Bound Femboy Fucked With Loads of Vaseline

Callum’s wrists flexed against the soft ropes for the hundredth time, the silk-braided cords biting just enough to remind him he wasn’t going anywhere. At twenty-two he looked every inch the pretty femboy he had carefully made himself into: smooth legs stretched wide and tied to the bedposts, lace panties pulled tight over the little metal cage that locked his clit away, a matching bralette of black lace framing his soft chest. His girlfriend Marisol—twenty-eight, dark-eyed, smiling like she already owned every inch of him—had spent the last twenty minutes checking each knot twice. She wanted him open. Spreadeagled. Helpless in the exact way they had planned over texts for days.

“Still good?” she asked, voice low, one knee on the mattress beside his hip.

Callum nodded hard, throat working. The ropes held his ankles wide, knees forced open so the air kissed the thin strip of lace between his cheeks. He tested the bonds again, a full-body shiver rolling through him when nothing gave. His caged clit twitched uselessly inside its prison; the little lock clicked softly with every useless pulse. He couldn’t speak past the want, so he just looked up at her with wet eyes and parted lips, begging without words for the next part they had both already agreed to.

Marisol’s smile sharpened. She stood at the foot of the bed and began to undress with deliberate slowness, making him watch every inch. First the loose shirt peeled up over her head, revealing the heavy curve of her breasts already tight in a simple black bra. Then the jeans, shoved down her hips so he could see the thick outline of the harness she already wore underneath. Callum’s breath hitched. She left the harness on, only unhooked the empty O-ring for now, and climbed onto the bed between his forced-open thighs. Her palms slid up the insides of his smooth legs, thumbs pressing firm circles into the soft flesh just below the lace.

“Look at you,” she murmured. “All pretty and locked and tied down for me. You wanted this, baby. You asked for it rough.”

He whimpered when her fingers finally reached the cage. She flicked the metal lightly with a nail, then cupped it in her palm and gave a slow, proprietary squeeze. The pressure sent sparks straight up Callum’s spine; his hips tried to lift and met only rope resistance. Marisol chuckled and kept teasing—rubbing the tip of the cage with her thumb, tracing the base where the ring sat snug against his smooth skin, occasionally dipping lower to stroke the thin lace covering his hole. Every touch made him squirm and whine. The lace was already damp.

“Marisol—please—”

“I know.” She leaned down and bit the soft inside of his thigh hard enough to leave a mark, then soothed it with her tongue. “I’m getting there.”

She left him like that for another long minute, just stroking and pinching and watching his face while he strained against the ropes. Only when his whimpers turned constant did she slide off the bed. Callum tracked her with desperate eyes as she crossed to the dresser and came back with the oversized jar of Vaseline they had bought specifically for tonight. The lid cracked open with a wet pop. She scooped out a thick, cold glob with two fingers and held it up so he could see the way it glistened under the bedroom light.

“Loads of it,” she promised, voice gone husky. “Just like you begged for.”

She climbed back between his legs and shoved the lace panties roughly to the side. The first cold smear of Vaseline against his hole made Callum jolt hard enough that the ropes creaked. Marisol didn’t hurry. She worked the thick grease in slow circles, pressing more and more of it against the tight ring of muscle until it shone obscenely. Another scoop. Then another. She packed it into him with two fingers, twisting, spreading, making wet squelching sounds that filled the quiet room. Callum’s head thrashed on the pillow; every push of her slick fingers made his caged clit jump and leak a pathetic little bead that smeared the inside of the metal.

“Fuck, listen to that,” Marisol whispered, adding a third scoop. Vaseline coated her hand now, shiny strings connecting her fingers to his ass every time she pulled back. She pushed two fingers deep and scissored them open, forcing the grease deeper, listening to the filthy wet noise it made. “Your hole’s already so messy for me. Going to take my cock so easy once I get it on.”

Callum could only moan. The excess was already dripping down onto the sheets in glossy trails. Marisol wiped her hand on his inner thigh, leaving thick white streaks, then reached for the harness. The strap-on she chose was thick, realistic, veined—exactly the one he had pointed at online when they planned this. She locked it into the O-ring with a click that made his stomach flip. Then she opened the jar again and scooped out even more, coating the entire length until the silicone shone like wet glass. She stroked it slowly in front of him, the wet slap of Vaseline-slick fist on cock obscenely loud, adding still more until it dripped off the head onto his lace-covered stomach.

“Ready for me to ruin this pretty hole?” she asked, kneeling close, the heavy greased cock resting against his caged clit so he could feel the heat and the slipperiness. “You look so fucking wrecked already and I haven’t even pushed in yet.”

