Shemale Queen Makes Me Her Sissy Princess

The upscale bar smelled of citrus peel and expensive whiskey. Reid, twenty-two and slight through the shoulders, sat at the marble counter with a club soda he kept forgetting to finish. His longish dirty blond hair brushed the collar of a black shirt that hung loose on his narrow frame. He had come alone, restless in a way he could not name, and he was still turning the glass when she walked in and the room seemed to tilt toward her.

Fiona was twenty-nine, tall enough that heads turned and stayed turned. A black silk dress clung to her hips and the long line of her legs, and she carried herself as if the bar existed only to give her somewhere to stand. Dark hair swept one shoulder. Her mouth was the color of ripe plums. She looked at Reid the way a woman looks at something she has already decided belongs to her, and the heat of that look climbed his throat before she spoke.

"You're sitting like you want someone to tell you what to do," she said, taking the stool beside him without asking. Her voice was low and amused, already in charge. "I'm Fiona. Give me your name before I decide whether I like the sound of it."

"Reid," he managed. Up close she smelled of warm amber and clean skin. Her hand settled on his knee, firm and possessive, not a question. The contact went straight through him, and he felt himself lean into it before pride could object.

She smiled as if she had felt the jolt. "Reid. Pretty mouth. Soft hands. That hair is wasted on a boy who doesn't know what to do with it." Her thumb stroked once, slow. "You've been hoping the right woman would walk in and ruin your night. Lucky you. I ruin things thoroughly."

He should have laughed it off. Instead his pulse hammered under his jaw, and the words came out thinner than he wanted. "I don't usually—"

"You do tonight." Two fingers lifted his chin so she could study his face, the slight bones, the mouth already parted. "I can see how you'll look on your knees in my apartment. Finish the drink or leave it. Either way you're coming with me."

The command landed clean. The nod came before he had finished choosing it, and relief flooded him, hot and sweet. "Yes."

"Good. For now." She stood, and he had to tip his head back to hold her eyes. She was broader through the shoulders than the dress had suggested, stronger in the arm that circled his waist and steered him toward the door as if the evening had always been hers. Outside, cool air hit his flushed skin. Her car waited at the curb. She opened the passenger door with the same unhurried certainty she had used on his chin.

"Luxurious apartment. Big mirrors. You'll feel small in it. That's the point." Her gaze stayed on his mouth. "You want this. Say it so I can hear how eager you already are."

"I want it," Reid said, and the truth made his knees unsteady. "I want you to take me home."

She kissed him once, hard enough to steal whatever came next, then put him in the car. Streetlight slid over her hand on his thigh the whole drive. When the elevator opened onto her floor, his shirt was half untucked and her palm was still on the nape of his neck, guiding. The apartment door closed with a soft, expensive click. Marble, low lamps, a wall of windows over the city. She locked the deadbolt and turned, and the air between them went bright and dangerous with want.

Fiona did not rush the reveal. She walked him into the center of the living room, under a lamp that made his dirty blond hair look almost gold, and she kissed him again until his back met the edge of a velvet chair. Then she stepped away just far enough to watch his face. Her hands went to the side of her dress. A hidden zipper whispered. Silk slid down those long legs and pooled, and what she had been keeping beneath it filled the space between them.

Reid's breath caught, but not from shock. Lust hit him so hard his knees nearly gave. Her cock was huge, thick, heavy even half-hard, the head broad and flushed, the shaft veined and already rising as she looked at him looking at it. It hung between powerful thighs, obscene against the elegance of her heels and the smooth line of her stomach. She wrapped one hand around the base and gave it a slow stroke, and it thickened further, longer than his forearm seemed ready to admit, the weight of it unmistakable.

"Eyes up," she said, amused and hungry. "There she is. You've been wet for a woman all night, pretty thing, and now you see what rules this apartment. Tell me you want it."

