Her day begins before mine -- but then, it's not mine. It's
her
day, like that. She slips out of bed and dons her gear. She's not worried she'll wake me. I half-pretend she didn't. My passivity is what's important.
She slips back in the bed. From the waist up, she becomes the big spoon. Her nipples rub against my back. Her lips brush against my neck. I wish her arms were wrapped around my body, but her hands are busy elsewhere. I swear that I can feel it through the mattress we both lay upon -- the preparation. Her cock has no blood rushing through it, but I feel the heat of her sex just behind and below it, and I imagine it's emanating from that long, thick, perfectly-shaped slab of purple silicone.
"Good morning, baby," she whispers to me. "You're so soft, and so smooth. You're so pretty in your panties. You're getting me so hot."
My cock is straining in my purple bikinis. I let her kisses and licks dictate my wordless responses. I sigh, huff, moan, and even squeak. She has to seduce me, but I'm easy. That's the deal.
Her hands finally find my nipples, and I feel the residual slickness from the lube. My lips part. I feel her smile next to my ear.
"Baby likes that," she says. "Are you going to be a good girl for me? Are you going to let me make you feel good?"
I offer up the merest hint of resistance. She overcomes it with a nibble on my lobe, and a small whimper of disappointment. She's horny. She needs to fuck me. I'm being a big baby. I always end up liking it.
I shift my hips. She inhales sharply, and I feel the smile again -- widening eyes, too. I wish I could see them. They're so vibrant, and they flash whenever she gets what she wants, or is about to. Her whole face lights up. She sparkles. I live for it, and she knows it. She only abuses it a little.
Right now, it's more important that she be completely in charge, and that I be completely vulnerable. Not being able to see her is part of that. We're perfectly positioned to start her day.
Once the panties come off, I'll be defenseless. She doesn't rush, but she lets me know she wants to. Her hands slide down and find the waistband. I shift again, and lift. They slip down to my knees. Her hands go back to her cock. I curl up a little more, lining myself up to be her girl. I've already accepted it, but I can still pretend to be nervous. I imagine her face again. This time, there's something new. She tries to mask it, but can't -- not fully. It's predatory, pre-satisfied. We both know she's the stud. We both know I'm the bitch. She pretends to love it. I pretend not to.
My cock shrinks, but I'm hornier than ever. My masculinity melts into femininity, flowing into my throbbing hole and aching P-spot. Her finger and the lube are both cool. I like it. I'm just lucky that way, I guess.
The finger does its work and then departs. The slick, purple head finds its target. The moment arrives, and we perform for each other. I act like her cock is overwhelming me; she acts likes she knows how my well-trained rings and slutty ass feel all around it. I hope she actually does feel good; it is an excellent harness.
I let my hands drift to my cock. When she's all the way inside of me, her hands brush over my hips and then meet mine.
"No, baby," she says. "You have to submit."
I try to whine, but she's claimed my lungs and my voice box through my ass. She fucks me, and gets whatever noises she wants. She brings our hands up to my nipples. She gives me permission -- instruction -- to play with myself like that. I obey. She moves on. She grips my shoulders for leverage. She presses us even closer together.
I used to cry. I actually miss it. They were never tears of pain or sadness. I was simply overwhelmed. Being the girl still felt wonderfully wrong. It was humiliating. I was terrified someone else would find out. She never threatened that. She reassured me. She made promises. I took the ultimate risk, and she earned my ultimate trust.
It was enough to push me over the emotional edge, long before I could cum like a girl -- or like a fantasy girl, I suppose -- just from getting fucked.
Things changed. Ultimate trust is less exciting, more comfortable. We mostly just pretend now, but she's gotten very good at actually being the stud. I've gotten very good at actually being the bitch. Her fucking muscles are strong, and she has stamina. Her cock is perfect. Her power and pace make my hole quiver. She hits the deep spots that make my entire pelvis warm, and the special spot that makes me leak. She never lets me touch my cock, but she always makes me cum.
"Good girl," she whispers. "You're being such a good girl for me. You're taking your girlfriend's purple cock like a good little bitch. Don't worry about anything. You belong to me. I'll protect you. I'll make you feel good."
Purple is the color of female supremacy, just like in those stories she found on my computer. On her day, I'm a slave to it. It makes me kneel. It makes me lick and suck. It makes me bend over. The panties, the toys, the collar, the leash, and even the cage are all the same. She wears it too. It doesn't attach to the person. It attaches to the idea, directly. My purple panties make me submissive. Her purple underwear makes me submissive. The only reason I offer any hint of resistance in the morning is because I haven't been triggered. I haven't actually seen it.
I'm almost there. Her complete sentences fall away from the effort involved, but the two magic words echo.
