Wife Turns Me Into Her Sissy Bimbo Cum Slut

Franklin was twenty-eight and spent his weekdays as a businessman in glass offices, closing deals in a voice that never cracked. That Thursday the apartment was supposed to be his until evening. Joanna, thirty, a marketing executive who ran rooms harder than he ever had, was downtown in a client review she had sworn would last until five. He locked the door anyway. His pulse was already in his throat when he walked into their bedroom and opened her dresser.

The black lace set lay folded on top, the one with the tiny bows and the sheer panels. He stripped out of his shirt, his pants, his briefs, and stepped into her panties. The silk cupped his cock and balls and went halfway sheer where he was already thickening. The bra took fumbling; he hooked it behind his back and stuffed the cups until the lace sat high and obscene on his chest. Garters next. Then the stockings, rolled slow up his calves and thighs, the nylon whispering, the clips snapping cold against his skin. In the mirror he looked flushed and guilty and painfully hard, a suited man undone into something softer and filthier.

He climbed onto the bed they shared, dug her favorite vibrator from the nightstand, slicked it, and pressed the blunt head to his hole. The stretch burned sweet. He bore down and took it inch by inch until the toy sat deep, buzzing hard against his prostate, and his other hand wrapped his cock through the panties. His moan came out high and slutty, nothing like the man who signed contracts. He rocked, lace dragging over his shaft, thighs trembling in the stockings.

"Fuck," he panted. "Fuck, I need it, I'm such a—"

The front door opened. Heels clicked down the hall. He froze with the vibrator buried in his ass and his fist still clenched around his cock, caught mid-thrust like a whore who had forgotten the lock.

Joanna stood in the doorway, blouse crisp, pencil skirt tight, keys dangling from one finger. Her eyes moved from the stockings to the stuffed bra to the toy splitting him open. Humiliation hit him so hard his cock jerked against the lace. He could not pull the toy out. He could not find a single professional word. His face burned, and his hole clenched greedily around the buzz.

Her mouth curved. Something hungry and dominant lit in her face, bright and sudden, and she shut the door behind her like she had already decided the rest of his afternoon.

She did not yell. She set her bag down, crossed the room, and sat on the edge of the bed while the vibrator kept humming inside him. Franklin shook, panties soaked at the tip, too aroused to pretend this was an accident.

"Turn it up," Joanna said.

He did. The stronger pulse made his back arch and a broken moan spill out of him.

"I have wanted this longer than you know," she said, voice low and sure. "I have wanted to take my polished husband and turn him into my personal sissy bimbo cum slut. Makeup. Wigs. A hungry hole. A mouth that begs for cock. I am asking you straight. Do you want me to take full control? Not a game you can shrug off later. Full control, because you want it, and you can tell me to stop any second and I will. Say it clear."

His pride tried to rise and died under the lace. "Yes," he gasped. "Please. I want it. Take me. Make me yours. I am asking you. I want you to turn me into that."

Joanna smiled like a woman who had just been handed the only contract she cared about. "Then you are Bianca. Say it."

"I'm Bianca," he whispered, then louder, wrecked, as she nudged the vibrator deeper. "I'm your Bianca."

She started that night and did not rush the ruin. Bigger toys replaced the vibrator, each one negotiated out loud, each one taken because Bianca begged for the stretch. She sat him at her vanity and taught him liner, gloss, blush, until his businessman face disappeared under a glossy bimbo mouth. A long blonde wig followed, then slutty outfits from her closet and from shops they visited together, Bianca flushed and hard in a short skirt while Joanna adjusted his collar in the mirror. He learned to kneel, to present his ass, to thank her when she fucked him open with a strap until he sobbed and came untouched in the panties.

Every session she checked. "Still want this?"

"Yes. Harder. Don't stop. I want to be your slut."

The craving shifted the way she had promised it would. Toys stopped being enough. On his knees one evening, lipstick smeared, hole loose and aching, Bianca grabbed her wrist and looked up with wet, desperate eyes.

"I need cock," he said. "Real cock. I want you to take me to a sex party and let men use me. I am begging you. I want to serve as your sissy whore. I want them to fuck my throat and my ass while you watch and tell me what a cum slut I am. Offer me. Share me. I want it, and I want you in charge because I asked you to be."

Joanna held his chin. "Sober. Clear. You pick the night. You can refuse any man. You say stop and everything stops. No one touches you unless you ask them to. Agree to that and I will arrange the party you are begging for."

"I agree," Bianca said, shaking with want. "Please arrange it. I want to be used."

The first party was private, in Camila's apartment, and everyone in the room was an adult who had already heard the rules. Camila was thirty-four, a gallery owner with a wicked smile, and she had agreed to host because Bianca had asked Joanna for a room full of men who wanted a willing sissy. Her husband Wesley was thirty-five, broad and muscular, cock already thick against his pants when Bianca walked in on Joanna's arm. Rupert was thirty-two, a dominant top with heavy hands and a patient, hungry stare. No one was drinking. No one was guessing. Joanna had told them Bianca's limits, and Bianca had repeated those limits himself before a single zipper came down.

He dropped to the rug in the blonde wig, lace bodysuit, stockings, and collar, and looked up at both men with his glossed mouth open.

