CW: Fakeboy correction, forced detrans, misgendering, forced pregnancy, humiliation
Getting pissed off when a fakeboy calls herself a “straight top”. She’s so delusional. She’s a female with a pussy, she can’t fuck anyone. I decide I’ll have to fix her mindset, remind her of what she is.
I tie her up, telling her she has one opportunity to avoid getting pregnant tonight
If her “tdick” is anywhere near the size of a real man’s cock, I’ll let her go free, but if it’s the pathetically small button it almost certainly is, then I’m going to stuff my entire load in her womb and watch her become a mommy
“What will it be? You think you’re a real man?
Let’s see what you’re packing.”
I pull down her boxers, letting her little clit free
“Aw. So tiny!” I tease, unzipping my own pants. “This is a real cock. Feel the difference.”
I press my hard, pulsing dick against her folds, her clit twitching with a pathetic throb
“N…no…” she whimpers, her cunt dripping wet
It’s hilarious, her little clitty isn’t even as big as my tip, and she was calling it a dick this whole time
“What do you have to say for yourself? Calling that little nub a cock is a joke
Maybe you really are a girl.”
“No, I am a boy!” she whines, tears welling in her eyes
I laugh, lining my cock up with her hole
“You’re a boy with a dripping pussy about to get bred. What boy do you know gets bred?
You’re a girl. A wet, fertile little girl.”
I push in, her back arching as she’s stretched around a real dick
“So much bigger, isn’t it?”
She nods, tears running down her cheeks as she whimpers
I bottom out, grinding deep against her cervix
“Real men don’t cry when they get fucked
They don’t get wetter when I tell them what a good girl they’re being.”
Her hips begin to move on their own, seeking more stimulation
“Your body knows the truth.”
I begin to thrust, slowly at first, then picking up speed. Her pathetic little clit grinds against my pubic bone with each deep push, making her cry out
“That’s it. Take it all. You’re so good at this. Such a good girl for taking cock so well.”
She sobs, shaking her head, but her hips rock in rhythm with me
“That tiny button can’t fuck anyone. You’ll never please a woman” I taunt, thrusting harder. “But your tight little pussy? This was made for cock. Made to be bred.”
I angle my hips, hitting that special spot inside her. She gasps, her walls clenching tight around me
“That’s the spot, isn’t it? That feels so much better than that little nub ever could.”
Her protests dissolve into incoherent moans, her body betraying her completely
“Admit it. Say you’re my girl.”
"Look at you, getting your pussy pounded," I snarl, my breath hot against her ear. "What kind of 'boy' has a wet, grasping cunt? What kind of 'boy' whines so pretty with a cock splitting his pussy open?"
Her only answer is a choked sob, her body betraying her with every involuntary clench around me. Each of my thrusts forces another moan from her lips, high, feminine.
"Your 'top' fantasies are so cute," I continue, dripping with condescension. "You thought you were going to be the one doing this? Pushing inside? You can't. You weren't built for it."
I pull back until just the tip of my cock is nestled in her entrance, then slam back in, grinding against her cervix.
"This is what you were made for," I grunt, setting a brutal pace. "This is your purpose. To be underneath, to be filled, to be bred."
My fingers dig into the soft flesh of her hips, holding her in place for my punishing rhythm. Her pathetic little clit scrapes against me, a useless, forgotten appendage.
"Feel that?" I press a hand low on her belly. "That's me. All the way inside you. That's where a real cock belongs." Her sobs grow louder, more desperate. "You love it, don't you? So wet for real cock."
Each thrust erodes another piece of her delusion, replacing it with the undeniable, physical truth of what is happening to her. She is being split open, used, reshaped into what she was always meant to be.
"You were never a 'top'. You were never a 'boy'. You were always this. A girl. A girl waiting to be corrected."
Her walls flutter around me, a telltale sign of an approaching orgasm.
"See? Your body knows. It wants this. It wants my cum. It wants to be a mommy." My thumb finds her clit, rubbing the tiny, swollen nub. "Beg for it. Beg me to breed you. Beg me like the girl you are."
"N-no..." she whimpers, a final, futile protest.
"Wrong answer," I growl, and my thrusts become erratic, harder. My balls slap against her, a wet, obscene sound. "You will beg. You will admit what you are. You will beg for my seed like the good little girl you are."
The coil in my gut tightens. I'm close. So close.
"Beg," I command, my voice a harsh rasp. "Beg to be knocked up."
Her sobs shake her entire body. "Please..." she finally whispers, the word cracking in the middle.
"Please what?" I demand, my rhythm faltering as I reach the edge.
"Please... breed me," she cries, and that's it. That's my undoing.
I slam deep, my cock pulsing as I spill rope after rope of hot cum directly against her cervix. Her own orgasm crashes through her at the same moment, her cunt milking me for every drop. I stay buried inside her, grinding deep as I empty myself, ensuring not a single drop escapes.
When I finally pull out, a trickle of my cum follows, a silvery trail against her flushed, swollen folds.
I reach down, dipping two fingers into the mess and pushing it back inside her.
"Stay like that," I command, my voice still rough. "Knees up. We're not taking any chances."
I watch her, a vision of debauched surrender. Her face is tear-streaked, her chest heaving. She's finally, truly, been corrected.
"Look at you," I say, my tone softer now. "Look what a pretty girl you make."
Weeks later, the nausea hits first. The positive pregnancy test is the final nail in the coffin of her old identity.
She has to stop binding. It doesn’t fit anymore. Her B cups have swollen into C cups, then small D’s. Her shirts are tighter, straining at the buttons. The change is undeniable.
Her body is no longer her own. She rubs the gentle curve of her stomach, the slight swelling there a constant, physical reminder of what I did, of what she is.
She looks in the mirror and no longer sees a 'boy'. She sees a mother. A pretty, pregnant girl.
