits, or I’d be expelled. It was the principal’s way of making me submit, turning my rebellion into a spectacle.

At first, I resisted. But soon enough, I realized there was no way out. So here I was, sashaying down the hall in this slinky number like I owned the place—though inside, every step was a reminder of how little control I had left. The whispers and giggles of students followed me everywhere, but somehow, I held my head high.

As the day dragged on, I caught my reflection in the mirror by the lockers. Despite everything, I didn’t look half bad. If anything, I looked… powerful. Maybe that’s why the principal had targeted me, trying to tear me down by making me feel weak. But what he didn’t know was that every time I put on one of these dresses, I was building something new—a confidence that came not from conformity, but from surviving the spectacle.

I turned, facing the halls, ready to confront whatever came next. The dress code had forced me into heels, but it hadn’t broken me.

[rustyfff]

It was supposed to be just a joke, a wild bet from my friends about how far I could push the boundaries of extra credit. But somehow, my professor took me seriously.

“Wear this and I’ll bump your grade,” he said with a smirk as he handed me the black dress. It had an open back, a clingy fit, and absolutely nothing I’d ever imagine wearing. But there was the grade—teetering on the edge of disaster. I needed it.

So here I was, dressed in something that clung to my body in all the wrong places. The heels were murder, the dress exposed more skin than I was comfortable with, but I had to admit, I didn’t look half bad. My reflection in the mirror showed someone confident, daring, and… not at all like the guy I saw in the mornings before class.

The restaurant was fancy, far too classy for the situation I found myself in. As I sat across from my professor, trying not to let the slit in the dress ride too high, I realized the lengths I’d gone for that elusive grade. He seemed calm, collected, his eyes occasionally lingering on the dress as he casually sipped his wine.

The date itself was surreal—talking about literature while dressed in something meant for a runway, while the candlelight flickered between us. It wasn’t anything inappropriate, just a bizarre game of cat and mouse over grades and attire.

When the night ended, he smiled as he dropped me off at my apartment.

“Consider your grade… elevated,” he said with a wink.

I couldn’t help but laugh. This was a story I’d never live down.

[rustyfff]

It all started when my dad told me I wasn’t “manly” enough. He said I didn’t have the presence, the toughness, or the demeanor of a “real man.” I tried to shrug it off, but it always lingered. Then, last week, he came up with an ultimatum. “If you can’t act like a man, then you’ll dress however I want,” he said, smirking.

I didn’t think he was serious until tonight. That’s how I ended up in this tight black dress, sitting at this fancy event, heels digging into my feet. He made me wear it to prove a point—that I wasn’t living up to his outdated idea of masculinity. I can still hear his words ringing in my ears, telling me this would teach me a lesson.

But here’s the thing—sitting here, I don’t feel the humiliation he wanted me to. Yes, I feel out of place, but I also feel strangely empowered. People are staring, whispering, and my dad keeps glancing over, expecting me to crack under the pressure. But I won’t give him the satisfaction. If he thinks this is going to “fix” me or break my spirit, he’s wrong.

Instead, I’m owning it. The dress, the heels, the way I hold my head high—none of it defines me. I might be sitting here, forced into this outfit, but what my dad doesn’t realize is that it’s not going to change who I am. In fact, it’s making me even more certain of myself. If his idea of masculinity is so fragile that it hinges on what I wear, maybe I’m better off creating my own path.

[rustyfff]

I lean against the countertop, the tight black dress my mom picked out clinging to me in a way I’m still not used to. She insists this is how I should go out, saying it shows “confidence” and “style.” I can’t argue with her—she’s got rules, and if I want to get out of the house tonight, I’ve got to follow them.

I glance at my reflection in the oven door, heels clicking softly as I shift my weight. The dress, the shoes, even the makeup—none of this feels like me, but I’ve learned to live with it. I don’t know anyone else who goes through this, being a guy and having to dress like this just to go out. It’s weird, honestly, but it’s been my life for as long as I can remember.

I wonder how tonight’s going to go. I can already imagine the stares, the comments. But maybe, if I play it cool, I can blend in. Or maybe not. Either way, I’m stepping out of this house, even if I’m doing it in heels.

[rustyfff]

Being the only guy in an all-girls school has its perks, but there’s one huge catch—the dress code. When I first enrolled, I thought they were joking. But no, they were dead serious. If I wanted to attend, I had to follow the same rules as everyone else. That meant skirts, dresses, heels, the whole deal. At first, I fought it, tried to argue my way out, but they wouldn’t budge. So here I am, standing in the hallway in a sleek black dress with orange detailing, paired with heels that make walking a challenge on a good day.

As I walk through the halls, I can feel eyes on me, but it’s not the kind of attention I thought I’d get. Instead of teasing or laughter, the girls actually seem impressed. Some of them stop me to compliment the outfit or give me tips on how to handle the heels better. It’s weird, but instead of standing out like an outsider, I’m starting to blend in more than I expected.