Callum yanked at the ropes one more time just to feel how completely he was held. His voice came out cracked. “Please—Marisol—fuck me—use all of it—”

She lined the blunt head up against his shining hole, rubbing it in slow circles that smeared even more Vaseline everywhere. The pressure was constant, teasing, not quite entering. Callum’s whole body trembled with the effort of staying open for her. Marisol leaned down, one hand braced beside his head, the other guiding the slick cock, and whispered right against his mouth,

“Going to give you every inch. Going to fuck you until this Vaseline is everywhere and you’re dripping. And you’re going to take it like the good bound boy you are.”

She pushed forward just enough for the head to stretch him, the thick grease making the slide shockingly easy even as the girth burned. Callum’s cry was pure want. Marisol held there, breathing hard, watching his face, the strap-on only an inch inside and already gleaming with the mess she had made of him. The jar sat open beside them, still half full. She reached for it again without pulling out, scooped another fat glob, and smeared it around the place where they were joined, packing more lubricant in while he clenched and whimpered around the intrusion.

“More,” she promised, voice rough. “I’m going to use the whole fucking jar on you before I’m done.”

Callum’s eyes rolled back. The ropes held him perfectly open. The cage around his clit was soaked. And Marisol’s strap-on, thick and dripping, waited only one more thrust to bury itself deep.

Marisol drove forward in one long, relentless thrust, burying the thick strap-on to the hilt inside Callum’s greased hole. The stretch burned sweet and sudden; his cry cracked open into a broken moan as the ropes creaked and his body arched as far as the bonds would allow. Clear Vaseline squelched loudly around the invading cock, forced out in glossy rings that immediately drooled down over his taint and soaked into the lace still shoved aside. She held herself deep for three heartbeats, hips flush against his spread cheeks, watching his wet eyes go glassy.

“Fuck—yes—take it,” she growled, already scooping another fat load from the open jar with two fingers. She smeared the cold jelly around the stretched rim where silicone disappeared into him, packing it in until strings of it connected her hand to his ass. Then she pulled almost all the way out and slammed home again, long and brutal, the wet slap of greased skin on skin echoing off the walls. Callum’s caged clit jerked uselessly against the metal, a fresh bead of slick leaking through the bars with every deep stroke.

Marisol set a punishing rhythm—full withdrawals that left only the flared head kissing his rim, then savage plunges that bottomed out and forced more Vaseline to fountain out in shiny spurts. She never stopped adding more. Mid-thrust she would reach for the jar, dig out another glistening scoop, and feed it straight into the stretched ring, watching the clear jelly disappear and then gush back out around her cock in filthy, drooling rivulets. The sheets beneath Callum’s ass turned translucent with the mess. His soft thighs shone. Every time she bottomed out the excess sprayed in little arcs across his lace bralette and the locked cage.

“Listen to that hole,” she panted, bracing one hand beside his head so she could lean down and speak against his open mouth. “Squelching like a filthy little toy. You wanted loads of it—feel how it’s dripping out of you every time I fuck deep.” Another scoop, another shove of cold grease forced inside while she kept pistoning. Callum could only whimper and nod, wrists twisting in the silk ropes, ankles straining wide. The burn had melted into pure slippery fullness; every long stroke dragged against his walls with slick, wet friction that made his locked clit throb harder.

She fucked him missionary like that for long minutes—deep, merciless strokes that rocked the whole bed, constantly refreshing the lubricant until his hole was a shiny, over-stretched mess that never stopped drooling clear jelly down onto the mattress. Vaseline coated the harness, her lower belly, the insides of his thighs in thick white streaks. When she slammed especially hard a fresh wave of it bubbled out and ran in a shiny trail over his caged clit, making the metal gleam. Callum’s moans turned continuous, high and needy; he tried to rock up to meet her but the ropes held him perfectly open and helpless, forcing him to take every brutal inch exactly as she gave it.

“Marisol—oh fuck—more—please more—” he gasped, voice wrecked. She answered by digging out an even larger glob, smearing it all over the base of the cock and then pressing it into him with her thumb while she kept thrusting. The sound was obscenely wet now—squelch-slap-squelch—loud enough to fill the room. Her breasts swayed above the black bra with every hard drive of her hips. Sweat beaded at her temples. She never slowed.

When his hole felt loose and utterly flooded she finally pulled all the way out with a long, filthy suck of sound. Vaseline poured from him in a thick clear stream that soaked the sheets between his spread legs. Callum whined at the sudden emptiness, hips twitching uselessly. Marisol was already moving, untying only the ankle ropes with quick, practiced tugs while leaving his wrists securely bound to the headboard. She flipped him onto his stomach in one smooth motion; the silk cords twisted but held, forcing his arms crossed above his head. His face pressed into the pillow, lace panties still yanked aside, ass presented high because she shoved a pillow under his hips.