"I want it," he said at once, voice wrecked. His own cock strained uselessly in his pants, small and aching, and he did not try to hide the way his gaze kept dropping to the massive length in her fist. "God, Fiona. You're— it's enormous."

"And you're going to learn what that means." She closed the distance, towering, and stripped him with efficient hands. Shirt, pants, briefs, all of it tossed aside until he stood bare and slight in the lamplight, flushed from throat to chest. Her laugh was soft and cruel in the way that made his stomach flip. She took his cock between two fingers, lifting the little thing so they could both see how it twitched in her grip, nowhere near the size of what swung against her thigh.

"Look at this tiny dick," she murmured, mocking and fond at once. "Barely a mouthful. Barely a handful. All that pretty hair and this pathetic little prick hiding under it. You were never meant to use it, were you? You were meant to be dressed up and shown what a real cock looks like."

Heat flooded his face. He should have shrunk. Instead he got harder in her fingers, leaking, hips trying to push into the humiliation. "Yes," he whispered. "Please."

"Please what, sissy?"

"Please dress me. Make me yours."

Her smile sharpened. From a lacquered chest she drew what she had clearly chosen with him in mind: silky blush panties, a matching garter belt, sheer stockings with a faint sheen, a short pink dress that would barely cover his ass, and a pair of slender heels. She worked with unhurried dominance, sliding the panties up his slim hips so the silk cupped his tiny dick and made it look even smaller, clipping the stockings, smoothing the dress down until the hem flirted high on his thighs. Lipstick next, a soft pink she painted on with her thumb braced under his chin, then a little blush, a little shimmer at the lids. She brushed his longish hair until it fell like a girl's around his made-up face, and she turned him toward the mirror.

Reid stared. The boy from the bar was gone. In his place stood a slight, flushed sissy in pink, mouth parted, cocklet tenting the silk in a desperate little bump. Fiona stood behind him, so much taller, one arm banded across his chest, her huge cock resting hot against the small of his back through the thin dress. The contrast stole his breath.

"My pretty little sissy princess," she said against his ear, and the name went through him like a hand. "Look at you. Dressed up and dripping in your panties because I mocked that tiny dick. You love it. Say it."

"I love it," he gasped. His reflection nodded, eager, ruined already. "I'm your sissy princess. Please— I need—"

"You need my cock." She turned him, and the hunger in her eyes matched the raw need shaking through his dressed body. "On your knees, princess. Worship starts now."

He dropped before she finished the sentence. The heels made his balance delicate. The pink dress rode up. Silk clung to the small, aching shape of him. Fiona stepped in close, and her size swallowed the view: strong thighs, flat stomach, and that massive cock, fully hard now, thick as his wrist and long enough that the slick head bumped his lipstick when she simply stood over him. Her hand settled in his hair, not cruel, utterly in command. Strength lived in the grip, in the way she could hold his whole head still with one palm while the other guided herself to his mouth.

"Open," she said. "Good girl. That's what you are now. My good girl. My pathetic tiny-dick princess. My eager little cum-dump, kneeling in pink because you know what you're for."

Reid opened. The head alone stretched his lips, salty and hot, and he moaned around it as she fed him the first thick inches. His jaw ached almost at once. He did not pull back. He leaned in, tongue working the underside, eyes wet and lifted to hers, begging without words to be used. She praised him for it in the same breath she degraded him, voice low and wrecked with pleasure.

"That's it. Look at my cockslut sissy princess taking what she can. Such a good girl. Such a useless little prick in those panties, and such a hungry mouth. You were made for this. Made to kneel while a real cock fills you up and tells you who you belong to."

She pushed deeper. Reid gagged, swallowed, relaxed because he wanted to, because the humiliation of choking on her while she called him princess made his tiny dick throb helplessly against the silk. Spit shone on his chin. The pink lipstick smeared. Fiona groaned, hips rolling, and began to fuck his mouth in earnest. Not a gentle rhythm. A claiming one. She held his hair and drove that huge cock over his tongue, into the clutch of his throat, out until the head rested on his lower lip, then back in, again and again, using his face the way she had promised to ruin his night. Each thrust rocked his slight body. The heels scraped the rug. The short dress fluttered. He clutched her thighs and held on, drooling, devoted, completely ruled by the size and strength above him.