They even handed me these flowers to complete the look, as if it’s some kind of tradition. At first, I felt ridiculous, but now? I’ve gotten used to it. I might be the only guy in school, but I’m not just surviving—I’m owning it. The dress code isn’t a punishment anymore; it’s just part of who I am here. It’s strange how quickly things can change, but I guess that’s high school for you.

[rustyfff]

I was tired of blending into the background at school. No one ever really noticed me, and I longed to be part of the popular crowd. That’s when Marcus, one of the most popular guys, made an unexpected offer. “I can help you out,” he said with a sly grin, “but you’ve got to trust me.”

At first, I wasn’t sure what he had in mind. Then came the twist: to pull off the ultimate stunt, I had to dress up—like a girl. It wasn’t just about the clothes, though; Marcus said I had to fully commit. The plan was for me to show up to a big party looking so good, no one would even realize it was me.

Reluctantly, I agreed. Before I knew it, I found myself sitting at a bar, legs crossed, in a skin-tight beige dress that hugged my body in ways you hadn’t imagined. Long, sleek hair flowed over my shoulders, and every inch of my look was polished to perfection, right down to the sparkly sandals and matching accessories. Marcus had gone all out, and it showed.

As I sat there, posing effortlessly, I caught the attention of everyone around. They didn’t know who I was, but that only added to the intrigue. Whispered conversations and glances followed me throughout the room. For the first time, I was the center of attention, exactly as Marcus had promised.

Though I felt a bit out of place at first, there was no denying the power of that moment. I was popular now, all eyes on me, and somehow, in this strange situation, I finally felt like I belonged.

[rustyfff]

It’s the night of the big charity gala, and here I am, staring at myself in the mirror. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. I mean, who would’ve thought I’d end up in a little black dress, heels, and all? But Jake helped me out big time last week, and I couldn’t say no when he asked me to be his “date” tonight.

I glance at my reflection again. The dress fits like a glove—tight, sleek, long-sleeved, but surprisingly comfortable. The tights make my legs look longer than they really are, and the heels… well, I’m just hoping I don’t trip. This whole look is so far out of my comfort zone, but I have to admit, I’m kind of pulling it off. It feels weird, though, being dressed like this when I’m so used to wearing my usual guy clothes.

I can already imagine Jake laughing when he sees me. He’s the one who convinced me I’d rock it, even though I wasn’t so sure. “You’re gonna be the best-looking date there,” he joked when we were planning this, and I just rolled my eyes. But honestly, this is payback—I owe him for saving my butt with that work crisis last week. Besides, we’ve always had each other’s backs.

I grab my phone and snap a quick picture, mostly for the memories. If I’m going to go through with this, I might as well document it. I smirk at the image on the screen. Who knew I could look this good in a dress?

Taking a deep breath, I text Jake: “Ready. Let’s do this.”

As I head out the door, I can’t help but laugh to myself. This is going to be one hell of a night.

[rustyfff]

I was walking home from the market one day, when suddenly, rough hands clamped over my mouth and I was dragged into an alley. I struggled, I kicked, I screamed, but it was no use. They tied me up with rope, my arms behind my back, my legs closed together. I felt a strange ball being pressed against my face, and everything went dark. When I woke up, I was in a completely different place. I was tied up even tighter than before, and my head was spinning. As my vision cleared, I saw that I was in a cramped, grimy room. I was no longer in my own clothes. I was dressed in a tight, pink dress, the skirt far too short for my liking. To make matters worse, my feet were forced into pink heels, making me wobble precariously. I was a pathetic sight, a man reduced to this. I heard the creaking of a door and turned to see my worst nightmare walking in. It was my old bully from school, now all grown up and even more cruel. He sneered at me, his eyes roaming over my feminized form with disgust and delight. He called out to the others, "Look what we've got here, boys! Our favorite little princess has finally arrived!" The room erupted in laughter as more men entered, all of them eyeing me lewdly. I shrunk back, humiliation washing over me. My bully walked up to me, grabbed my chin roughly, and forced me to look at him. "You're gonna fetch a pretty penny at auction, princess," He grinned evilly. "Maybe I'll even bid on you myself. I've always wanted a little bitch boy of my own." I shuddered at his words, my heart pounding with fear. He released me roughly and turned to his men. "Get this princess ready for the auction block."

[rustyfff]

Every time my mom looked at me, I could see a flicker of expectation in her eyes. She always wanted a daughter—a buddy to share fashion tips and gossip. As the only son, I made it my mission to bring a little sparkle to her world.

One day, I decided to surprise her. I borrowed one of her favorite dresses, the bright orange one that hugged the curves just right. It was a bold choice, but I wanted to show her that I could embrace anything she loved, even if it wasn’t traditionally “me.”

I snapped a quick selfie in the mirror, grinning at the playful reflection. When I shared it with her, her eyes lit up. “You look fabulous!” she exclaimed, her joy palpable.

That day, I realized that family love isn’t about fitting into specific roles; it’s about celebrating the uniqueness in all of us. I may not be the daughter she envisioned, but I could still bring her joy in my own way.