“Stay pretty for me,” she ordered, voice rough with lust. She climbed back on, knees bracketing his thighs, and lined the dripping strap-on back up. One hard shove buried it deep again. Callum’s moan muffled into the pillow as she immediately set a new brutal pace—doggy-style pounds that slapped her hips against his cheeks and forced fresh gushes of Vaseline to spray outward with every thrust. One hand locked tight on his hip, fingers digging bruises into the soft flesh, yanking him back onto each stroke so he took it even deeper. The other hand never left the jar. She scooped continuously, feeding slick loads straight into his stretched, shiny hole while she fucked him. The jelly squelched louder than before, frothing white around the thick cock, drooling in long sticky strands down over his caged clit and dripping off the dangling metal onto the ruined sheets.

“Look at this mess,” Marisol panted, pounding him harder, the bed creaking under the force. “Your ass is just a slippery hole for me now—taking every inch, drooling Vaseline everywhere. Feel how I’m packing more in while I wreck you.” She shoved another fat scoop inside alongside the thrusting cock, the dual pressure making Callum sob with pleasure. His bound wrists flexed uselessly against the headboard; every brutal stroke drove his face deeper into the pillow and made the lock on his cage clink. Clear jelly coated both of them now—her thighs shiny, his lower back gleaming, the harness a mess of dripping grease. She never stopped adding more, fingers slick and busy, pushing the thick lubricant deeper even as her hips snapped forward again and again.

The rhythm turned savage: long, deep strokes that pulled almost free so he clenched around nothing but air and grease for a heartbeat, then slammed home to the root with a wet smack that forced more jelly to fountain out. Callum’s moans grew louder, desperate, his whole body trembling under the onslaught. Marisol’s grip on his hip tightened; she used it to yank him back harder onto every thrust while her other hand kept feeding the endless loads of Vaseline into his wrecked hole. The excess ran in shiny rivers down the backs of his thighs, pooled under his caged clit, soaked the pillow beneath him. Both of them were panting hard, skin flushed and slippery, the air thick with the wet sounds of relentless fucking.

She leaned over his back, still pounding, still scooping and shoving more grease into him with every few strokes, until their bodies were completely covered in the clear, drooling mess—thighs sliding against each other, hands slipping whenever they touched. Callum could feel the stretch, the endless slick fullness, the way each brutal drive forced another gush of Vaseline out to paint his skin. Marisol’s breath hot against his neck, her hips never slowing, the jar still half-full and waiting beside them on the mattress as she kept going, kept packing him full, kept fucking his bound body open with long deep strokes that left him moaning and dripping and utterly taken.

Marisol’s hips never faltered. She drove the thick, glistening strap-on deeper with every brutal snap, the wet slap of greased flesh on flesh filling the bedroom like a filthy metronome. Callum’s bound wrists twisted uselessly above his head, silk ropes creaking as each thrust shoved his face harder into the pillow. Vaseline frothed white around the base of the cock, bubbling out in shiny ropes that painted the backs of his smooth thighs and dripped in long sticky strands from his locked cage. The metal lock clicked faintly with every useless throb of his caged clit. He could feel how loose he had become, how the endless scoops of cold jelly had turned his hole into a slick, overstretched sleeve that offered no resistance anymore—only greedy, wet suction.

“Take it,” Marisol growled against the nape of his neck, still scooping another fat glob from the jar and ramming it in alongside the thrusting silicone. “Feel how easy you open now. Bound little femboy hole just swallowing everything I give it.” She shoved the fresh load deep with two fingers while her hips kept pistoning, the dual stretch making Callum sob into the pillow. Clear jelly squelched louder than before, forced out in arcs that splattered his lower back and her belly. His whole body shone with it—ass cheeks glossy, the lace panties still yanked aside and soaked through, the soft curve of his hips slippery under her bruising grip.

She fucked him like that until his moans turned raw and continuous, until the jar was nearly empty and both of them were coated head to thigh in the translucent mess. Then Marisol slowed just enough to grind deep, circling her hips so the thick head rubbed mercilessly inside him. Callum’s caged clit jerked hard against the metal; a fresh bead of slick leaked through the bars and mixed with the Vaseline already dripping off him. His thoughts had dissolved into pure sensation—stretch, slick heat, the helpless pull of the ropes, the way Marisol owned every inch of him tonight exactly the way they had planned.

“Marisol—fuck—I’m so full—” he gasped, voice cracking.

“I know, baby. Almost there.” She reached for one last massive scoop, packing it in with her thumb while she gave three more savage thrusts that bottomed out and forced shiny rivulets to fountain down over his taint. Then, with a long, filthy wet suck of sound, she finally pulled free.

The strap-on slid out of him in one slow, glistening drag. Callum’s hole fluttered open and stayed that way—wrecked, gaping, a shiny dark ring that refused to close. Thick clear Vaseline poured from him in a steady stream, soaking the pillow beneath his hips and running in glossy rivers down the insides of his thighs. He whined at the sudden emptiness, ass twitching, the ropes still holding his wrists crossed tight above his head. Marisol sat back on her heels for a moment just to look, chest heaving, the black bra damp with sweat and grease, the harness dripping. Then she leaned in.