"Good girl," she panted, watching herself disappear between his painted lips. "Take it. Take every inch you can, you pathetic tiny-dick princess. Hear how wet you sound? That's my eager cum-dump learning her place. Nod if you love being my cockslut."

He nodded frantically around her, tears at the corners of his eyes from the depth, lust burning hotter than the sting. He worshipped her with his mouth, sucking when she let him, opening wider when she took the control back, licking the heavy shaft when she pulled out to slap the wet length against his cheek and call him pretty. The names landed like caresses. Good girl. Sissy princess. Tiny-dick slut. Cum-dump. Each one made him whimper and press his tongue out, offering his face, his throat, anything she wanted. His own cock leaked steadily into the silky panties, untouched, irrelevant, a joke beside the monster using his mouth.

Fiona's control frayed in the best way. Her thighs tensed under his hands. Her grip in his hair tightened. She fucked deeper, slower, grinding the thick head against the back of his throat while she talked him through it, voice gone rough.

"You're mine. Look at you, dressed like a princess and gagging like a whore. My size owns you. My strength owns you. This cock owns you completely. Say it when I let you breathe."

She pulled out. A string of spit connected her glistening shaft to his swollen lips. Reid gasped, wrecked and glowing, and the words tumbled out exactly as she had trained them in the span of one night. "You own me. Your cock rules me. I'm your good girl. Your cockslut sissy princess. Please— please use me. Cum on me. I want it all over me."

"Beg prettier."

"Please, Fiona. Cover your pathetic tiny-dick princess. Mark your eager cum-dump. I need to wear it."

She stroked herself inches from his face, huge and shining, the head angry and wet. Her other hand kept him kneeling exactly where she wanted him, small beneath her, pink dress rumpled, stockings taut, mouth open and tongue out like the devoted thing he had become. The first pulse hit his cheek in a hot stripe. Then she groaned, deep and satisfied, and exploded. Thick ropes of cum lashed across his made-up face, over the smeared lipstick, into his longish dirty blond hair, down his chin and onto the pink dress in heavy, obscene ribbons. She aimed the next across his tongue, the next over his brow, painting her sissy princess until he shone with it, until the silk at his chest was spattered and his lashes clung together. He knelt through all of it, swallowing what landed in his mouth, not lifting a hand to wipe a drop, submissive and radiant under the shower of her release.

When the last weak pulse dripped onto his lower lip, Fiona stayed standing over him, breathing hard, cock still heavy and spent against his cum-smeared cheek. She looked down at what she had made. Reid looked up, utterly claimed, glowing with satisfied humiliation, the taste of her thick on his tongue and her strength still ringing through his jaw.

"Perfect," she said, thumb smearing a rope of cum across his mouth like gloss. "Look at my good girl. Cum in your hair, cum on your pretty dress, tiny dick still leaking in your panties because you never needed it. You look exactly like an owned sissy princess. My owned sissy princess."

"Thank you," Reid whispered, voice hoarse and bright with it. He pressed a grateful kiss to the underside of her cock, unashamed. "Thank you for making me yours. Please let me stay dressed. Collar me. Keep me like this whenever you want. I'll be your good girl. I'll be ready."

Fiona's smile turned thoughtful and hungry, already moving past the afterglow. She pictured the slim collar in her bedroom drawer, the pink one with the little ring, and the way it would sit against his throat above this ruined dress tomorrow night when she brought him back and bent her cockslut over the mirror so he could watch himself take her. She would text him an hour, a shade of lipstick, an order not to touch that tiny dick. He would obey. She could already see the next time in perfect detail, and she intended to make it filthier than this.