Wicked Indulgence: A Sissy’s Forbidden Cravings
The humid Vegas air clung to Alexia’s skin like a lover’s desperate grasp as she stepped out of the cab, her heart pounding with that familiar mix of dread and thrill. She’d flown here on a whim—no, on his command—Marcus, the rugged neighbor who’d turned her world upside down back home. Dressed in nothing but a sheer crimson babydoll that barely skimmed her thighs, thigh-high lace stockings whispering against each other, and sky-high stilettos that made her legs look endless, she felt exposed, wickedly alive. The hotel loomed ahead, a glittering beast promising sins she could only dream of in her old beachside bungalow.
But that was jumping ahead. It all began months earlier, in the salty breeze of her new coastal retreat…
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Chapter 2: The Teasing Glimpse 🔥
Alexia had claimed her beachfront haven as a sanctuary for her deepest secrets. No more cramped apartments where prying eyes might judge. Here, she shed her daytime facade—office drone by sunlight—and bloomed into her true self after dusk. Silken chemises, garter belts that bit into her soft hips, plugs that stretched her with delicious insistence. Her prized possession? A lifelike silicone lover, veined and throbbing under her touch, filling the quiet nights with moans that echoed off the waves.
That fateful evening, the sun dipped low, painting the kitchen in fiery oranges. Alexia stood at the sink, suds bubbling over her manicured hands. Through the window, she spotted him—Marcus, the silver-flecked hunk next door, mid-forties, broad-shouldered from years hauling fishing gear. His wife, Sophia, was away on some nursing conference, leaving him to prowl their shared fence line like a wolf scenting prey.
Wicked thoughts swirled in her mind. Let him see, she decided, a shiver racing down her spine. She smoothed her outfit: fishnet bodysuit hugging every curve, a tiny thong vanishing between her plump cheeks, strappy heels clicking like temptation itself. Stepping into the twilight yard, she bent low to “inspect” a flowerbed, ass arched high, the sea’s brine mixing with her own musky arousal drifting on the wind.
Marcus froze, rake forgotten, his gaze burning holes through the mesh. Alexia straightened slowly, locking eyes. With a crooked finger, she beckoned. He hesitated, then crossed the boundary, pulse visible in his thick neck.
“Couldn’t resist, could you?” she purred, voice husky from the day’s unspoken fantasies.
His laugh was low, gravelly. “You’ve been driving me insane, prancing like that. Sophia’s gone… and fuck, you’re wicked.”
She led him inside, the door clicking shut like a trap springing. On the couch, her silicone man waited, but now the real one loomed. Marcus’s hands found her waist, yanking her back against his heat. The bulge in his jeans ground into her cleft, hard as driftwood.
The First Taste
“Show me what you do with that fake prick,” he growled, nodding at the doll.
Alexia knelt, lips parting around the toy’s girth, eyes never leaving his. The rubbery scent filled her nostrils, but she imagined his—sweaty, masculine, laced with salt. Marcus unzipped, freeing a beast: eight inches of veined fury, uncut, head glistening like a pearl in the lamplight.
“Real enough?” He slapped it against her cheek, the wet smack echoing.
She dove in, tongue tracing the salty underside, balls heavy and drawn tight. He fisted her hair—dark waves cascading wild—and thrust deep. Gags bubbled up, tears smearing mascara, but the burn in her throat was ecstasy. Spit trailed down her chin, pooling on the carpet that smelled of ocean and lust.
“Good slut,” he rasped, holding her nose to his pubes. “Choke on it.”
When he erupted, ropes of thick, bitter cream flooded her mouth, tasting of pine and power. She swallowed greedily, but he smeared the excess across her lips. Still rigid, he flipped her over the armrest. No preamble. His bare length speared her ass, stretching, claiming. The slap of flesh, her whimpers mingling with the distant crash of waves—it was raw, animal.
He hammered home, fingers bruising hips. “This hole’s mine now. Gonna breed you whenever I damn well please.”
Hot spurts painted her depths, leaking warm down her thighs as he pulled out. Marcus zipped up, smirking. “Clean up. I’ll be back.” The door slammed, leaving her trembling, cum-slick and sated.
Chapter 3: Toys and Transformations 💋
Alexia showered fast, the steam carrying away evidence but not the ache. She slipped into a frilly French maid ensemble—black lace apron barely veiling her caged clitty, butt plug nestled deep like a promise. The living room gleamed by the time his knock rattled the door.
Marcus barged in, dumping a duffel. “Put these on, bitch. Make it quick.”
Inside: a slutty schoolgirl plaid skirt, thigh-highs with bows, a collar etched “Daddy’s Toy,” and a gleaming chastity device that pinched her swelling nub. Pig tails, he demanded, ribbons fluffing her locks.
She emerged, twirling shyly. His phone flashed—clicks capturing every angle, her plugged hole winking under hiked skirt. “Smile pretty. These stay private… if you behave.”
He shoved her down, cock—still musky from earlier—ramming her throat. The video rolled, her slurps and gurgles the soundtrack. “Deeper, you wicked little whore.”
Night blurred into frenzy. First, bent over the kitchen island, his girth splitting her while she gripped the cool marble, tasting lingering soap. Then, riding him reverse on the rug, ass cheeks clapping, his thumbs prying her wider. Each load bare, deep, marking territory.
By dawn, bruises bloomed like purple flowers on her porcelain skin. Marcus stroked her hair almost tenderly. “You’re mine now. Sophia suspects nothing, but I need more.”
Her heart twisted—guilt flickering like a dying ember amid the bliss. Yet the addiction pulsed stronger.
