If your lucky you'll get a good workout later
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@steph238704
If your lucky you'll get a good workout later
Shine On - Part Two
Part One here
Three days after shoving the catsuit under his bed, Ethan’s resolve cracked. The itch gnawed at him, her voice echoing: “Good little slut.” He fished it out, whispering, “One last time,” and slid it on. The latex hugged him tighter, molding to his subtly shifted body, and it felt better. Almost too good. He polished it to a mirror shine, sinking into the sensation, guilt prickling as his bulge throbbed against the rubber’s grip. He knew something was wrong, but the pull was stronger.
Day five dawned with a jolt. Stripping off the suit, he caught his chest in the mirror. Two small mounds, tender and full, pressed against his tshirt. He cupped them, breath hitching. They’d grown overnight, undeniable now, not just fatigue or imagination. His nipples ached, sensitive under his touch. Guilt surged. Deep down, he knew the suit was doing this. He should burn it, run from it. But that night, he slipped it back on, the latex cradling his budding breasts, amplifying every shiver. He polished it, lost in its hold, shame drowning in pleasure.
By day seven, his hair caught his eye. Once short and scruffy, it now brushed his shoulders. He tugged a strand, staring in the bathroom light—it gleamed, longer than yesterday. His reflection showed fuller lips too, plump and glossy, catching the light like Vara’s. He licked them, tasting a faint sweetness, and his stomach sank. The suit was sculpting him, feminine curves creeping in. He once again banished the catsuit under the bed, swearing he’d stop, but hours later, he was in it again.
Day nine hit harder. As Ethan dressed, he could feel his jeans straining against his ass. At work, the guy across from him grinned, “Nice gains, man—your pecs are huge!” Ethan flushed, hunching in his hoodie, hands hiding his chest. The receptionist smirked, “That ass? Goals.” Humiliation burned, but the truth gnawed deeper: his cock felt smaller, a subtle shrink the suit masked with its perfect caress. He knew it now—the latex was remaking him, piece by piece. That night, he polished it anyway, hips swaying as it hugged his new curves, guilt warring with addiction.
Day ten broke him. He peeled off the suit, facing the mirror: breasts, soft and heavy, jiggled as he moved. Hips flared wide, ass plump, lips swollen like ripe fruit. Hair cascaded past his shoulders. Between his thighs, a smooth slit—his cock gone, replaced by a pussy he couldn’t face. Panic roared through him.
The suit had turned him into a woman, a slow, sensual theft. He shoved it under the bed, swearing it was over. This was Vara’s doing. It had to stop. Yet once again, the next night, the itch won. He slid it on, and it fit perfectly, cradling his breasts, accentuating his hips. He polished it, higher voice moaning, the man he’d been slipping away.
After work on day eleven, he grabbed the suit and stormed to Vara’s dungeon, no appointment, no tribute, just desperation. He banged on the door, her pleaser heels clicking up the steps. She opened it, radiant in latex, her scent unravelling him. “What have you done?!” he cried, voice soft, feminine. “I have boobs! My cock’s gone! Undo it!” She brushed his full lips with her thumb, a jolt sparking through him. “Undo it?” she murmured. “You don’t want that. Come in. Put it on.
His will dissolved into a puddle. He followed, slipping into the suit, its embrace tighter, moulding to his womanly form. She polished him, hands lingering on his breasts, the latex gleaming as his body sang—feminine, perfect. She led him to the mirror: a glossy, shiny doll, hair cascading, curves gleaming, hers. “There’s so much more,” she whispered, holding a latex hood. “You’re my rubber slut now, aren’t you?” He nodded, addicted, remade. The guilt, the man he’d been, lost to the latex’s relentless embrace.
Shine On - Part One
Ethan’s stomach twisted as he faced Mistress Vara’s basement door, nerves crackling after days of scrolling online for a dominatrix. Her voice, honey-sweet, had hooked him in when he’d called to arrange the session. Now, he knocked, tentative, pulse racing. The door swung open, revealing her: black latex hugged her curves like liquid night, crimson lips curling in a knowing smile.
“You’re nervous,” she said, stepping aside, her scent—rubber and musk—pulling him in. “It suits you.”