"I want this," Bianca said, voice high and sure. "I asked my wife to bring me here. I want your cocks. Both of you. Fuck my throat. Use me. If I tap your thigh, you stop. Otherwise don't be gentle with your slut."

Rupert glanced at Joanna. She nodded. "He means it. He begged me for you."

Wesley stroked Bianca's wig back. "You want my cock in that pretty mouth?"

"Yes. Please. Feed it to me."

They stood over him and freed themselves, two thick, heavy cocks, Rupert's curved and dark at the head, Wesley's long and veined. Bianca moaned like the toy had never left him and took Rupert first, lips stretching, tongue flattening, sinking until his throat fluttered and his eyes watered. Rupert held the wig gently at the roots and started to fuck his face, slow at first, then deeper, balls tapping Bianca's chin. Spit spilled over the lace. Bianca gagged and pushed forward anyway, greedy, humming around the shaft.

"Good girl," Joanna said from the chair, legs crossed, watching like she owned every inch of the scene. "Relax your throat. Take him. That's my trained sissy."

Wesley tapped his cock against Bianca's cheek. Bianca pulled off Rupert with a wet gasp, strings of spit connecting his lips to the shining head, and turned to swallow Wesley down. The musk and heat made his own cock throb untouched in the bodysuit. He worked them in tandem the way he had practiced on toys, one hand stroking whichever cock was not in his mouth, switching when Joanna told him to switch, getting his throat opened and trained until both men were groaning and his mascara had run in filthy streaks.

"Face-fuck him," Joanna said. "He asked for it. Look at him chase it."

Rupert gripped his jaw and drove in, fucking his throat in steady strokes while Wesley smeared the other cheek with precome. Bianca drooled, choked, recovered, and moaned around the intrusion like a desperate cum slut who had finally been given what he craved. His hole clenched on nothing. His knees spread wider on the rug.

"Bend him over," Joanna said. "He wants to be filled."

"I do," Bianca rasped, voice ruined. "Please fuck my ass. I want it. I want Rupert in me while I swallow Wesley. I am asking."

They moved him to the low bench. Joanna checked his face once more. He nodded, frantic, and pushed his lace-covered ass up. Rupert peeled the bodysuit aside, slicked his cock, and pressed in. The stretch was thicker than any toy. Bianca cried out, high and broken, and shoved back until Rupert was seated deep, hips flush to his ass.

"Fuck," Rupert growled. "Tight little sissy hole."

"Use it," Bianca begged. "Hard. I want it hard."

Rupert took him in doggy, slamming in, the bench creaking, Bianca's stocking-clad thighs shaking. Every thrust knocked a slutty sound out of him. Wesley stepped in front and fed his cock back into that open, spit-slick mouth. Bianca sucked while he was fucked, spit-roasted between them, Joanna's praise pouring over him.

"That's my perfect sissy bimbo," she said. "Look at you taking two cocks because you begged for them. Swallow when he gives it to you. You wanted a load in your whore mouth."

Wesley's hips jerked. "I'm close. You want it?"

Bianca moaned yes around him and sucked harder. Wesley cursed and came, thick pulses flooding Bianca's tongue and throat. Bianca swallowed what he could, the rest spilling over his glossed lips and chin, and Rupert fucked him through it, pounding his prostate until Bianca's cock spurted untouched into the lace, a messy, shaking orgasm that did not make either man stop.

They switched because Bianca gasped for it. "More. Pass me. I want Rupert's cum in my mouth and Wesley in my ass. Please. Fill me."

Wesley sank into the loosened hole and fucked him deep and heavy while Rupert painted his tongue and then pushed back into his throat to finish, pumping a hot load straight down. They kept him between them, spit and come slicking his lips, ass clenching around each new thrust. Rupert recovered enough to take the ass again while Wesley fed him a second, smaller load, and Bianca took both like he had been built for it, moaning, thanking them, begging Joanna to tell him what he was.

"My cum slut," she said, proud and filthy. "My fully trained sissy bimbo. Open up and take every drop they give you. You asked for this party. You are getting exactly what you begged me for."

They filled him until his mouth tasted like salt and his ass was dripping, load after load worked into him while Camila watched from the doorway with a grin and never once touched him, because Bianca had asked only for the men. When Wesley finished inside him a last time, groaning and holding deep, Bianca sobbed with pleasure and clenched to keep it.

After the last guest pulled out, flushed and spent, Bianca stayed on his knees in ruined lace, wig crooked, face and hole painted with come. He crawled to Joanna, kissed the top of her shoe, and looked up with a wrecked, shining smile.

"Thank you," he said, voice hoarse. "Thank you for making me your perfect cum slut. I wanted every second. I want the next party. I am begging you now. Collar me, leash me, walk me home full of their loads, and bring me back so they can use my holes again."

Joanna clipped the leash he had asked her to bring, tugged it once, and watched him shiver with want. "Then crawl until I tell you to stand, Bianca. Keep their cum leaking out of that fucked ass and off your slut tongue."

She led him toward the door, and Bianca followed on shaking stocking-clad knees, mouth open, ass dripping, already moaning for the next cocks she had promised to let wreck him.