Two fingers scooped deep into the excess still leaking from his stretched rim. She gathered a heavy, glistening handful of the warm jelly, the mess of it stringing between her fingers and his open hole. Callum felt the cool air kiss his insides and shivered hard. Marisol climbed higher, straddling the small of his back so he could feel the sticky weight of her, and brought the handful around to his face.

“Open,” she ordered softly.

He turned his head on the pillow and parted his lips at once. She smeared the thick Vaseline across his cheeks first, painting shiny streaks over the flush there, then pushed the rest onto his tongue. Callum moaned in pure gratitude, licking eagerly, tasting the clean petroleum slick and the faint salt of his own skin. She fed him more, scooping again from his gaping hole and wiping it over his lips, his chin, the bridge of his nose until his whole face gleamed. He sucked her fingers clean with wet little sounds, eyes half-lidded, body still trembling from the relentless fucking.

“That’s it. Good boy. Taste how messy I made you.” Marisol’s voice had gone low and warm. She kept scooping the excess that continued to drool from his ruined hole, spreading it over his tongue again and again while he moaned around her fingers. The gratitude poured out of him in soft, broken sounds—thankful whimpers, the way his tongue chased every drop, the way his bound body stayed perfectly still for her even now.

Only when his face was thoroughly coated and he had swallowed what she gave him did she ease back. She set the nearly empty jar aside and reached for the knots at his wrists. The silk ropes loosened under her practiced fingers; she worked carefully, rubbing gentle circles into the faint red marks left behind. Callum’s arms dropped free and he immediately tried to push himself up, but his limbs were shaking too hard. Marisol caught him, rolling him onto his side with easy strength so they faced each other on the ruined sheets.

The cage still locked his clit away, lace bralette still framing his soft chest, both of them shiny and sticky from collarbones to knees. She unclipped the harness and let the dripping strap-on fall to the floor with a wet thud, then pulled him flush against her. Callum’s trembling body melted into the curve of hers; his face pressed to her collarbone, smearing Vaseline across her skin. She stroked slow paths down his spine, over the marks her fingers had left on his hips, gathering more of the mess and just holding him while the aftershocks rolled through.

“You did so well,” she murmured against his hair, voice thick with praise. “My good femboy. Took every inch, every scoop, stayed open and bound exactly how we wanted. Look at you—still shaking, still dripping, still so pretty for me.” Her hand slipped lower, cupping the locked cage gently, thumb brushing the slick metal. Callum whimpered and nuzzled closer, arms winding around her waist now that they were free. The sticky heat of their bodies sealed them together; every small shift made soft wet sounds as the Vaseline between them squelched.

Marisol kept talking, low and steady, praising the way he had begged for more, the way his hole had opened and stayed open, the way he had licked the excess from her fingers like it was a gift. She wiped a shiny streak from his cheek with her thumb and fed it back between his lips; he suckled it clean with a grateful hum. Their legs tangled, hers strong and sure, his still trembling. The sheets beneath them were translucent with the mess, the air thick with the scent of sex and petroleum jelly, but neither of them moved to clean it. They simply lay there, breathing together, her fingers carding through his hair while she called him her perfect bound boy over and over.

Callum’s heart hammered against her chest. Every muscle ached sweetly; his hole still fluttered open and leaking the last slow drips of Vaseline onto the mattress. He felt claimed down to the bone—ropes or no ropes—and the praise pouring over him only deepened the warm, floaty haze. Marisol’s free hand stroked lazy circles on his lower back, gathering sticky strands and simply holding the wreckage of him against her. She pressed soft kisses to his temple, his Vaseline-smeared cheek, the corner of his mouth, murmuring the whole time.

“Such a good femboy. Took that thick cock until you were gaping and drooling for me. I love how you look like this—wrecked and grateful and still so soft in my arms.” She squeezed him tighter for a moment, their slick skin sliding. Callum answered with a quiet, happy moan, nuzzling into the crook of her neck, tongue darting out to taste the salt and grease on her throat. The cage between them pressed against her thigh; she gave it another gentle, possessive squeeze that made him shudder and press closer.

They stayed locked together like that, the afterglow thick and sticky around them. Marisol’s heartbeat slowed under his ear. Her fingers never stopped their slow, soothing paths across his trembling back and hips. Every so often she would scoop one more thin trail of Vaseline from wherever it had pooled on his skin and smear it across his lips again, watching him lick it away with half-lidded eyes and soft sounds of thanks. The ropes lay discarded by the headboard. The jar sat empty beside the bed. Callum’s body remained open and gleaming, held safely in the circle of her arms while she whispered praise into his hair and they both simply floated in the warm, filthy satisfaction of everything they had done.