A Stolen Moment in the Shadows
New scene: Days later, Sophia still away, Marcus snuck her into their yard under moonless sky. The risk—their house’s back door ajar, her scent on his sheets—ignited fresh fire. Pinned against the fence, splintery wood biting her palms, he took her standing, one leg hooked over his arm. Wind whipped salt spray across sweat-slick bodies, her cries muffled into his shoulder tasting of salt and stubble.
“Sophia’s panties in that drawer,” he whispered mid-thrust. “Wear ’em tomorrow.”
The taboo twisted her insides hotter than his cock.
Chapter 4: The Vegas Gamble
Sophia returned, cooling Marcus’s visits to stolen hours when she shopped or slept. Alexia craved constancy, her ass twitching emptily. Then the call: “Business trip to Vegas. Corporate deal. Pack light—lingerie only. You’re my assistant now.”
She boarded the red-eye, pulse racing, landing in neon delirium. The penthouse suite at the Mirage Heights waited—plush king bed, floor-to-ceiling views of sin city’s pulse.
Marcus arrived past midnight, reeking of bourbon and jet fuel. “Downstairs. Now. As you are.”
Fishnets clinging damply, heels echoing in the empty lobby marble—cold underfoot, AC whispering goosebumps—she cracked the door. He pounced in the elevator, cock out, the mirrored walls reflecting her descent: lips stretched, cheeks hollowing, his grunts harmonizing with the ding of floors passing. Risk crackled electric; cum hit her tongue just as doors parted on their level. She swallowed the dregs, lips shiny, as they tumbled inside.
“Good girl,” he panted, collapsing onto silk sheets that sighed under his weight.
Weeks blurred: mornings bent over balcony rails, city lights twinkling below like voyeur stars; afternoons in conference swag, plugged and leaking; nights pounding her into oblivion, sheets twisted with sweat and spend.
But one boozy Friday, Marcus stumbled in early, eyes wicked-glazed. “Showed Harlan—my boss—clips. The Thailand fiend lost it. Wants a taste. Change into the slutty secretary getup.”
The Boss’s Arrival
Harlan: burly, fifties, salt-and-pepper bear with a gut that promised power. He eyed her in seamed stockings, pencil skirt slit to hip, sheer blouse nipples tenting—no panties, as ordered. Bushy brows rose approvingly.
“Spread ’em,” he barked, legs wide on the carpet plush as velvet.
His paws engulfed her balls, twisting vise-like—pain lancing sweet up her spine. Duct tape bound the twist, yanking down till she danced on tiptoes. Slaps rained on her rigid clitty, pre-cum flying like raindrops. A crystal tumbler caught her spurt—pent-up weeks worth, pearly and viscous.
Harlan slathered it over his stubby, girthy monster—beer-can thick. “Lick clean.”
She did, tongue savoring her own tang mingled with his cheesy funk. Deepthroating strained her jaw, but she hollowed cheeks, humming vibrations till he bellowed, flooding fresh.
“Promote this prick,” Harlan told Marcus, slapping her ass red. “And I’ll rent her weekly.”
Double the cocks, double the bliss. Alexia melted into it, her old life a distant shell washed away by tides of cum.
Chapter 5: Deeper Entanglements
Vegas stretched luxuriously. Harlan visited thrice weekly—pay bumps greasing Marcus’s loyalty. New scene: a private poker lounge, smoke-hazed, chips clinking like perverse foreplay. Under the table, Alexia crawled, alternating mouths on their laps, the felt rough against knees, whiskey fumes burning eyes. Marcus won big; Harlan claimed her pot—face-fucked till mascara rivers ran, swallowed amid cheers.
Back home post-trip, Sophia none-the-wiser, but tensions brewed. Marcus grew bolder, texting mid-day: “Plug up. Maid outfit. Door unlocked.”
Alexia obeyed, heart hammering. One afternoon, as she polished his boots in their garage—Sophia napping upstairs—he railed her against the workbench, tools rattling, oil-slick scents invading. “Wicked risk,” he groaned, bare cock pulsing victory inside her.
Internally, conflict gnawed. This can’t last, she thought, even as pleasure crested. Guilt for Sophia warred with the void without him.
Jealousy’s Sting – New Conflict
Sophia cornered her one garden chat: “Marcus seems… distant. Happier, somehow.” Eyes narrowed, suspecting.
Alexia flushed, nipples peaking under sundress. That night, Marcus punished jealousy-fueled frenzy: bound spread-eagle on her bed, vibrator humming merciless against her cage while he teased edges, denying release. “Only I own this,” he snarled, finally plunging in, wrecking her anew.
The emotional tether deepened—beyond flesh, into possession’s dark romance.
Chapter 6: Eternal Bondage
Months on, the triad solidified. Harlan sponsored “extended assignments,” flying Alexia out disguised as exec aide. Marcus built a hidden closet annex, stocked with ever-raunchier gear: collars with bells, hoods, electro-plugs zapping obedience.
One stormy eve back home, thunder rumbling like their bass moans, Marcus collared her permanent. “Sophia’s filing papers. Divorce. You’re moving in—full-time bitch.”
Shock, then joy. Sophia raged discovery via phone vids, but Harlan’s influence silenced legal snarls with hush money.
Now, in their remodeled beach nest—converted doll corner to dungeon—Alexia knelt nightly. Marcus’s length, Harlan’s girth alternating, filling every hole. Sensory storm: leather creak, cum-salt taste, bruises throbbing tender, roars drowning waves, slick slides igniting nerves.
“Wicked life we’ve carved,” Marcus murmured post-climax, cradling her sweat-sheened form. Vulnerability cracked his armor—love amid depravity.
Alexia sighed into his chest, exhaustion sweet. Their bond, forged in taboo fire, burned eternal. No regrets. Only craving more.
In the quiet afterglow, she traced his scars, the rain now pattering soft. Something profound shifted—not just bodies entwined, but souls wickedly fused.