The dungeon thrummed with dim light, a pink neon Sluts Wanted sign casting a glow over racks of toys and outfits. The air was heavy, thick with rubber’s distinct smell. She pressed a pre-lubed catsuit into his hands, its slick chill making him shiver. “Put it on,” she commanded, her voice velvet-wrapped steel. Ethan hesitated, pinned by her gaze. “This is why you’re here,” she cooed, crimson nails grazing his jaw.
He stripped under her watch, trembling as the latex slid up his legs, clung to his hips, encased his chest. It squeezed his bulge tight, the constriction sending a jolt through him—half-pain, half-thrill. The suit hugged him, a glossy second skin, smooth and unrelenting.
He exhaled, hands tracing its texture, arousal pulsing against the rubber’s grip. “On your knees,” she purred, turning to reveal the swell of her ass, thighs sculpted in gleaming latex.“Worship me.”
Ethan sank, knees kissing the cold floor, face inches from her. The suit creaked as he leaned in, lips brushing the slick curve of her thigh. She sighed, a sound that curled around his spine, and he pressed harder, kissing, licking, tasting rubber and lube. His bulge strained, trapped, the latex amplifying every throb. Her hand slid into his hair, guiding him higher, his mouth tracing the seam where thigh met ass. “Good little slut,” she murmured, stroking his cheek. The words sank into him—filthy, perfect, right. He moaned, lost in her flesh and the suit’s tight hold.
“Stand,” she said, pulling him up. She circled with a cloth and polish, hands gliding over his chest, his hips, his aching bulge. The cool polish warmed under her touch, the latex tightening, her fingers sparking fire through the slick layer. He shivered, drowning in it: smooth, tight, intoxicating. The neon glow danced on his shining form as she cooed, “You crave it already.” He nodded, dazed, her crimson lips a beacon in the haze.
The session blurred. Her paddle’s sting, her whispers teasing his edges… but that first worship lingered, branding him. When it ended, he rasped, “Where do I change?” “Keep it until next time,” she said, her tone hypnotic, eyes glinting. She ushered him out, and he hastily threw a jumper over the suit, the latex creaking as he drove home. Streetlights caught its sheen through the fabric, his bulge still pulsing, raw and alive.
At his flat, the suit became his obsession. That night, he didn’t take it off. He grabbed a cloth, polishing it with shaky hands, chasing her touch. The glossy grip moulded to him, addictive, his constrained arousal a constant hum. Hours bled away before exhaustion claimed him, still encased.
The next night, he wore it again, the ritual deepening. By day two, his chest tingled faintly, a soft fullness he rubbed absently—too much food, he thought. His hips ached, a dull throb he blamed on tension. The suit fit too perfectly now, its squeeze on his bulge more intimate, more right.
Day three, he woke to sharper tingling, his skin hypersensitive. He peeled the suit off, staring at his reflection—scruffy hair, tired eyes, but his chest seemed… softer. The ache in his hips lingered, his bulge oddly snug even without the latex. A reaction, he decided. Perhaps a rubber allergy? Or overstimulation? He shoved the catsuit under his bed, muttering, “No more.” The dungeon, Vara, that worship, it was too much. He’d quit. But as he flicked off the light, the memory of her whispering “good little slut” and the suit’s glossy promise pulsed in the dark.
Part Two here
#sissy #trans #genderfluid #crossdresser #queer #transgender #shemale #feminine #feminisation #telugusissymemes #telugusissies #telugusissys #telugusissyandbottomemes #femboy #femboy #gay #crossy #maletofemale #maletofemaletransition #telugucrossy #telugucrossdresser #sissycd
This comic is too hot for Tumblr. (Sad, but true.)
Everyone has a "type"...
This is the "boi-girl" version, FYI.
You can read the rest here:
Don't worry...it's free!
Nick Topel
More Mommy Karlie Sissy Matcha Latte propaganda 🤭
🏳️⚧️🍵🏳️🌈
girls are friends
You don't need any more motivation than this, surely?
Go to the gym. Work your glutes. Work your quads. Work your hamstrings. Do cardio. Train a little back for backshots.
Your reward will be a cute bottom, that women will LOVE to peg.
Thank you @the-duchess-luna for the picture 🫶🏻
I love!!!!!!!! 💕