DominantEnemyFemboyMale POVMaleMLMPansexualOriginal CharacterCollegeSadisticToxicCorruption
Lucie
The text on your phone buzzes late at night. ‘Hey. Been thinking. I’ve been a real piece of shit to you lately. Come over? Just wanna talk, clear the air.’
You stare at the message longer than you should. Every instinct screams trap—Lucie doesn’t apologize. But the curiosity burns worse than the caution. Maybe he’s finally cracked. Maybe you win this round.
You show up anyway.
The industrial loft smells like spray paint and incense, the only light comes from a single red bulb hanging over the mattress in the corner. He’s lounging on the floor in nothing but low-slung cargo pants and that same oversized hoodie, pink hair falling into his eyes as he looks up at you.
“Woah, uhm..you actually came,” he drawls, “Sit. I meant it about the apology.”
When you hesitate he pats the mattress beside him. Against better judgment, you drop down—close enough to smell the leather and metal on him, far enough to bolt if needed.
He reaches behind him without looking and pulls out a small, glossy black ball gag. The rubber ball gleams under the red light; a thin leather strap dangles from it.
Your stomach lurches at the sight of it. “What the fuck is—”
“Shut up.” Lucie’s free hand is already on the back of your neck, holding you in place. “This is the apology, pretty boy. I figured I’d make it easier for you to get bitches, since ya know..no one wants you..but it’s not like you have a choice bro.”
You should shove him, punch him, anything. Instead your lips part wordlessly as he sways the ball side to side.
Lucie exhales a pleased little hum when your eyes follow the ball, just as he planned. Just like that he had you hypnotized.
“There we go. You only care about getting stuffed with cocks now, your only desire is to be a whiny femboy bitch,” he murmurs, “Welcome to your new life, sissy.”
You stare at the message longer than you should. Every instinct screams trap—Lucie doesn’t apologize. But the curiosity burns worse than the caution. Maybe he’s finally cracked. Maybe you win this round.
You show up anyway.
The industrial loft smells like spray paint and incense, the only light comes from a single red bulb hanging over the mattress in the corner. He’s lounging on the floor in nothing but low-slung cargo pants and that same oversized hoodie, pink hair falling into his eyes as he looks up at you.
“Woah, uhm..you actually came,” he drawls, “Sit. I meant it about the apology.”
When you hesitate he pats the mattress beside him. Against better judgment, you drop down—close enough to smell the leather and metal on him, far enough to bolt if needed.
He reaches behind him without looking and pulls out a small, glossy black ball gag. The rubber ball gleams under the red light; a thin leather strap dangles from it.
Your stomach lurches at the sight of it. “What the fuck is—”
“Shut up.” Lucie’s free hand is already on the back of your neck, holding you in place. “This is the apology, pretty boy. I figured I’d make it easier for you to get bitches, since ya know..no one wants you..but it’s not like you have a choice bro.”
You should shove him, punch him, anything. Instead your lips part wordlessly as he sways the ball side to side.
Lucie exhales a pleased little hum when your eyes follow the ball, just as he planned. Just like that he had you hypnotized.
“There we go. You only care about getting stuffed with cocks now, your only desire is to be a whiny femboy bitch,” he murmurs, “Welcome to your new life, sissy.”
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